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

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

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.

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The sounds of a scuffle reach Thor's ears quickly, so his immediate reaction is to herd Carlos away from danger. It's only when he realises that he knows the voices he hears in the distance that he begins to pull the scientist toward the chaos. He leaves his fully healed scientist to the side, because it only takes a sparing glance for him to realise that he doesn't much like where this is going.

"Stop!" He barks, his voice dark and commanding. This isn't playful Thor, this is a Thor with a chip on his shoulder and a hunger for payback. No amount of progress could ever lead him away from his pride entirely, so he can't bring himself to allow Bucky to steal the satisfaction from him.

If Bucky doesn't pull away, Thor is going to reach for Tom's arm and try to wrench him away.

His fingers close around Tom's throat, closing tight, then lifting the target up from the ground with all his unnatural strength and into the wall. There's a blaze of anticipation that roars into the Soldier's veins when the blade drops from the target's hand with the kill only seconds away, promising to be followed by the satisfaction of Mission Complete.

Bucky draws back his metal arm, the fingers curled tight into a fist for a punch that, if unleashed, will prove devastating for Black Tom. His arm is strong enough to break concrete, let alone a human skull. Before he can do so a voice calls out to him with enough command coupled with familiarity to make the Winter Soldier hesitate.

He doesn't drop Tom, or let the blow fly, he means to stay perfectly still and keep the target immobilised as he turns predatory and questioning eyes to the God. The intervention might have gone well -- had Thor not tried to pull Tom away from him a moment later rather than explain himself first.

The Winter Soldier has a target and he doesn't stop until that target is dead, no matter what obstacles are in his way. Thor reaches and the Asset reacts, poorly, by throwing Tom forcefully to the ground behind him and turning to face the God head on. "This is my mission."

Tom's face is red and vessels in his eyes broken when he hits the ground. He knows, dimly, that it's only by virtue of Bucky throwing him down that Thor didn't grab his arm and outright rip it from its socket. Veins bulge in his forehead and only start to recede moments later, as he chokes and gasps on the ground with a hand to his bruised throat.

Rabbits, when trapped between two coyotes, will freeze. Rats will run. Tom's a rat, through and through, and he wastes infinitesimally little time assessing the situation. He gets to his elbows and knees, unable to keep silent with the hacking sounds in his mouth but otherwise allowing the claim for ownership to play itself out above his head.

He starts to edge back, knee after knee.

"Thor. Thor!"

Carlos looks from one to the other to the other. He knows all three of them: his feelings about seeing Tom bleeding on the ground are complicated and difficult to classify. Discomfort is too broad; disgust is closer. Truthfully, Carlos isn't sure how he wants this to end for Black Tom.

But he is going to tug at the sleeve of Thor's spacesuit.

"Don't get into a fight over this. We have enough to worry about already."

There's a little voice in his head, one that probably sounds like a lot like Carlos, trying to tell Thor that this is probably not a good idea. He knows Bucky can be ruthless, he knows what Steve is capable of and he knows that physically the other man is comparable to him.

Naturally, that makes it more exciting. It makes it much harder to step back and allow him to handle this when Thor, in his mind, has had claim of it since Tom washed his legs with hot oil.

"And you have done well." Thor retorts, posturing himself so that he's both looming to the full effect of his height and hunching so he can get in the other man's face. "Your mission ends here, Barnes. You know well why I lay claim on this." He has a consistent kind of volume to his voice that makes it resonate, he's not holding back on intimidation here.

Well. Not until he feels a tug at his spacesuit, anyway. He whirls around, as if expecting it to be Tom and not Carlos. His expression is momentarily apologetic, but he shakes his head. "There is no trouble here, Carlos." He assures, but that prompts him to cast a glance toward Tom on the ground. "Nowhere but here!" He declares, turning away from the scientist so he can approach the figure on the ground with purposeful stomps, aiming a kick toward his ribs.

The inches of difference in height between them do not make Bucky blink, the only thing that causes him hesitation is the knowledge that Thor is not supposed to be someone he fights but, at the same time, he is attempting to get in the way of the mission being completed. Thor is not his handler, he does not need to be obeyed, so he should not get in the way. The mission has to be completed.

