thearena | closed; sherlock's death

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closed; sherlock's death

The crevasse seemed to stretch on forever. They had been walking for some time, now, stopping once or twice to rest and to eat what meager supplies they had left, but there was still no way to climb up, that they could find. Even with Danny's axe.

Sherlock did not bother to mention the fact that two of his fingers on his right hand and at least three of his toes were well into the symptoms of frostbite. He'd complained about it once, when it was still half a joke, but as there was nothing either of them could do about it, continued complaints were pointless. He kept his failing body to himself.

The hunger was too obvious to mention.

Sherlock had never eaten much, especially while on a case - but he had never been in a situation where he had actually wanted to eat and it was completely unavailable to him. It was frustrating on an entirely new level.

He came to an abrupt halt as suddenly the crevasse ended - the further path too narrow for either of them to fit, and Sherlock cursed under his breath.

"Nothing," he said, happy to point out the obvious. "No way up here, either."

[ooc: tagging order: i was thinking sherlock, then danny, then lindsey, and then tony can jump into the thread whenever feels appropriate? y/y?]

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They'd finished off the very last of their carefully rationed food a day or so ago. At least, if felt like a day or so ago. Might be longer to be honest. Time was weird and fluid here. Which, well sucked.

"Well, fuck" was his only response to the fact that they'd essentially hit a dead end. "If we had three more of these climbing axes I'd say sure, what the hell lets do it. But with the one? Forget it." he sighed, "I'm out of ideas."

Edited (typos and some punctuation...) 2013-01-31 22:07 (UTC)

By now Lindsey had been down in a crevasse long enough to realize it may have been the best decision he made out of this whole arena so far. He had purposefully climbed into one with his length of rope, hoping to get out of the biting winds and find a better shelter, and he ended up with two kills and the discovery that, lo and behold, magic swirled beneath the icy surface.

Good times.

Bolstered by the confidence of his progress this week, Lindsey was on the prowl for more achievements. So when he heard noises bouncing off the icy walls in the distance, he began to stalk quietly down that way.

Sherlock said nothing for a moment, pressing his hand to the ice and looking up, calculating. But his first estimate had been the correct one. Without more equipment escape this way would be impossible.

"We could tear up the sleeping bags," He said finally, after a moment. "Cut them into strips.... lodge the harpoon here, the ax above..." He trailed off, clicking his tongue irritably. "No. We'd still be at least eight feet short." He didn't bother to mention that his hands wouldn't survive a night without a sleeping bag.

He looked back down the crevasse, scowling. "... We'll have to turn back." Even though it was a day's walk, or more, back to where they began, let alone to the other end of the crevasse.

Little did Sherlock and Danny know, but turning around would be the beginning of their doom.

Danny meanwhile, thought the sleeping bag idea was idiotic, not to mention barely feasible. He was glad when Sherlock discounted it on his own. "Yeah, what choice do we have? Since we now know we can't walk out, maybe this time we can look for a spot where the walls aren't to high and try to climb it." Danny sighs, crouching down for a second to rest. "That's not going to be easy either."

Sound, as it turned out, traveled quite well in these narrow canyons of ice and snow. Lindsey was still quite a bit off when he heard their plan to turn around. Excellent, not only could it save time, but it now gave him the advantage of anticipating them.

He began setting up area for their return, drawing sigils into the surrounding ice to trigger a stasis trap in the area. From the sound of it there were two of them and this was only strong enough to hold one. Hopefully, while one was immobilized, he'll be able to even the odds with the other.

Assuming there wasn't a fork in the crevasse up ahead, then in a few minutes they would be walking right into the trigger point.

Sherlock only grunted lowly, looking back down the ice crevasse, trying to lay a map out in his mind. "There was a place about four hours down with a shelf at about 12 feet. We could use the harpoon and the axe to meet it, rescue the axe, and maybe make the rest?" It was a long shot, which is why he hadn't suggested it at the time, but there it was.

He glanced back to where Danny is resting and nodded toward the distance.

"No time to rest. Increases chance of hypothermia. We're better off moving."

Danny took a deep breath and reached deep into his reserves to stand. It was pretty much pure will power that got him on his feet. "Sure, fine, whatever."

Just to try and keep spirits up and well, entertain himself a little bit he started off with "So, you think we'll see a penguin? Maybe a baby seal? I could use some cute right now. What do you think?"

Maybe he was just starting to go a little crazy. He didn't know.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, waiting until Danny got walking and then falling in place behind him.

