The Initiate Fraysong ♑ (Young GHB) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
carnagecarnival) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thearena2015-06-16 08:34 pm
carnagecarnival) wrote in thearena2015-06-16 08:34 pm
Entry tags:
Don't you break I will not let you
Who| A lowly Avox and you?
What| servitude!
Where| In the dining hall of the castle
When| Wednesdays only from dawn to dusk. (2nd, 3rd, 4th weeks so far)
Warnings/Notes| Avoxing references, naturally.
A
He prepares a feast that he cannot partake in. The arena began and immediately they lot of them were tasked with making the massive meal at fast a pace as possible. Despite the enormity of the task, it's still far from the worst or biggest thing any of those in their collective have done.
There is no fear of entering the arenas, possibly perishing there, when every moment alive is something of fear, but he knows in those who are able, there is no doubt a wonder. The last time Avoxes were let into the arena, many of them had not come out. He can remember the ringing of the explosion and the carnage of the corpses. He knows even if a Tribute were to set a trap once more here, none of them would do anything to stop it.
Fear of disobedience remains ever closer, far more powerful. It means after hours of standing perfectly still against the wall, a living statue, he will dive ahead at any sign of spill or mess to clean and serve.
B
The world of this arena is, for the most part, a gloomy one. He doesn't mind the dark, it all being easier on him as a troll, and for slipping into the shadow as an avox. But when the light peak through one of the high stained glass windows at one point, he blinks, breaking the character of being perfectly still. His head lifts up, and though it isn't kind on his eyes to look so direct into it, he cannot help himself.
The light shines through in visible beams and within them the dust dances like a million little stars. Its a slow waltz over all their heads, filling the dining hall with life without even meaning to. When he breathes, he can see them swirl faster before his eyes. The colors of the glass paint those little stars, and fill in all the greys with color; stone, clothing, his skin as well.
Nobody else seems to have noticed this rapturous sight, though he notices one of the newer made avoxes (new enough not to have fallen too far yet into the eternal pattern, but old enough that his first conditioning is fresh... something that will change soon,) glancing at him. There's the ghost of curiosity in that look, though to anyone but an avox the expression is as dull and empty as could be. Away he looks and he lifts a hand just an inch two out and up, swishing the air and it's dust. There's a breath of ease, and then the faintest sharper one as a Tribute enters their midst.
C
Overtime in the day of the third week, the rain of fish and frogs had sounded like marching in his ears, or like a hundred lashings befalling the earth below. It was a small mercy that they were not ordered to serve outside in that for he's sure many of the Gamemakers would have little care for a non-person. Except for Sigma that is. He can't imagine Sigma had condoned this at all, and if he had he would've only done so due to a strong-arm of his position and even his life, or the smaller risk. Sigma would've rather had him nearer, serving the coffees and teas and keeping him so busy he would have nowhere else to be. But it's only one day per week, so he'd overheard.
The "rain" sapped the light. But even as it was, each day, as dark approaches nearer, he begins to note that even the most well trained of the Avoxes start straining to see. He opts to be their eyes, no ulterior reason, just that if they fail, then they all fail together and their very function depend upon success. It means he's watching extra close, in case there's anything to trip over, any bit that needs cleaning, that the others won't spot. He can't do anything for them whilst a Tribute is here, but if he catches things before they show, it's fine. No one will be watching them on camera and no one cared if Avoxes did a little more than the norm of what they did for Tributes behind closed doors, even if that "more" is still "not much".
He can tell on his own when dusk has finally arrived for he feels more awake than he has all day, while his fellow Avoxes fight hard against exhaustion. Finally, it is time to clear the table away, and there is rush to do so that would leave one debating whether it was mere efficiency or desperate desire to rest and be done. But as is wont of any place serving food, there are stragglers, those who arrive late to the banquet hoping for scraps at the least. He debates, but not for long. He brings the food and drink he'd intended to cart off to the closest available chair for the arrival, laying it down neat and stepping back.
