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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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.

"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.

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.

"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.

He doesn't bother answering, not beyond a little nod, anyway. Obviously this guy knows him, and just as obviously, Clint doesn't know who this guy is. He's at a disadvantage and it rankles. But while neither of them relax, Clint's struck surprised by the name that falls from Bucky's mouth. If that's how he's known, then things might not be as bad as he'd imagined. Still, Clint doesn't move, stance loose and ready to strike or run.

"Rogers? Yeah, we worked together once."

His face isn't as blank as Bucky's, but he's pretty impassive himself. There's a hint of calculating, a curiosity building in the blue of his gaze.

"He here?"

Bucky is wary but he knows that if Steve knew one of his allies (friends?) was here now, he would want Bucky to do this. More importantly to the Bucky however is the potential that there be someone else on Steve's side in the arena to heighten the possibility of his friends survival.

"Yes." he gives a single nod to accompany the word, a show that it's the answer he expected to hear before he moves onto the next question. Notably he doesn't offer Steve's location, not yet.

"What have you been told about this place?"

They're both definitely wary, though perhaps Clint more so given the sheer newness of this place, this situation, and the person before him. The knowledge that at least one familiar person is nearly a godsend. This is not to say that Steve's the first person he'd ask for, nor is Clint all that pleased to hear other teammates are in a murdergame. But, well, not being alone is kind of nice.

Which means that Clint definitely doesn't miss the fact that Steve's location isn't provided, but given the fact that this guy hasn't even told him his name, Clint's not really all that surprised. He listens and watches intently, frowning just a tad as he answers.

"Not much, they dropped me straight in."

The same lack of information they gave him when he first arrived and was dropped straight into the arena, then. A battle to the death with only one winner with no hint that the death would only be temporary. Bucky remembers his first experience like some nightmarish haze of starvation and pain but now he's far better prepared for what the Games are.

He glances down the corridor, seemingly unconcerned to take his eyes off Barton for those few seconds (but not really). The others, that had found each other so far, had congregated in one of the labs. Bucky had met up with the Widow first, then found where the others had begun to gather. He'd made the decision to go out to explore, scavenge and find their missing allies himself as a matter of course.

Bucky turns his gaze back to Clint, speaking bluntly. "If you're Steve's ally then I won't kill you."

He doesn't take it as weakness or trust. Clint's a spy, he knows the trade, knows that that unconcerned glance is anything but. He doesn't let on, because that's one way to get his fool self killed, but he knows and he listens. It's all he can do if he wants information.

"Well that's a relief." Wry, Clint doesn't relax, because something tells him that this guy doesn't quite care of necessarily believe him. This, he doesn't realize, isn't entirely the truth. But Clint doesn't know who Bucky is beyond strange, threatening goon hiding out in some hallway, so who knows maybe that's what he does.

Because Bucky Barnes fell from a train and died screaming. Because the Winter Soldier was once a ghost story, until Natasha showed up with a hole in her belly and a description that rang far too close to fiction. Because this guy is a ghost in the halls, metal arm covered, face uncovered and faintly familiar, but not enough to ring all sorts of bells.

Clint doesn't trust him, but he's a chance. And, well, something is telling him to follow.

He lifts his left arm and points down the hall, and if Clint is listening carefully enough maybe he'll hear a faint electronic whir come from underneath the fabric, "Walk ahead of me. I'll direct you where to go."

A necessary precaution as far as Bucky is concerned. Steve might know and trust a man called Clint Barton, so might the rest of the team that the Soldier has found himself a part of, but he doesn't know this man himself, not at all. He doesn't know Clint's full range of ability or what he might be inclined to do, so it's better that Clint walks ahead and Bucky follows so he is a stronger position to act should the other man try anything.

There's too much at risk here to make even a single mistake.

Clint is listening, watching, searching for any clue that might be found. But, well, his ears never were quite as good as his eyesight. The aid helps, now a days, but that tiny whir is mostly lost under the heavier, louder sounds of the station. In any case, he pauses, freezes, eyes Bucky like he's a wild animal about to bite.

But he's...just as cornered, really.

