thearena | Enter the Mage

Entry tags:

Enter the Mage

Who: Dorian Pavus and OPEN
What: Dorian enters the arena
When: Current? So Mid Week 2?
Where: Outside then Inside.
Warnings: None as of yet, will update, but probably violence and perhaps death.

He didn't think it was a dream. Dorian knew dreams, knew the Fade, and wherever he had ended up now certainly wasn't that. He'd fought - or tried to - as soon as he woke up on that stark metal cot - had tried to summon lightning, fire, anything as the first guard came through. But he couldn't. Where he reached out to the Fade, nothing was there, and the realisation of this was enough to keep him passive for a few moments.

Well. Passive in body, at least. His mind was racing.
He half listened to the explanation as they told it to him. Blah blah the arena, blah blah fight to the death - it was all a ridiculous joke surely. It became somewhat less of a joke when they grabbed his arm and inserted something cold and hard into it. He would have set the whole room on fire, if he had any access to what was rightfully his. Instead he just glowered, fuming, as he was forced to dress and led to the tube.

The clothes made absolutely no sense - the under-suit at least looked somewhat like clothes, but when they put on the outer shell...

When he'd immediately gone to take the ridiculous glass helmet off, the assistant had laughed at him. "Well if you want to asphyxiate," he'd said and Dorian had glared at him and left it on. He could hear the air rushing into it, though he couldn't tell from where.

None of this made the least bit of sense, but he knew one thing:

He was not going to die before he figured out what was happening.

As he raised up to the arena, he couldn't help but look up - the huge bank of stars slowly growing to shimmer all around him. It took his breath away, for a long moment - standing there, dumbly, as he stared at the sky. He'd never seen anything like it. Even in the Fade, the sky didn't look like this.

He was so caught up in the vision that for a moment he didn't even realize he was floating - tethered, sure, but the weightlessness, when he noticed it, was completely disturbing. He cursed under his breath and began to struggle, grasping the tether to pull him back.

He was surrounded by buildings, and that looked the safest - would keep him from floating up into the endless sky, at least. It took him a good few minutes to learn how to propel himself, but finally he managed to make it to an airlock, the door opening as he approached. He scrambled inside, and as the door behind him shut, the room began to pressurize, and suddenly he was heavy again, falling hard into the floor. With a grunt, he got himself up, and stepped into the open door before him. Unconsciously, he murmured and tried to summon veil-fire to see where he was going, and-- it worked. The relief hit him hard, rushing through him.

"Well finally something goes right!" Dorian declared to himself as the flames went out. He had no staff, here, so the magic was harder to control, less predictable. He didn't want to set himself on fire. Not yet, anyway."

Still clad in the spacesuit, Dorian began to walk through the long, dimly lit hall. So. A fight to the death, was it? He absolutely hated being told what to do, but in this case he needed to stay alive long enough to find whoever was behind them.

And to figure out what they had done with the Inquisitor.

[ooc: His first encounter is reserved for Karkat and Shepard, so everyone else with meet him much more beat up, and his helmet smashed. He'll just be wandering around, but let me know if you need a special prompt! Dorian can be reasoned with, but he is a fully powered Mage, and will defend himself. 8D]]

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After a few weeks, things were getting harder. Karkat didn't allow himself much sleep in a place like this, not when monsters roamed and other tributes lurked, and the gamemakers gave other surprises when they felt the need. At least the gravity had turned stable again, at least apart from the isolated, location-based issue. It meant he didn't have to worry about losing his footing every half hour. But it was the other things, the risk of death if he dared let his guard down, that kept him on his toes.

It would have been easier if not for how brutal this place was. Back during Sgrub, he could have alchemized better weapons, could have alchemized actual food instead of what he had to deal with here. He'd gotten sick of cakes and potatoes, which seemed to have largely run out by now, and the dehydrated options he sometimes came across were hard to stomach. It made recovery from the various hurts he'd accrued a tougher task. Even if Feferi had healed him enough to live after the Cornucopia, bruises and cuts and bites and scrapes had a way of building up. It was solely by determination and trollish constitution that he kept going as well as he did.