He's half a second too slow to stop Tom getting kicked in the ribs, and that might be a little on purpose as he has no concern with seeing the man hurt, even if the Asset preferred a quick kill unless ordered otherwise (but he's not being ordered is he, he's doing this of his free will, spurred by vengeful and protective feelings of his own). That's all he allows though, as the moment after Thor's foot swings Bucky's metal hand grabs for the back of his shirt to throw him back against the wall.

"I said he's my mission." his voice takes on a low edge as he wheels to face Thor again, the plates on his metal arm shifting and resettling as he flexes it.

It would only take a second to finish Tom off if Thor would just let him do it.

Tom takes the blow to his ribs with a cry that's at least partially playing possum. He's suffered worse injuries, but he's far from dying here, but a little theater might do well to keep them from making it worse. It's a gamble; some people are stoked on by their opponent's squeals of pain.

He curls into himself a bit, a hand covering the place where Thor's toes slammed into his ribs. He watches what's going on above his head from under his loose bangs.

The cry does give Thor a moment of conflicting thoughts, it's hard for him to justify the warpath he's on but his pride is calling the shots here. Unfortunately, that brief moment of indecision gives Bucky the chance to grab onto Thor and pull him backward.

Thor lets out an unflattering grunt of surprise as he lurches, but he's quick to grab at the mechanical arm. "I care not for your missions!" If can take a hold of it, he'll grab onto it so tightly that the powerful metals threaten to bend under his grip. That's when he'll throw the first punch, right at Bucky's face. He does like the fellow, but he doesn't much care for his attitude.

"Oh, come on," groans Carlos, dragging a hand over his face. "I can't believe this. We're in the middle of an Arena, and you two decide now is a good time to get into a fight!"

Because now, in the middle of a gladiatorial hundred-person battle royale death match, was clearly not the time.

Thor's pride might be calling his shots but it's Bucky's programming that's controlling his. If Thor had approached him differently maybe this could all have ended better but the Soldier is in the forefront of his mind, the importance of the Mission the end all of his existence.

His arm is seized and he makes note of Thor's speed and strength as he ducks under the punch and makes to slam his own fist, the human one, up into the taller mans stomach. At the same time his foot kicks out at Thor's knee while he attempts to pull the metal arm free, the mechanics inside whirring at the strain.

It's not just pride dooming Thor here, it's impatience. He'd reacted too quickly, too eager to swoop in and take this from Bucky without considering the risk of meddling like so.

Though Bucky is powerful, the punch isn't quite enough to wind Thor properly. The kick, however, is enough to sway him. He stumbles, but he uses his weight to try jerk Bucky down with him by pulling him around with the arm he has a hold of. It isn't enough force to rip it off if Bucky moves with the motion of it.

Carlos, you are terribly important to him, but he needs to take the kids to school.

Tom takes this as his opportunity, and while he doesn't run, he does, for lack of a better word, skedaddle. He even manages to keep the switchblade. He hobbles and stumbles and scampers off like a rodent skittering behind a refrigerator.

When he eventually escapes, he can't help but laugh - quietly, so as not to draw attention, but deeply, in a way that rumbles in his throat and stomach. He only finds it in him to stop when the chuckling sends shots of pain across his bruised ribs and throat.

He disappears into shadows, where he belongs.

"And now he's gotten away," Carlos complains, pointing in the direction Tom went. He sighs: he sighs at Thor, and at Bucky, and at the irrational urge to fight when there are more important things to do, and how nobody around here but him pays attention. "Can you two stop fighting now? There's nothing left to fight over."

He can feel the strain of it. The pulls where the metal melds into flesh and deeper still, where the supportive housing for the arm bolts onto his ribcage A sharp bolt of panic flashes through the Soldier, prompting an immediate change of tactics.

Instead of pulling backwards to rip himself free Bucky instead hurls himself forwards into Thor, using his legs to brace against the ground and apply greater force. If Thor is surprised by the move it might be enough to break out of the hold so he can roll forwards and free. Then he can bring the metal arm into combat.

The Soldier's focus has narrowed down to the fight, though he can hear Carlos talking he doesn't pay him much heed, not so long as Thor remains a threat.

Unlike Bucky, there's a small part of Thor that still heeds Carlos when he speaks. His gaze shifts to him briefly, enough so that Bucky's hurling roll breaks his hold as planned. His moment of hesitation is over, though. He snaps back into action without much acknowledgement toward Carlos.

