thearena | 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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Aang is pretty enraptured by the stars himself. Between his celebration of the return of bending after getting inside the space station, he takes a moment to stare out the windows at the stars, lingering close to the entrance (perhaps inadvisably, though he felt invincible with the rush of power running through his body again).

Then the airlock opens up, and there's someone with blood all over his leg. Aang turns his head to see who came in, his face immediately creasing in concern even though the wariness he developed over the past two arenas kept him from rushing to get within arm's reach. "Are you okay?" It was possible it was someone else's blood.

Thorongil is not prepared for the sudden switch back to gravity. He stumbles, trips, nearly falls -- he is already lightheaded from blood loss, and his hurt leg is not ready to support his weight. He catches himself against the space station wall and takes a moment to breathe. The situation is bad: he is hurt, he has lost the hobbits, and the only supplies he has are of dubious utility. It is limping that he steps through the airlock, and when he sees the stranger, Thorongil waves him away with one hand.

He does note that the strange bubble-helmet he has been placed in can come off. Thorongil pulls it off his head and drops the handful of things he grabbed from the crate outside into it. Then, he looks up at Aang, his face drawn with pain but also sharply focused.

"No," he says, with a hint of tired wryness, "but this is not the worst wound I have suffered. I can see to it." Thorongil is guarded; the one who attacked him had been a child. He can assume nothing here.

Aang flinches when he sees the man almost fall over, biting back the instinct to go to help him immediately. Aang, even for all the awfulness of the games, is still a very gentle soul.

He has already taken off his space suit and the helmet, so now he's only in the aqua jumpsuit of D4, which matches with his tattoo'd arrows. He looks from the man's face to his leg, then back to the man's face again. "I might be able to stop the bleeding. Long enough for you to find something to bandage it with, at least."

He knows it's stupid, but he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he just left a random man to limp along and maybe be killed by all the other people coming inside.

...the strangeness of the offer gives Thorongil pause.

He stares hard at Aang, suspicion clear on his face. It's a piercing look, one that people with weaker wills than Aang's find hard to meet for long. Thorongil is taking the measure of Aang, making a battlefield decision.

The decision he reaches is to hear Aang out.

"Can you, indeed?" he asks, still unaware of the Arena's unusual, power-returning quality. "How?"

Aang has met some pretty intimidating gazes in his time. He holds eye contact, his face serious, his hands in front of him so the man can feel safe knowing that he's completely unarmed. Not that he actually needs any kind of weapon to be dangerous, but it's the thought.

"I'm a waterbender. That means I can bend the blood. Probably. I haven't really tried it before?" For good reason. Proper bloodbending is absolutely horrifying and goes against everything he stands for, but bending blood outside of a body doesn't seem too bad, especially when he's trying to use it to save someone's life. "My bending's come back in this arena."

The fact that Aang doesn't look away speaks well of him. So does the honesty in his face and voice -- the boy uses familiar words to mean strange things, but he is not lying.

However, blood-bending sounds distinctly unsavory, and Thorongil is not about to agree to it until he knows what he is getting into.

"And what, pray, is bending? I know the word, but don't quite take your meaning."

"It's... well, the monks defined it as using the energy inside yourself to manipulate the energy around you. Like..."

Aang holds his hands up, palms facing each other, and swirls them before flicking his wrists. A ball of churning, visible wind kicks up between his palms, whishing and whooshing audibly. "This is airbending. Waterbending is doing the same thing, except with water." He keeps finding himself looking back down at the man's leg. He can't help but fret about it. "I promise I won't hurt you if you don't try to hurt me. I can try to help you get some bandages, too. If we find some water-water instead of blood, I could try healing you. I've never done it before, but I've seen other people do it."

Is it obvious yet that seeing a visibly wounded person and not helping is very distressing for this boy?

Thorongil stares.

"I have known few indeed who can do the likes of what you have shown me," says the man, glancing down reflexively at Aang's hands. Only those who bear the Three can do such things -- and perhaps the Istari, though they do not show their power often. Aang looks like neither.

But he gives a slow nod.

"But if what you do can heal, it cannot be altogether bad," Thorongil says. "I will accept your help, for I must go on, in this Arena -- there are those whom I must find, and protect, from the horrors I am sure are here."

"Okay, that's good! Stay still for a second."

Aang is still cautious when he approaches, but he's quick as well, eyeing the wound before crouching down and moving his hand rhythmically. Blood is pulled from the cloth of Thorongil's jumpsuit, floating in round gobs before freezing and being absently tossed to the side. It gives Aang a better look at the wound, and as more blood begins to seep out, he waves his hand again, freezing it on the man's skin.

"It should clot while it melts." He straightens up and offers his shoulder to lean on, though he keeps an eye on the man's hands, in case he plans on attacking. "Let's go find some regular water to work with."

Thorongil gazes at it in wonder. His hands remain -- well, mostly in sight. One of them is still holding a helmetful of supplies he only partly understands. He draws in a sharp breath when the blood freezes, but makes no other sound. He has felt worse pain.

He straightens, tests the leg, and nods to Aang.

"What is your name?" he asks.

"My name is Aang."

He cautiously puts a hand on the man's back, trying to lend him support while they begin to walk forward.

"What's yours?"

"I am called Thorongil."

And then they disappeared into the space station and struck up the beginnings of friendship over being nature children and hating science fiction.

Arena 12 - The Spaceport

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