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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For a brief moment, Sandy is overwhelmed with childlike glee at the location chosen for this latest deathmatch.

Space! Really? Space?!

The stars spread out all around and for a moment she wonders if anyone has a chance against Shepard. This is her home field isn't it? Sandy has dreamed of space travel since hearing stories from Shepard and Garrus and Thane. How amazing would it be to travel to new worlds and-

-The gong sounds and Sandy reacts on instinct launching herself forward. The lack of gravity throws her off and her light body feels even more out of control as she careens for the boxes. She doesn't want to leave empty handed. Especially after all the trouble she went to in the last arena not to give the capitol the satisfaction of an easy death.

She's so focused on the items in front of her and keeping herself upright she doesn't notice the impending doom coming up behind her.

As the universe is revealed to Ruffnut she finds her underdeveloped imagination and sense of comprehension challenged and swiftly overwhelmed.

Eyes wide, hidden behind her reflective helmet she can gape in awe at the stars spread out above her and all around her. It's almost like flying again high in the night air...except she can clearly see a planet.

Bringing her gaze back down she scans the crowd of blank faced, suit clad tributes as if somehow she'd be able to find Hiccup among them. Why couldn't they give his space suit a peg leg too?

If anyone would be losing their mind over this it would be him. This is the sort of stuff guys like him obsessed over wasn't it? With his head in the clouds so much surely everything above the clouds had to be even better.

Ruffnut didn't understand space, she barely understood the idea that there was anything beyond the stars to begin with. But as the gong rang she understood none of it mattered. This was just another arena and another chance to prove to herself she didn't need her brother or her dragon to be a good viking.

The lack of gravity however was a problem she had not considered. As she threw herself forward intending on a mad dash for the loot at the bottom of the crater she found herself pitched over too hard and tumbling head over heels towards the melee like a living canonball.

Well if nothing else she would be nice and dizzy by the time this all shook out. Look out whoever you are! Impact imminent!

The airlock doors close behind him and Bucky drops the case he'd taken from the Cornucopia onto the floor, pulling off the weighted spacesuit immediately. The moment he moved through those doors he felt the strength flow back into his body, accompanied by the tell tale sounds of his metal arm recalibrating for full combat output. He knows what that means, this is an arena where everyone's full capability is in use.

It means he has to move even quicker than usual to familiarise himself with the area and find his allies. While Bucky relishes what it means for himself and how effective he can be in accomplishing the missions he has set for himself it also promises deadlier enemies, both from the other Tributes and the inevitable Gamemaker set traps they will encounter.

The Capitol would not allow them their full abilities back without measured justification for doing so.

With that thought running through his head Bucky lifts up the case easily under his right arm and takes off at a measured run, choosing to leave examining its contents until he's in a more secure location with less chance of interruption. As he does he takes more note of the white suit he has been dressed in, feeling distinct ire at how it will impede his preferred stealth tactics.

Any Tributes might run into him here or deeper inside the base when he stops to pull open the case and arm himself, they might want to think twice about approaching Bucky though if he doesn't know them already. This is the arena, they're here for one reason only.

[ooc: as a note Bucky will fight/kill if attacked or confronted with anyone unfamiliar (so long as they're not a kid), if you'd like this to happen with your character message me!)

Edited 2014-12-06 12:55 (UTC)

Clementine takes a good few minutes to wriggle free of her spacesuit, fumbling at the catches on the helmet before finally being able to throw the stupid away. It was heavy, a fact that had become apparent the moment she hit gravity and realised there was no way she could keep it on and move with any kind of speed.

"Come on, come on!" she finally kicks free of the cumbersome suit and stands up, taking stock of her surroundings. The Cornucopia had been overwhelming with the stars wheeling overhead, leaving Clementine both shaken and awed at the fact that the Capitol might have somehow put them in outer space and struggling to get hold of the cube that had let her inside. This though, this quiet dark indoor space she can deal with for the moment.

Rubbing the arms of her pink suit she starts trotting cautiously forwards, looking for anyone familiar and hoping that there were more supplies hidden ahead.

If the Cornucopia turned out to be the only source this arena she could be in big trouble.

Edited 2014-12-05 23:21 (UTC)

(OOC: Karkat's results are meant to be survival with bad injuries. If you'd like to have your character responsible, please PM me and we can plot!)

