In the Race Against Time, I'll Come Out a Winner [Open]

[pimpcanes]

WHO| Black Tom Cassidy, Molotov Cocktease and you!
WHAT| Joint log for the power couple, come one, come all.
WHEN| First week.
WHERE| A science lab for the joint prompt, anywhere else for the second.
WARNINGS/NOTES| Death and violence in the subthreads. Please let us know in the header if you want Tom or Molotov in specific!

Tom isn't particularly good at hiding his frustration with their current predicament. He'd entertained the fantasy of dominating this Arena, taking a rightful revenge over the people who chose to punish him both inside and out of the ring for playing the game the way the Capitol had so requested. He's in a sour mood for the most part, loath to leave Molotov and yet made irascible by her impediment, no matter how understandable it is (she does have a burn the size of a bread-load across her abdomen).

The twice-an-hour slamming certainly isn't helping matters. Even finding ways to strap themselves in hasn't prevented them from getting roughed up, and Tom has only just managed to keep from complaining. Molotov's worse off than he is, after all. He can only bemoan his bruised face and twisted ankle so much.

They trade off shifts sleeping with limited success. Molotov's injury doesn't seem to be getting infected, which is fortunate, and the Arena is sprawling enough that they've found a science lab to hole up in that hasn't seen much traffic lately. Tom's certain that the relative peace won't last, but he has a theory that the first nasty things the Gamemakers will send at them will be through the ominous abandoned zones in the lower floors.

The one thing he can take great delight in is knowing that he and he alone has the pleasure of resting next to Molotov, even if it is in this terrible environment. For all the troubles of adjusting to a partnership where they're both calling shots, rather than him being the de facto brains of the operation, he appreciates the company. It's worth the irritation of having to consult another person who can't be easily swayed.

The science lab, thankfully, has a window of one-way glass, and he and Molotov spend their time behind that, watching as people come through. He's sure that once upon a time, scientists were supposed to stand behind this, watching their test subjects. They have no friends, but some of the people they'd rather not pick a fight with they let pass unharmed.

As for the others, Tom's quite fond of wandering out from behind the pane of glass with a bit of a swagger to his limp to add some drama to the impending conflict.

-/-

Tom's not afraid when he scouts out the empty corridors, but he is wary. The limitations of his powers have become painfully obvious in this Arena, and with his reputation very well ruined by the events of the last one, he can't afford many chance encounters. He has faith that he and Molotov can win, one or the other, but not that their luck will make it happen.

There's a fine line between arrogance and overconfidence.

He has Molotov's switchblade tucked against his wrist, ready to emerge at a moment's notice. This time, he doesn't bother with pleasantries with anyone who's seen footage of him in the last Arena; he either avoids them entirely or he engages them with militaristic efficiency. He pauses at corners and listens at each one to make sure he doesn't just stumble across someone, and he keeps to shadows when he can, never entering a room with too many places for someone to catch him unawares.

Comments

THOR, BUCKY AND CARLOS

[pimpcanes]

[tookthewheel]

There is a list of people that the Winter Soldier has deemed priority threats to the survival and success of himself and his allies. Black Tom Cassidy is near the top of it.

When Bucky leaves the relative safety of the labs for the more dangerous portions of the arena he is constantly on the lookout for signs of any of those targets, willing to risk himself to ensure they are eliminated from the competition as early as possible. This is why once he gets on Tom's trail he won't be shaken loose, not by the man himself. As far as Bucky is concerned this hunt ends up with only one of them walking away.

The Winter Soldier's reputation was well earned, particularly with his full ability at his disposal. He stalks behind Tom silently at first, allowing himself the time to observe the man he intends to kill and assess the situation before he moves in for the kill.

They come to a darkly lit corridor, Bucky slinking around the corner when he thinks that Tom isn't paying attention to what's behind him and uses the darkness to cover his initial charge forwards -- but at a full run even the Winter Soldier is not silent. He hurtles forwards, switchblade in hand and metal arm primed to take his target down.

[pimpcanes]

That Tom is more paranoid than he looks is the only reason the metal arm doesn't get him by the head and crush his skull like a bird's inside its steel fingers. He hears Bucky run for him and he's already alert enough that he throws himself to the side, one hand grabbing the wooden necklace he brought in as a Token. When it touches his skin, he lights it up and tosses a fireball at Bucky's face.

