thearena | [open] I hate when I'm on a flight and I wake up with a water bottle next to me

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[open] I hate when I'm on a flight and I wake up with a water bottle next to me

Who| Aldo + you!
What| Our dear Lieutenant arrives in his first Arena, swears a lot, all that good stuff.
Where| All over the Arena.
When| Week 2
Warnings/Notes| Language, animal death. Feel free to tag in with your own prompt if you don't see one you like!

A. The Meadow, Into the Forest

He's on his feet, running, as soon as he sees flat land. The tube they'd sent him up in had been confining in a sick sort of way, like a goddamn jail cell only worse, and Aldo doesn't abide being forced into tight spaces by people he doesn't know, doesn't trust. He doesn't even really have room to be bewildered, to wonder what in blue blazes is going on, because his survival instincts are kicking in automatically. So as soon as he's aboveground, he runs, cursing these stupid boots, cursing the fact that he doesn't even have a goddamn weapon to hand. He's naked, as far as he's concerned. And it's fucking cold.

Aldo runs right past the Cornucopia; whatever it is, it's empty, picked clean of any possible supplies, and he doesn't have time to waste on exploring. He needs to get under cover, and now. And he doesn't stop until he's reached the treeline, where he slumps against a tall oak, knee-deep in snow, and tries to remember what the fuck you do when you don't have so much as a fucking Zippo to start a fire with.

B. Hunting

After the first day, it all sort of starts to sink in. The booming of the cannon--the number corresponds to the pictures he sees in the sky at night, startling enough on their own. He can assume that they represent the dead.

They gave him a very brief explanation of what all this means, and it all comes ringing back to him. Best Aldo can figure, he's here to put on a show, same as in front of those pansy-ass Gamemaker types he'd been forced to parade around in front of. And here, the show is this: you kill the other guy, or you're the guy the other guy kills. Pretty damn simple, and he can't exactly say it's unfamiliar.

He doesn't dwell on it much; dwelling means your head's in the the wrong place and your ass is liable to end up dead. So instead he starts to hunt. He digs through the snow by the frozen riverbank until he finds two stones, one soft enough that he can use the other to chip it into a crude dagger, and then, brother, he's in business.

He stalks a rabbit through the forest one morning, silent as one can be in shitty boots and knee-high snow. The damn thing bites the hell out of his hand before he can stab it through the throat and kill it, and after that he sports a strip of his shirt sleeve wrapped around his left hand for his efforts. He eats it raw, without the means to make a fire, and it's mealy as hell, but it's food. And whether or not he's liable to share depends on whether or not you're liable to murder him in his sleep. Fair's fair.

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It's the noise that catches Elsa's attention. The sound of someone killing a rabbit isn't exactly the quietest thing, animals tend to make a lot of noise and Elsa happens to be nearby when it happens. It's with hesitance that she follows the sounds, keeping as quiet as possible and staying a good distance away when she finally makes it to the source. By the time she gets there, he's bandaging up his hand.

The first thing she notes is that he doesn't look familiar. She knows most tributes at least by face, and she's never seen his before. He must be new, she thinks, and she immediately feels a pang of sympathy for him. He's grown, of course, and obviously is capable of handling himself, but that doesn't mean he deserves to be here. But she's also not sure if he means any harm or not. He clearly harmed the rabbit without a second thought, but does that mean he would do the same to a person?

After a long moment of deliberation, she decides to chance it.

Stepping out from behind a tree, she swallows and says, "Hello?" She's far enough away that she can try and run if need be, but she takes a step closer, holding her hands up in a show of surrender.

Aldo stills, hearing the telltale sound of movement, somewhere in the trees. It's quiet--someone who's more than used to walking through snow, but a man like him is used to listening past quiet-sounds. To hearing the noise in the stillness.

Still kneeling in the snow, Aldo looks up from where he's using his makeshift knife to clean his prey as best he can. Well, shit. Last thing he was expecting to see around these parts was a pretty little blonde thing, timid as can be. Lifting his head in a silent greeting, he sets the rabbit down in the bloody snow, wiping his hands off coarsely on his pants.

"Howdy, darlin'. You ain't gotta worry, I ain't fixin' to hurt you 'less you got a gun hidden under than jacket a'yours."

