open;

[gluteus]

Who| Maximus and YOU
What|  Maximus arrives in the Games, and anyone and everyone can come bother him though they might get beat up a little
Where|  All over the arena
When|  Mid-way
Warnings| Probably lots of violence and possible death, but not his. Not yet. Not yet.


He'd been told almost nothing. Equipped with gear completely foreign to him save the fur lining of his hood, Maximus said nothing as he was prepared and had little more explained to him. He wondered, vaguely, if he was dead. Had Commodus's assassins come for him in the night? Had the gods judged that he must pay his dues before he was worthy of joining his brothers in Elysium?

But as he rose into the blinding white snow, and the cold whipped around him fierce and fast, Maximus knew he was alive. A new game, perhaps, that Commodus had smuggled him to in order to watch him die. They had not even armed him - he was meant to be no more than fodder. The small metal piece they had pushed under this skin was a new and unique branding to match the scarred out tattoo on his shoulder. Forever owned, a piece of his mind echoed. He ignored it.

He would not die here. Not today. He would win this arena like those before it until he stood face to face with Commodus.

As he stepped off his pillar, he crouched down to the ground, fingers meaning to find dirt but instead finding snow. The snow would afford no better grip, but then he had no weapon to take a better grip on. He had seen snow before, of course - they had fought in the north for nearly his entire military career, and the harsh winters had killed more than a few friends. But not him.

He raised his eyes to the horizon - but there were no stands, no crowds, no audience. He knew, somehow, that they were watching. The mob was always watching.

Strength and Honour.

Comments

[the_marshal]

Draco was dead. Wyatt had finally seen the boy's picture up in the snowy night sky, and, truth be told, as much as they hadn't really gotten along, Wyatt kinda missed him.

He missed having someone to break up the hours with. The ever-white landscape, the freezing temperatures.... It'd felt easier somehow, with someone else.

Even someone like Draco.

But still, he carried on. Doin' as best as he could, hopin' quietly, in some deep down secret place, that this arena might be the one. Somehow. Someway.

Slipping out of his the icy-cave he'd claimed as his own, he glanced around warily... then put his head down against the wind and snow and started off toward the eastern horizon. There were birds there, he knew. And where there were birds, there was food.

[gluteus]

The snow seemed to go on forever - no tree or break in sight - and Maximus was having difficulty trying to determine where he was. Not in the alps, that was certain. And not Germania. Could they be further north, perhaps? But how had they got him here--

His reverie was broken as his keen eyes fell on another figure appearing out of the blowing snow, the keen cry of birds coming from that general direction. He had been told that he would need to survive out here, of course, though why a gladiatorial arena would last so long...

He considered his options. He was unarmed, but that could only be solved by finding a weapon - and he'd seen nothing he could use in his trek thus far. Either the other 'Tributes' were armed, and he could gain a weapon from one of them, or they were not, and he wouldn't need to.

He started heading for the stranger.

[the_marshal]

The birds started as soon as Wyatt was in sight, a warning call that rippled through the flock, but he wasn't deterred. He'd done this enough times now, it almost like an art.

He moved into the nesting field, his head down for protection, and the animals exploded into movement, all slender bodies and pointed wings. A whirlwind of screams - cold and high. The kind of sound that came to haunt you in your dreams.

They dove at him, clawing and biting, but he ignored them and bent to scoop up the small, darkly flecked eggs. Two went straight into his pockets, clinking against the knife tucked there, a third he cracked right there and then, sucking hungrily as the unhatched's parents circled around him.

[gluteus]

Moving cautiously but quickly, his approach apparently unnoticed by either the man or the birds that so viciously attacked him, closing the distance between them as he trudged through the snow. He did not even realise his hunger until he felt his stomach rumble and complain at the sight of Wyatt devouring the egg.

It did not look particularly appetizing, but Maximus had eaten worse on a campaign before.

He glanced up at the birds as he approached. He had little doubt that he could resist their fury easily enough, but perhaps if he made a bid for the eggs while his opponent had their attention...

[the_marshal]

One of the birds, young maybe, or just desperate, came to close, didn't turn in time and instead of grazing past, it smacked into the back of Wyatt's head with a thick thud. Bird and egg tumbled to the ground, the former stunned and fluttering softly, the latter smashing and splashing yellow-pink fluid across the snow.

Wyatt grunted, knocked forward by the blow, and turned, glaring across the field-

-and spotted the stranger.

Immediately he shifted, body stiffing. His fingers twitched, ready to dive into his pocket, but he didn't move.

Not yet.

[gluteus]

Maximus came to a halt as soon as Wyatt turned, but didn't flinch or back away. Instead he straightened, squaring his shoulders and raising his head. Even with his goggles on, his look was even, calm, and fearless. It was a look of recognition, and of defiance. Yes, I see you, it said, and you aren't stopping me.

Once registered, he began moving forward again, towards an unguarded nest, to the left of them both, his eyes never leaving Wyatt.

