thearena | [open] Starting Gate

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[open] Starting Gate

Who | Max & OPEN
What | Re-arrival in the middle of an Arena
Where | Cornucopia then all over
When | Week Four starting Tuesday evening
Warnings/Notes | Language and possibly the killing of creatures

Max was facing the setting sun as her pedestal rose into the arena. Her arrival, or, as those in charge were saying, re-arrival had been a hurried affair. She was cleaned and gushed over before being stripped down and redressed. These people were definitely pros at whatever the hell their job was.

The arena was cold, nearly freezing, but free from fellow Tributes. As she stepped into the arena proper, Max also noted that the place was also free of supplies. She wasn't quite sure why she expected there to be anything useful around the large horn, but something drove her to look the place over just in case there was something left to take. Aside from a bloodstained grass, the place looked fairly barren. Peaceful and in a sort of creepy way beautiful, but definitely lacking anything useful unless she was planning on making herself a grass skirt.

"Nudity. It's all the rage this winter season." Her voice echoed back at her from a tree. Birds. Well, that's upping the creep factor.

The rules were clear; kill a Tribute or dozen and win the "game." Now all she had to do is find a Tribute. Killing, well, that could be put on the back burner for now.

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His head was a mess. He'd been chased by those birds, hunted, haunted by their shrill, sorrowful cries, mimicking the voices of his long dead companions at the barricade, and of Enjolras and Marius. He'd been driven from his newly crafted snow fort and into the snow running as far as he could to seek refuge from the screams and the guilt which accompanied the sounds, and before he even realized it, he was deep in the forests, nearer to the Cornucopia than he had been in many days. Once the menacing birds let up, he was better able to assess his situation and get his bearings, and he decided that while he was out, he may as well forage for berries before returning to camp to find the others.

That was when he saw her. It was brief, out of the corner of his eye. She was almost a ghost to him, a trick of the mind, the spontaneous firing of a memory. But she was there nonetheless. Courfeyrac at once felt weak.

"Max?" Her name was a whisper on his lips, barely more than a breath, but any louder and he would have screamed it. It took every bit of his willpower not to rush to her, throw his arms around her, kiss her cheeks and hair. But he made no move toward her, from his spot in the thicket of wildberries. He didn't wish to startle her in an arena, but more so than that, he didn't wish to find himself deceived by an apparition. Perhaps it was all in his head, a figment of his imagination, or a trick of the birds. He refused, steadfastly, to be fooled again. So instead, he settled for choking out her name once more, a strangled, sob of a word. "Max."

A whisper. Quiet, almost too quiet for even her amazingly altered hearing to pick up, but hear it she did. She stopped and lowered herself into the grass, ready to run or attack. Max was in her element even if she was still slightly confused over the constant feelings of déjà vu. Slowly she made her way towards the owner of the voice.

A man. Handsome and familiar in the same way everything was familiar in the world she had first arrived in. He so obviously knew her, but to Max he was simply a nice face with a sad voice. Shit. They expected people like him to go around and kill each other?

Max waited a long moment. Attack or run? Everything was still too close to being unfamiliar for her to lose a potential ally. Slowly she stood, hands up in the air to show she was unarmed (harmless was another matter all together).

"So I call myself. And you would be...?"

He recognized that look on her face and he knew full well what it meant. It was a dagger in his heart, a shot of ice freezing his hopes to the core. How he'd longed to see her eyes light up, longed to hear her call his name. Courfeyrac. Dominique. Big brother, even. Anything at all would be better than this.

He tried not to slump or deflate, which was quite a feat in itself, considering all he wished to do was rush to her and collapse at her feet. His disappointment was palpable, but he made every effort not to let on just how thoroughly crushed he was as he stood there, frozen as a statue in the relative calm of their wooded surroundings. Slowly, he raised his hands too, though he wasn't unarmed. A hunting knife was safely tucked behind him, easily accessible, though he would not draw it on his Max, not now or ever.

"You do not recognize me, my dear?" He tilted his head to regard her, heart pounding in his chest, betraying everything his expression dared not. "That is a pity, for I would know you anywhere. Tell me, do you not recall the many days and nights we've spent side by side? You are my dearest ally, both in these games and outside of them. How unfortunate that you do not recall the face of your Courfeyrac, here before you, waiting for you as always."

