Arena 12 - The Spaceport

[etcircenses]

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.

Comments

Clint Barton | OTA

[cognitived]

The world coalesces suddenly, galaxies trembling Clint's very eyes; all color and light and the quick socked-punch of shock in his belly. But even as the rope around his belly tightens and holds him close, Clint realizes there's something -- off about what he's seeing. A shimmer, a quiver; like the new prototype masks one or another SHIELD R&D kid had come up with before everything went to hell.

So, probably not real then. But the suit he's wearing is, and from what he's already learned in this game, if it seems like there's a threat, there probably is one. Clint breathes soft, breath misting the visor of his helmet, and scans the arena he can see. Ahead loom doors, and as soon as possible Clint's pushing forward, sluggishly making his way through the air. It takes far too long to struggle there and through the door, and Clint's well aware that there can't be all that much oxygen at his immediate disposal. But soon enough he's through, pressing his back to a wall as he scrambles to remove the helmet, taking in a deep gasping breath. It's --it's good, it's okay. He has nothing resembling a plan in as much as find shelter.

Right now though, the place looks and sounds deserted, the delicate humming of machinery the only thing left to him. He has nothing but the force behind his body, and yet -- Clint's dealt with worse. ( Or so he tells himself. ) He gives himself half a minute to regroup, and then he moves stealthily forward.

spaceport;

The world around him looks like some shitty vintage sci-fi movie. Half the place is glaringly bright, light bouncing up off tile and metal, boring into the dark of his eyes. The other half is so suddenly dark it's like being blinded, taking ages for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. The paths seem to have some directional sense behind them, but for now Clint doesn't know exactly where they go. He peeks into a few rooms, light on his feet, ready to fight or run should something come at him.

But eventually, everything gives way to--

science labs;

--white labs, sterile and chilling. It reminds him sickly of medical bays, not the ones at SHIELD, no, but those in movies. And typically, that never ends well for anybody. Clint takes even more time here, walking so carefully it's as if he was on another mission and the target was just out of reach.

That makes it normal, almost. He might have even called it easy. ( But that would be a lie. ) Still, there are puzzles. Tests and trials and tribulations, all those fun T words. He makes it past a laser show, ears perked for any hint of enemy. There are no allies here, not as far as he can tell.

It's been a long time since he's worked completely on his own.

Spaceport

[tookthewheel]

It's hard to lurk in the shadows when you're wearing a bright white spacesuit but, with decades of experience behind him, Bucky manages to do an admirable job of it. The sound of footsteps approaching prompts him to press himself into the dark shape of a doorway and take out the switchblade he earned from the Cornucopia, in case the one approaching turns out not to be an ally.

The aim is not to hide himself entirely (impossible in this location and outfit), only to keep himself hidden long enough to be the one to get the drop on the other. This plan proceeds well enough until his sharp eyes make out the face of the man through the gloom.

He knows that face, doesn't he? From months back. A man he killed and was then informed was not someone to be killed. Too late, then the man, Clint Barton, was dead in the last arena's Cornucopia, blown up by the Capitol after Steve made his speech. Except not quite, Bucky didn't know the man at all really but he trusts his senses, which are telling him something is different here. That fact promotes caution as he steps out of the doorway.

[cognitived]

This place makes him more than uneasy, the unknown factors running together and dragging him down. Clint's steps are quiet and measured despite the heavy boots he's wearing. To another person, they might have been unheard. But someone trained and experienced like Bucky, well, the footsteps are just enough for him to pull back and hide. Clint, on the other hand, is hyper aware -- not simply because of his training, but because of the new murdergame he's found himself in.

He's lucky, perhaps, in that he suit is a dark blue rather than one of the other district's bright yellow or orange. Still, it's impossible to move forward in the hallways and keep hidden. He's got a long, sharp piece of metal in one hand, a makeshift weapon where he'd arrived here with nothing at all. There's the faintest sound -- cloth against cloth, the scuff of boot upon floor -- and Clint freezes, gaze sharp as he scans the halls. There's nothing at all, really, until quite suddenly there is. He puts his back to the wall, ready to book it or fight his way out. But the other guy gave up his advantage, maybe there's something.