It's not an escape plan. It's a barely-sophisticated flail of a fish caught in a net. He would call for help, but who would come? Cain, universes away? Molotov, with her stomach in burned shreds? His comrades in the Arena, all killers who like to position themselves above him and wouldn't spare him spit if he were burning.

He can't outrun Bucky, and he doubts he can outfight him, so his only option is to try and get the drop on HYDRA's pet. He slashes with his own blade at Bucky's stomach.

[tookthewheel]

His punch misses and the assassin is already calculating his next move, anticipating a counterstrike in the wake of his attact that he rolls quickly to the side to avoid. The flash of flame is a surprise. How Tom did that he doesn't know, it's an unforeseen complication but one he quickly evaluates can be dealt with.

When his feet make contact with the floor out of the roll he's launching himself back up onto his feet and at his opponent, not wanting to give him time to recover from the initial surprise of Bucky's attack.

The metal hand deflects Tom's blade as he swipes in with his own in his right hand, aiming for the other mans throat.

[pimpcanes]

Tom isn't fast enough to avoid the hand to his throat, and before he's even realized what's happened the back of his head is smacking against a wall hard enough that his vision blacks out and hot blood drips through his hair.

The blade slips from his hand and clatters against the floor. He sees again, but the edges of the world push in as he chokes and thrashes in futility against an arm too strong for a mere man.

JET, ALBERT AND FELICITY

[pimpcanes]

i shall begin i guess c:

[iphigeneia]

Felicity rather liked the space station. It was unlike anything she'd ever seen in her life, beyond her wildest imagination, with stars so close and so big and the unyielding darkness that seemed to consume everything. It made her heart beat wildly just staring at it all. She might've stared out the windows for the entirety of the arena if not for the pressing danger, and for the need to protect Albert and Jet. They didn't exactly need her, of course, but she felt better telling herself that they did, and that she was an essential part of their survival strategy.

Still, it was hard to not be taken by the breathtaking scenery every time they passed one of the windows. "Do you think this is real?" She asked the two men, not daring to wander too far from them... just in case they needed her to guard them. "Are we really in space? Oh, I could scream! It's simply marvelous, isn't it?"

[metalicarus]

With his terrible luck with space and the number of times he'd seen it way too close, he very nearly brushed off her wonderment. But the more he watched her and how her eyes lit up, the less cynical he could be about it. Let her have her wonder, it wasn't like there was space travel where she came from, this was probably as close as she was ever going to get. Besides, he could still remember the first night he had freedom to fly as the sunset and could watch the day turn to night. He'd flown out over the ocean and everything had been so quiet and peaceful with the stars filling every centimeter of the black night sky, it had been one of the most beautiful things he'd ever experienced.

He took a quick glance to make sure nothing seemed immediately dangerous before joining her at the window. "It's real enough." It was probably fake somehow, but it acted and looked like the real thing so what was the difference? "But, yeah, it's pretty awesome. Every glint of light out there is filled with endless possibilities, things we can only imagine. Kinda overwhelming when you think on it too much, but it's nice to look at."

[silberfuchs]

"It's probably fake. A projection in an artificial vacuum." Like the rest of the Capitol, he thinks to himself dully as he swivels his head this way and that, sweeping for danger as they move. While the other two might be taken in by the beauty of the stars outside, simulated or no, Albert's unmoved. In fact, he has a sort of hate relationship with space in general considering how many times it's played a part in attempting to rip his friends and family away from him. It makes him so dour he even misses the bit of poetry in Jet's speech, something he would normally appreciate.

"This room is too open, we should keep moving," says the downer.

[iphigeneia]

Artificial vacuum or no, Fee was thoroughly charmed by their surroundings, and she took hold of Jet's hand in a show of gratitude for his approval before heeding Albert's warning and stepping away from the windows. Yes, yes, they ought to move on. There was danger everywhere in the Arena, between the Tributes and the mutts and the station itself, but if she couldn't enjoy the splendor every so often, she was certain she'd burst.

"Oh." She sighed, smiling dreamily. "I wonder how far out it goes. It could go on for forever and we'd be none the wiser. Isn't that a terrific thought? It makes me shiver to think of it."