God, how he'd missed her. He ached to tell her that, longed to remind her of their time together a year ago, spent talking of love and faith and obligation. He'd sworn never to abandon her, and he meant to keep his promise to her even now. Finally, he began to crack. "Please, my love. I don't think my heart can take this. Come, you must recognize something of my face."

She lowered her arms, but made no move to step close. Yes, she recognized a slight desperation in his face, a hope that something in completely messed up world was about to be righted. It was a look she'd worn before, with Ben and then Zack. It was a dangerous look because hope, hope was so fragile and damning. She didn't want to break that hope, but she couldn't lie to this man.

"Sorry, but, hey, that doesn't mean we can't be friends." He had called them allies and with that earnest face she doubted he was lying. "There's," she sighed heavily, "there's a lot of messed up signals I'm getting from this place. You know, like one of those stupid dreams that you want to remember, but the only thing you can recall for sure was that it had something to do with cheese."

She was babbling, but this whole comforting people thing was always uncomfortable, and the poor guy looked like she was about to kick his puppy. "Again, sorry."

She may well have kicked his puppy, or stomped on his heart. What a cruel trick of destiny, and it surely was his luck. He never could have what he wanted or needed in this life. Such was the fate of a man living on extra time.

"Do not apologize. You do not owe me that." He didn't bother to hide his disappointment any longer, but his emotions where not directed at Max, rather he felt the need to curse the Gamemakers, those cruel bastards. "This must be terribly strange for you. Please, at least, forgive my intrusion. I am Dominique Courfeyrac. I knew you before, or a version of you perhaps. That is not unheard of in these places, to meet someone familiar to you and yet not. I knew a Max Guevara and..." He paused. And he loved her. And he'd sworn fidelity and protection to her. "And she was my friend. You do not know me, I understand, but that Max loved me enough to save my life more than once. I owe her a part of my soul. I would understand if you felt it fair to relieve me of my obligation, but seeing that you are here, and you are she, I should like to uphold my vows to her."

What in God's name was he saying even? Courfeyrac wasn't even certain himself. But he couldn't just bully off on his own now that he knew she was here. She may not know him, but his Max had come for him and helped him when he'd needed her. Now it was his turn to do the same.

"I should like to take you up on your offer of friendship, if my eagerness has not yet caused you to change your mind."

He knew her or a version of her who, apparently, had become close enough to him that he mourned her loss and now was celebrating her return. Clones. Not a far stretch of the imagination considering Manticore had made cloning good little soldiers their life work. She didn't want to think about Manticore or what this place had possibly done to Max 1.0. Or 2.0. Damn things got confusing around here.

His words of eager friendship had her smiling. She really hoped that friends were all they had been, because as much as she might toss a grin and wink at the cameras, Max really hated playing Miss Romantic or whatever they might have been. Plus, she had to keep Loga-

No. Thoughts of him wouldn't help her here.

"My mind is solid on the friendship angle, but, uh, I gotta say, Dominique is a bit of a mouthful. Dom? Nic? Tell me you have a group of bosom buddies that gave you a less horrifying name."

Her smile brought joy to his heart and relief to his mind, but it was a temporary sensation. He had so many things to tell her, every thought on his tongue ready for confession, and yet he couldn't stand the thought of burdening this stranger with his mind. To do so was unjust, unfair. But to keep it all in would cause him to implode again. What a terrible predicament.

"If you think Dominique is a horrifying mouthful, you would surely blanch at my full name." He'd already removed his middle name and the offensive de from his family name. Dominique Courfeyrac was surely an improvement over Dominique Felicien de Courfeyrac, wasn't it? What more did she want from him? How would she react when she learned that most everyone, her past self included, simply called him Courfeyrac? His sisters had called him Nique when he was a boy, but he was almost loathe to let anyone else besides them have it. It felt so personal. So instead, he tilted his head, deferring to Max. "You may choose the diminutive, Max, if you do not like my name."