"You would prefer penguin and baby seal meat over seabird?" He asked in a completely flat tone that made it impossible to tell whether or not he was joking.

Danny just smirked, well used to that sort of response to his flights of whimsy. "You? You are a destroyer of dreams. You're a little pacman with an English accent," he made little eating motions with his gloved hand, "All you do is eat dreams, you just eat them."

He was about to was ready to begin the next portion of his somewhat silly rant when he ran into what felt like a wall...but it was empty air. He turned around, and ran into another wall. "Fuck this isn't good."

(OOC: The pacman joke from the show... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bhjzy0cxWvw )

Edited (spelling or something like that) 2013-02-04 03:14 (UTC)

Lindsey waited behind a small bend of the ice that just hid him from view. Barely. Had they been expecting him they might have spotted a sliver of his jacket although the dim light of the crevasse and glare of the snow made hard work of that.

As soon as one of them ran into the trap though, Lindsey knew he had it. It was even better that the stronger looking one did although in the end, it really didn't matter.

"Hello boys," he said, stepping into the open. He was bundled from head to toe, hands in nice warm snow gloves, courtesy of Chris, and boots secured with crampons. But the most prominent was the 7 inch hunting knife in his hand that.

"Really? A mime impression? Have we sunk this lo--" But Sherlock was interrupted by another voice and he turned around abruptly, clutching his harpoon. His knife lay in his pocket, but it would be impossible to reach it while he hung onto his harpoon.

Careful to move around Danny (because the likelihood of a sudden interest in miming was now extremely slim), he held the harpoon out before him, until he was in front of Danny and blocking him as well as he could.

"... Afternoon," The cool British baritone echoed down the ice.

Oh fuck, this had trap written all over it. As soon as he got a glimpse of the knife in the new guys hand and his body language... he knew this was not kosher by any means. He didn't know how this guy had done it, but he'd effectively just separated them, divide and conquer. Now Sherlock had no backup and only a long distance weapon and a knife to use in his defense.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

"Don't play hero Sherlock, get the fuck out of here!"

Edited (Punctuation) 2013-02-04 05:53 (UTC)

"Sherlock," Lindsey repeated, turning to the man that was left out. "Sherlock Holmes? I always imagined you to be... older."

Lindsey knew the stories though, something about the guy being a boxer and fencer, and this young man looked like he could wield that harpoon well while Lindsey held only a knife. He frowned at that.

"Looks like you have the longer range here," yet he sounded unconcerned as he continued advancing. Two more steps and, a blue light started encircling the blade of his knife. It covered it completely, then started to swirl around in sparks of blue light that left glowing orange in their after image. Before their very eyes, Lindsey's knife turned into a broadsword.

"There we go. That evens the odds, doesn't it?" He pointed the sword at Sherlock. "Huge fan, really. But the game is afoot."

Sherlock's face was blank and impassive, even as the hair on the back of his neck raised, even as his frostbitten fingers wavered on their grip and the harpoon dropped a centimeter.

Impossible. It was impossible, even as his mind was trying to work out how.

Otherwise, he did not move - back foot planted firmly, keeping his eyes on Lindsey's, rather than on the completely implausible sword in his hands. He already knew that the harpoon wouldn't survive more than a couple of blows from the edge of the sword. Assuming, of course, that an impossible sword was even confined to the laws of physics --

"Interesting," He said, cool as a cucumber despite the very real nervous energy running down his back. But he'd faced down psychopaths before. He wouldn't let this throw him, even if he was facing his death. "Usually my fans prefer logic," He added, slightly scathingly. "The sane ones, at least."

Well, fuck. What the HELL was that.

"Stop baiting him you dumbass and run!"

He lurched forward only to once again run into the barrier.

"You know," Lindsey continued, barely giving the loud man caught in the trap another glance, "I used to be a lawyer. Logic was my job."

He advanced holding the sword out single-handed before him, both stance and confidence showing him as experienced with his weapon of choice.

"Then again, I'll go out on a limb and say we lived very differently." His sword was close enough to touch the tip of Sherlock's harpoon, which he did briefly. Then Lindsey was spinning and bringing the full weight and strength of the sword smashing at the little harpoon with the intention to completely disarm his opponent.

"Perhaps you should be focusing on getting out," He snapped at Danny, not looking back. Unkind, perhaps, but he wasn't about to leave him like this.

He smirked at lawyer, glancing at the sword he had watched Lindsey make.

"Differently, indeed."

