thearena | Arena 12 - The Spaceport

Arena 12 - The Spaceport

As usual the Tributes are woken up early for the start of the arena, leaving the Tribute Centre before dawn. A few hours ride in a hovercraft delivers them to their destination where their excited prep teams will outfit them in skintight suits that are colour coordinated by District (D1 is White, D2 is Red, D3 is Orange, D4 is Aqua, D5 is Purple, D6 is Pink, D7 is Light Green, D8 is Blue, D9 is Yellow, D10 is Dark Green, D11 is Lavender, and D12 is Black) over which they will be put into what is instantly identifiable as a spacesuit, complete with oxygen tank and helmet before being loaded into the tubes.

They rise up into what appears to be outer space and immediately upon emerging from the tubes Tributes will find themselves floating upwards with a length of rope the only thing holding them to their podiums. The countdown crackles out from speakers built into each Tributes helmet.

20

19

18…

The Cornucopia sits in the middle of a dusty crater with buildings surrounding it, made up of a number of chained down cases and cubes in limited numbers. Cubes which sharp-eyed Tributes will note look like they fit into the slots beside the doors that lead into the spaceport.

8

7

6…

The mirrored visors of the uniformly white spacesuits make it impossible to tell friend from foe. Tributes fighting for goods will have to risk harming their friends but the alternative, floating off into space or suffocating when their oxygen runs out, leaves them little choice.

3

2

1…

The gong rings out and the countdown’s voice announces, “the Arena is now open” before the line goes dead. The Games have begun.

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Under normal circumstances, Bro would be laughing at her words, but it's a little too on the nose for him to feel particularly amused by it. Either they're meeting when one of them is injured- primarily her- or one of them is already dead and mourning the other. Or, in rarer cases, one of them is responsible for the death of the other- him.

Their relationship involves a lot of death and pain. Adding the fact that they're still technically having a fight only makes this a whole lot worse. In a way, he's almost forgotten that they're wearing space suits, which is dumb because it's painfully obvious. He just isn't feeling particularly hot in his own, but it makes sense that she is given her injury. When she gets the helmet off and he sees her face, it just makes his stomach roll, because it's deja vu.

The very first time they met flashes through his mind, as well as his actions shortly after. It's not just that which makes his blood run cold, though- it's the mention of Black Tom as well. Fuck that guy- there's a lot of reason to be mad at him, this just really damn pushes it further. He lets out a growl, but moves to take his own helmet off as well before helping Anna with hers. "I think meeting like this is par for the course as for as Panem goes," he says, his voice now unmuffled by the helmet. Once the suit is off and he gets a glimpse at her leg, he cringes.

"I'd say, all things considered, it's a little worse than the butt injury I had." Yeah he isn't going to sugar coat it for her, that would be stupid at this point. "But I can probably patch you up decently so you won't die." The thought of her going out this soon just fills him with dread. She needs to stay longer- she needs to stay interesting to the Capitol. She can't go permanently.

And just like that, Molotov moves herself into the realm of a foe - none of the people Venus is looking for would move so quickly to a stranglehold. The rope catches for a second on the edge of her helmet, sparing her until it slips into a noose.

Were she younger, less experienced, Venus might panic at the sudden suffocation, but she knows now what it is she can do. She's a combatant. She's a mutant.

Light and spots of anti-light dance around her hand. She fires a laser straight into Molotov's stomach, and in the blink of an eye disappears into another dimension, emerging safely in the spaceport.

It's not as if Tom is especially discriminating in who he tries to eliminate from the competition in the Cornucopia. As far as he's concerned, Molotov can take care of herself, and anyone else is better off dead. He might even be doing them a favor, sending them back to the Capitol where they can enjoy themselves without any of their wishy-washy agonizing about whether they have to kill someone. He doesn't intend to choose targets here, merely to wreak havoc and make for the escape.

But the truth of the matter is that Tom is petty, and has always been a susceptible host to the parasite of grudges. Power is satisfying, but all the more so when it feels vindicating. He notices Carlos examining the egg, puts two and two together quickly, and chuckles inside his helmet that he can recognize his roommate without even a labcoat.

Last time his victory was denied to him, like all too many things have been. Tom intends to take what's his now; if it's not a win, then at least it's blood.

He pushes away from Anna, cube in hand, and all but collides with Carlos. He doesn't introduce himself. There's no point, where sound can't travel, but he imagines that the cold metal plunging through Carlos' flesh is calling card enough.