It is not surprise that Karkat feels when he enters the arena. It would be hard for him to be so shocked as last time, his first, when he only showed up long enough for entirely too brief explanations to be babbled in his ear before he was costumed up and shot up to join the game. This time he knew better, and there was warning given from the broadcast before, a hint too coy and playful for something this gruesome.

Still, he didn't expect it quite this soon, and he didn't expect it to be space. Funny, he never would have made it here in regular life.

As the countdown ticks away in his helmet he has to wonder: is this actual space? The colors and stars, the lack of gravity, it all feels real enough. He can't even be mad about the pink color of his inner suit when he's busy trying to gauge what he'll need to do. He sees the cubes and the cases; he sees the doors to the spaceport. In his conversation with Linden he figured he wouldn't be able to decide what to do at the Cornucopia until it happened, but now he's certain he'll have to go for it. He can't fathom fighting someone else for a cube just to get in, and if he can get a case, can get a weapon, can get supplies, then maybe he'll...

He doesn't think he'll win, but he doesn't want to die.

When the gong sounds, he uses the rope to crouch down to the podium, unties it, then kicks off at a low angle toward the cubes and cases. Not hard - too much intertia would be the wrong thing in an environment like this - and he uses his hands against the ground to help guide him: friction to slow, or bits of rock to pull him along forward or change course.

He can't even watch where everyone else is. He needs to get to his goal, and in the moment that's all he can think of.

They wake him up earlier than the others, almost at night still, and all too early to catch a broadcas. Ain't that a mercy? Because if he had, he'd have gone to panic a lot more than he was being to do then. Stepping out of his room, peacekeepers there, glancing around to find ain't nobody coming with him. That two seconds of horror that this might be what he thinks, that they've come for him, and they're going to make him a mute again because he just wasn't being good enough.

Then nothing. Whatever happened, he doesn't remember it, and right up until he rises up into the arena, that dark fog remains.

He sways upon the platform, like growth in the ocean. His helmet if perfectly round at the top, normal as all any human's. His head sings, with the countdown beating on him with each number and dancing 'round his thinkpan. He looks around through the Helmet, seeing a lot of motherfuckers what's around but not being able to tell who's who. He squints, like that might make it all the clearer by some miracle. He spots the square shaped holes around the distant walls. He sees the cubes upon the ground, all just laying there, waiting.

He sees so many motherfucking stars. It's so beautiful, even with his head aching. Are they going to kill him like they did the first arena? Make it so he dies here and winds up somewhere else? He guesses he'll find out.

The countdown ends and he lurches forward. It's like swimming, he should be able, but Mirth his head is spinning and all of want to come the fuck off. He reaches the cube closes to him but missing putting his hand on it at least three times. He has to be careful, he manages to think through the spin. If he loses this he's dead. This is the extent of what all he knows, as he tries not to lose the cube when shoving it in the slot, as he sees the faster of the other Tributes is doing. The doors open and he steps in, the door snapping the rope he didn't all quite realise was on him, but something much greater happens. The voodoo comes back.

Like breaking out from underwater, he can suddenly breathe again. He can feel and he can feel. Motherfucking. Everybody. Their horrors dance in his head, their paranoias and fears. He can feel the minds and souls of all, and his eyes flash against the visor, showing the pink to indigo back and forth as it dizzies his ownself. And more than that, he can feel sharp the ache of what's missing.

He's stripping out of that space suit and fast, claws near making to tear in his panic. He twists and pulls and yanks it inelgantly off of him. He reaches up for the Helmet and makes a pained gasp as it comes off. He sees the button, slams it to move on the next room, then collapses against the wall. His hands rise up, slow and shaking. He brings them up over his head, hovering, and feels nothing. Nothing. A noise slips from him, and he lowers his hands down on the place where all his horns should be, where his nerves burn. There's something there, like a soft plastic and cloth instead, stitches up to hold them on. A strangled cry comes.

His horns are gone. His horns are motherfucking gone.

He jerks his hands away with a final scream. He's a sitting duck right there, as all motherfuckers make to come up but he can't think, his head aches, his horns are gone, and the voodoo is all caught up in his thinkpan. He stays there, rocking, trying to steady himself in the sea of everyone's fears as his eyes flash that solid pink to indigo, fear seeping on out of him in waves for them unfortunates coming near.

