thearena | I changed my mind; this game sucks...

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I changed my mind; this game sucks...

Who | Zed and whoever is unfortunate enough to come across him.
What | Zed gets sick after a little bit of trouble with the roses and later tries to camp out in the catacombs to kill people because he's in a bad mood.
Where | The castle and the forest, see prompts.
When | Throughout Week 2
Warnings | Sickness and violence, pretty much.

[Tuesday Night, Forest]
Zed had pulled the rose with his name on it. Why not? It had his name on it, it was his. Sure, it had come with some sort of instructions, something about dipping it in some sort of waters or another, whatever. Zed wasn't the sort to read instructions.

But he really should have. That Tuesday night, he experienced something for the first time. Getting sick. Sure, he'd had a little bit of sneezing and itchy eyes and general unpleasantness in the last Arena, but he'd brushed that aside as a minor annoyance. It hadn't been quite so debilitating as this. He's more out in the open than he'd like, but it's still nighttime. He's still at his strongest now, and you'd have to be a colossal idiot to approach the Emperor of Darkness in a dark, spooky forest. Not that he'd made a point of warning people of this. Besides, he's got this, even if his head's spinning and he doesn't seem to be able to regulate his own body temperature right now. It's dark, and he's hiding in it under the cover of a fallen tree.

There is the matter of the flame-like marker in the sky hovering above him the entire time, but he figures he'll take care of anyone foolish enough to approach him.

Maybe. If he feels like it.

[Wednesday Night, Banquet]
Zed feels like he's recovered from the fever of the night before. It broke before dawn. And now that there's a banquet afoot, well, he's not going to pass that up. Even if the prince clothing they'd stuck him in at the Cornucopia is a bit tattered and dirty, he's still all too comfortable in the role in which he's been cast. He's bossing around Avoxes, chowing down on food, and generally not letting on that he's in any sort of deathmatch arena. This is all normal. Perfectly normal. Just don't get in his way when it comes to food he wants; he might try to stab you with a fork. Classy.

[Sunday Night, Catacombs]
Zed didn't take Gritta's death well. It was funny, in a way, given the way they'd been back home. She'd tried to consume him, then he'd consumed her--but couldn't--and then she'd gotten out and he'd tried to kill her again anyway, then she'd whisked him away after that last battle with the ToQGers...

So he was through playing around. And he was angry. There was one very good way to take that anger out on people. He'd scavenged a heavy iron bar from one of the dungeons, and then he went down to the catacombs. And he waited. And waited. The first person who came by was going to see what happened when the Emperor of Darkness got angry.

An unwary traveler through the catacombs, though they might see the marker indicating that someone with powers was there, may very well find themselves faced with the darkness itself reaching out to them in a pulse, trying to drag them close enough for Zed to strike. Of course, there's the matter of what might backfire on Zed when he tries using that power...and if he knows whoever's approaching, he might not try to kill them just yet.

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Somehow, even in this first arena in what feels like a very long time that he doesn't have to spend alone, he and Alain still end up separated. Roland's worry for his old friend is there in the back of his mind, but he is determinedly paying it no attention. Alain is a gunslinger, same as Roland. Was trained the same as Roland, and by the same man. Even with those injuries he'd gotten in the Cornucopia, Alain can take care of himself. Not quite so well as Roland, though - at least Roland's got two working legs. And one working arm.

There's no sling on the other, though hanging as it is pulls painfully at the broken things in his shoulder. Sling makes the injury more obvious. If he holds himself the right way, well, maybe it'd take a little observation to tell that his right glove covers a set of fingers that may as well have all been bitten off, for all he can lift them.

His steps don't slow as he approaches that light, the flame that signifies someone as unfortunate as he himself is, whose presence is always advertised whether they'd like it to be or not. The other's probably already seen Roland's own flame, after all, and these arenas are always a strange balance of caution and recklessness, so he decides against turning back.

His steps are quick but quiet, and his left hand is not near the knife handle sticking out from the scarf around his waist but getting it there would not take much. At least, if his hand were free. As is, it's busy tugging leaves off certain plants and tucking them away, and he tries to twist them off as neatly as he can one-handed but the bushes and underbrush still tremble when he does it, leaves whispering against each other. The other light is very close now and if whoever it's attached to knows he's here - well, he'll deal with that if it becomes a problem.