[the_marshal]

Wyatt stared back, eyes as pale and blue as the cold afternoon sky above them. But he didn't move. Forward or back.

He had no desire to fight - particularly a stranger who could be anyone, anything - but, he wouldn't turn-tail either.

They could be men about this.

[polyturtle]

Shell it was freezing. Shell it was freezing. Shell it was--

--Oh.

Donatello was currently trying to trudge a lifeless bird back to his and Momoko's dwelling when he spotted the newcomer. At least, he saw the silhouette in the snowy conditions, though he couldn't make out exactly who it was. He quickly tensed, and quietly shifted a foot into a defensive position as the figure came closer, slinging the bird onto his back.

Just in case. It could be someone he was friendly with, or something worse.

[gluteus]

Maximus continued his trudge through the snow. He'd seen no whiff or whisper of shelter, but he knew he would have to find some too. He suddenly stopped, however, as his eyes fell on the figure in the distance. He drew a breath, about to step closer - when his eyes finally made out the form.

He had no idea what it was.

Man shaped (mostly) but no nose, and green skin and... an enormous protrusion upon its back...

A monster. He'd heard stories, of course, every story of heroes in ancient days included monsters - but Maximus had seen much of the dark places of the world and had never seen one. He had not even considered them real. And yet --

His hand immediately went to his hip, where the shadow of a memory of a sword once lay, and he cursed quietly under his breath when he remembered he was completely unarmed.

[polyturtle]

"Uh...hello?"

On his end, Don could see it was a guy. Human-looking, but not entirely familiar. He kept on his guard, just in case. If they were new, they could be hostile. He didn't have weaponry, but it was as Master Splinter or that man who gave him the creeps back in the Training Center would say: the body is the first, last and best weapon a true warrior will need in times of trouble.

"Who's there?"

At least this monster seems relatively polite.

[gluteus]

It had to be a test, or a trick of some kind, even as the monster spoke. But had not the Sphinx? Maximus straightened. Answering riddles was preferably to taking down a monster unarmed.

"They call me the Spaniard," he called out across the snow, suddenly unwilling to give his true name, even if Commodus had indeed sent him here.

Names had power, after all.

[polyturtle]

"Oh." Don blinked. "So, uh...Mr. Spaniard?"

What else was he going to call this guy, after all. Also, worst monster ever.

"I'm guessing you're new to the Arena, aren't you?"

[gluteus]

Expecting riddles and receiving stutters, the frown deepened on Maximus's face.

"I've fought in many Arenas," He said, misunderstanding the question to be one about arenas in general, rather than here in Panem. "And in the legions before that. If you are here to test my sword arm--"

[ordonaturalis]

The bow and arrows had proven to be more of a liability than strength for Morrigan. Her time in the wilds had hardly called for such base means of inflicting harm, and her first attempts at the item had resulted in a fine cut across her palm on the first day. The string of the bow and the arrow tips had proven their worth however, serving as both snare for bird and lure for fish when she was forced from the safety of the ice to procure food.

Without the familiar safety of the forest or the less familiar, yet still useful, protection of the Warden and 'friends,' Morrigan was at a disadvantage. Worse now, in this world of white, where her dark hair stood out in stark contrast to the world around her. Yet food must be found. Distasteful as she was of her current situation, her life was not so cheap a coin that she would part from it easily. Luck had held thus far, she had encountered no one. She could only rely on the same twisted form of fortune to look after her as she struggled with her tangled line once more, extracting a captured bird to add to her pitiful pile of subsistence.

[gluteus]

The cold was beginning to seep through him, but still Maximus trudged on - too stubborn and determined to stop, even as he pushed his body past what he should. The day had been long, and frustrating. The game made less sense to him now than when he began - the few other tributes he had met unwilling to fight.

She was the first woman he had seen since he had arrived. He was not overly surprised by her - he had, in fact, both fought and killed women gladiators, though they were rare. Somehow her presence here made more sense to him than a lack of women otherwise might. This game had proven sadistic already.

He came to a stop, watching her from a safe distance, deliberating, his eyes falling on the bird. The eggs he had retrieved earlier had not been enough, and he would need all his energy just to stay warm...

[ordonaturalis]

Even without magic, there was no mistaking the feeling of being watched. An unaware creature, even a mage shifted into the form of it, was sure to be very shortly a dead one. Morrigan dropped the carcass from her hand and both stood and turned to face the sensed threat in one smooth, unbroken motion, shoulders and back straight and head held high. That is was another human was not unexpected, but, even with the ridiculous clothing obscuring so much of him, she was certain she did not recognize him from the opening match around the cornucopia.

Interesting.

"Well, what have we here? A vulture, perhaps, come to swoop upon still living prey? A lost soul seeking harbor in the storm? Do not simply stand and leave me in wonder. Speak, man. Or, if 'tis blood you're set upon, make such intention clear."