The protective spacesuit brings with it a familiar feeling of claustrophobia - Sigma had never gotten used to the suits Akane made him wear between Rhizomes, they were always too bulky and unwieldy for his liking. As his pedestal breaches the surface, Sigma is greeted with an all-too familiar sight: a wasteland of stars, dust and craters. He knows at once the projection above them is fake - not being shot into space aside, photographs in deep space were taken in black and white, with colour added in post production to make them pleasing to the eye. Real space was suffocatingly lifeless and reminded him of how humanity grew ever closer to joining that empty void of nothingness.

He turns his body towards the space station: his telescoping eye allows him to distinguish the mark on the spaceport door from afar (some truly bad design, he can't help but think; space dust was cancerous, and one was less likely to carry it with them in an entrance below ground). It was unlikely it would open without a trigger, and loathe as Sigma was of the cornucopia, he steels himself to find the object that would fill that gap. As he waits for the countdown to end, he searches but cannot find the constellation the Initiate called his own. His blood pressure rises and panic begins to surge: without his son's gift, he had always associated standing here with failure, proof that humanity had brushed against extinction and that all that remained of his sorry race were the sprinklings of space stations on a desolate, hostile moon.

Akane's voice echoes in his ear: This is your home, Sigma.

The gong sounds and Sigma sets off in pursuit of a cube. He realizes at once - and with some relief- that his pact with Ruffnut will be impossible to fulfill. There is simply no way to identify her, and it gives the Doctor the excuse he needs to ignore the other players. His weighted arms, made for space, work in his favor and though he was slow on earth, he covers great distances on the moon quickly. He is one of the first to seize a cube.

He will not allow the temptation of supplies deter him from escaping space. Deciding to pull out while he was ahead, Sigma turns around and sprints towards a spaceport door, passing Tributes going in the opposite direction.

Edited 2014-12-05 23:15 (UTC)

His head has been a mess for months now, his thoughts and feelings whipping back and forth between clean, perfect allegiance to the Capitol and creeping guilt and suspicion that something is terribly wrong.

(It's a form of conditioning in and of itself--the way he feels when he gives up the fight against the programming is so preferable to the way he feels when he tries to fight it.)

But when Bucky finds himself sent back into the Arena, all that clears up. This is simple. It's a mission: survive for as long as possible while winning the trust of potential rebels and not giving away that anything is unusual about him now. He can't deal with himself and his own thoughts very well, but he can handle missions just fine.

So the first thing he does once he grabs himself a cube and a case at the Cornucopia and gets into the spaceport is punch the nearest non-functional control panel hard with his left fist, sending bits of electronics spraying into the air around him.

It's just an act, he tells himself--just a way of reminding the people around him that he's still volatile, angry Bucky Barnes. He's not really letting off any helpless frustration or anything.

Venus should be thinking about the space suit that's fitted over her, clumsy and protective as bubble wrap. She should be considering the suit's capabilities and trying to piece together a strategy as she goes up the tube. A smart, sensible person would be prepared when the zero-grav kicks in.

But Venus doesn't need to be prepared, because she feels awareness go like a wave through every molecule of her being, like the hair on the back of her neck rising but in every single cell of her body. She feels time and space fold in on itself and become small enough to fit into her palm or her mouth. She feels her mind drain along the blood running from her brain and into her fingertips.

She has her powers back. She barely even notices that she's floating and tethered. A single, simple plan writes itself in her mind: find her friends and teleport them to safety. It barely even occurs to her how difficult it'll be to recognize them all with their outfits.

She teleports to the first person to catch her eye, blinking out of existence in a flash of impossible light, as if the (lack of) oxygen is bending around her in the place she disappears. She appears in the new spot, next to

She holds her hand out to catch the person. "Who are you?" She doesn't even know if the other person has any way to hear her. If it's someone she's looking for, she can get them both to safety. If it's someone she doesn't care about, she'll teleport away and leave them in pursuit of a cube.

And if it's one of the people she has on a very small shitlist, well. All it'll take to kill someone is to make sure they don't get a cube.

The suit was a warning, but the endless black of stars arcing overhead still made his head swim. Deep space? But this was wrong. The primitive spacesuits and propulsion technology of this planet suggested they couldn't even make colonies outside their own solar system. And this was supposed to be an "arena." A simulation then? A damn good one.