So with a barely there nod, Clint steps forward, off to the side, back angled more towards the wall that towards Bucky. He doesn't like people at his back, especially not strangers in murder games. He is, however, on Bucky's left side. Although unknowing, the advantage is definitely heavily weighed towards Bucky than Clint.

Clint earns himself some points by following Bucky's direction without argument, though for a second there the Soldier thought he just might. Then things would have gotten interesting.

As it is they walk down the hallways in silence to begin. It's curious to Bucky that Clint has asked him few questions of his own, not even querying who he was, which was contrary to Bucky's usual experience with people. They were usually full of questions.

Hes not sure what to make of that.

"Left." he says quietly when they come to a junction. It's best to keep his voice low, there's more in these hallways than Tributes to worry about.

He has questions, don't doubt that. But there's something inherently threatening about Bucky, even as he leads him off. In truth, Clint's not quite sure he's not being lead to his death, but should Bucky turn on him then Clint has no qualms about shoving the sharpened piece of metal in his hand through an eye, deep into his brain.

For now, Clint's gaze lingers on Bucky even as he turns left. He doesn't really look like someone Steve would be close with, but then again, Clint barely knows Steve Rogers. He's more familiar with Captain America, and even then, there's a scant few hours of interaction between the both of them.

This might not have been his worst decision, but it's clearly not his best.

They'll keep on this way for a while. Bucky keeping pace just behind Clint, uttering directions when necessary. It won't take them long to reach the lab at this pace, it should be simple.

Except it's not. This is the arena and there is danger everywhere.

Bucky hears it just before he see's it, an electronic sound and a red laser line of sight -- "Down!" he snaps, reaching to throw Clint with his left arm if the archer doesn't move fast enough from the turrets line of fire before hurling himself to safety after him.

There's doorways they can use for cover on either side of the hall.

It was simple, really. But Clint's nerves were frayed, and he held himself like a leashed dog about to book it. There's not necessarily strain, or fidgeting, but he's too steady, too still. It's obvious he's prepared, whether it be to fight or fly.

Perhaps luckily, for the both of them, things don't go quite as simple as it should have. But it's instinct to react to a shouted order, and Clint drops like a puppet with it's strings cut. This close, he hears the whir of the machinery in Bucky's arm -- a prosthetic? -- but he files it away, books it into one of the doorways for some measure of cover.

It's also instinct to draw an arrow, or cock a pistol, but all he has is the make shift knife. It'll have to do.

Bucky takes up position in another, risking a look out at where the turret is positioned before throwing himself back against the door behind him as laser bolts strike the frame. The turret looks to be stationary, good for them. He just needs a way to get close enough to destroy it.

"Can you draw its fire?" he looks at Clint. "If i can get close I can destroy it."

These surroundings are new, unfamiliar, but Clint's had a lifetime's worth of figuring out where enemy fire's coming from. He shifts in his own doorway, watching the quick fire of laser bolts, calculating quickly. The Soldier looks at him and Clint nods, gaze sharp and intent.

"I got it."

Which means he's drawing in a breath, looking around for a plan. At his feet, there's some small scraps of metal, nuts and bolts, nothing big enough to cause real damage but enough to draw attention. He scoops up pieces, quickly leans out of his door way and pings the turret. Once, twice, ducks back in the room to avoid laser beams, and then again.

He waits a second, watching what Barton is doing until he has a clear idea and then nods in acknowledgement. Once the turret's fire is occupied Bucky takes a moment, pressing himself back against the door as far as he can before leaping forwards.

With his full strength back the leap carries him across the corridor to the opposing wall, which he spring and then goes into a roll across the floor, springing up to sprint the rest of the distance between himself and the robot. It's sensors are keen but not fast enough to stop him.

A bolt strikes a glancing blow on his left arm, singing the white material of his sleeve before he draws it back and punches the metal right through the turrets shell and into the electronics hidden within. With a grunt he rips it open, rendering it inoperable.

It's quick, even if it's not the most efficient plan. If he'd had his bow, clint could have downed that turret with one perfectly placed arrow. Instead, he has to rely on Bucky's admittedly impressive skills to take it out.