[tookthewheel]

"Who are you?"

He's not about to feed the other Tribute information he might try to use to his advantage. It was likely anyone would try to claim an identity if they thought it could save their life and make no mistake, it could save the man's life if he is who Bucky thinks he is. This is the arena and any unknown person is a potential threat.

while he waits for the answer he keeps the switchblade in his right hand, handle in his palm and the blade itself pressed up against the back of his hand out of sight, ready to be flipped around and used if necessary. Equally his other primary weapon, his metal arm, is concealed by the sleeve of his suit.

[cognitived]

There's something about this other Tribute, not necessarily familiar, but definitely unnerving. Clint's a good soldier, a good assassin -- but there's always the possibility of others out there being better than he is. The look on this man's face? Well, it definitely isn't reassuring. Clint shifts, grip upon his makeshift knife tightening.

"Barton."

What? It's not like it's necessarily a secret. He could have said Hawkeye, back home, and gotten much more recognition. But it's lucky, maybe, that Bucky's arm is concealed. Clint's never had the fortune of meeting the Winter Soldier, but he remembers the aftermath of Natasha's failed mission, and the gunshot scar knotted at the turn of her hip. Even more so, Clint remembers snipers trading stories of the Winter Soldier like he was nothing more than a ghost story. One think is certain, that arm? Would have tipped him off, and he would have booked it, knowing there's probably only a small chance he could take on the Winter Soldier and come out on top.

[tookthewheel]

"Clint Barton." It's not a question.

Bucky doesn't relax because, even though it seems like this Barton doesn't recognise him, he knows better than to just go ahead and let his guard down. There's still the possibility Barton is faking or will attack him anyway -- if he's chosen to play the game the Capitol has set before them.

"Do you know Steve Rogers?"

There's nothing on Bucky's face, it's a blank mask that gives nothing away of what he's thinking inside, channeling the Soldier as he tests the man in front of him.

Science Labs

[aboveangrybees]

After getting injured in the cornucopia, it's like Steve's entire team is bound and determined to babysit him, to keep him from getting himself into more trouble. He won't deny he's touched by their concern, but he also doesn't feel it's entirely necessary. This isn't his first rodeo or his first time being injured - okay, yeah, his bright yellow space suit is strained with old blood all along his left shoulder and said shoulder is wrapped up, his left arm put into a makeshift sling, but he's still quite capable of taking care of himself.

He's been left to look after the lab Sam and Banner have turned into a clinic, he knows it's more to keep him out of trouble, but he still does the task asked of him. So, when he hears someone moving around, he moves to the doorway separating this office from the rest of the labs and quietly looks around the corner for the culprit. Seeing Clint wasn't who he expected to see, but more importantly, wasn't someone he wanted to see.

Seems the Capitol got the whole gang back together.

"You're late," Steve steps into sight, leaning against the doorframe. His voice is wry, but there's a look on his face that says he's sorry to see Clint dragged into all of this.

[cognitived]

Clint can't say he made his way on through to the science labs all that quickly, and by the time he was shoved into the Arena, people had already dug in. He doesn't know how many people are here, how many are armed and hunting, and it makes settles beneath his skin like a slow creeping anxiety. He's lived and worked through hard conditions, but this is -- this is like nothing he ever dealt with before. So he moves, quick and carefully as he can.

Seeing Steve isn't anything he expected either. Clint's not quite sure what his expression does, because certainly he's relieved at finding a familiar face in an unfamiliar place, but this isn't somewhere he'd like to meet up again. Something in the cast of Steve's face says the same.

Still, Clint makes his way closer, wary and tense even if he pretends otherwise. His mouth curves in a sardonic little grin, fading fast.

"Got lost on the way over."