When he speaks, Elsa is a little surprised by his accent. It sounds familiar to her, if not a little stronger than the people she's used to. It sets her at ease though, along with his words. She's not entirely relaxed, knowing better than to let her guard down, but enough that she won't bolt at his movement.

"Rest assured, there are no guns under here," Elsa says with a shake of her head and a small smile. "They don't usually pass those out, anyway. And even if they did, well... my aim isn't all that great." A moment's pause, before she continues. "So, you must be new to Panem," she says. "I haven't seen you before, at least. My name is Elsa."

"They don't, huh? Damn. An' I was hopin' for one a them purty lil parachutes to drop right out of the goddamn sky and hand me a sniper rifle." He's being sarcastic, but--no, really, he'd enjoy the hell out of that. Having a gun in hand would have him feeling a hell of a lot better about this situation.

"Brand spankin' new," he admits. "I'm Aldo Raine." He doesn't bother with the title, for now. "That's a real purty name, Elsa. You happen to have anything to make a fire with? Rabbit ain't the best tastin' thing cooked, let alone raw."

Bucky is walking along the riverbank on his way back to the cave he shares with his allies. On his right shoulder sits a young deer, its throat slashed and already bled dry before he left the kill site. Hunting deer it turns out is easier than hunting people and it feels good to be doing something useful, the Avengers have been eating well so far.

He stops on his way home when he spots blood on the snow, then a little further ahead the shape of a man further down at the side of the water, tearing into what looks to be the carcass of a rabbit.

It's not an ideal situation, the deer is heavy and to fight (or flee) effectively Bucky would have to drop it, which would leaving it open to be stolen by anyone waiting in the wings. There's too much cover around to be certain that it's just the two of them in the area.

If the man is looking for a fight then Bucky will face him, as it is he decides he will simply try and pass by. He hefts the deer up higher on his shoulder and gets a better grip on it before striding forwards, moving closer to the treeline to give the man a wide berth. It means he'll have more time to react if the situation turns aggressive.

Aldo notices the movement; how could he not? When it's this still, you become fine-tuned to any sound around you. He knows this much: sound can mean death at any moment, and he's not going down without a knock-out, drag-down fight.

But only if he has to. He's not a stupid man, Aldo. He's not about to go up against anyone armed with only a goddamn rock.

So he takes the friendly approach. He straightens up from where he's crouched in the snow, his military bearing very obviously now that he's upright.

"Howdy," he calls, with his customary squint and a smile. "How's a guy bag a deer round these parts?"

The military bearing only serves to put Bucky more on edge, as it belies a certain level of combat experience in the stranger.

He stops in his tracks and settles himself into a stance that will be easy to launch into action from, after he drops the deer, and gives the man his full attention. "There's a meadow, back that way." he uses his left arm to gesture back in the direction he came from. "You'll find them there."

Deer and possibly mammoths, but details.

Bucky's not sure if he's seriously being asked for a lesson on killing deer or not. He'll wait and see.

"Right," Aldo calls out, adjusting his stance to be a bit more friendly--open. That's all he's got going for him right now, honestly, without any semblance of a weapon. "What I meant was, where's a guy find himself a gun, or a knife, or anything except a fuckin' rock around here?"

He nods toward the deer. "Unless that thang just dropped dead at your feet, I'm assumin' you got somethin' round about the way of weaponry."

"You missed the Cornucopia." he guesses at that question. The man must be very new as Bucky doesn't recognise him from the Tribute rosters and if he was there from the beginning of the arena or earlier he'd know. "You need sponsors to get proper weapons now." by which he means not improvised one's made from materials in the arena.

Or find a way to take them from another Tribute, of course. The man doesn't look stupid enough to try that with Bucky at least.

"If they like you they send you gifts to help you win." Or food, water, clothing... all equally as important as the other.

Aldo curses, under his breath. Of course he missed out on whatever bullshit game they played to give out the good shit to the lucky sons of bitches who managed to make it past home base. It all comes down to fucking baseball; briefly, he wishes Donny were here. Donny could beat a man to shit with a tree branch.

Well, really, that's not a bad idea.