He leaped towards the cornucopia, keeping close to anything he could grab to change his trajectory. He realized he'd be flying closer to danger if he chanced this, but he also knew many Tributes had no experience with unaided flying, and next to no working knowledge of space travel. He had an advantage. He also knew that without the usual planetside comforts, materials and food would be scarce. Those cases were valuable. His sharp eyes, honed from sniping with psionics, quickly saw that the cubes seemed to be for the slots next to doors. He also saw that the suits and helmets completely disguised who was in them. Great. He wasn't in a hurry to kill anyway, so he concentrated on snagging one case and a cubekey. He made it past the airlocks, and ripped off his helmet as soon as a hiss and an indicator light announced the arrival of oxygen. It impaired his peripheral vision.

A sudden headache bloomed, heralding the return of his powers. Someone screamed—ah, no, just the voices of the soon-to-be-dead back again. He grimaced, quickly recalibrating his mind for shouting his own thoughts just so he could hear himself think. But he supposed having his motley collection of powers back was a good thing. No need to run when he could fly.

Psionics thrummed, and a strobing red and blue glow spread around his body. He jetted quickly down the hallway and around the nearest corner, followed by his floating helmet, also wreathed in oscillating red and blue. Hidden sufficiently enough for his standards, he cut the glow and stripped down to his yellow (ehehehe) jumpsuit. He originally thought he'd ditch the heavy spacesuit in gravity zones, but if he had his powers, weight was no object. He shoved the cube in his case and floated that up for hands-free carrying. He reattached the helmet to his spacesuit, floated it, and experimented by making one of its arms wave.

Decoy in place, he sent it flying ahead of him as he skulked a short distance behind, glancing back over his shoulder more often than was necessary. He knew both he and his new puppet were glowing targets, but he was still in an area swarming with people anyway, apparently doing his best visual impression of a banana in space. Once he got away from people and stealth became more useful, he'd ditch his flashy powers except for fights, find a tarp or something to cover himself with, and check the contents of his case.

[[ ooc: plot with Psii here! ]]

All Molotov is trying to do is get to the cubes. She's never been in space before, and she's struggling with the lack of gravity, the loss of her usual grace and coordination and sheer power. Nothing has changed for her, nothing feels different or unusual, or anything except frustrating.

She startles at the sudden appearance of a person next to her; she's sure she was mostly alone a moment ago. But maybe she just didn't notice, maybe she was distracted by attempting to get to the Cornucopia.

The voice is muffled, unintelligible. Molotov squints through her helmet, trying to see who's inside that other spacesuit. "Tom?" she calls, then realizes that the other person won't be able to hear her either. She figures that, based on the size of that spacesuit, chances of it being someone she cares about are small.

Molotov kicks at the figure violently, more out of self-defense than anything else.

Gary would be much happier about this choice of location if he was able to move effectively in it. The thought doesn't occur to him until the final seconds of the countdown, too mystified with the sheer gravity (or the lack thereof) of the situation to really consider the practical implications. Once he does, he's not too concerned about it. Surely everyone else will be feeling the same way, right? No one's got to be comfortable in these clunky suits. Gary just has to be faster than them--and Gary is very good at being faster than others.

He doesn't have a grand plan upon being released; all Gary knows is that he wants to get inside those buildings, and he wants a piece of that cornucopia. The teen barrels forward, not-so-silently cursing the legs that still won't take him as quick as he wants to go, and manages to nab one of the floating cubes. He could stop there. He doesn't. There's a much larger case nearby, about to be picked up by another ambling figure, and Gary's feeling greedy. He makes a desperate grab for it and tries to yank it out from under their nose.

Edited 2014-12-06 02:11 (UTC)

The moment the airlock shuts, the moment he touches down on the ground, he knows. His chi snaps through their paths again, like they were never blocked, and he feels alive.

It hums in his blood. His hands shake as he pulls off the too-heavy spacesuit. Bending is back. "It's back."

He stomps the ground and stretches forward, letting out a whirlwind burst of wind from his hands, which swirls down the hall, and then lets out a bright, happy laugh.

"It's back!" Powers are back and he can feel the world around him again.

How had she escaped the Cornucopia unscathed? How had she made it out with a case of supplies and not so much as a scratch on her? It seemed next to impossible that she'd survive all the mayhem, yet there she was, safely through the sealed doors that led to the creepiest, most sci-fi looking space station imaginable. She was hesitant to remove her helmet, scared that there might be some sort of weird chemical mixture to the air that would make breathing it unsafe, but she finally did so after getting her bearings and finding a place where she could back into a corner for safety.