[aboveangrybees]

Steve mouth quirks in a wry way at the reply, something that doesn't stick on his features. An expression, there and gone, though he doesn't look any less friendly. He's worked with Clint on a number of occasion, even trained with him and Natasha, he might not know him well, but he likes him, trusts his judgement.

"Not the best place to find yourself," there's a lightly dry humor to his tone. He knows no one mentioned Clint before the arena started, so best guess is he got shoved straight into the fray, with the same bullshit amount of information Bucky and the rest usually get when that happens. It's such poor sportsmanship, not to say he doesn't get the reasoning the Capitol does what they do, for entertainment, but he doesn't agree with it and can't stand how they toy with people's lives like this.

"I take it, they didn't tell you much more past this being a death match, right?"

[cognitived]

Given Clint had only spent a handful of hours in Steve's presence, and most of those when he'd been decked out in full Captain America regalia and mask to boot, the little wry lilt to his mouth is odd. Welcome, almost, because the person Captain America had become in modern culture, and the man Coulson had near worshiped, were never someone Clint could see himself following. So called paragons and pinnacles of humanity were all well and good, but Clint was just an ex-carnie, a former soldier and a current assassin and spy.

Not quite what one would pick for Captain America's teammate.

Still, they guy's just as human as the rest of them, and he'd let Clint join the battle without a single objection. He can't be all that bad. So Clint listens and nods, not quite wincing. But there's a harshness writ in the lines of Clint's mouth, deep set in the sharpness of his gaze.

"Just about." Wry, and convinced that this situation is complete bullshit. "You got more intel for me, Rogers?"

[aboveangrybees]

"You could say that," there's a lot to tell and who knows how long to tell it. At least he knows Barton is quick to think on his feet, so the essentials for now, small things as they go along.

"First thing you should know, we don't actually die and stay dead here. They revive us after we die, keep us around until the next arena," he hadn't said that to Bucky when he first arrived and regretted it, he won't make that mistake again. "This is entertainment for the people watching, like gladiatorial combat."

"And this'll be my fourth," he hopes that speaks of how powerful of a foe they're up against, because he can't say much more on camera like they are. Yet, he also is starting to wonder if time shenanigans are afoot again and when Clint came from. The longer they talk, the more Steve notices the way the man seems standoffish. At first he thought it more because of the situation that had him being cautious, but there seems a disconnect, something that speaks of a lack of familiarity.

Science Labs

[sizeofyourbaggage]

It's not like there's anywhere in this station that's really safe, especially not with the gamemakers watching them and shaking things up whenever the hell they want, but at the moment, this room is probably the closest he could get.

Well, almost the closest, considering Sam's alone at the moment. The others come and go - even Steve, as much as Sam would love for him to just stay put until he's healed, that's just not feasible here - and so does he, but right now, he's holding down the fort.

He'd been sharpening the piece of metal and glass he's calling a knife, but he stands when he hears the sound of someone coming through the puzzles outside the room, putting himself in a more defensible position as he changes his hold on the knife. It might be one of the others, but just in case - and then no, it definitely isn't, although the guy does look really familiar.

Sam frowns, trying to place him. "...I know you from somewhere?" The guy's either going to attack him or he isn't, might as well be blunt.

[cognitived]

It could be argued nowhere is really safe, honestly. But that would just be splitting hairs. There's a tracker in his arm, and he's been mired somewhere with seemingly no allies and nothing to his name. It could be worse, true, but it could be way better also.

So far, Clint's been lucky. He hasn't gotten himself injured, hasn't run into any really life threatening things beyond the initial gasp for air getting into the space port. Perhaps the luck comes simply with being thrown into the Arena late, but it might just be a little late apology luck from all the shit he's been through the past months. In any case, Clint's making his way slowly down through the science labs, looking for something, even if he has no idea what it is he's looking for. The puzzles vary, but while he usually doesn't show his intelligence, Clint's no slouch.

The puzzle outside the room Sam's guarding, however, makes him curse under his breath, loud enough in the quiet to echo. It's no surprise Sam moves, and as soon as Clint hears the familiar movements of someone moving, he's shifting in response, the sharp piece of metal functioning as his knife in hand. Sam's utterly unfamiliar, but he didn't immediately attack, and Clint can work with that.