Zed's a little out of it, true, but he sees that other light coming towards him. He knows there's someone else there, knows they can see his presence, too. His only weapon at the moment is an iron bar he brought out from one of the torture chambers, and it's lying next to him. He's not going to be using it right now. That would take too much energy.

He's sitting there propped up against a tree with an outstretched hand, as though he's ready to shoot something out of that hand should the situation call for it. "Who's there?" He tries to make it sound harsh and threatening, but the strained sound of his voice suggests he's not in the best shape himself right now.

Now Roland's in an odd position. He recognizes that voice and its owner, while not an enemy, is no friend. Not to mention he possibility - vague, but there - that inside of arenas, this empty-headed, sparkle obsessed tribute is actually dangerous.

Well. Roland's in no mood to hide. "Roland," he calls out in answer, leaving the plant he'd been picking leaves from and walking a little closer. His own voice shows no more than a little strain, because although his shoulder does hurt it is a quiet, constant type of hurt and one that it could be fatal to let show.

Now, the light hovering over Roland is a pain in the ass, and a dangerous one. But if it's going to be permanent it may as well be useful. He means to make it useful here, try and get close enough to illuminate the other tribute and show Roland why Zed's voice holds a very different tone in it than the one Roland's used to. "I don't mean to fight you, Zed," he calls out, moving steadily closer. "Unless you plan on getting me killed again."

"I'm not in the mood for a fight." Zed grunts a little as he moves himself into a better position. He's unused to being sick, to feeling like absolute crap. Looks it, too. He's not going to be much of a problem even if he wanted to be.

With his eyes actually open, he sees Roland well enough in the darkness, and he lowers that outstretched hand. The limited light isn't a problem. "And they haven't dropped in any vodka, so accidents are out."

Roland grunts, the only response to something like that which may or may not have been a joke. Once he gets close enough he squats, sitting on his heels and trying to get some idea of how much of what he's seeing is the shadows playing tricks on him and how much isn't. His right arm hangs toward the ground as he does this, although he tries to mimic the pose with his left so it won't look so odd. "You look like shit," he decides. "Injury, or illness? May be able to help with one. The other..."

He shrugs. With illness there's only so much anyone can do, at least apart from the Capitol and all their marvels. But he would help if he could - backward as it might be, being forced into arenas with all these others and told they're meant to kill one another makes Roland more inclined to be helpful than he might have been in his other life, his own world which is so completely in his past now. After all, they're all tributes here, all set against the same enemy, although some react to that differently than others. "Suppose I might help a little, if you find yourself needing anything in particular."

"I don't know what it is..." Zed sounds very put-out by that. "Nothing's hurt me, and no one's been dumb enough to get in much of a fight with me..." Illness is the safe bet, even if it's so annoying. "Gritta said it was because I didn't follow the instructions on some stupid rose."

Now Zed's just confused. He's feverish, and that makes thinking hard, but the concept of help, especially to him, is not on that easily makes sense even on a good day. He looks a little suspicious there. "But what would you want in return?"

"Ah, you can give me something if you like," Roland answers absently, too distracted to notice Zed's confusion on the matter. A part of him's still turning his attention to looking Zed over, and another part is busy grimacing in distaste. He knows exactly the rose Zed means.

"Knew those damned roses were no good," he mutters, mostly to himself. "What precisely did the instructions say? And do you feel odd at all? Not just in your body, but in your mind?" That's what he's really wary of when it comes to gamemaker tricks, the ways they find to toy with the tribute's minds. Dangers to the body can be borne, at least until they trip you up and kills you. Dangers to the mind, those are a great deal trickier.

Zed is pretty sure he doesn't have anything to give, but he's quickly distracted by talking about the rose. Stops him from having to contemplate actually giving someone something, even if it's in return for something else. Such a weird concept...

"I don't know...Gritta said something about taking care of it." And admitting that seemed to irritate him even more. "I...think my mind's the same as always. The rest of me just feels like I've been out in the sun too long..." He hates having to admit that. Hates it so much.

Roland studies what he can see of the other man's face, thinks about that. Back in the Capitol Zed had said that there, light couldn't hurt him and Roland had noted it. So while his first reaction is to try and tell whether Zed looks like he's had sunstroke, impossible as that would seem in this rainy, dreary arena, he takes Zed's real meaning soon enough.