[gluteus]

"An observer," He said after a long moment. "And a man with hunger. I've no qualms with blood but I've found this barren place to have a surprising lack of it."

He shifted his weight, glancing down at the bird and back up at her.

"It seems this arena has more tests of survival than merely the sword."

[ordonaturalis]

"Ah. We are to dance to the tune of creatures which desire far greater forms of annoyance."

She gave a soft scoff, glancing up to the sky- still not entirely certain how these 'lords' oversaw them, but instinctually blaming some overhead being.

"Yet I cannot find it in myself to disappoint. Not with so high a price to be paid for such. A most disheartening shortcoming to discover, to be sure. But an issue for a later time. You've come to observe my...bounty."

She gestured vaguely to the corpses at her feet, an ironic tilt to her voice as she mentioned the meager meal they would be able to form.

"The question, then, is only how you suppose to acquire it."

[gluteus]

He raised an eyebrow, glancing down at the birds.

"Even if I were to acquire it, I doubt it would suffice for more than a few mouth fulls," He said wryly, before motioning towards the improvised snare.

"That might be better put to use with four hands instead of two," He pointed out. "And better feed two bellies than one."

[greatestdetectiveaward]

In a way, Javert's found himself returning to old habits, making patrols. Each day, he makes the same loop around his hideout with Sandy, and then does so again, expanding a little further as he comes to memorize the lay of the land. There isn't much to see, but Javert is good at taking in the subtle details, the places people can run and hide, the escape routes.

He feels no soft emotions for the urchin girl. She doubtless did something to merit ending up here, probably something more opprobrious than he did, even. But they have an uneasy alliance thus far, collecting food and keeping each other warm. Javert doesn't talk to her much.

Today, Javert's finally decided he must kill. He's been idling in indecision too long, trying to make sense of a situation that defies reason, and as such he's fallen back on his old steadfast friend - directions. And the directions are that they're to kill each other, and that only the victor will survive.

He stalks his route and comes back around to the hideout when he notices another set of footprints. A man's, from the size of them. Certainly not Sandy's. He doesn't call for Sandy, but a quick glance around the area doesn't reveal her presence. He starts to follow the prints, moving quietly, hand wrapping around his icicle-cudgel just in case.

[gluteus]

Maximus could not sleep. His mind swirled, trying to place himself in a context that he could not understand. A thousand years? More? The only sense he could make was that he was, in fact, being punished. But for what? Not taking his revenge on Commodus? All the Gods needed to do was bring Commodus to him here, now, and he would enact his revenge. But then, a small voice in his mind would say, perhaps that is the reward for completing the trials. Like in life, perhaps if I win enough Arenas they will bring me before Commodus and I can finally return to my family.

No matter how lost in thought he was, however, his instincts never dimmed, constantly aware of the shifting snow and the shifting shadows. He stood, falling still on the ice as he swore he saw something move in the snow - something solid - but when he looked, it was gone. He pierced his lips and continued on.

[greatestdetectiveaward]

While it's within Javert's wheelhouse to be stealthy when required, especially during a pursuit, his unease with the game has left him at a crossroads between finding sneaking like that dishonorable and finding it practical. Without a blueprint to follow and with conflicting instincts, he ends up deciding more by chance than consciously, revealing his location by a careless slip through the snow.

He's within ten feet of Maximus now, shadowed by a jutting piece of ice that has formed a natural ridge and canyon across the plain. The abyss of uncertainty is bubbling up inside him, try as he might to tamp it down. He lacks the tools to make any sense of this arena, this 'game', this honor, as Momoko called it. Javert is never one to question authority, and yet the law of the Games is so bizarre that it rails against a lifetime and career of training to follow it.

He grips his icicle close. He's nearing an adult man, one who seems vigilant rather than exhausted and run-down like many here. To stab him in the back or club him over the back of the head seems like the work of the murderers in the gutters, and as such Javert steps out and into plain view. "Good evening."

[gluteus]

He sees Javert from the corner of his eye just as he speaks, and Maximus turns around abruptly to face him. The icicle - and its intent - are obvious. But this Arena has been surprisingly bloodless so far, so Maximus slips into a defensive position but does not approach. Perhaps the man will be wise and move on.

"Evening." His fingers flex unconsciously, tense and ready.

[greatestdetectiveaward]

Javert pauses, sizing this man up. It's not as if Javert isn't confident, but he hasn't been in these sorts of conditions before. He's tired, he's hungry, and unlike any time prior in his life, he's rattled. He's committing himself to random goals without believing in them, a most unpleasant feeling for him.

And this man is about his size, already in a position to defend himself, and appears to have been making out better in the Arena than Javert has so far - or perhaps he's one of the new arrivals.

"I suppose you've already guessed that I'm going to try to kill you."

Why mince words?

[gluteus]

A slow smile spread across his lips, and he straightened his back. He was at a disadvantage, of course. Unarmed.

But this time he didn't have his hands tied behind his back.

"Well then," He said, his voice gaining strength. "What are you waiting for?"