MOLOTOV AND EPONINE

[pimpcanes]

Re: MOLOTOV AND EPONINE

[gardienne]

Eponine's hungry. She's not eaten since the start of the arena when Gary gave her cake. Of course, she knows hunger well, but she is also aware that if she doesn't eat, she won't be able to fight back and she is so determined to win this fight and get out of the arena for good. She begins to explore the arena.

After a while, she comes across the science labs. She doesn't really recognise them for what they are, but she does hope for food or water in a cupboard. She creeps in as silently as she can, the first aid kit and gels tied about her waist with rope knocking against her thighs as she walks, looking around cautiously. And of course, it is Black Tom whom she spots, and her worried expression breaks into a happy smile.

"Sir! Oh, Mr. Tom! Do you have any food I might have? I will pay you back, truly, but I am so dizzy, I mayn't go another step without seeing people throwing knives at me, or the like. Please! I promise I will replace it."

Had she seen Molotov, Eponine would be running back out the door or using a teleport gel to get away. As it is, she moves closer to Tom.

[molotov]

Surviving on a stash of potatoes, only luckily stumbled over during their search for a safe place to hide, isn't fantastic, but Tom's ability to immediately cook them has placated Molotov enough to not complain about the lack of toppings for baked potatoes. Mostly. There was one time that she wished aloud for some butter, but she's mostly kept her mouth shut.

Anyway, there are worse foods for an Irishman and a Russian to be eating at every meal.

When Eponine comes in, whining and begging as usual, Molotov slinks down to the floor behind the one-way glass, holding tight to her switchblade and waiting for Tom to sufficiently distract the little brat. She might have promised that last Arena's gruesome murder was because of the thievery, but this one would be for the game.

[pimpcanes]

"Cassidy, lass. Tom's my first name." He smiles back at her, but it isn't warm or happy or relieved. It's a crocodile's expression, full of teeth and an inescapable sense of motion, as if his mouth will snap at any second, faster than the eye can see.

He leans against one of the counters, one that used to be stacked high with beakers and test tubes and now is nothing but a nice, clean surface to look at people over. He looks at his fingernails. He watches Molotov from the corner of his eye. He's a cat toying with a mouse.

"It's not that I'm totally heartless, mind you, but how do you plan on replacing our food when you clearly can't find any of your own to start with?"

[gardienne]

"Mr Cassidy then." She falters, trying to read his expression. "You... you remember me, don't you? Eponine. From the garden, yes? You showed me how to dig the weeds away."

She steps back a little, watching Tom warily. Her confidence is already fading: an unsettling feeling is stirring in her stomach. It's that same sort of feeling she used to get in the pit of her belly when she lied to her father or Montparnasse about how much money she'd got, so she could keep some for herself. It was definitely a feeling of trouble brewing.

"I..." She has no answer for Tom. How can she get food?
"I can steal it for you. I am a good thief, Sir, clever with my fingers. I swear. Only, I wanted to be good. Wanted to ask so I could win. When I win, next time, I will keep you fed all arena. I swear. Please, Mr. Cassidy?" She's still edging backwards, closer and closer to the door. This is definitely a mistake: she needs to live, and to live, she needs to remain unhurt at all. And right now, she's not sure at all whether Tom is friend or foe.

GRANTAIRE

[pimpcanes]

[permets_tu]

Out in the corridors again, this time in the search for food. By some stroke of luck - prolonging the painful inevitable death was not luck, he reminded himself - he and his fellows are all still alive, dealing with the surprises the Arena had thrown them with all the grace of young men woefully unprepared. They were slowly starving to death, the entire space port was working improperly in order to torment them, and he was very close to losing his mind. It made his complaints loud and endless, which had probably struck none of them as particularly surprising, and he was sure it had grated on their nerves. Feeling miserable and sorry for himself he hadn't been particularly sympathetic.

An inability to sleep had sent him away from his companions, anxiety driving him to seek some solitude, and he could make some use of the escape by searching for something to eat. It wouldn't truly sate what it was that he thirsted for but then, nothing in the worthless place would.

A wave of dizziness suddenly overwhelmed him and he slumped heavily against the wall for a moment, breath coming shallow as he swallowed back the reflex to be sick. Sweat prickled at his brow and this was worse than death, this was torture, let him die already and be finished with it.

[pimpcanes]

"You look like hell."