It was only once she removed her helmet that she noticed the familiar sparkly residue left inside of it. Her black eyes went wide in astonishment, wings fluttering excitedly. "Hello? What's this?" She had her dust back. And if she had her dust back...

Excited, fluttering wings meant she was airborne in an instant. She could fly! Her powers were back, baby! Maybe she actually stood a chance in the arena after all!

Sometimes, there isn't much choice except to run and hide. Back at home, when there were just too many walkers to face down, each one part of an unending herd. Fighting them would be a useless venture that would only drain them, they'd never make a dent. When the goal is simple survival, running and hiding is a carefully cultivated skill, and it's exactly what Beth does.

She doesn't go for the Cornucopia. She avoids that bloodbath, heading straight for the airlocks after she grabs one of the cases on her way. It's so incredibly difficult to move in zero gravity that getting herself through is a tough venture, but she doesn't take time to stop and breathe once she's through.

Beth sheds her spacesuit, slinging the fabric across her back like some kind of oversized sling, but keeping her helmet in her hands because it's just about the closest thing she has to a weapon right now. At best, it's the kind of momentary distraction that allows her to get away. When it comes down to hiding, she chooses the air vents hidden away in the darkness. It's not ideal - they're cramped, and she's going to have to find food eventually.

But for now, it gives her time to breathe, just for a second.

( ooc | feel free to also encounter her later when she leaves the vent to try scavenging for supplies and such. if you'd like to plot things out in advance, here's a link! )

Edited 2014-12-06 03:08 (UTC)

Natasha has to admit, this isn't the kind of gear she's used to. The bright orange space suit definitely is just about the least stealthy thing she can think of, and it's probably going to be downright fluorescent even in the dark. She sighs as she straps on the boots she got from the Cornucopia, the ones that supposedly reduce impact. She's not putting her trust in them just yet, but they're something. The two blades she got are carefully concealed, but placed within easy reach.

And the phaser? That gets hefted with one hand, testing the weight of it. It's lighter than the firearms she's used to, but it'll do.

She moves through the spaceport with care. Find resources, find her allies. It's not much, but it's a start.

( ooc | nat will absolutely kill if she's attacked. but she also has no powers. plot with me here, if you'd like! )

Edited 2014-12-06 03:08 (UTC)

She didn't know what to expect, even as they bolted the helmet in place and set the seals. It was an odd nostalgia-- even with the outdated tech, there was that moment when your air supply switched over from ambient to pressurized, a subtle hiss, a sweetness that signified the high oxygen content. It was like coming home.

Seeing the stars like that, the unwavering spacer's stars, was another homecoming, but that and the gravity cut-out focused her. They weren't real, they couldn't be, but the vacuum would kill just as easily as the real thing. She made a decision, as she carefully regained her feet, as the countdown rang out, and for the first time since her arrival, Shepard ignored the Cornucopia.

^[1] Far off, but not too far in the beautifuly desolate landscape, she could see the right angles that interrupted rock and dust that meant airlock. Not safety, there was no such fantasy in this place, nor in true space, but safer. She bounded towards it with speed and ease of training in the low gravity and gained the airlock well ahead of some others, scooping up one of the fist-sized cubes that littered the terrain as she did. She assumed they were grenades, but was glad to see that what they held instead were keycards.

The airlock itself was more than antique-- a model like this probably had never existed outside fiction. It was blocky and inefficient for any purpose aside for perhaps holding up the large, movie-audience friendly decals, which did an adequate job at their purpose of labeling the portal as an airlock. Shepard palmed it open with no delay. There would probably be more resources than at the cornucopia, and if there wasn't salvage, an ambush was the better strategy.

That, and the sudden, almost vicious way it closed behind her as the pressurization cycle began was pretty definitive-- she left a few lonely inches of the rope that had anchored her to the pedestal outside those clamping jaws. Jane wasted no time stepping through when the cycle was finished.

^[2] You could say one good thing about Cerberus, and it was that, unlike the Alliance and the Capitol both, they at least knew how to adequately light a goddamn interior. Kasumi had once praised Omega for just the opposite, and this place was a good example of that miserly approach to warmth and light. It was a ghost town. But as Jane carefully worked off her helmet and made it secure on her back, she noticed one particular lack-- it wasn't silent. You could hear them, far off and hissing, the air pumps, the small motors and machine noises that echoed up vents and along solid metal like a tuning fork, and all of it was the breath and heartbeat of a living space station. Life support, whatever it meant in this place, was working.