"So I gotta be likeable, huh," Aldo huffs. "That ain't quite my game." He gestures toward Bucky. "You a well-liked kinda guy? They send you any fancy guns?"

"I think they like how I kill" That's not even a boast, that's just how Bucky see's it, though there's far more to it. Maybe there is a little warning in it, though.

He drops the deer off his shoulder, since it seems he's going to be having this conversation a little longer there's no point putting any extra strain on his body than necessary. "They don't often give guns. They're too quick." for the purposes of entertainment anyway, a messy drawn out death battle was far more to the audiences liking. "Knives usually."

Bucky pulls out one, a serrated hunting knife, flipping it in his hand comfortably.

"Well, alright," Aldo drawls, squinting up at the sky. There's a scattered flock of geese overhead. The timing is almost too perfect. Manufactured. He doesn't trust it. He sniffs, wiping his nose on the back of his hand.

"Knives, I can work with." He tips his head toward Bucky, giving him a salute. Casual, yet perfect. "Much obliged for the information, son."

Bucky stares at the salute and there's a moment where his hand, the right one, not holding the knife, twitches to return the gesture. Muscle memory, he thinks, how many time must have saluted someone when he was in the army? It spurs him to ask, even though he had already recognised that this man carries a military bearing.

"You're in the military?"

He snorts a little at being called 'son', he'd be willing to bet money that he's older than him.

Aldo jerks his head upward in an affirmative gesture. "That's right. First Special Service Force, 'Merican side of thangs." Not that anyone would ever in their right minds mistake him for a Canadian, of course. "First Lieutenant Aldo Raine, at your service."

He gestures toward Bucky with an easy hand. "How about you. Got a name?"

"I was..." he doesn't think about whether he should or shouldn't share the information, the lieutenant's introduction triggering the response in him. "a Sergeant, in the 107th infantry regiment." it's one of the parts of his life other than being the Winter Soldier that he has the most recollection of, even if those memories were just glimpses of bars and campfire talks, with the occasional peering down the scope of a sniper rifle.

"James Buchanan Barnes."

"Well, then, Sergeant Barnes," Aldo drawls. "Good luck out there." He tips his head toward the deer.

"Not that it seems like ya need it. But if I don't see you again in here, well. I'm sure I'll see ya wherever the hell else it is we go after we're done 'round these parts."

He knows a dismissal when he hears one. Bucky slips the knife back into his belt, where it's in easy reach before he bends down to heave the carcass of the deer back onto his shoulder. "Maybe."

With that he starts back on his path, forging his way forwards through the snow with his prize and soon disappearing through the trees, leaving Aldo to make his own way. Bucky doesn't think he'll follow him but he'll still warn his squad when he gets back to the cave, just in case.

Ellis watched from afar this strange man head towards the forest. He looked like a soldier, meaning he was dangerous by default. Ever since CEDA and the military ordered the bombing of entire cities, the mechanic was wary of these sorts of men. But the way the stranger moved was familiar to him: lost and freezing to death if he stood still. All he had to defend himself was a rock large enough to crack skulls with and his wits.

"You're better off headin' north, sir," El spoke up, holding respect towards the ranks, "If yer lookin' to raid or hunt. Bucks are still good to hunt." Helpful advice never killed anyone, right?

Edited 2015-02-11 18:24 (UTC)

Aldo peers around a tree at the voice; he doesn't jump, he's not easily spooked, but he keeps a hand on the tree trunk to disguise the fact that he's got a bit of a shake in his hands that he's trying to chalk up to the damn cold.

With his usual vaguely disgruntled look, he fires off a quick salute. The kid doesn't look military, but he's Southern, and that's good enough for Aldo.

"Much obliged," he calls. "Where you from, kid?"

"Savannah, Georgia sir," El peeked over, saluting back as best as he could. He doesn't notice the shaking, so he rattled on for a moment, "Born an' raised. Evacuated to New Orleans under military orders." That last part, it took everything in the mechanic's power not to sound bitter or afraid of the stranger. On one hand, better survival, on the other...death.

Not one to think things through before jumping in, El got a little closer, to give Aldo something to work with, "People are dyin', there might be something to scavenge." Plus there were hints of bigger game coming along and more dangerous predators.

