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

[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?"

[cognitived]

There's somethin' cowardly 'bout a man that doesn't meet another's eye, his father used to say. But then again, his father was a coward, and Clint didn't spend much more than fickle thoughts upon him. Not these days, not after the long years without. In any case, Clint doesn't particularly mind that Bruce does his own thing, he hadn't expected otherwise.

He simply rests his arms atop the tableau of his drawn up knees, fingertips tapping quietly against dark blue fabric. It makes sense that Natasha was the first picked out of the both of them, Clint doesn't do much but nod in understanding, even if Bruce isn't looking at him.

"Just got dropped in." A sharper look, intent upon the bowing line of Bruce's shoulders, "That not how it usually goes down?"

[honeyibrokeharlem]

Bruce used to be good about eye contact and social skills, or about as good as a shy and somewhat awkward scientist could be, but then the Hulk happened. Now, his abilities to blend into any environment are impeccable, but he's become that much more uncomfortable with eye contact and prolonged social situations. It happens when one is constantly followed by the knowledge that anyone recognizing them could lead to them being used as a superweapon.

"It really depends on when they feel like dropping you in. I came in while everyone was in the Capitol, but it was the same night that a bunch of tributes were hauled away with bags on their heads to go to jail." That was definitely an experience. Tony managed to talk him into jailbreaking someone, too. Because Tony could probably talk him into anything.

[cognitived]

Clint knows what the Hulk can do, knows what fear and damage it can amass. But Clint hasn't really seen much beyond the snippets he got in the battle against the Chitauri. He is wary, but he's generally wary when it comes to any threat. This is nothing new. The way Bruce moves is more interesting, even if it's only so Clint can figure out who these allies of his are, who these people he once fought alongside were.

It doesn't mean he's not startled.

"What." That -- doesn't seem to fit with what little he already knows of this Capitol. Why would they shove tribute into jail when instead they could force them to kill each other over and over and over until will was broken and they'd become more rabid dogs than anything.

He's clearly missing more information than he'd already thought, and considering he didn't know much at all...well.

[honeyibrokeharlem]

"That was pretty much my reaction." Waking up at 3 AM on his first night to a scene out of an Orwell book and a bunch of handflapping downstairs hadn't been very good at orienting him. "Apparently, a Capitolite was murdered and they dragged off a bunch of tributes suspected of doing it. That kind of thing happens a little more than anyone would like."

Bruce doesn't look up from his work. When he's not looking directly at the person who he's talking to, when he's got something to do with his hands, her motions are smooth and confident. Though the moment he doesn't have something in his hands, he begins to fidget nervously. He's just not really used to conversation that much anymore.

"Have you ever read 1984?"

[cognitived]

That, well, actually that sort of makes sense. He's gaining a broader sense of this world, of this government, Clint breathes out and rubs at the bridge of his nose. He hates showing weaknesses, but Bruce isn't watching him, and the Capitol is buried deep in his skin. Let them think he's fallible, let them think he's breaking -- he's tear them apart with their own ideology.

Which, of course, makes Bruce's sudden mention nearly hilarious. He nods unseen, and shifts idly, less of a nervous gesture than the build of a character. One corner of his mouth ticks up in a smirk before smoothing out.

"War is peace."

[honeyibrokeharlem]

Bruce lets out a soft huff of air that could be interpreted as a chuckle.

"And we love Big Brother." Or at least they can pretend to play along.

Clint is supposed to be Natasha's partner, which means he's a spy of a similar skill level as she is. So Bruce feels it's safe to assume that Clint will know to keep a low profile and keep the Capitol happy while they figure out a plan of attack behind the scenes. If anything, the comment is just meant to assure the man that everyone else has figured it out (mostly) as well--it's not a guarantee, with the group they've got.

[cognitived]

"Of course." Softly murmured.

He leans back, legs stretched out before him, crossed at the ankle. He looks nearly relaxed, in fact, most wouldn't assume otherwise. But Clint takes it to mean that Bruce, and the others, have some semblance of a plan in the wings. That's fine, he can work with that.

So Clint changes the subject, drawing away attention so that these couple throw away sentences might be forgotten in the grand scheme of things. If they're lucky, at least.

"How long you been here, Doc?"

[honeyibrokeharlem]

"About five months. Hell of a five months, too. This is my second arena, but they had a little one in between that I wasn't reaped for." That little arena was reserved for the kids. Predictably, Bruce hadn't reacted well. Neither had anyone else.

Bruce doesn't expect the Capitol to be paying their conversation too close attention when there is probably murder and death going on elsewhere, but one can never be too careful.

"Tony, Bucky, Steve, Thor--they've all been here longer, though."

[cognitived]

They might not be intently watched, but Clint hasn't forgotten the chip in his arm, nor the fact that there's an innumerable amount of cameras in the place. It eats at him, constant hyper-vigilance burrowing beneath his skin like a disease. He breathes in, calmly, and breathes out, the line of his shoulders remain relaxed.

But five months. For five months his place had kept the Hulk on a leash. It seems impossible -- improbable, he supposes, is a better word -- and yet, here is Bruce Banner himself saying so.

"Yeah?"