"Don't think so." An uneasy pause, shifting where he stands. "Name's Barton."

[sizeofyourbaggage]

Yeah, that name isn’t doing anything to lessen the feeling that Sam should know this guy from somewhere. Maybe it’s just that he’d seen him around the tribute center but hadn’t introduced himself - it’s not like he knows all of the tributes - but somehow, that doesn’t feel right.

“Sam Wilson,” he returns, relaxing his stance just a little, though he doesn’t change his hold on the weapon. If Barton didn’t attack him right away, that probably means if he’s going to, he’s going to wait until he can get a better handle on what Sam’s abilities might be, or until Sam’s been lulled into a false sense of security. It’s what Sam’d do. What he is doing, technically, even if he’s not planning on attacking.

And Sam has the advantage of knowing that while he might be alone right now, his allies probably aren’t that far off, and this guy - and then it hits him.

“Barton,” he says, snapping his fingers. “Hawkeye?”

[cognitived]

The name Sam Wilson doesn't ring a bell, but Clint really didn't expect it to. In any case, Sam relaxes his stance just slightly, but doesn't let go of his makeshift weapon, and Clint can respect that. It's what he does too, after all.

But Sam says his name like an epiphany, snapping his fingers and -- Clint blinks, surprised.

"Yeah?"

Well, it beats getting attacked. Clint shifts, hands lowering just a tad from the easy stance he'd held. He's not a fool, Sam might just use a break to come swinging, but someone knowing his codename is something he wants to understand.

[sizeofyourbaggage]

And the confirmation makes him relax just a touch bit more. He still doesn't know the guy, and Barton definitely doesn't know him, but at least he's gone from completely unknown entity to having something in common.

"I'm a friend of Steve's," he says. "I've worked with him and Romanoff." I'm pretty sure I might be her friend, too, but he doesn't say that, because he knows Natasha well enough to know that she doesn't have very many friends, and he doesn't feel right claiming it for himself without being more sure.

And especially not claiming it to someone else, before he's said it to her.

Science labs, later

[honeyibrokeharlem]

Bruce had, after patching up those who made their way to the little infirmary he and Sam had set up, explored a little bit. And when he comes back, there is someone new in the little space the Avengers and their friends have carved out--this would put him on edge, but the face is familiar.

"Barton?"

Now there is someone he hadn't expected to see again. He doesn't know if he should be vaguely relieved they have another (probable, since Bruce still doesn't quite trust either Clint or Natasha) ally, or upset that someone else is stuck in this hellhole. Maybe a little of both.

awwye

[cognitived]

The sound of someone coming closer sets Clint immediately on alert. He's not exactly surprised to hear someone, and Sam had made mention that this place was temporary Avengers territory, after all. So when Clint looks up and spots Bruce, he's wary but not raring to fight his way out. There's a little nod in acknowledgement, a greeting to a familiar face, because in all honesty, Clint barely knows Bruce.

"Banner."

Clint can't exactly say he's relieved to see Bruce here, but a familiar face is a welcome one. Even if this place means they'll all apparently be pitted against each other eventually.

[honeyibrokeharlem]

Bruce knows Clint Barton even less than he knows Thor, which is saying something. The had fought together (and that is debatable, since the Hulk is arguably not Bruce) and they had shared a silent, exhausted meal in the wreckage afterwards. There had been some debriefing to deal with, but otherwise, that had been all of their interaction with each other and that was a while ago from Bruce's perspective.

But Barton had worked with them to save the world, so that entitles him to a little more trust than Bruce would give by default. "When did you get here?" He moves past the man to check the infirmary, but he's clearly paying attention to any answer he may get.

[cognitived]

Clint's memories from the Battle, and the days leading up to it, are disconnected at best. Under Loki's spell, it hadn't been as if he was overwritten and pushed aside into cool unconsciousness, but rather, the very fabric of his being was unwritten and stitched back together with rapturous loyalty to the god. Remembering it makes him sick to his stomach, because Clint remembers every waking moment, and considering Loki didn't give them much leave to sleep, there's a lot he can remember.