He was tired, and hungry, and hurting, and sick of all of this. It put his guard down--enough that when he glanced up to see someone turning his way, he realized he hadn't been listening near as well as he should. He should have watched better. He should have been paying some goddamn attention, not spacing out over how much he'd rather be back in even the fucking training center instead of still stuck here.

"Shhhhit." Whoever this was, he didn't recognize. He reckoned it didn't matter much if he did. But in one last hope of placation, he lifted a hand (with the pink material of his suit torn in places) in a hopefully placating gesture. "Hey, look, no trouble here. I'm going my way." And with a hope that this guy would let him, Karkat moved to back away.

But even without the tears to show the skin of his hand, he had to look weird overall. Yellowy-orange horns, eyes with sclerae the color of their lightest bands, a face ashen grey save for the smears of dirt and bruising. His ears had points, as did his teeth. Even if he stood at only 5'2", it didn't change the rest of him.

Dorian, on the other hand, was in prime condition. He was still in his full spacesuit - had no idea that he could now breathe, if he took his helmet off, even though his oxygen was quickly running out. He had been stumbling around trying to find something, anything to explain where he was, and suddenly-

He stumbled upon Karkat.

Now Dorian had known many different races in his life. Elves, Dwarves, Qunari... But he'd also known many demons. Darkspawn. Spirits. So when he heard the shhhhiit behind him, he whirled around, and found himself staring at something he'd never known. Something almost certainly sent here with the same directive. Kill, or be killed.

The creature barely got too words in before Dorian threw out an arm.

Fire leapt out from him, a sudden wooshing gush, not hitting Karkat but whipping around him into a firey tornado - a cage of smoke and flame. It was, to be honest, about 200% what Dorian had meant to do, but his magic wasn't answering here the way it would at home, and his anger and frustration was a thin veneer over his fear and worry.

"Where am I!" He shouted at his captive prey.

There are few things more frightening to a spacer than the idea of fire on a space station. Oh, you could imagine a few; hull breach, asteroid impact, plague, but the sound of cracking glass meant death in your vicinity, and even the terminally ill could hope for a miracle.

Fire, in an enclosed, oxygen-rich environment destroyed necessary systems and made a joke of automatic containment. The best case scenario involved wasting resources not easily replaced in putting the fire out. More likely, you might miss a spark, some smoldering somewhere in a wall or bulwark, and the entire station would be at risk. Shepard's reaction was visceral, and perhaps it would have seemed strange to someone who didn't know her: she bolted towards the sound of fire, and the orange back-glow.

She spotted Dorian's conflagration from the end of a long hallways, gunmetal grey and mostly featureless, one of the many deadly kill-chutes that the Capitol had built into this place. Whether they'd done so out of malice, or simply to give their cameras the best view, it was impossible to tell; regardless of intent, it gave Shepard a clear view of the scene. Flames and force and an angry stranger-- and a flash of Karkat Vantas at the heart of it all.

Goddamn kid was more trouble than he was worth, sometimes.

Lines of charge rippled out, forming the envelope that would protect her; the mnemonic was subtle, easily mistaken, just the bunching of muscles across her shoulders, just that, and an indomitable pressure as gravity upended itself. The orange light turned blue as high-energy dark matter shifted briefly into contact with the visible spectrum, and the waves of high and low gravity disrupted the careful shape of Dorian's flames. Shepard struck the man himself like a bullet, hurtling down a frictionless low-gravity corridor of her own creation; the concussive force of her was irresistable. Shepard arrived wreathed in a halo of blue, licking like flames around her arms and shoulders.

"Get the hell out of here, Vantas," she snarled, without looking, "Run!"