Tom, by contrast, appears irritable but in his element; the foppishness of his attitude in the Capitol has fallen away, like skin peeling back to reveal nothing but taut muscle. He likes indulgences, but he's accustomed to suffering. He's soldiered through jungles and lived on the lam and pulled himself out of icy oceans like some ersatz Venus. He's not afraid, but wary. He holds himself with shoulders rolled back, and when contrasted with Grantaire seems a spectacle on how youth isn't the determinative factor in survival.

His switchblade is folded in his hand, resting in his palm and out of sight, but he makes no effort to hide that he's carrying something.

"I can't imagine you hold yourself in any higher esteem now than you did the last time we met."

[permets_tu]

"Oh, say it once more, I do not think I feel it well enough, I must be reminded."

Lack of sleep, lack of food, lack of drink to do him the good service of settling his nerves, there were countless reasons that excused his poor state. Looking upon Tom with narrowed eyes he observed with grim irritation that the other man had somehow escaped the suffering that had brought him to his low state.

He also hesitated in drawing closer. While their conversation in the Capitol had been entertaining enough Grantaire hardly counted Tom among his friends, and regarded him with all the trust he would grant a dicing partner.

"Icarus still, presently falling," he admitted. "And you, in exceptionally good form. Are you playing this game to win?"

[pimpcanes]

"I am. Which means I'm playing for your loss, I hope you know."

He leans against a wall, angling his head like a dingo might when presented with questionable prey. He folds his arms. He has a certain fondness for Grantaire, but that doesn't make him sentimental. Tom's warmer feelings are reserved for a much tighter circle than one that includes a one-night drinking partner.

Tom flicks his wrist and the blade of the knife emerges, and he imagines it hungry for Grantaire's sallow skin. Murder is hardly his favorite part of the "business" of terrorism, but one doesn't last long in the field if they find it too distasteful.

In a way, knowing a little bit about someone makes killing them a bit more satisfying. It's a reminder that you're snuffing out a person, not just a body. It makes the guessing game more entertaining, the difference between poker and seven-card stud, to know a little about your foe. Will Grantaire run, plead, fight? Is he as hungry for the knife as it is for him?

"Granted, with the way you look now I might even be doing you a favor."

TOM AND MOLOTOV

[molotov]

[molotov]

Molotov is, to her credit, honestly trying not to be terrible company. But she's still in so much pain that she loses her temper every so often, snapping and swearing and turning away from Tom only to mumble a half-hearted apology twenty minutes later so that they can keep the peace.

At the moment, she's halfway dozing on his shoulder, the dull, continuous ache from her wound keeping her from truly getting any rest. She rubs at his knee with her thumb, feeling the stupid thin spacesuits that they haven't been able to change out of since getting here. It's nice, though, that they aren't alone, that they have each other to suffer through this together.

"You can sleep if you want," she tells him with a small yawn. "I can't fall asleep. My stomach is hurting."

[pimpcanes]

"That's exactly why sleep is important to you right now, lass." In mirror to her thumb over his knee, he strokes her hair with an idle finger. He's concerned about her, worried as much as irritated over her wound's reluctance to heal. It hasn't seemed infected, and she hasn't run a fever, but he isn't a doctor. His ability to patch up a wound is really only what one might need to give themselves stitches when the hospital isn't an option.

He sighs and leans back against the wall he's sitting against. "You'll promise to wake me if I snore on camera, won't you?"

[molotov]

Molotov doesn't dare voice her fear over this wound, her resignation that she might have to die simply to have the wound healed. Winning would guarantee scarring at the very least, and who knew what she had even been hit with? Honestly, Molotov wasn't sure that she wanted to risk it when she could simply have a reset.

She wraps her arms around his waist, winces at the movement's impact on her middle. "I promise. If you drool, too."

[pimpcanes]

He affects a miffed voice. "I never drool. You know that."

Let the Capitol speculate on their romance. He's endlessly bitter that this Arena is one without Sponsor gifts, when he's so certain that there are fans on the other side salivating over their relationship, projecting themselves into shoes they could never hope to fill. Tom has no interest in the groupies that clamor for his attention in the city, that imagine that if they had Molotov's body or face that they could steal his heart. He knows his affection for her runs deeper.

And it terrifies him, and it's why sleep won't be coming now. He's worried not about his foes but about his ally, the woman next to him poisoning his better judgment with her wiles.

"Have you ever been in space before?"