"Well, I'll need to know your symptoms before I know if I can do anything for them. Do you react the same to herbs as any other human, do you know?" Because, sorcerer of the dark or no - and, given all Roland's seen, he rather thinks that that Zed is, or something like - if Roland is going to kill someone it is not going to be by poisoning them accidentally.

"I'm hot," Zed complains. "And then cold. And then hot again." No, he's not at all used to this. "I don't know about the herbs. Never needed them." He looks up at the sky and scowls. "Especially not in conditions like these." It's dark, he's got his powers, why is this happening?

"Might be able to find something for that," Roland says, his left hand pushing off on a knee as he moves to stand. He starts walking in a circle around the tree Zed is leaning against, hoping find something here and close but willing to go a little ways off to look if he needs to.

"Are you human, then?" He asks it casually, leaning down to squint at the leaves of a bush. Hm. Not one of the plants he's looking for. "A human sorcerer of the dark? Or something else?"

Zed watches Roland walk, still not sure what to make of this whole help thing.

But at that question, he laughs. He's addled by fever, a little fed up with so much of this, and it's just funny for some reason. "Think bigger than sorcerer." He shakes his head. "Emperor. Emperor of Darkness." And there's a biter sort of chuckle, because it's still kind of annoying even if it's funny for some reason.

Roland straightens and spends a moment in squinting at the man, trying to gauge his mood. Not much reason to think he's joking, and if he isn't, many who claim such titles expect some sort of reaction. Fawning, or awe. He keeps his study of Zed a moment, then goes back to the search. "Afraid I'm not familiar with that one. There may've been emperors in some of the old tales, but the highest title in my land was lord."

"In fact," he adds dryly a second later, because check this extremely coincidental coincidence out, "that lord was called the Lord of Light. Are titles linked with power in your world, then? That you're more than a sorcerer?"

"Lord of Light sounds like he'd want to shut me away again," Zed mutters. He's more grumpy about it than anything, though that might be more the fever talking, and he doesn't seem to care whether or not Roland reacts to that. He is what he is, and that's that. "A sorcerer of the darkness would only wish he had the powers I have...don't know that title's got anything to do with it."

Roland takes a few more steps, hunkers, plucks up a few more likely looking stems and leaves. He's thinking. He'd like very much to know what powers those are, and thinks in this state the man'd probably tell him, should he ask. But then it would be on camera, on record for anyone to know, and the next time the Emperor has those powers he'll no longer have the advantage of surprise. He decides against it.

And on to the other topic, which feels strange in his mind. What this or that person would have done if this or that were different - it isn't the sort of question Roland usually sees a reason to bother with. And Roland has not thought on this particular person so directly in quite a while. "I don't think he would have," Roland decides. "So long as you didn't make a nuisance of yourself, the Lord of Light would have let the Emperor of the Dark go about his business. What kind of business was it, incidentally, before you came to Panem? Does Emperor mean you're a leader of men, or does it only indicate skill?"

He does not try to imagine Zed doing the former. It probably isn't impossible that he'd be able to lead, but, well. Roland's imagination is not quite that good.

"In charge of the Shadow Line," he grumps. "It's a pain..." There is a very hollow-sounding laugh. "Someone like a Lord of Light would think I was a nuisance. That's how it works." He'd been defeated by the light. Struck down by the light. Met his end at the sword of a man cloaked in the rainbow itself..."I get stronger even when I don't want to."

And he laughs again. It would probably not be a very healthy laugh under the best of circumstances, but the fever's just making it worse. "So easy to do here...the place shines, but all they're doing is gathering darkness..."

Oops. Time to direct the conversation elsewhere, onto a path that the Emperor of Darkness will not be made to very dearly regret. This has very quickly turned toward things the Capitol does decidedly not want to hear, and Roland is the only one of them with the capacity to realize it. That laugh - never a good sign, not sounding like that - is making that much very clear.

"The dark has its place," he says, standing and heading back over toward the indistinct, slumped figure that is Zed. To all appearances the implications of Zed's last statement passed him right by, and with luck it'll pass their watchers by, too. Maybe they'll think it refers to the arena. "My father knew that very well. You and your - Gritta, was it? Have you been collecting water? Know of any nearby?"