Shepard supposed it might have been meant to be creepy, all those little tell-tale sounds, like rats, or ghosts, or maybe spirits, but to a spacer it was beyond merely reassuring. Dead ships are silent, not the silence of the grave, but the silence of space, so quiet and dark that your ears invent sounds and your brain makes shadowplays on the velvet black of the void. Which was another revelation on it's own. She tensed, and the corona answered, a flare of blue-white in the darkness like a beaconfire. Biotics; they weren't playing nice, this time, and she might not be alone in here, but one thing Jane Shepard wasn't, was afraid.

Which meant only death to those who attacked her.

_{[Shepard will attack anyone who is either seemingly hostile or who seems like they might have goodies, and that--
or a less violent encounter may be written on the fly or plotted out here at your pleasure!]}

Edited 2014-12-06 05:05 (UTC)

a. This is completely foreign territory.

Anna had been worried enough when they'd strapped her into that suit; this doesn't seem good, it doesn't seem like anything she'd need to wear under normal Arena-circumstances. And when they're finally sent up in the tubes, Anna almost chokes on what little oxygen she has. She can't breathe--she's so paralyzed in awe and fear that she barely hears the voice in her helmet counting down to the start.

Three, two, one.

Anna bolts forward--or tries to. With no gravity, she can only tumble vaguely toward the Cornucopia. She needs to get this--needs to get something to help her out. She can't fail--she won't.

And yet she doesn't even notice someone coming toward her, until she's being blindsided.

b. She was so close. So, so close to getting inside the Arena. But after a brief tussle over one of the cases, she'd ended up on the surface of--of wherever they are. She hurts so bad--so bad, that at first she was afraid her leg was all the way off, and it's hard in the bulky spacesuit to crane her neck around to look at it. But after some careful groping, she convinces herself that it's only a wound. A deep one, right near her groin, and bloody, but her leg's still intact.

But she can't walk. And her breathing's been labored, she's using up way too much oxygen, and soon she'll be out altogether.

And maybe this is the end for her. Maybe she's just another poor soul who won't make it past the Cornucopia.

Anna lets her eyes flutter shut. Maybe if she's lucky she'll bleed out before her oxygen cuts out.

Edited 2014-12-06 05:43 (UTC)

This being her first arena does little to steady Milla's nerves. The countdown booming into her ears just makes her stomach twist as her gaze drifts across the circle of tributes.

When the countdown finishes, Milla pushes off and away, ignoring the Cornucopia entirely to head to an airlock. Even if the supplies laid out are tempting- she isn't going to throw herself that willingly into the bloodbath. The weightlessness just reminds her of levitation as she floats and jumps along. If not for the lessening of her oxygen- she would laugh at the strangeness of it all as she fumbles to find a way into the door. She grabs a key, managing to get the oddly blocky door open and force her way inside. The burst of oxygen when she takes off her helmet is more than a relief as she deeply inhales and slides out of the bulky suit.

Milla does laugh though when she feels the rush of her telepathy sliding back into place, stray snippets of thoughts and feelings radiating through the air before she closed off her mental channel. Even the silliness of her jumpsuit can't dampen the excitement she feels when she realizes her abilities have returned.

The mental minx gladly lifts herself off her feet with levitation, floating along quietly as she moves further into the space port. It's not unlikely she'll run into anyone else in her poking around.

[For any ooc plotting click on over here for Milla's plotting thread!]

Comfortable isn't the word Bucky would use but adaptable the Winter Soldier has always been, HYDRA's asset made to operate quickly and effectively in any circumstance.

The visage of space opening above him had been daunting as the countdown crackled in his ear but the moment the gong sounds he pushes it out of his mind. The goal is simple, secure supplies and enter the buildings, presumably where there would be air to breath and hopefully gravity.

A cube is secured first as it is along the way to the crates of goods, then Bucky pushes himself forward, struggling with how clumsy he feels this environment. As his hand reaches out to the crate he spots movement in his periphery, turning his head inside his helmet to register another Tribute moving for the crate he has designated as his own. That won't do.

He can't see who the person is inside, attacking is a gamble that he does not know them but he can at least make an estimate that the person is shorter than most of his primary allies. They probably don't expect that Bucky will lash out with his right hand as quickly as he is able to snag their spacesuit and draw them towards him.