If he still had his helmet on, Venus would have kept going as she slinks past, having extracted herself from the chaos for a moment. The battle, people chasing each other down and beating their brains out, strangling them, drags and dissipates down the hall. She stops because she can tell from the size that none of those forms destroying each other are the person she's looking for. She hears slamming against the airlock door and she runs up next to it, hoping it's Kankri so she can save him.

It's easier to leave someone to die when you can't see anything human bared, when the body language of desperation and defeat is blurred out by the puffiness of the spacesuits and when the visor keeps you from making eye contact.

When you don't have a name to assign to someone.

"Luke?" His name escapes her mouth before she realizes that it's a binding curse. She wonders if he can hear her on the other side - he must be able to, she thinks. She can see him sweating and knows almost by instinct that he's running out of air.

Carlos has no idea who it is.

For all he knows, he's been attacked because he's an easy target; he hadn't been paying attention, not like he should have, and he curses himself for it. It is true; Carlos is really, really done with the Capitol and its Games, and he's fully planning to die in this Arena, but making vague plans to die eventually is different from actually being stabbed.

The blade gets him in the left shoulder. He cries out -- for all the good it'll do him -- and tries to scramble back as best he can, but in the zero gravity he can only really manage a slow drift away. He clutches the wound with his right hand, trying to slow the bleeding. Carlos is in out of his depth; he is no fighter, he can't run, and now he's injured. It's almost too easy.

Gary most certainly does not expect this. He makes a small noise of surprise when his spacesuit is grabbed, startled by how easily he's dragged around in the low gravity. Like an animal about to be thrown away from where he doesn't belong. Rather suddenly, Gary realizes that he may have made a mistake.

"Wait--" His frantic attempt to bargain comes a second too late. Bucky's fist sinks into Gary's ribs with a dull crunch and he almost immediately goes slack, drifting into semi-consciousness.

The world blinks out temporarily in a blaze of white hot pain, and Molotov instinctively lets go of the rope that now holds nothing. She floats for a second, forcing her mind to overcome the agony searing through her body, prickling across her skin with every breath she dares to take inside her helmet.

Her vision comes back in a pinprick of light, pure focus, her brain grasping on to every word she learned during training, her internal voice screaming the motivation to keep living and moving at her. You have work to do. Grab something and get inside. You can be hurt when you're dead.

Molotov moves miserably through the space, as fast as she can, and grabs both a case and a crate, holding them tightly under her arm as she drags herself back down the rope. She reaches her podium, forces the cube into the lock that lets her into the Arena. The airlock barely gives her time to stumble past the door, where she collapses on the spaceport floor, throwing her helmet aside and gasping in anguish.

She digs through the crate that she still clutches, finds a switchblade. Her only option is to wait until someone she's friendly with finds her. She wishes for Tom, closing her eye and groaning softly, the scent of burnt skin gently wafting up to her nose.

Edited 2014-12-09 04:58 (UTC)

Anna's well aware of how much their friendship has revolved around hurt. It's painful to recall, looking back, how many times they've had to see each other in pain, or dying, or dead. She's seen each of his Arena deaths, but just the once--because watching him suffer is like a knife in her own gut.

She tries to breathe steadily--in and out. Short, shallow breaths. In and out. Now isn't the time to dwell.

"W-worse than that?" Anna winces, trying to wriggle out of her spacesuit without jostling the wound and failing. She gets it down around her waist, revealing the skintight, light blue jumpsuit underneath. Daring to glance up as Bro gets his helmet off, she lets out a tiny grumble. "Surprised you even want to help me."

It's hard to say which of them fared worse in the costume department. Two who favoured stealth and the shadows clothed in material that reflected light in the worst ways.

He thinks he prefers his own white over the orange, though thinks longingly of the black combat gear he used to wear.

Bucky almost attacks her at first until he recognises that red hair and measured gait. It's enough that he slips the switchblade he gained from the Cornucopia back inside his sleeve and steps forward to reveal himself from his hiding place, a shadowed alcove created by a pile of crates he had found.

"Widow."

Dark thoughts jostle and crash against each other, cycling endlessly. Slowing, though, as heaviness creeps into his bones, his body suddenly achingly tired. He can feel the end edging closer and his pulse spikes, heart strugglingly punching against his ribs. He’s not ready to die.

Not like this.

And yet against every trembling, adrenaline-charged fibre of his being he feels himself lean more heavily against the door, breathing and breathing, eyes pressed shut against the sensation of the airlock spinning. The last thing he expects to hear is a voice so close to him, filtering through metal and panic-fog and growing air-hunger. It tugs at him and he can’t quite place it - - and he lifts his head, gaze sharp with fresh awareness when he finds Venus staring back through a small window.