He was expecting the attack, but it was useless to hang onto the harpoon. He thrust out in the same moment, but he could feel the sword smash through it - feel the shock straight through his arms up to his elbow, his frostbitten fingers almost immediately releasing it. He backed up a step, hand going straight into his pocket and pulling out the knife. It was several feet shorter than the sword.

Never bring a knife to a sword fight....?

"Oh this?" Lindsey spoke as he advanced, broadsword swinging in testing arcs and his breath coming out in puffs of fog in the cold arctic air. "All this I learned after leaving the firm. Which is funny, I probably could've learned more while I was there."

Then he made for another blow, this one a larger arc than what he had been playing with lately, something that aimed to take the head off the famous detective in one mighty swing.

Not playing around anymore, he was ready to move and defend even if he missed. He hadn't lunged, hadn't overstretched himself. He wasn't going to be caught unaware like a beginner.

Sherlock jumped backward, the sword tearing through the parka, fur flying everywhere. He was unharmed, mostly, save for where the very tip of the sword had grazed his sternum. He barely felt the cut, but the blood was warm on his chest. He stumbled, knife out but without the balance to launch himself into an attack or fall back into a defensive position.

Lindsey inwardly sighed when he missed slicing the detective in half. He swung again, determined to not give the man a reprieve or, even worse, a chance to counter. No, he had circled the blade up and tried to hit Holmes on the vertical downswing that could easily chop the detective in half from the shoulder.

He didn't even have time to snark.

It hurt surprisingly little, Sherlock had time to think to himself, though the sound of bone crunching under the blade as it went in between his shoulder blade and his neck and severed his spine was extremely disconcerting.

He was dead before he hit the ground.

If it hadn't been real life, it would have been funny...just how fast Sherlock went down. Like that one moment in Indiana Jones, you go in expecting a long fight and leave with just a gun shot. It was..

It was then that Danny snapped. All the anger, and stress and pain of the last few weeks came to a head. "Goddamn you you asshole. You fucker. You cocksucker." He flung himself against the barrier, "I'll kill you!"

Edited 2013-02-11 02:30 (UTC)

Just like that Lindsey had chopped a human in two and as he stared down at the two bloody halves of what used to be a famous detective, he found he felt surprisingly little. The guy would wake up again in Panem and he was another step closer to winning. Or at least he'd be a hundred credits richer, or something along those lines. Killing people was a full time job now.

As the noise behind him rose, Lindsey swung his sword around a few times then turned towards the trapped man. "Wow, someone's got a potty mouth. Take it easy, Watson, your turn's next."

Sometimes, Tony wishes that he wasn't becoming the person who ran towards things, rather than from them. Running from them turned out so much better in the areas of self-preservation. What happened to that guy?! Tony used to be that guy! But damn it, they were so close. He'd heard the echoes of their voices quite a while ago, and he thought about walking back the opposite direction for a only half a moment. Then the thought that maybe... maybe one of them had food, or something more useful to climb the hell out of here than what meager supplies he still had left, changed his mind.

Maybe he's finally learned that you can't always dig yourself out of a hole alone. Sometimes, you have to stand on someone's shoulders. Tony still tends to prefer them to be live shoulders, and he thinks that's how it should be. But as the sounds of the others grow louder and closer, well... things seem to be going downhill quickly.

He isn't running, exactly, but he knows there is a window here, and it's closing fast. So it's a frantic walk, more or less, and the cold air stings his lungs as he sucks more of it in.

It is in this moment when he arrives.

Well?

Fuck.

He has to consider, decide and act all at once, on his assessment of the situation. Before they see him. Before they notice. And he sees Lindsey; blood literally dripping from his sword as his sites set on the other man. Trap still sprung. Tony knows that someone, somewhere, has their hand on a button, ready to send off another crack of canon fire. Someone else may very well die here and Tony is aware that... it could be him. He's quite literally walked right into this.

But hey! Here's to entertainment. If it does him no good this round, it's bound to do him some good in the next.

And so he takes one bold step forward.

It's bad enough that Sherlock died protecting him, he's not going to let another try. Not when he's stuck in this force field thing. Which, if he had any time to think about it, he'd be bothered but right now he's too busy staying alive.

He glanced at the new guy and yelled, "I'm trapped," he slammed his fist against the invisible wall once more time, "it's no use, get the fuck out of here."

He'd go down fighting if he had a chance, but right now, he needed to save his strength.