The Battle itself meant Clint was up on high, raining arrows down like he was both judge and executioner in one. This did not mean he actually spent time with Bruce, or the Hulk, either. The latter is somewhat of a relief, the first, is not quite regretful. But they did fight together in some manner, and just like the other Avengers, Clint does have some minuscule measure of trust and respect for Bruce.

So he doesn't move from his spot, letting Bruce walk around unchallenged to check upon the infirmary. It's easy to let his gaze watch Bruce's movements, fingers restless, wishing for a bow he does not have.

"Not too long ago, heard I'm late to the party."

[honeyibrokeharlem]

Bruce doesn't mine Clint's scrutiny. The man was a spy, and thus was probably very used to checking other people over as potential threats. Bruce understood that, since he often found himself doing something similar.

So he just worked on sorting out the infirmary, not really bothering to make eye contact.

"Yeah, you could say that. Natasha was the last one to come before you, and she got here about two and a half months ago." This, of course, is not counting friends of Avengers like Darcy or Sam. Those aren't people Barton would know. Probably. "Did you get a chance to see the Capitol, or did you just get dropped into the arena?"

spaceport

[atoner]

Natasha made it through the bloodbath at the cornucopia with no damage except for the slightest ruffling of her hair. Which she knows is going to annoy her stylists, and that's amusing for about 0.2 seconds before she's moving around the spaceport. She's got a phaser in her hand and two blades carefully hidden on her person, and she moves like a predator. Swift and silent, up until she spots him. Or more accurately, the silhouette of him given the bad lighting of the spaceport, but she knows it's him.

She'd know it was him no matter what. Spending decades with someone will give you that kind of familiarity.

Under her breath, Natasha swears in Russian. Profusely. Explicitly. Just for a second. Because as good as it is to see him after months - even after the whole fiasco at SHIELD, this is the last place she wants him to end up. In a death arena where it's always carefully manufactured that only one comes out alive.

She would have preferred him to stay where he was, in a world where they can control the outcomes better than they can here.

lets get this party started :>

[cognitived]

It's dim in the spaceport, but it's definitely not the worst conditions Clint's had to fight through. His eyesight isn't so good as to let him see in the dark, but in this? Well, he can pick out shapes and details, more than most humans would, at least. But he doesn't see her, at first. In the relative quiet of the spaceport, he hears the faint murmur of her curse.

Just as she knew his silhouette, Clint knows the weight and whisper of Natasha's words. He perks up, head lifted, shoulders back -- almost as if he was a dog trying to pinpoint a sound -- and then he spins upon his heel, scanning for her. It hasn't been months for Clint, but waking up in some murdergame without his partner by his side was a recipe for disaster.

"Tasha?"

STRIKE TEAM DELTA!!!

[atoner]

She steps forward so she can get a better look at him. Looking him over carefully so she can check him for any injuries, and she's visibly relieved when it seems as though he doesn't have any. It would have been incredibly hard to treat anything of substance in a filthy spaceport with next to no resources. So Clint's here, but he's unhurt, and that's worth something. It's enough to make her swallow down the initial panic. Nat doesn't call it that, and she won't give it any acknowledgement, but it's there regardless.

"I'm surprised you didn't get here earlier," she remarks, after she's done looking him over. "The Capitol seems like the type to want the full set."

REUNITED AND IT FEELS SO GOOD

[cognitived]

He meets her halfway, drinking in the sight of her familiar and well beloved features before carefully checking for injuries. It's routine, really, but back home Natasha had been on a mission when Clint was taken. Seeing her again, even in a place like this, was good. Great, even. Clint still hasn't lost his initial thought process, and a part of him is screaming to fall instep with Natasha and go to ground where they'll be relatively safe until they figure this out.

But she shoots that down with her words, and he frowns, head cocked to the side.

"Team's all here?"