He knows her. Remembers the apples she paid for with her card, remembers their talk of a cure supplied by the Capitol and of a boy stabbed in the face in an act of self defense. Venus, from Georgia.

Luke blinks and looks down, all around, and then back at her, lips parted, his palm pressed flat against the glass and the pads of his fingers going white. He shakes his head uselessly. What could she do?

The spacesuit comm's aren't linked, the others protests would have fallen on deaf ears even if he'd had a chance to make them -- not that they would have done him any good against this opponent.

Bucky snatches with his right hand for the case, then watches as the would-be thief floats backwards from him. The threat appears to be eliminated, further action against them would be wasteful. With that in mind Bucky turns and makes for one of the doors inwards into the spaceport.

Eponine falls too from the impact, landing heavily on top of Sandy. And then suddenly, a feeling of deja vu washes over her, and she remembers the last arena, Ruffnut landing on her, and them fighting to get up, to crawl over one another. Eponine had been the loser then, but she was determined for it not to be so that time. So she clings on with as much force as she can, and tries to clumsily lift Sandy's head and slam it back to the floor, hoping to knock her opponent out.

Megan, meanwhile, remained blissfully unaware that she was being hunted. She was too busy being thrilled at the prospect of flight, at regaining her powers, and therefore her chance at actually surviving this time. Without a great deal of caution, she set about exploring her surroundings in search of a hiding spot, paying little heed to the young man following her and obeying the call of his stomach.

"Alright, Megs. Think, think, think. If you were Wolverine and you were in a death arena, where would you hide?" No wait. "Stupid question. If you were Cyclops, where would you hide?" Better.

Edited 2014-12-09 22:41 (UTC)

It became quickly apparent that this place is creepy. A lot of it is dark and ill-maintained and Clementine swears she's heard strange noises more than once, the skittering of claws or an electronic hiss that made her duck into a hiding spot for long minutes before she could bring herself to move again.

When Luke comes round the corner she's in the middle of investigating an air vent that seems large enough for her to crawl through. The opening is quickly forgotten in the face of reuniting with a friend so quickly after this arena. "Luke!"

Clem's up and running to him, quickly covering the remaining distance as she wraps her arms briefly around his middle before pulling back. "Are you okay?"

There's blood on his face.

Sandy felt a force pulling on her helmet and she was positive they were trying to rip it off of her. Only at the last moment did she realize the true plan and felt her helmet smack into the rocks once more.

CRACK!

The visor had a spiderweb now and the hissing was louder. In a panic Sandy shoved with all her might rolling over with Eponine so the two were facing each other just in time for the pressure to rip Sandy's visor to pieces. At the last second on instinct Sandy took a deep breath.

The effect was almost instant but to Sandy it felt like the world was slowing down once more as it always seemed to in death.

The pressure on her lungs felt like her ribs had all curled in on themselves to rip her to pieces as the oxygen was brutally ripped out of her mouth and nose. Her lips and nostils turned blue as the chill of that air rushing through them froze her skin in a blink.

Her mouth open in a silent scream the moisture on her skin and tongue could be seen evaporating, cold boiling off of her. Sandy thankfully passed out at this point so she wouldn't feel the pain as her body began to swell up from all the fluid inside her rapidly evaporating with nowhere to escape to. Her eyes however were dark crimson from the blood vessels bursting and iced over from her tears.

Eponine's first kill for the arena. Congratulations.

She hid her skill from the Capitol? All what abilities she's got done with knives apparently being impressive and done all up for proper cullting too. Like an angel.

clever sister

He's flattered that she'd share it with him. It must be deliberate, which in it's own way, is something new, no matter how many times it might happen here in arenas. If she's being careful, that's go. She might not get no voodoo scars. He'd hate to scar her. He'll do his best not to be sorry, as all like Terezi wants him not to crush himself that way, but he can be grateful she's alright.

He shudders on the final question, simply all in poor timing.

yes

He's been worse, far worse, no matter how it feels now, and all the times he survived. It's less a physical pain and more a dull horror. More of being not quite rid of whatever kept him unconscious that this could be done.

divulgences due sister for the motherfucking impart of things what is mine own of secret. keep countenance clear. let him tell of the rebellion.

Edited 2014-12-09 23:33 (UTC)

"I had a clever teacher."