Had he any idea this man could summon a tornado of fire and smoke, Karkat wouldn't have wasted time trying to placate him with words. He would have turned and ran and hopefully made it away before even one flame could lick at him. Instead of a coherent answer he let out a scream as the magical cage caught his hand, and trying to jerk back only singed his hair and shoulders.

"Holy shit, holy shit," he hissed out, yanking arms in to try and contain himself safely from the fire whirling around him. Being freaked out he understood, how could the man expect any better when he'd nearly set him ablaze?

He couldn't even begin to think of a way out of this scenario before the rushing thump of footfalls drew into earshot. He glimpsed someone running between the swirls of flame, a strange blue light, and suddenly the tornado around him lost its cohesion. He stumbled back, took a couple more steps more deliberately, but went no further.

"What the hell is going on?" he shouted. Beyond the pain of his new burns and general lack of understanding, he couldn't ignore that this woman apparently recognized him.

Dorian couldn't even see Shepard speeding towards him. The helmet blocked most of his peripheral vision, and even if somehow he had managed to turn in time to see her, she was moving so fast it would have been a moot point anyway. With the sound of a sonic boom she struck him in the side and Dorian went flying down the hall - hitting the opposite wall with a mighty crack as the helmet shattered.

The fire instantly roared and vanished, Dorian's body unmoving.

Edited 2015-01-01 16:29 (UTC)

Shepard waited a breath, but when Dorian didn't immediately move to attack, she risked turning back to look at Karkat. And he was a sight; singed, tattered suit, favoring his hand, eyes like yellow lanterns, wide and terrified. Shit.

"You're in an arena and someone just tried to set you on fire," incredulity gave her volume, anger put an edge on it, pointing at the prone form of Dorian, thrown limp against the far wall, "I'm here to save your sorry ass, and you're questioning me? Get the hell out of here, kid, we'll talk later."

Edited 2015-01-01 17:22 (UTC)

Whoever these people were, they had greater ability to fight each other than he did. All he had to his name were the weapons in his case plus what good his teeth and horns might do - which, really, wasn't that much. Apart from the burns he showed signs of suffering other wounds through his time in the arena, none deadly, but none kind. In other words, yes, he was a sight, and he was indeed terrified.

He frowned back at Shepard - not that he recognized her anymore now that she was looking at him - and hesitated a moment longer. He wanted to at least ask her name, or... or do something other than run. It felt like the coward's way out, the weakling's option, the most untrollish and humiliating choice on offer. Still, he knew he'd do no better trying to get between fire powers and whatever it was this woman just did. Not just anyone could knock a man back that hard.

"Fine," he snapped, frowning still. "Just don't get killed!" And he made finally to leave.

The first few steps were slow and backward for all he didn't want to take his eyes off things, but eventually he did turn to properly flee--at least some distance away. His burns hurt, and they didn't make carrying things any easier. He'd get himself out of sight before he worried about what to do next.

Dorian's head was swimming when he came to. He had only been out maybe a few seconds but the blow had left him feeling severely ill, and his helmet was in pieces - one of which had imbedded itself in his cheek. He reached up, pulling it out, feeling the warm gush of blood trail down through his stubble and down his throat, before he looked up.

His eyes glowed with pure golden fire. Rage personified.

He didn't even wait to stand before he sent a cracking bolt of lightning racing across the hallway to his attacker.

Shepard wasn't facing Dorian when he woke, and it was only training and a lifetime of paranoia that brought her shields up in time. The air thumped and crackled, briefly made solid, then oxygen caught lightning, turned to ozone, and sparked an explosion. Dorian's lightning had stripped her shield even as she'd erected it, and more. A spark had leapt and now Shepard's spacesuit was a wash, burned and melted to her skin in a long angry line drawn by an errant finger of electricity.