Aldo's a little more set at ease by Ellis's rambling, and he doesn't get the feeling like this kid's a cold-blooded murderer, so he steps out from behind the tree fully, coming a bit closer. "Georgia, huh? Spent a bit of time there in my twenties, before the war. Ain't a bad place. Me, I'm from Maydarville, Tennessee, up in the mountains." He clears his throat. "Lieutenant Aldo Raine. I ain't about to evacuate you anywhere, son, don't worry."

He looks thoughtful for a moment. "Weeell, that ain't a half bad idea. You find yourself needin' a scavengin' partner?"

"You can call me Ellis but I gotta admit," he was a little sheepish to admit, "I've never gone farther than Atlanta before the Zombie Apocalypse happened." Oh yeah, that was a thing in El's world. "An' I ain't sayin' no to help from America's finest."

El had explored the area as best as he could and had some pointers, like the ledges and the trees he'd gotten to know. "Just be careful with th' meadow...I think I saw a body in there a few days ago an' it's gonna nasty an' bloated." Like a Boomer. Aldo looked like one of those classic soldiers from the old wars, old-timey look and probably as ruthless. Bill was the closest thing he got to that image and that man died taking on three Tanks.

Edited (added a little more!) 2015-02-12 22:38 (UTC)

Zombie apocalypse.

Aldo's brain barely registers the phrase, because he's too far into all this whackadoodle kidnapping shit to be bothered picking apart the details. He's heard the word before, but only in reference to shitty dime novels, and Aldo's never cared much for that kind of thing. But he'll probably ask about it later, rest assured.

"Well, now, now you can say you been zapped off to some cockamamie death forest, cain't ya?" He's still not sure what all this is about, but he can at least attempt to have a sense of humor about it, can't he? "Stay away from the fuckin' meadow. Check. You got anything by way of weapons, Ellis? A gun, or a damn knife?"

"I can say that an' to answer your question..." El pointed to the sky, "We gotta wait until our 'lovely' viewers send us stuff so we can give 'em a show. Or make 'em outta anything you can find."

After laughing for a second, "Best way to put it though!" He then had a thought, and began leading the charge over to where he'd seen many a packet fall from the sky, "C'mon lieutenant! There may not be much left but I know where those are, there's people!" That energy of his spread around, "Sure, we'll end up fightin' but like hell I'm gonna quit now! Even a chunk o' wood makes a neat death blow!"

Aldo squints up at the sky, feeling bleak. "Well, ain't that a nice thought." He gives a little wave, like he would to a camera--not really knowing or understanding that there are indeed cameras everywhere. "Howdy, y'all. I'd sure appreciate if one of you gave me a gun, or a knife. Hell, even a coat before I freeze my dick off."

Very charming, Aldo. He turns back to Ellis, and when the kid starts marching off toward some unknown location, the Lieutenant can only follow suit. "Hope you're right," he grumbles.

El smiled when he found something that could help up on a tree. He'd left the blanket Nick lent him tied to a branch so it'd be out of reach from prowlers and Tributes who didn't look up. "I might have somethin' to tide ya over Sir," he claimed as he began his climb to that precious commodity of warmth. It'd be no time before El dropped and rolled onto the snow, "My District won't be too happy but eh, I'm doin' fine an' I'm alive."

Aldo can't help but look skeptical when his new compadre begins to climb a tree. But the look of skepticism changes begrudgingly to a grin when he's bestowed with a blanket. He catches it, immediately moving to wrap it around his shoulders.

"They ain't too keen on sharin' around these parts, huh?" It doesn't much make sense to Aldo--in the Army, you shared everything. It was how you formed bonds with your brothers in arms, it was how everyone got by. But this isn't so much a war as a God damned picture show, so he guesses it's not quite the same.

"Nope, kill or be killed!" El answered back, taking a moment to survey the arena from his spot. "Soldiers tend to last longer, they usually have no compunctions about murderin' if it's in their way!" A pause, "No offense, sir."

From where the mechanic took watch, he could see where they were headed, "Hot damn! Bambi for dinner!"

"Ain't that a treat," Aldo snorts. "None taken, son. I ain't a murderin' machine, but I won't hesitate neither. But you're good people, you ain't gotta worry about me. I'll stick with ya 'til I can get my hands on some weaponry and we can go our separate ways, if ya like."