The tone in it is a quiet sort of fondness this time, the sort that is mostly only associated with good memories. Maybe she should have attached them with bad ones - learning how to take care of enemies from a distance so they never got close enough to kill you shouldn't have been a good thing, but she was so happy at the time. Before that she'd been so weak for so long.

She quotes then, "'Never let them know what you're capable of'," and the thought is clear and distinct this time, not just an impression of sound. It's a real voice, one that might belong to a young man.

Truth be told, she's gotten scars from being in the heads of others before. But those were all from long-term exposure, and Nill is sure that if she's aware of it, it's less likely to become an issue. It won't be like last time. No one will die just because she didn't know how to fix herself. Or so she likes to think. Nill gives the Initiate a very slight once-over, as if making sure that the outside matches up with the thought, but at that last part she lifts a hand to cover her mouth, trying to look contemplative. It should probably fool people well enough.

She's trying not to smile. It shows in the very slight sense of relief that accompanies the words when she responds.

"I knew there had to be something."

The link stays up, though she says no more, just waits to hear what he has to share. She's been waiting for confirmation of something like this since she woke up her second day here.

And come it does. In the confines of space, there isn't even air resistance to slow the makeshift knife as it slams into Anna's leg. Tom would go for her chest but the rope holds him back, keeps him for pursuing his prey.

Still, he doesn't feel as if he needs to make sure the job is finished. In an Arena like this, an injury that bad is enough damage.

Blood leaking through space is unlike anything he's seen before. It's somewhere between gelatin and a firework, bright red and wobbling and quivering through the emptiness as it streams from her like a banner. He brings his leg up and kicks off of her, using her to direct himself towards the desired cube.

Molotov's wishes are answered, possibly by fate and possibly just by the Gamemakers' design. Tom shoves the cube into the keylock and all but pries the airlock open before getting through. Gravity hits him hard, as he goes from floating to standing to kneeling all too quickly. He cries out in pain as all his weight goes on his bad leg, but forces himself up.

He's blood-spattered, carrying a rusty piece of metal, but he's alive. A voice in his helmet tells him that there's oxygen to be breathed, but he sees another helmet rolling across the floor and knows he's not alone. He tenses for a moment, then makes out the form all but crumpled over a crate.

And with that, he rips his helmet off. Foolishly, maybe, because it provides protection, but he suddenly finds he would rather be able to see and be seen - perhaps to spare a second to kiss and be kissed, as the thrill of adrenalin and relief pumps through his body.

"Molotov, thank God. And you've gotten supplies, wonderful." He pauses when he sees her face. "Are you alright?"

Nitou isn't really happy right now, though he's done very well for himself in the Cornucopia. Supplies are great, but powers came back. His powers come with a little bit of a catch in the form of Chimera, an ancient magical monster who lives inside of him. Chimera lets Nitou use his power in order to fight, but there's a catch--he demands to be fed mana, magical energy, in exchange. No mana? Then there's a problem. Chimera needs that magic, or he's going to eat Nitou--and then who knows what will happen?

Still, there are some things that can snap Nitou out of whining at his stomach and trying to shut Chimera up. Like seeing a floating woman. Chimera's not started fussing about wanting to eat a magic-user, but how would you do that flying thing without magic? "Hey! You're flying?!" Stealth? Who was worried about stealth?

She's relieved. He almost feels guilty for what things he's about to give her.

The first images he pulls up are not ones of hope. The first are xenomorphs, fearsome alien creatures of great physical power and endurance. He shows their queen, the eggs, the beasts, all of them, hissing and shrieking. He shows that of himself and the other tributes trying to beat the creatures back, enlisted by the capitol for this little round of pest control.

Then, he goes further, to the image of a girl upon screen, cuffed and ready for execution-- but hers was all the more grand and gruesome than the quick shooting of brainy.

Cruentus, the President's daughter, is drawn up holding a needle. "This is a poison fit for a traitor," she announces. "It's rapid-onset, degenerative. It strips away the parts of the brain that take the oomph out of bad memories. Then it disables the part of your brain that dampens pain signals. Then it kills you." The image flickers, replaced with the sensation of seven sweeps worth of a thousand troll's fear, his own pain, everything coming down at once with only the soft shooshing of a yellowblood troll keeping it from driving him insane. It changes back and there's Ariadne, her veins shot up with poison, convulsing then bleeding, then shot by Cruentus just to be sure, Avoxes sent out to clean the blood.