She bared her teeth, and her corona flared, lighting every line of her in blue-white. No cover, no backup, no armor nor tactics beyond kill-or-be-killed. A shootout, then, like the old westerns, and the first to land a hit would be the last man standing. Alright, hotshot, let's go.

He didn't recognize the magic - it was unlike anything he'd ever seen - and in another circumstance he would have adored the ability to study it. Now, however, he had only one thing on his mind. Surviving long enough to figure out what in the Maker's name had happened to him. He had no idea what had triggered the explosion, but he wasn't going to let the advantage go.

He was breathing hard, propped up on one knee, but he suddenly spun upwards in something like a pirouette - a huge missile of ice bursting from him, pieces ricocheting against the walls and coating them with frost, barreling toward Shepard.

Shepard's response was immediate; she flung out a warding hand, miming the wrist-flicking motion of someone skipping a flat stone across a smooth pond. Like that stone, the wave of power skipped along the hallway, shattering or tossing aside everything it met along the way-- and ice, as indiscriminate as it otherwise might be, was brittle. It hadn't been a conscious tactic, but it was still well-chosen; how many times had she done similarly to enemies flash-frozen by cryo rounds?

He hadn't waited to see if it worked - his arms already working backward as if gathering a great wave before sending a rushing, voluminous torrent of fire directly after the ice. The power punch through the ice and shattered it like glass - but the fire directly behind it just twisted around it, racing around the deflected ice and melting it instantly.

His first "match" was with a mortal man, it seemed. How unfair for the ant! If the circumstances had been better, Apollo would have considered going easy on him. As things stood, however, the once god was in a foul mood.

"All of this just so I can breathe?!" he rolled his eyes and repositioned his body so he could use his bow, "Let's finish this, insect. They have one aim - your death or mine." and since he hadn't completely accepted that his immortality was gone, he had no doubt that he would win.

Nocking an arrow into the bow string, he beamed confidently, aiming at Dorian's leg. What? It was more fun to incapacitate bugs and then play with them. He didn't want his playmate dying too quickly.

Dorian had already had one bout - albeit not with a god - that had meant his helmet had a good long crack in it, and his suit was torn and bloodied. However, for the most part, he was unharmed, and pissed off was putting in mildly. He heard the challenge before he saw the challenger, whirling around to catch a glance of the owner of the voice.

The - boy? man? - was exceedingly pretty and... short. And pointing a bow at him.

Your death or mine, hmm?

"As I have absolutely no interest in dying, I will have to oblige you with yours," Dorian said a little haughtily, putting out a hand as a bolt of lightning streaked across from it, flying straight for Apollo's arrow.

Edited 2014-12-28 05:24 (UTC)

"What an arrogant response!" and amusing, apparently. Apollo laughed and pushed himself off the nearest solid surface, his aim unwavering. His experience with being weightless was definitely going to help him, yet the weapons used...

Those he knew little to nothing about. He loosed the arrow and made no move to dodge the lightning. It hit him in the center of the chest and hurled him - almost bonelessly - across the arena to collide with the wall. A strange, copper taste filled his mouth and he coughed, confused by the red liquid on his helmet.

"..." he glared and struggled- yes, struggled! - to his feet, a new emotion overwhelming him. Fear. That had hurt. Why had that hurt?

He didn't have time to get a barrier up before the arrow struck - right into the side of his leg and back out again, taking a huge chunk of flesh and fabric with it. His leg crumpled under him, almost pulling him right to the ground but he managed to stagger upright, a hand reaching out to grip the nearest wall. His leg may as well have been on fire, but it was hardly the first time he'd taken an arrow, and at least this one hadn't hit anything important.

He hoped.

He'd know in a few seconds if an artery had been hit and he was about to bleed to death.

The pain was immense but the fury was stronger - his knuckles going white as his grip tightened.

"Care to try that again?" He spat, flames already beginning to leap around his fist.

There was some amusement over the pain being shared, but it didn't outweigh the throbbing of his abused chest. With one hand pressed over the wound and the other holding his bow, Apollo launched himself away from the wall and eyed his competitor imperiously.