"Then lets stick with Dom." For now. The smile she offers him is sincere, but no where near as open as it once was. Somewhere inside is his Max, but right now this Max is more worried about surviving this strange place.

She makes her way over to him, easily pushing aside the long grass, moving as smoothly as a feline even though that part of her DNA has been slightly tampered down. Max has an ally, as strange and formal as he is (she doesn't think about that heartbroken look). "Well, since you're the veteran, how about you give me the dealio." Her eyes stray between Courfeyrac and a rather thin branch up in a near-by tree. "Are we suppose to go all savage and tear each other apart with teeth and nails?"

He nodded his head to her, as if accepting his fate. He would be Dom now, since she'd decided it, though that name had meant little to him before. It meant everything to him now, to hear it come from her familiar, haunting voice. It meant so much that he was almost able to forgive her the strange manner of speaking and the odd choice of phrasing, and the way she approached him, so quiet and so close.

"If we went at one another like that, I suspect we would shock the viewers at home." Max was so graceful. Courfeyrac found himself in awe. He then felt a pang of guilt deep in his chest, recalling the wide eyed child he'd comforted and cared for one year ago. That all seemed a lifetime away now that she was back before him, beautiful and grown. He felt an almost immediate flash of panic mixed in with his feelings of attraction. It was nothing if not unsettling. "We are allies, no? And you have only just arrived. If you'd like, I will take you back to my base. I have food there, and supplies. You can have one of the extra coats as well, so that you might stay warm."

He paused a moment, then took a step toward her, to go past her and out of the bushes. He disliked being cornered by her. He didn't mind the proximity... except that he actually did. Courfeyrac just wasn't sure what he might do if left too close to Max. "Besides, it is unsafe to stay out here for too long. We are exposed, and anyone could rip into us with nails or teeth or machetes."

"I thought it was about the ratings." Max couldn't help but keep smiling. Dom was so odd and formal, and yet, somehow, so familiar. His face, his stupid face made something inside her happy. A strange sort of happy that was usually reserved for her brothers and sisters (and, occasionally, Logan).

Her eyes moved back towards the tree branch. "Yeah, I'm all about bases." She jumped. It was no where near the level of what she could really do, but there was still something perfect about it; something that let you believe she was more than a skinny girl with a bright smile.

The tree didn't hold her weight, but that just made it easier to break off the branch. Spinning towards her new ally, Max nodded at him. "Look, cave girl make spear. Now, about that base full of supplies. Lead on fair leader." Food wasn't high on the list, but if he had a weapon or two then that would make all the difference in surviving this place.

He blinked slowly as he watched her jump about. She looked so capable, so light in her movements, so utterly in control of herself and her surroundings. Instantly, he fell in love with her.

"Ah?" Courfeyrac asked her, caught stunned and staring at her. It took several seconds too long for him to regain his composure and recall that he was meant to do more with his life than get lost in the presence of a beautiful woman. "Ah, yes. Yes, right. Follow me."

He had to get out of there, and quickly, before he got lost in his own head and fully realized just what had happened to him. He should never have asked her to come with him. This was all going to end with someone's heartbreaking, and it would probably be his. Still, he was entirely incapable of leaving her alone now that he knew she was in the world. As he started off through the dense patches of trees, he looked back over his shoulder to make sure Max was with him still. He knew she could track him now, follow his trail anywhere in the arena, but he craved the reassurance that she would not leave him alone either.

"This way, my dear. Toward the clearing."

Her smile never fell as they walked back towards the older man's base. He was, well, he wasn't Logan, and maybe that was good; she had done nothing but cause the man trouble. Her smile fell for a moment as she tried to push the wheelchair bound man and whatever they had or didn't have out of her mind. 'Eyes on the mission, Max.'

By the time Courfeyrac looked back at her, Max was once again all smiles. "So, how long have you been in this?" If the game was to the death, then Courfeyrac was right in keeping hidden, especially if there were other, stronger players.

At least he now had a soldier keeping an eye out.

"This particular Arena is in its fourth week," he answered, attempting to mask the turmoil in his heart, certain that he was somehow failingly transparent. "However, if you mean to ask how many times I have participated in these routine deathmatches, the answer is seven. This is my seventh time sacrificing my pitiful life for these ungrateful spectators. And, I suspect, I will die for them seven times more before this is all over, for that is the nature of this place and of our roles in it."