Beneath the sound of Bucky destroying the turret, Clint can't help the quiet 'holy shit' that escapes him. He also can't help the way his gaze is drawn to the shiny metal of Bucky's arm beneath the singed material of his suit. Its not high enough to show the red star, but it is enough to make Clint frown, wondering why this is familiar.

He's lucky, whatever metal the turrets were constructed from wasn't overly strong. At least not compared to the material of his arm and the power of the machinery inside it, having it back to full capability was pleasing to say the least.

Pulling back, Bucky flexes the arm, turns it in a cursory inspection of its functionality. Everything is back to normal parameters.

When he looks back Barton is staring, that's not entirely unexpected. He doesn't know if the archer has any idea who Bucky Barnes is, or about the Winter Soldier. He hasn't recognised him yet, but now... "It's safe now."

He'd stayed in his alcove, keeping an eye on Bucky as he destroyed the turret, but carefully out of harm's way just in case. That really just means he gets a front row seat as Bucky destroys their attacker, and then pulls back to carefully, calmly, inspect his arm. Something about it rings wrongly in Clint mind, he watches carefully, wary, wary.

And finally, he steps out of his space, braced for anything. But Clint doesn't cross the distance between them, alarm bells and a heavy reliance on his instincts keeping him in place.

"Who are you?"

"James Buchanan Barnes."

He replies, the question he'd been waiting for finally coming. The timing though makes him think that that isn't the answer Barton is wanting. Barton was friends with the Widow and once ~~twice~~ upon a time, the Winter Soldier shot the Black Widow in a place(s) that Bucky can't remember.

Bucky stares at his metal hand again, caught up in a past that had not so long ago been his present. The Asset still lives and breathes underneath the shell of humanity that he's learning to wear, whether Bucky wants him to or not.

"Before they called me the Winter Soldier."

That's -- that's impossible. Everybody knows who James Barnes is, especially by Clint's time. Hell, he used to play Captain America and the Howling Commandos with Bar--with his brother, a long time ago. It's not the answer he was expecting, not at all. But the second, well.

Clint freezes, eyes wide, gaze dropping to the gleaming metal hand Bucky's staring at. The Winter Soldier was a myth, it was a ghost story told to green snipers it was -- Natasha getting shot, showing up with a hole in her abdomen and a vendetta upon her shoulders. She'd looked at him and Clint had known there was a threat out there neither of them could combat alone, maybe one they would have a hard time with together. Which really just means he's backing up, ready to run.

"Bullshit."

It's not, oh it's not and he knows it now, he's fucked--

At that assessment Bucky shrugs his shoulders and starts to to rip off what remains of the sleeve since it's useless now. He'll save the scraps for bandaging material, Bruce and Sam would prefer that. "You can believe what you want. Ask Steve, when we get to him."

Despite the fact that Barton is obviously not taking the revelation well (and he doesn't blame him, really, not deep down inside) Bucky is obviously still dedicated to getting this member of his friends new team safely to the lab that's counted as Avengers HQ in this arena. His own word might not be good enough to prove he's James Barnes but Steve's should be.

His shoulders are tense, his eyes cold and dark and intent. Clint watches the way Bucky strips the scraps away from his metal arm, catches sight of the red star, feels his heart lodge in his throat. He's not panicking, but he's on the verge. Fuck, if they have the Winter Soldier here, then--

--then there's no where safe. Then there's always a weapon out here, steady and sure and hunting. Clint draws his next breath, holds still like a cornered animal. But...but the Winter Soldier isn't chasing him down. He asked him to team up to take out that Turret, and he drops Steve's name like its a certainty, like he's a mission. His shoulders don't ease out of their tense lines, but he nods, tightly. The Winter Soldier could take him out easy if he ran, this is his best option.

Hopefully.

"Lead on, then."

Feels like a thread end, y?

tookthewheel - 2015-04-06 20:50 (UTC) - Expand

y!

cognitived - 2015-04-09 18:02 (UTC) - Expand

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Arena 12 - The Spaceport

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Feels like a thread end, y?

y!