He goes further still, to when it was announced on over network by Eva. "A lone rebel, there is no rebellion," all things what were said as Ariadne was left to die alone.

And then he's going back to the xenomorphs, or more accurately, just after. He's picking up a file in the street, hidden there just for him. A file which would tell that it had not been capitolite negligence that had caused the release of the xenomorph beasts, but an act of rebellion. As well...

real as all what can be is the thirteenth district. rebellion basing lay within its threshold all motherfucking illicit. but no savior be those what reside. ain't no care shall arise at for off worlders us. ain't no care for our living on. it be independent of they that i and others here do our motherfucking work. i can give you names. can give for places, safe ones what to get converse up on in. they ain't had war in a mere seventy five years. panem is well motherfucking due for one. and it is we what will be the deliverance. we have made some moves of ours...

He shows Penny, in all brutal and callous glory, crushing a mouse upon live feed, being always so motherfucking quick to Avox others. He shows the broadcast claiming she'd been murdered, and the flurry of peacekeepers what would take nearly half their lot away. Including Terezi. He shows breaking her out, grabbing her and her branded self and fleeing with the Disciple and the Signless, wishing he could take more with him.

but it comes always at risk and cost.

He shows their capture. His last cry out to Terezi. The last time he even saw the Disciple. He shows the room where they avoxed him, sterile and white and terrifying, and then no real image at all, only the ghost of what he felt (so as not to set her off) where disobedience was so very feared it got made impossible. He shows all other avoxes, heads down, eyes empty. He shows himself among them, cleaning up after the other tributes during the last full arena he was being in.

be careful, sister.

The noise of someone new appearing makes Molotov's grip on the switchblade tighten considerably. She can't roll over, can't summon the energy to actually see who it is, but she refuses to go down without a fight.

It's only when Tom speaks that she allows the knife to roll out of her hand, letting out a sob that's somewhere between relief and complete agony. She'd laugh, if her body wasn't so filled with pain, every inch of her skin prickling with knife-sharp awareness of just how badly she's injured.

The wound on her stomach is large, its only saving grace being that the spacesuits, both layers, had been singed to her skin, keeping her from exploding in the pressure of space. Where there would normally be pale skin, there's a crusty black area, oozing blood now as it blisters and cracks with her breathing. Under the scabbing, the fabric melded to where skin used to be, there is only a gaping wound, all the outermost layers of her skin gone.

Molotov blinks, almost as if she can't see him at all. "Tom," she manages to mumble, just barely holding out one hand sticky with bloody. "Tom, I got hit with something."

Okay, so...she hadn't noticed him. That was good. That was really good, and...aw, who was he kidding? He couldn't just jump some kid. Maybe he should make sure Chimera was homing in on the right thing? Yes. Good plan. Best plan. "Hey!" he called out to her. "You a magic-user?"

Not at all suspicious in the least, right?

Anna lets out a pained howl, watching her blood float upward in ghastly horror as Tom kicks away from her--jostling her just so in the process so that the fresh wound he left sears in pain. Oh, god, this is it--this is how she's going to die, with her blood floating off into space in alarming amounts.

Shaky, she brushes her gloved hand over the wound, and it comes back shockingly red. Alarmingly red. She takes in a shaky breath, and then lets out a long, low cry of mingled pain and despair. This is it. This is how she's going to die, clutching a case of probably useless implements.

And if she's out this quickly, who knows whether the Capitol will even bother keeping her around.

It doesn't seem real to be up here - in a place he has only seen in movies and videogames. It's almost unbelievable but there's no time to contemplate it. The only things that keep Nick focused on reality is knowing that his breathing is rapid and his heart is still beating. The sight of the bloodbath deters him from approaching the cornucopia. He needs a weapon and he knows it, but the suits make it nearly impossible for him to tell where his friends are. He doesn't want to take that chance. He has more blood on his hands than his mind can handle already.

Once he becomes acquainted with gravity again, he takes the chance to remove the spacesuit and takes a second to breathe. He looks out at one of the windows as his eyes widen with dread at the thought of Clementine and Luke possibly still out there.

'They have to be here. Alive.' Nick tells himself as he takes quiet steps through the corridors. If he made it in, so have they. The alternative is too difficult to imagine let alone accept.

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Page 3 of 28

Arena 12 - The Spaceport

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Re: Carlos -- Closed to Black Tom and Thor

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Re: Sandy Marko : DOA. Closed to Eponine

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it's good!

Re: Sandy Marko : DOA. Closed to Eponine

Voodoo text go

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Nick | OTA