As the weeks go on, the amount of food available becomes less and less. He does not need to be a Tribute to read the signs.
What| servitude!
Where| In the dining hall of the castle
When| Wednesdays only from dawn to dusk. (2nd, 3rd, 4th weeks so far)
Warnings/Notes| Avoxing references, naturally.
A
He prepares a feast that he cannot partake in. The arena began and immediately they lot of them were tasked with making the massive meal at fast a pace as possible. Despite the enormity of the task, it's still far from the worst or biggest thing any of those in their collective have done.
There is no fear of entering the arenas, possibly perishing there, when every moment alive is something of fear, but he knows in those who are able, there is no doubt a wonder. The last time Avoxes were let into the arena, many of them had not come out. He can remember the ringing of the explosion and the carnage of the corpses. He knows even if a Tribute were to set a trap once more here, none of them would do anything to stop it.
Fear of disobedience remains ever closer, far more powerful. It means after hours of standing perfectly still against the wall, a living statue, he will dive ahead at any sign of spill or mess to clean and serve.
B
The world of this arena is, for the most part, a gloomy one. He doesn't mind the dark, it all being easier on him as a troll, and for slipping into the shadow as an avox. But when the light peak through one of the high stained glass windows at one point, he blinks, breaking the character of being perfectly still. His head lifts up, and though it isn't kind on his eyes to look so direct into it, he cannot help himself.
The light shines through in visible beams and within them the dust dances like a million little stars. Its a slow waltz over all their heads, filling the dining hall with life without even meaning to. When he breathes, he can see them swirl faster before his eyes. The colors of the glass paint those little stars, and fill in all the greys with color; stone, clothing, his skin as well.
Nobody else seems to have noticed this rapturous sight, though he notices one of the newer made avoxes (new enough not to have fallen too far yet into the eternal pattern, but old enough that his first conditioning is fresh... something that will change soon,) glancing at him. There's the ghost of curiosity in that look, though to anyone but an avox the expression is as dull and empty as could be. Away he looks and he lifts a hand just an inch two out and up, swishing the air and it's dust. There's a breath of ease, and then the faintest sharper one as a Tribute enters their midst.
C
Overtime in the day of the third week, the rain of fish and frogs had sounded like marching in his ears, or like a hundred lashings befalling the earth below. It was a small mercy that they were not ordered to serve outside in that for he's sure many of the Gamemakers would have little care for a non-person. Except for Sigma that is. He can't imagine Sigma had condoned this at all, and if he had he would've only done so due to a strong-arm of his position and even his life, or the smaller risk. Sigma would've rather had him nearer, serving the coffees and teas and keeping him so busy he would have nowhere else to be. But it's only one day per week, so he'd overheard.
The "rain" sapped the light. But even as it was, each day, as dark approaches nearer, he begins to note that even the most well trained of the Avoxes start straining to see. He opts to be their eyes, no ulterior reason, just that if they fail, then they all fail together and their very function depend upon success. It means he's watching extra close, in case there's anything to trip over, any bit that needs cleaning, that the others won't spot. He can't do anything for them whilst a Tribute is here, but if he catches things before they show, it's fine. No one will be watching them on camera and no one cared if Avoxes did a little more than the norm of what they did for Tributes behind closed doors, even if that "more" is still "not much".
He can tell on his own when dusk has finally arrived for he feels more awake than he has all day, while his fellow Avoxes fight hard against exhaustion. Finally, it is time to clear the table away, and there is rush to do so that would leave one debating whether it was mere efficiency or desperate desire to rest and be done. But as is wont of any place serving food, there are stragglers, those who arrive late to the banquet hoping for scraps at the least. He debates, but not for long. He brings the food and drink he'd intended to cart off to the closest available chair for the arrival, laying it down neat and stepping back.
As the weeks go on, the amount of food available becomes less and less. He does not need to be a Tribute to read the signs.