He'd longed to tell her more, tell her that they could change things if they wanted to, for themselves and for every other Tribute held captive by the Capitol, but he loved her now, and with that love came the fierce need to play protector. Max was capable beyond his wildest reckonings, but he was a man. The core instinct of a man was to protect his woman, and though it would forever remain unspoken, Max was, he realized, his woman.

"Ah," Courfeyrac reached for her arm, to stall her. "You see it there, just ahead? That structure of ice and snow which rises from the plain? That is our fortress. Come, my love. We must move quickly across the pasture."

"Hey, you've got someone who has your back. I'm sure you'll only have to suffer through death five more times, max." Hope was dumb, but that didn't mean she could let her new-not-new friend live in the mental dumps.

Max remained quiet as she studied the older man. He was so obviously holding a heck of a lot back, but since he was only vaguely a memory she couldn't exactly call him on it. She did wonder about her possible deaths of the past. Did he witness them? Where they horrible? It wasn't that she was afraid of dying. Hell, she'd been created and trained with the expectation that she would die for a mission, but that didn't mean there was no understanding of the pain of losing someone. She wept for every sibling that she'd lost. She even felt for her tiny clone that had been dying a slow and painful death. From the short time she'd been with the man, Max could see that Courfeyrac was a man burdened with passion. She didn't want to be the cause of his pain even if she couldn't remember.

Max stopped next to Courfeyrac and nodded. Yeah, that was definitely a good use of the snow, however, "Kind of noticeable, ain't it?"

Oh, God have mercy on him. Courfeyrac felt a strange shiver go down his spine as she spoke, vowed to have his back. For a moment, he very nearly forgot that she didn't remember him and therefore could not recall the promises they'd made to protect each other. She barely even knew him though. How was it that she was so attached already?

He forced those thoughts aside to contemplate it all later.

"That is the point. It is less about camouflage and more about intimidation and impression. It is working, no? You are impressed?"

There was a joke to be made in there, but he let it go, opting instead to lead her cautiously across the plain and toward the well hidden entrance to the fort. Courfeyrac motioned for her to wait so he could check inside for his other companions. He found the place was thankfully empty.

"You must scrambled up the side a bit to get in properly." He said, emerging again to face her. "I would offer to lift you, darling, but I know you can easily make the leap into it yourself." Besides, if he touched her, he might do something stupid like kiss her.

"Well, I am impressed." Intimidation? She's not really a good judge on what's intimidating. Her smile doesn't falter; Courfeyrac looks too happy over his accomplishment to let that happen. There's something so comforting in seeing him survive like this. Here Max barely remembers this guy and yet she can't help but feel protective of him.

He's right about her not needing the help, but she still makes sure that he doesn't think she doesn't need him. "Hold this. Hate to poke my eye out trying to get inside." Max holds out the long branch for the man to take. The smaller branches and nubs are missing, pulled away as they walked towards the fort. "Now if this were a massive snowball fight, you'd definitely be the man I'd want."

Edited 2015-03-28 21:43 (UTC)

For whatever reason, her words hit him like a punch to the gut. The man she'd want. Hm, yes, well. That wasn't what she meant, and Courfeyrac felt suddenly ashamed for fixating on it. She didn't know him. She couldn't love him. And he couldn't possibly love her, that was utterly ridiculous. He wasn't that sort of fellow anyway. He fell into fancies. He did not fall in love.

He took hold of the branch and held it for her as she joined him in the fort. Alone at last, and safe, he allowed himself a moment to exhale.

"I know you have no recollection of it, but we spent many nights together like this in our first Arena together. I built a shelter out of fossilized bones for myself and my friends, and you joined us there. And when it was just the two of us left alive, we sat there together at night and looked after one another." His expression changed into something soft, vulnerable. Luckily, he was mostly shielded by the glare of the snow, or so he hoped. He couldn't stand the thought of seeming weak before her. Max had such a presence. He did not want to disappoint her with his folly.