Edited 2015-06-27 02:29 (UTC)

Really, given who and what Zed is, claiming that the Games and Panem are gathering darkness could almost be a compliment. He's got no clue he's said something potentially insulting. "That's what Gritta said...the dark's there for the light to shine against..." Zed latches onto that topic change easily enough. "I think there was a decent puddle over there." And there's a weak sort of flailing in that direction. There's half a bottle of water in that direction too, badly hidden under some leaves.

"Gritta sounds like a wise fellow." Roland stands and follows the very descriptive gesture, and if the bottle were hidden a little better even Roland's sharp eyes might have been fooled in the dark. But it isn't and so he picks it up, glances over in the direction of the puddle, and heads back. "I mean this for you, not for me. There's no need to lie to me if you already have some, and I don't doubt you'd rather be drinking this than that puddle. Can you stand firelight? Don't need much to boil your tea but there's no point if it'll make your fever worse."

"She's not a fellow," Zed protests, "She's a lady. All delicate and dainty and stuff." Even if anyone else who actually saw Gritta might disagree with his assessment.

He blinks in confusion when Roland finds the water. "There's still water there?" It sounds like it's genuine confusion. "Magic." And he laughs and flops down flat on his back. He's genuinely out of it. "Firelight isn't too bad...it casts a lot of shadows. All flickering and stuff..."

Well, it's becoming clear Zed isn't the most coherent conversational partner but Roland didn't expect that. Perhaps he should start expecting this sort of thing every time they meet in an arena, although Roland very much prefers this to the last time. He settles a little ways away from Zed, sets the water bottle aside, and begins setting up a fire.

So it would take more than firelight to hurt Zed, probably full sunlight or strong electric lights. Of course a part of Roland makes a note of that, remembers it, but he's already decided not to try and air the man's weaknesses here in front of everyone, and so doesn't ask. "You said you grow stronger even when you don't choose to. Is that the case here? If you had to try and kill something now I think your aim would be shit, but maybe your Lady Gritta knew you're powerful enough to be a threat anyway."

"It's dark here. I'm strong. So much darkness..." He's laughing again. "Gritta knows. She'd know better than anyone..." And oh, he made himself a little sad there. It stops the laughing, and now he's just brooding and watching Roland set up that fire.

Roland watches him a moment, frowning. If the man gets emotional enough and his fevered mind decides a display of that strength is in order - but no, he seems content to watch. And it'll be obvious now, watching as Zed is, that Roland's right arm is damned useless, but there's no help for that.

With the help of a stick and the rope Roland'd woven out of old ripped up clothing, the bottle will soon be hanging over the small fire. Pain in the ass to tie that with one hand, though, and managing a good knot that's tight enough might take a while. "I'll give you the rest of these herbs," he says, not looking away from the rope, "to give to Lady Gritta once she gets here. Drinking this tea a few times should help you get your mind back, at least a little. As much as usual, anyway."

Edited 2015-07-01 12:49 (UTC)

Zed makes a note of that useless arm, decides he doesn't care. Anything related to playing the game of the Arena is just a pain even under the best of circumstances, and these are far from the best of circumstances.

He's still utterly bewildered at the idea of help. "Really? No joke?" Because he's not used to help, not from people who aren't obligated to, like anyone from the Shadow Line would be. Like Gritta is.

Roland does look up from the rope at that, wanting to match Zed's expression to his tone. "I could drink some first, prove it's not poison," he says, finally finishing the knot and moving to try and set the stick deep enough into the ground that it'll stand. "But no. No joking. Is that so difficult to believe?"

Zed considers this. "People don't like to help me...so yeah. It's hard to believe." Aw, he's got a little bit of sadness going there.

And abruptly, he shifts to being a little more cheerful about it all. "You're shining with that, man!" But he says it with an approving sort of tone.

The abrupt mood switch prompts Roland to look toward the water, checking whether that fever-reducing tea is near to ready. Too soon, though. The water's only just starting to show signs of heat. "Maybe I am, and maybe not. Probably there's a reason the people you mentioned don't care to help you much, but here and now I see no reason not to. If there is one, maybe I've just failed to see it. Care to enlighten me?"

"Does anyone really want to help the darkness out?" Zed laughs again. It's so bitter. So very bitter. "Nah...everyone likes the light. They want to stay there."