"Only if you wish to be forsaken by the gods." his eyes flashed the many hues of a rainbow as he drew another arrow from his quiver, "I will not remain in this state."

Surely that was the truth? He had spoken it aloud. It must be. Yet he licked his lips nervously all the same.

Edited 2014-12-29 11:22 (UTC)

"Oh, good, so now I'm forced to deal with a heretic along side everything else?" Dorian quipped darkly, but he didn't attack outright.

The flames surged around his arm, before arching in a protective shield in front of him. Like hell he was getting hit by an arrow again.

"A god can't be a heretic, fool." Apollo appraised the fiery shield, doing his best to ignore how cold his body was becoming under the suit, "You are attacking Apollo, god of the sun."

In his godly form, the fiery shield would be nothing to him. The sun was much, much hotter. He could burn the Earth if he wished.

Oh, god. Not another one. He'd already fought one man who thought he was a God. That was enough. That was more than enough.

"A god. I see. A kidnapped god, brought here, to fight amongst mortals?" The question was scathing, and in a sudden motion, he threw out his arm and a blast of fire erupted from it, streaking across the room to burst at Apollo's feet. Not to touch him, but the heat would be immense.

"How lucky for me, then, that I know how hard a god can fall."

"Obviously." so what if it wasn't obvious at all? That wasn't Apollo's fault. Mortals lied to themselves all the time. The gods, on the other hand, lacked that trait.

"The flames are not yours to harness!" he launched himself back, holding up an arm to shield his eyes from the bright fire. His sight could not longer handle the light.

Anger rose up inside of him and he loosed two more arrows with a snarl. If he must fall, he wasn't prepared to do so alone.

He was expecting it, this time - throwing up a bright blue barrier of light around him as soon as the flames were launched, the arrows slamming into it and shattering on impact.

"Nor, apparently, are they yours," He said, glaring across the way. "Is this really what you want? I am more than happy to oblige your deathwish if that's what you're looking for."

Psii had had visions of future deaths for over a week now, and he was sure there would be more to come. At least they provided him with a mental library on all the ways a Tribute could die in this arena. Even though his powers were weakened significantly, as long as they remained, he'd use them to avoid the same fates. Gravity shifts he could adjust to by flying, xenomorphs he could incinerate with his optic blasts, and robots he could pick up and chuck down the nearest drop, letting gravity do the work of smashing them.

But all this induced sparks of oscillating red and blue light, potentially giving away his position. Telekinesis was useful, but flashy. Psii had since hidden his spacesuit away after using it as a floating decoy and shelved his light show. After Psii had ventured deeper and a good number of Tributes died, there was more room to properly hide from the rest.

Psii was poking around the science labs, desperately looking for food and supplies to take with him as he wandered. Though he was used to being starved and beaten, the lack of rest was taking its toll and using up more energy than the meager food here could provide. He also hoped he'd find something to wear over his bright yellow jumpsuit; in these dark halls, he didn't fancy getting attacked and sliced up like a banana in space.

His head pounded and indistinct voices of the dying invaded his thoughts, but these he was used to tuning out. He crept carefully in and out of the experiment blocks. Staying in one place wasn't good if there were more robots around hunting everyone down. But no matter how quiet he was or how well he could see in the dark, he was no master of stealth. The tall, lanky troll's step was not noiseless. When he spotted the (presumably) human male and automatically jerked a step back, his foot scuffed loudly.

Fuck.

Too late to try hiding now. He surrounded himself with a sparking wall of telekinesis, but didn't attack. His bloodlust was reserved for the Gamemakers.

Edited 2014-12-31 11:53 (UTC)

Dorian had finally shed the bulky spacesuit after it had basically been destroyed, and was now wandering in a tight suit that happened to be the colour of mint. It was beyond ridiculous, and despite his circumstances, Dorian grumbled about it more than anything.