The left hand, the cybernetic one, pulls back with fist balled for a punch aimed at the trespassers chest.

The only thing that Davesprite can think about just before the airlock shuts is how cramped his wings are in this goddamn spacesuit, and that if he absolutely has to keep this motherfucker on he's just going to ask someone to kill him now. Or maybe stand in an airlock and let it slice him in half like chump cheese.

Okay, that's definitely an over-exaggeration. But the fact remains.

Except when the airlock shuts behind him, there isn't any time to think about it.

No, no, that's not right. There's plenty of Time. And he's instantly made aware of it, not unlike the way a person is instantly aware of someone saying their name in a crowded room, or instantly aware of someone speaking their native language in a foreign country. Time and Timelines, crissing and crossing and criss-crossing enough to make his head spin as he suddenly orients himself on an very sharp axis that he hadn't necessarily tapped into in three years, and hadn't had even remote access to for approximately two months and two days --

It makes him feel queasy, though it is less about what it is and more about what it means, and if it weren't for the fact that it's been hours since he last ate he would probably have blown chunks in his spacesuit. But, even then, there's still no time, because just as soon as he's hit with a temporal surge he's hit with something else.

To anyone else, it just looks like a tribute in a lavender suit swaying on their feet before their legs collapse (leaving them in an incredibly vulnerable position to the opportunist tribute) but to Davesprite it's far more than that. His vision is swimming with white-hot light, and his mind is flooded with a burst of knowledge and code that makes his mind feel a little like it's being filleted open and that would have definitely made him puke if his body wasn't suddenly glitching itself out the possibility. And glitching out is certainly what it's doing: his legs glitch and shimmer on the visible spectrum just before there's a sudden flash -- a nod to the neuralyzer in Men In Black, perhaps? -- and suddenly the lavender space suit is falling into a heap on the floor, and an orange-gold ghost-kid with orange wings goes surging into the air toward the ceiling.

"Jesus fuck," it comes out in a bit of a (restrained) panic as he hovers in the air and stares at the heap of space suit covered in orange ectoplasm below.

Hopefully no one trips over it.

[[Plotting here, but open for everyone!]]

Edited 2014-12-06 16:51 (UTC)

Space. When Jet was younger, he'd found space fascinating. He'd never wanted to go but looking up at the stars had held his imagination for hours at a time the nights he found himself unable to sleep. Of course, ironically enough, he'd gotten a chance to go to space anyway when Joe had gotten stuck up there defeating Black Ghost. Jet had flown all the way up there to save his best friend only to send them both crashing through the atmosphere and taking him a breath away from death. The second time he'd gone to space had been nearly the same: Jet had gone up to save Joe and take his place on his suicide mission only to help Joe to his goal, breaking nearly all of Jet's systems and ending with him breaking up and dying in the atmosphere while Joe's voice rang in his head.

Now here they were again and Jet couldn't help having the thought 'at least I've done this one before.' Dying in space was nothing new.

With everyone around him just looking like skittle-spacemen, Jet didn't bother trying to pick anyone out as the countdown ended. He made his way as best he could down into the crater and towards the cornucopia, his eye on one of the boxes as he went. His attention divided, he didn't see anyone else around him, anyone who might have already gotten their hands on t=something if they were a bit faster.

A sharp, searing pain cut through his gut and Jet's thoughts, leaving him to work on instinct as he reached out to yank at the guy's oxygen tube and dislodge it. The jerk made the pain flair up and Jet went to his knees, cushioned by the limited gravity. There was something wrong, something sticking from his stomach, he could feel it, but a voice in his head spoke through the pain, urging him to leave it or he'd end up dying by watching his blood fly all around.

There was one thought that made it through in comical clarity compared to the rest of his haze-filled head: 'that sure didn't take long.'

Edited 2014-12-06 17:30 (UTC)

Nitou has always been one to live by the idea that in danger, there was opportunity. The Cornucopia had been the biggest danger of the Arena, and therefore the biggest opportunity. His gamble has paid off. He made it into the Cornucopia and out again with a nice crate of supplies, and once he gets inside the space station, he wastes no time in shucking that bulky space suit, going through the crate, and making stuff as easy to carry as possible. Nitou wants to travel light; less weight means he'll be moving faster. He takes the time to don the fancy impact reduction boots that were inside the case, for everything else fit nicely in the plastic bag of...he wasn't sure what it was, but it was shaped like fish.