Roland shrugs, shifting around until he's settled in to wait on that fire. "True enough, but I've seen darker souls than yours. Unless there's a great deal of cruelty in you you're very good at hiding." It isn't quite a question but it isn't not one, either. That isn't exactly something a person would admit to, but that doesn't mean he isn't curious to see how the 'emperor of darkness' responds to it.

Zed is highly dubious about this. "That's funny...back home, they always told me mine was the deepest and darkest darkness there was..." Yet even as loopy with fever as he is, he's not rushing to address questions regarding his own cruelty. He is not sure if the news that there are darker ones out there angers him or not, and he's got kind of a funny look on his face. "Tell me about these darker souls."

"There was one," Roland begins, after eying the man's expression a moment. "He went by many a name, and mine for him was the Man in Black. I tracked him for quite a long time - wasn't hard, as he left a trail of suffering wherever he'd been. He'd take dreams, hopes, a person's innermost self, and use that to trick them, twisting those hopes into nightmare. There was no reason to it; such as him never need one. He did it partly to attract me, maybe, but mostly for his own amusement. Everyone I spoke to would mention his smile, his laugh. I... I think... may have heard that laugh myself..."

Roland rubs at his brow, gives his head a quick shake. There are some memories which do not come easy to him, and maybe he wouldn't have mentioned the Man in Black if he'd known doing so would touch on one of them. It isn't that those memories are particularly troubling, though some of them are. It's that that was a strange time in his life, strange in a way that makes those memories difficult and confusing to access. Best to refocus his mind now, think about the man in front of him instead of the one far, far behind. "Why? Are you wanting to size up the competition?"

"Would he really?" Zed asks a little absently. "Sounds like guys I've had working for me..." He frowns. "But that's to gather darkness. That's a reason, gathering darkness..." Not that he likes the reason.

He's quiet for a moment. "Maybe." He sighs. "I'd wondered if other worlds also had Shadows gathering darkness..." In his mind, that's exactly what Roland is describing, which is disappointing somehow. "So you fight with imagination, then?"

He frowns. Glances at the water, which is starting to bubble, but looks quickly back toward the more interesting topic. Not the gathering of darkness, because that actually makes sense to him. The other part. "No," Roland says, plainly. "I fight with guns."

Roland pauses, very aware for a moment of the lightness at his hips where the weight of his old guns once would always sit. For a while in Panem his awareness of that lack had been constant. Surprising, just what you can get used to. Or maybe it isn't. "Or I used to. Is that what warriors in your world do?"

He pauses, visibly trying to imagine it. Failing, probably just as visibly. "I must be misunderstanding you."

Edited (icon) 2015-07-12 15:28 (UTC)

"There are still imagination-powered guns," Zed points out. "I've been shot at with those before." Zed shifts his own weight to watch Roland a little better. "That's one of the things the ToQGers used to fight with. The guns. But they had all sorts of things..." He laughs. "I stole some of their toys once. Interesting stuff..."

Ah. That explains things.

"Once your fever passes you'll have to tell me all this again. See what matches up." The conversation has, after all, been fairly sensible up to this point. Maybe it's time Zed started spouting gibberish. Roland takes a few of the leaves he'd gathered, rolls them between his fingers, and leans forward to drop them in the bottle. Not perfect, certainly, but the best tea that he can manage this quickly.

"This should be done soon, but it may not work right away. You'll have to be patient. I'll drink a little first, so there's no confusion about the fact I'm not deliberately trying to poison you." Zed is, after all, potentially inhuman. Perhaps one of the creatures from the space between worlds, who'd swept over Roland's own world so long ago and who linger there still. Perhaps only a human touched by them. In either case all these herbs should be safe, but when dealing with someone from another world it pays to be cautious.

"Oh, sure, sure." Even though everything Zed has said makes perfect sense to him. It's not like he realizes that people from other worlds running into the ToQGers might be confused by the color and inherent silliness of it all.

"Alright." If Zed seems put out by anything, it is the notion that he will have to be patient over any sort of questions of poison. He doesn't really care about that now, though. He feels bad enough that he doesn't think poison could do much else to him. "What have I got to lose?"

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I changed my mind; this game sucks...

Tuesday

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fade soon?

Sounds good!