Well. Perhaps not more than food. He hadn't seen any food since he came here.

Mostly he'd just seen people trying to kill him.

He was still limping from the arrow wound in his thigh, though he's bound it with strips he'd torn from the suit, as well as tried to heal it. But healing magic had never really been his providence, and though it wasn't about to kill him, it wasn't doing him any favours, either.

He was trying to find something in this god forsaken place to eat when he heard it - the tell tale scuff of a foot on the floor. Seconds later, a flash of magic, and Dorian whirled around, his arm arching up to put a barrier of bright blue light around him. (He'd since learnt his lesson of attacking first before protecting himself.)

Two mages in garish colors stood taut, glowing barriers of light around them, neither one of them doing much—for the moment.

"Hey, that'th my move," Psii said shakily.

Despite working to hide his surprise with a cocky smirk, Psii tried to read what was happening in an instant, as a strategist should.This man's first instinct had been defensive, not offensive. It didn't necessarily mean he wasn't planning to kill Psii, just that he was cautious, vigilant. As he should be, with that wound in his leg.

The fact that Psii was still alive counted for something. Psii wanted to know what this guy's deal was, whether he was a threat. He didn't want to fight him if he didn't have to, particularly if he was a magic user. No telling what shit he could pull out of his ass. Well, wounds were always great conversation starters among trolls.

"Should you really be thtanding on that?"

That he should meet another mage really wasn't a surprise to him - he was beginning to think he'd been brought here expressly for that purpose - but that didn't really help to make Psii any less alien than he was.

He was almost completely taken aback when he was spoken to, rather than attacked, and his brows furrowed.

That's my move.

"Seeing as I have a feeling that lying down with it would be embracing certain death, I think I prefer to stand, thank you."

He didn't take down the barrier, but he didn't move at all otherwise.

"But it'th thertainly eathier to patch it up while thitting. You can't thtand on that forever."

Then Psii gambled, as he was prone to do when lives besides his were on thin ice. He'd risk his own life for others too easily. He had a problem. He cut his own barrier with a shower of dissipating sparks and the rush of air uncharging itself. His chest hammered and blood pounded in his ears. He hoped this wasn't a mistake.

"Ok look, you're going nowhere fatht. I don't have medical thupplieth on me, but I know where we might find thome in the labth here. I can be a lookout, if you don't trutht me to help you walk."

Earlier in the arena, he'd run into someone who scared him into raising a hell of a barrier. It reminded him that he was tired of being scared and defensive against everyone. It was a holdover from his solar sweeps as a slave, and he knew and hated that.

Meanwhile, Felicity was caught up in her own survival game. With her allies now, dead, she was on her own with only her weapons (a phaser and a small dagger) and a small supply of dried food. She didn't want to hide, but she knew full well that she wasn't exactly in the best position to fight her way to victory. It would be safer to hide, or maybe try to make another allegiance or two. If only she could find someone she didn't already despise.

That was when she noticed Dorian lurking in the halls. She wasn't the best when it came to stealth, but she decided to make the attempt to follow and observe, and make note of whether or not he seemed especially hostile. A new Tribute could make for a valuable ally in an Arena, and would give her a distinct advantage. After a few minutes, she made herself known.

"You there! Wait!"

Dorian was getting twitchy with all this yelling and killing and attacking and fighting. So when he heard the voice the first thing he did was immediately throw up a glowing blue barrier around himself, because who knew what was about to be shot or thrown at him.

He turned to the voice, preparing himself, but not attack came.

"Generally if you're about to ambush someone, it's not advisable to warn them!" he called out to her, a little hotly, not because of anything she'd done (as she hadn't tried to kill him yet) but because his nerves were just so ragged in the first place.