He lifts his head, looking in the direction Ellis is calling. "You reckon so? And how're we goin' about bringing down ol' Bambi?"

He gets the reference, at least. Aldo's been to a few picture shows in his time.

Ellis started to jump on the branch he was using, making sure he had another one to hop onto. "Deer and sponsor parachutes!" And, as soon as the inevitable happened, he grinned, "You can at least use tha' to clobber yer way to a better weapon! Or jab 'em in the neck! That's how I've been fishin'!"

Getting down was trickier but the mechanic was young and fast, "No problems on my end, sir. I'll try to find my, uh, acquaintance, Nick...I'll take ya as close as I can...there are camps around, other tributes." Wasting no time, the younger man broke off what he could carry on without being a burden. He frowned for a moment, "Dunno about them."

Aldo just squints up at Ellis as he goes about felling a branch suitable enough to use as a club. Catching the branch, he tosses it from hand to hand, weighing it, snapping off the smaller brances to give him a smooth expanse of wood that's certainly heavy and pointed enough to make a suitable weapon. He's gotten by with less, that's for certain.

"Sounds good, son. If I can't manage to find friendly folk, I c'n wing it on my own until this got damn circus show is over."

"I have no doubt you're gonna get close to survivin' this mess of a place," the mechanic nodded, and trenched along with the snow. If the commotion and activity was right, there should be at least one dead person and their supplies, along with whatever's left of the drops. "Get busy livin' or get busy dyin'!"

The man had a cheer about him, "Have ya met others along the way? Not ev'ryone here's out to kill each other. Though that poses the question of what happens when you're in the top two an' it's your best ally tha's left. I dunno if I'd be able to kill that person. Unless he or she attacks first...hmm, sorry I'm babblin'!"

"Hope yer right," Aldo grumbles, following along at Ellis's side. He doesn't want to go down like a little bitch, after all. If he's gonna die, after all the bullshit he's been through in the past few days--in his world and this one--it better be a goddamn ordeal.

"Yeah, met a couple others. Purty little blonde thing, cute as a button. She's fucked out here, in my personal opinion. No fuckin' clue why they'd throw girls into this shindig." He snorts. "An' another military man like myself. Not too friendly." Not that Aldo minds; he's not the friendliest basterd around either. "That sounds like a damn good reason not to get too friendly," he adds.

"I wouldn't count girls outta th' competition! One o' my best friends Rochelle, whoo! She could fire a shot right between a zombie's eyes an' blow their heads off!" El was quick to correct Aldo, even imitating the way the brain exploded with his hand. "Knowin' the sorta people here, an' I heard that women can be just as brutal if not more."

The other soldier does tense him up a lot more, and he swallowed, "I wouldn't be all smiles an' sunshine if I was shoved in here like that." But he kind of is, more so when he spots a raided packet.

Aldo snorts. "S'pose you're right." Underestimating someone was the easiest way to find yourself looking down the barrel of a gun, true enough. "That ain't real common where I come from." He pauses. "It true that they got people from all different times around here?"

That's the kicker, to him. That there are people here--hell, surely Ellis himself--who know what happens in the future. How everything all played out.

Ellis nodded at that question, "Yessir, I'm from the year 2009. Basically, everythin's on the Internet now. Where'd ya come from?"

This and the remark about an Internet pretty much confirmed Aldo's suspicions about the young man, "There's probably people here from even further in the future or the past. Kinda weird but neat at th' same time! Why? Is there somethin' on your mind, Lieutenant?"

It's not easy to rattle Aldo, but the year Ellis names gets him, just a little bit. "Shee-it,' he swears under his breath. "Son, I come from 1945. Middle of the fuckin' second world war." Well, the end of it, more appropriately, but still. He shakes his head, feeling a little more out of his element than he had previously.

"Nothin' much, 'sides feelin' a little weirder about all this. Doesn't seem right."

"Holy shit you're older than my granddaddy," Ellis blinked at that, "I mean heaps older...he was a kid!"

There were six decades between the two men but the truth made Ellis salute again, "Now I know yer gonna kick ass: you were in the greatest generation an' you won."

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[open] I hate when I'm on a flight and I wake up with a water bottle next to me

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