And with that, he's off. He's got a plan--find Haruto, then...okay, so his plan really begins and ends with finding Haruto. But it's still a plan. It's not until he hears a familiar voice that he stops dead in his tracks, for the familiar voice is coming from inside of him.

"KOUSUKE NITOU. I'M HUNGRY." Not that anyone else would be able to hear the voice of Chimera. The voice of the creature who lived inside of him and allowed him to use its power in exchange for being fed magical energy. If no magical energy was provided, then Chimera would eat him. And Chimera hasn't eaten in a long, long time. Nitou had thought he was gone here in Panem, but he's just realized that no, that wasn't the case. Chimera had only been sleeping. And now? Now, he needs to find the monster some kind of food.

"Chimera?!?" And Nitou takes that moment to stop and grab his stomach, looking down at himself in horror. "You're in there?!" So, yes, there's a man standing around in the halls of the space station wearing a purple jumpsuit and yelling at his stomach. It's all perfectly normal.

It's been a weird month or so when it comes to Anna, in the sense that they haven't really spoken and he isn't even sure what the fuck happened. All he knows is every time he thinks about what happened, he still feels really damn annoyed. Like, holy shit he knew she'd had a boyfriend and she'd gotten all kinds of damn defensive over it. It's still his theory that she'd gotten scared of how close she'd come to doing something she would regret and he has a feeling she hadn't been as into Kristoff as she'd liked to think she was.

All things considered, he hadn't had it in him to approach her after the guy had gone and gotten killed off permanently by the Capitol. Something about it felt wrong, even aside from his annoyance from the situation. Everything is real damn complicated and while a part of him wishes it could all go back to normal and they could hang out like they'd done before, it's apparently not that easy. She hadn't sought him out either, so obviously she doesn't want to face whatever might happen in Kristoff's absence. He isn't the only one who's made it complicated, either. His own affections for Jolie make him real damn confused and he doesn't know where the two of them stand. So many things have added up to make it seem impossible for the two of them to go back to talking.

Bro hadn't intended on sticking around for the Cornucopia bloodbath either, preferring like most times to make do with makeshift weapons. It's too much of a risk to get involved, too many factors to consider. He'd been well on his way to making it inside when he sees Anna trying to get inside, too. Except it's clear that she isn't going to make it inside and that she's badly injured.

Fuck.

There's no way he can just leave her. It's deja vu all over again, remembering the time he'd carried her to safety on the sinking ship. He'd barely known her then and he'd risked it all, but now with some friendship under their belt he can't imagine the thought of leaving her. Especially not when the image of her hanging in the mall flashes before him, and he realizes this time he can actually fucking make a difference. So he's moving before he even realizes it.

"Not today," he grunts, knowing Anna is bracing herself for death as he approaches. It's just one of those things that people radiate when they think they're dying. He gets her into his arms, holding her something akin to bridal style and it doesn't take him long to realize she's bleeding from her leg with what looks like a hellacious gash. "Somebody's shit's gonna get wrecked here soon." Y'know, after he gets her to safety.

Which he does. It's all a bit of a blur as he makes his way into the space, and when he does there comes a sudden realization that his senses are a little more heightened and that he can move faster. So a few seconds in, he's flash stepping for the first time in what feels like goddamn years. The place seems a bit like a maze, but with his random bursts of speed, he makes it quickly somewhere that he can set her down against a wall.

"Now, you wanna tell me what the fuck happened to ya?" he asks, sounding unimpressed. It's only because he's worried and that he's annoyed that this, of all times, is when they're in a position to actually speak.

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Page 1 of 28

Arena 12 - The Spaceport

Cornucopia

Sandy Marko : DOA. Closed to Eponine

Ruffnut Thorston: Space Viking OTA

MCU!Bucky Barnes - OTA

Clementine - OTA

Karkat Vantas | OTA

Initiate Open + Body horror warn?

Sigma Klim - OTA

Bucky Barnes (616) -- open to all

[closed for Molotov]

Psii || OPEN

no subject

Gary Epps - closed to MCU!Bucky

Aang | OPEN

Megan Gwynn | OTA

beth greene | open

natasha romanoff | open

Shepard | Open | Choose-Your-Adventure

Anna: closed to Tom and then Bro

Milla Vodello - OTA

no subject

Davesprite - open

Jet: Closed to Albert, co-starring Venus later on

Kousuke Nitou | OTA

no subject