Felicity stopped short and stared at the glowing blue which surrounded him. It was gorgeous, enchanting, and she reckoned it had to be magical in some way. She felt the itch of longing rising up within her as she yearned to once again feel how warm and perfect it felt to have the world at her command. She could never generate her own magic, though, only sap it from others. It was all so unfair and it made this man a tempting target. However, she didn't know him or if whatever it was that was protecting him actually was magic. It was a risk she was unready to take.

"Perhaps I don't mean to attack you." She stood fast, cocking her head at him. "I know most everyone here, but I cannot say that I've seen your face before, thus I suspect you are a new Tribute. And if you are new, then you are surely in need of an ally, to help you navigate these mazes. Am I right? Are you a stranger here?"

"I--" But the entire monologue only gave him so many more questions that he furrowed his brow in intense confusion. It probably wasn't wise to be honest, but he needed answers so badly that he would speak plainly anyway.

"I have absolutely no idea where I am, or how in the Maker's name they brought me here," he bit out. "Why should I assume you wish to be an 'ally' when everyone in this forsaken place is out to kill me?"

"If I wished to kill you, you'd already be dead." Her voice carried an abundance of confidence, which may or may not have been well placed. Regardless, she seemed convinced that what she said was true, and she could surely defend herself if this stranged deigned to turn on her right away. "But a sneak attack is hardly an honorable thing when one's opponent hasn't even learned the rules of the Game yet. Besides, not everyone here is malicious. We are all put into the Arena together, and not all of us wish to be made into murderers."

She paused, then did her best curtsy, like the one she'd practiced for months, then performed for the Queen. "Felicity Worthington, at your service."

She was so very confident that he almost immediately admired it. He didn't necessarily disbelieve her, either - he knew a good many insanely powerful woman who he would very much not like to cross.

But then, bravado was always helpful in these situations.

"I find it hard to believe that one can escape this game without being made into a murderer," he pointed out. The barrier still glowed around him - it was an easy enough spell to keep up for a while, even though it took part of his concentration to do so.

He gave a short bow, never lowering her eyes from him. "Dorian Pavus."

Felicity laughed, not maliciously, but amused enough. "Oh, but that's nonsense. I can think of two Victors who won mostly by hiding and only killed in the last moments when it was in self-defense. It's not at all necessary to engage in the killing, unless one especially wants to."

She decided that it would be best to keep the fact that she'd made one kill in the Arena so far to herself, though perhaps Dorian would find it justifiable to kill the man who had killed her sworn brother.

"When did you arrive? Just today? I can sympathize, you see I was put directly into the Arena when I was first reaped too."

"I am not very accustomed to hiding either," He said wryly, though finally the barrier winked out, the air crackling as it did so.

"Today, yes." He said, though something about her words made him frown. "When you were first reaped? Have you won this competition, then?"

"Neither am I," she said, tossing her dyed black hair over her shoulders. "But it's a proven strategy, and who am I to ignore what's worked in the past?"

Felicity quirked a brow at his expression, having thought the barrier's disappearance would have secured her in his mind as not-an-immediate-threat. "No, I've never won. I've lasted to the very end thrice now. The last time, I came in second place. But I've not won yet. It's very difficult to win it all."

"Thrice--" He looked completely confused, now, brows furrowing deeply, though he did not approach any closer and watched her with the vigilance of a hawk.

"I was made to understand that these battles were to the death? How could you possibly participate more than once, if you did not win?"

It was a simple enough answer, one she knew by heart now, but nevertheless she knew it would be likely a difficult one to swallow. She hadn't believed it herself when faced with the tale for the first time.

"The people who run this game have a method of resurrecting us after we are killed here in the Arenas. We are forced to fight to the death, it's true, but our deaths aren't permanent this way. They can revive us at anytime and bring us back to the Capitol. I've died a total of four times now. I hope I won't have to suffer a fifth."

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Enter the Mage

For Karkat and Shepard

FINALLY I AM HERE, sorry about that. holiday + illness got me

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god this is so late i'm sorry

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