Tom knows the faces, if not the names, of all the competitors that came in to the Arena at the Cornucopia. Consider it diligence, or attention to his competition. As such, when he sees someone whose face he can't immediately place, curiosity born of both the desire to shred apart any advantage the new person has and a fundamental inability to cope with being the last to know forces him to follow along, observing and scheming.

So he is here. Max's face looks vaguely familiar, and he realizes it's because she's one of the Tributes who, after his first Arena, wasn't returned for the one after that. This strange designation makes her a puzzle he can't help but want to solve, and from the treeline he spies on her.

When she edges away from the Cornucopia, he slinks into the open, almost seeming to emerge from shadows as if he were made from them and taking coalesced form. "Grateful for a second chance?"

Max should have paid better attention. No, that's not strictly fair. Max should have, maybe, taken care to meet people who weren't French nor under the age of 15. At this moment her past socialization wouldn't have mattered all that much, but at least she might have had some vague notion on where she stood with his face.

Second chances? Damn, he already had one up on her. "Every time feels like the first," she shrugs. "You the welcoming committee?"

"And how literally am I to take that?"

His brow quirks upward with his lip as curiosity ekes out into his expression. He hasn't gotten an opportunity to talk with someone who spent some time dead and was revived after such a long time. He wants to know if the experience is different, because information is valuable currency. Moreso than money. Moreso that combat experience in the Arena.

"Tom Cassidy, at your service. And you would be...Guevara, I believe?"

"As literal as you like." Her arrival, or re-arrival, had been a rather hasty affair. Wake up, get dressed, dance around like a trained monkey, and then, bam, in she went. Not exactly an easy affair, but Max was adaptable.

"Max actually." She keeps the smile on and to all appearances seems quite harmless, but there's something telling in how relaxed she is with this stranger in what is suppose to be a death arena. "So, Tom, what brings you back to this little piece of woods?"

"I was following you. Not, my dear, in an unwholesome way, but out of curiosity." He raises a hand as if to dismiss all lecherous implications. "It's not common that people are brought back after time away, and as such you'll forgive me if I wonder if you're somehow - special."

If so, he wants to find out how he, too, can bargain for a better shot at immortality.

'You know what they say about curiosity.' The phrase is on the tip of her tongue, but considering her own DNA, she'd rather not mention any dying cats.

The peaceful gesture he gives Max does nothing to relax her mind, even as she sends him a friendly nod and holds her ground. The soldier in her is warning her to beware. "Oh, I'm all kinds of special, but probably not on the level you're thinking." She shrugs her shoulders and grins. "They probably just like reruns."

It hits her that he's angling for information she doesn't have. She blames this world for her mind running slower than normal; she should have caught on right away. "You're not worried about being re-cast are you?"

"Oh? And what kinds of special do you imagine I'm thinking?" He rests a hand against the tree next to him, able to identity genus and species just from the feel of the bark, even without his powers.

He shakes his head. "I'm plenty certain that I entertain the audience well enough. I won't say they're a simple lot, but they have their vices, murder and mayhem being one of them. My curiosity is for someone else's benefit."

"In this place one could only guess." There was something about the man that reminded Max of those back home who liked to believe they were more than they are; big shots that could get away with anything. Sadly that tended to be true, but then not many of said 'big shots' had met Max.

Her smile widened. "How very Good Samaritan of you, what with all the murder and mayhem we're suppose to be doing. But," she figured it wouldn't hurt too much to share a little with someone who might be an asset in the future. "But if you're really wondering...I was home. Whatever happened before," she waves a hand around indicating more than just the arena, "I was home and then I wasn't." At least that was the going theory, because if this place had the tech to take someone from their home world then who knows what they could do. Max knew all about cloning and writing memories... There was a whole lot of implication that Max didn't want to think about right now.

Tom makes a small sound, one of consideration more than agreement, as he turns over an unsatisfactory answer the way a prospector might examine fool's gold, looking for some hint of what had been promising moments ago. For a moment he flares with a sort of indignant anger at the Gamemakers which he could focus on Max, but he decides against picking a fight with her.

"How unfortunate for you." He sighs. "How unfortunate for all of us, to still be in the dark about their methods."

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[open] Starting Gate

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