Edited 2013-02-11 05:40 (UTC)

"Another hero?" Lindsey turned around, surprised this time to find someone he recognized from his arrival a while back.

"Hey," he greeted, the bloody sword tip swiveling around to point briefly towards Tony. "Hate to greet you at point, but you were interrupting something. So don't take this personally."

It lowered again because his fighting with Sherlock had taken him too far off to be in attacking distance and Tony was much closer to the trapped man than he was.

Still Lindsey grinned, glance flickering towards the loudmouth before turning back to Tony. "Might be easier if you ran though, this wasn't meant for you to begin with." His tone suggested that it really didn't matter if he stayed either.

Tony gives a hint of a smirk. Oh yeah, he remembers this guy. They've met once. He'd mistaken him for his brother, back when he'd first gotten here. If he had to choose, Tony thinks he may like his brother a little more, really. Now that he's got a good look at Lindsey in a little better lighting.

"Sorry, but I'm kind of in a hurry," he says possibly to both of them, possibly no one but himself. And Tony doesn't move toward the new guy, or Lindsey. He's desperately looking for an off switch; clearly the guy can't get out on his own. Not from the inside. Trap has to be sprung from the outside.

God, Tony hates magic.

But so far, it's all had rules, in his experience. Laws. Theories. Something makes it work: tick; function; activate. A stone? A staff? A spear? No, Lindsey couldn't have any of those things here. It's a spell. What's holding it in place? What is here that shouldn't be?

The markings.

Tony sees one, and it's there that his footfalls are taking him.

Jesus Christ, another one? What is this? Commit suicide in front of Danny time?

"Are you demented? Were you hit in head? No really! Did your mother drop you as a baby? Run!"

He didn'yt know this guy from Adam, but he didn't want another death on his conscience.

Edited (left out a word or two and you're to your because I suck at grammar) 2013-02-13 04:30 (UTC)

Lindsey realized too late where Tony was heading, what the other man had figured out. "Shit!" With the other already having a head start, he couldn't hope to catch up in time, not with that amount of distance between them.

So instead, he turned back to grab the harpoon from Sherlock and wasted a moment prying it from the man's dead hands.

When at last he got it free, he turned and threw it at —not Tony, too late to stop him— the man in his stasis trap. That way, he would at least take one out before they both tried to team up.

"Jury's out," Tony only half huffs out an answer to Danny as he slides himself to a stop. He doesn't even take the time to open the blade of his knife - time is too precious - Tony smashes the hilt of the knife into center of the sigil in the ice, striking at an angle to damage as much of the marking as he could in a single swing. In theory, at least.

"And yeah. Run. That's the plan," and that is actually the truth. It was as far as he'd gotten in this stupid ass whatever this is... Do we call it a rescue attempt, yet? He sees only enough of what Lindsey is up to oh-so-not-far-enough-away, to kind of panic-mumble-shout at his Damsel in Distress, "Agh! Down! Shit!"

It was just something that was ingrained in him as cop, when someone yells down, duck, hide or any variation thereof...he just did it. No thought, no wondering why. That particular skill had saved his life more than once.

That skill saved it this time as well. He went down to his stomach without even thinking as something flew overhead. In the process of flopping down like some sort of demented fish, he realized that he'd flung his limbs beyond the barrier. Whatever the damn thing was...it was gone. He could get the fuck out of here.

He hauled himself up, reaching over to his new companion and catching him under one shoulder. Danny hauled the new guy up in a less than gentle fashion and dragged him along as he fled. Adrenaline does amazing things doesn't it?

Lindsey was this close to getting both of them. Yet the man had to have the good instincts to duck, and the rest was, as they say, history.

The harpoon missed its target and the guy shot off the ice like a bat out of hell. Moving like vampires were on his tracks, his would-be prey had dragged Tony along and ran in the opposite direction.

Too bad, Lindsey would really have liked to get two more kills under his pouch. They had left so fast they even left the harpoon behind. Too bad for them.

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closed; sherlock's death

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I'ma gonna go with the assumption that the trap is meant for Danny c:

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((short and lame but Danny isn't the star right now))

(( He's lucky that he isn't. XD ))

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Now might be a good time for Tony to enter

OH, HEY THERE, GUYS! (sorry for this long-ass post!)

Me, Lindsey, Tony? New Order? Yes yes?

Yup!

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(it's short, again, he's the bait..)

Stop being bait!

Yeah, Danny! Jeeze!

Well! Fine! Be that way! :)

It's for your own good!