The truth is, he feels like an incredible fool right now. His fight isn't with Bucky, it's with Tom. He needs to get him out of the way so he can continue his pursuit. He's fast on his feet, lurching forward to grab at the fabric of Bucky's costume near his stomach and shoulder.

If he can, he'll lift him off the floor over his head abruptly. He lets out little more than a strained grunt before he hurls the Soldier toward the vacant space that Tom once preoccupied.

Carlos's golden retriever is completely out of control, off the leash and mauling the raccoon. He buries his face in one hand and sighs. At this point, Carlos isn't sure if he should step in further or just wait until Thor is done.

He'll wait another couple of seconds and only speak up again if it looks like they're about to do each other serious harm.

Once free of Thor's grip the Soldier starts to back up, wanting to give himself a little more space and time to assess the situation but his opponent isn't about to let him. He finds himself seized and lifted, in the moment of which he attempts to lash out downwards with his left arm at Thor, trying to strike anywhere he can reach with the power of the cybernetic behind the blow.

Then Thor throws him.

Bucky does his best on landing to relax and go with the momentum of his fall, rolling across the ground but wincing when his arm catches on the metal floor with a resounding clang that he hopes won't be a dinner bell to anything nearby. He pulls his legs up and brings them forward with enough force to flip his body up off the ground and back onto his feet.

Then he charges forwards, bringing up both hands to launch a quick succession of blows at Thor's face, neck and chest if he's able.

The clang of Bucky's arm against the floor is immensely satisfying, but it's also somewhat of a wake up call. He considers what he's doing, considers the fact that Tom is gone and considers the fact that Bucky is now charging at him again.

His reflexes are fast, so he's quick to use his arms as shields against the tide of hits aimed at him. He manages to land a hit once or twice and eventually Thor loses patience and gives him a rough shove backward to get him out of range.

"He is gone!" He exclaims finally, gesturing at the place his Tom would be if he had one. He looks about wildly from Bucky, to the space and to Carlos and takes another step back so he can freely let out a growl of frustration.

Bucky backpedals, working to keep his balance and not go tumbling at the shove. At this point he's breathing more heavily, staring back at Thor through a curtain of dark tangled hair before the words that are being spoken trickle through the battle haze and he realises that Thor isn't fighting anymore.

Flicking his eyes to the place where Tom, where his target, should be makes him feel another bolt of irritation. He failed and that feeling cuts deep, worse than anything thanks to careful cultivation and conditioning by his HYDRA handlers.

"Which way?" the question is growled in Carlos' direction, who was watching the whole thing. He has to correct this.

Carlos's frustration had turned to genuine fear for a moment there -- for a second, he had been unsure of whether he could break them apart. But thank Goddard they're both seeing reason. He rubs his forehead with one hand.

"That way," he says, pointing down the hall with the other. "Thor, don't even think about going after him. Tom Cassidy is not the most important thing here."

It's an innocuous enough statement, but it's meant to remind Thor that this is an opportunity they can't afford to throw away on grudgewank.

Thor tenses, shifting on his feet as if prepared to race Bucky when Carlos points him in the right direction. He lets out a loud breath, almost exactly like a petulant huff, when Carlos chides him. It's partly because he wants to fight him on it and partly because it's true and he knows it.

He squares his shoulders defiantly, not letting them slump whatsoever so he doesn't look half as petulant as he feels. He steps toward Carlos, but he moves past him and keeps walking. He says nothing to either of them, he just assumes Carlos is going to follow him.

Bucky says nothing either. He only nods once at Carlos before taking off at a run in the direction he pointed. Between him and Thor the target had been moderately injured, he shouldn't have got far by this point, Bucky can still kill him.

He's relieved when Thor doesn't follow, still full of anger at the Asgardian for his interference in the first place (and uncertain of his ability to stop him should they come to trading blows again). It doesn't matter though because despite his best efforts he won't find Tom again this arena, the chance has passed him by, leaving only frustration in its wake.

And Carlos, of course, trails after Thor, relieved that that hadn't gone wore. More than anything else, he looks like a hapless owner being dragged along by a great big sulky dog.

He'll find out later, he supposes, if Bucky actually finds Tom. Right now, though, on Carlos's List of Worrying Things, Tom Cassidy is a minor annoyance. He has bigger fish to electrocute.

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

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