thearena | (no subject)

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Who| Arya and open; with closed prompts for Anna and Kaidan
What| Arya spends time with her camp mates, runs from the bombardment, and adds to her kill count
Where| The forest and castle
When| Week 5, 6, and 7
Warnings/Notes| Violence, death. Prose or brackets both fine.

a) Open, Tabris' group's camp in the forest, backdated to week 5-6

It had taken her a while to recover from seeing the spirits of her parents and brother in the catacombs. Now she's away from there and back in the foreset, she's accepted that her mother and father and Robb were nothing more than a Gamemaker hallucination designed to get a reaction out of her, and while that's reassuring to her in a way, with the knowledge that they hadn't tried to bring them back in some way - an inferior, far more macabre way to reviving the Tributes - the whole incident has increased her hatred toward the Capitol tenfold. When she's not hunting or practising her combat or on lookout duty, she can be found staring intently into the campfire, or whittling away at sticks with her knife, repeating a string of names, the same list she repeats every night before she sleeps, trying to hold herself back from saying President Snow's name aloud along with them.

b) Closed to Kaidan, backdated to week 6

Between sticking close to Tabris and being in the forest, Tom's domain, Arya feels far safer now than she has in the Arena so far, and her confidence has grown along with that. Since she and Tom killed Alain, it's occurred to her that she hasn't done all that much killing in this Arena. The string of sponsor gifts that she received at the start of the Arena has slowed to a trickle over the last couple of weeks, and to Arya the message is clear: if she wants more silver parachutes, she's going to have to start doing what she was sent her for. With her daggers strapped to her belt and swinging her mace in one hand, she sets out through the forest in search of a victim.

c) Closed to Anna, week 7

She's certain it's down to the last few of them now. Arya had never expected to last so long in the Arena, and the more time passes, the more determined she is to win. She knows venturing out of the forest is risky, but it's been quite a while since she'd seen anyone in there apart from her own group, and no matter how Molotov had urged her to take advantage of the sympathy and hospitality others had toward a child and then kill them in their sleep, she couldn't find it in herself to do so. She hadn't become so desperate just yet. Instead she heads for the castle, remembering the feast that had been laid out there in the early days of the Arena and hoping strangers who she'd have fewer qualms over killing were in that vicinity.

d) Open, week 7, choose your own adventure
Arya can be found in the forest or at the bay watching the ships come in, before hiding from the cannon fire and general chaos the Arena is descending into. Feel free to leave your own starter or poke me on plurk at

viridianwings if you'd like me to set up something for Arya and your character.

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Anna, too, hadn't expected to last this long. It's ironic that the arena in which she's been alone the longest is the one she's made it nearly to the end of. She hasn't heard from Dave in a long while; she hasn't seen Bro or Elsa at all, so they must have died at the Cornucopia. She's certain of that much.

By now, she's starving; she can feel herself growing thin, can feel her ribs sticking out when she presses her fingers to her ribcage through the thin muslin shirt on her back. After over a month of not eating properly, it's a miracle she's still alive. Her sponsors have helped a little, but it's hard to make a two-day supply of food stretch when all you want to do is gobble it down. The castle banquets have grown more and more meager as the weeks stretched on, but it's her last hope to find a meal this week, so Anna decides to go ahead and try it one more time.

Except on her way through the village, gaze set on the imposing stone walls of the castle, she catches a glimpse of something very odd: a pure red horse, tramping the muddy ground with its hooves and snorting in rage. And it ignites something in her; suddenly her empty belly is forgotten, and she's filled with an aggression that's almost blinding--it clouds her judgment, makes her forget that the only weapon she has is a knife and a shard of broken glass and her own two hands.

So she redoubles her pace toward the castle. There are only so many Tributes left; it's nigh time she found some of them and helped to thin out the herd. She's going to end this, she's a one-woman machine. And when she reaches the castle, she doesn't go straight in; her hunger is forgotten. Now, she's waiting for anyone else who might be venturing inside. She's crouched by the entrance with a knife in hand when she spots Arya. Slowly, Anna rises, not wanting to be noticed quite yet, but this younger girl may be more observant than she's bargaining for.

Her stomach growls loudly as she approaches the castle, thinking of the roast chicken she'd gorged herself on there in the early days of the Arena. It's a far cry from the meagre rations from her sponsors and the few pieces of fruit Tom had found or grown for her - she's still not quite sure which, and if it is the latter she's not sure if it constitutes as cannibalism or not - and as she nears the entrance she quickens her pace, looking around her warily but perhaps not carefully enough, hoping to trap other Tributes inside rather than face them out in the open. Her knife is in her belt but her mace is in her hand, swinging heavily at her side, but even with the weapons she doesn't feel at all prepared as she spots Anna rising slowly out the corner of her eye, jumping a little in surprise before rather sluggishly scrabbling to ready herself in anticipation of attack.

Anna's eyes widen in surprise at the weapon Arya carries at her side. She hadn't been expecting a mace; her meager knife won't do much against that. Heavily, she sets herself into position, right in the center of the stone archway leading into the castle, waiting to see if Arya will turn away or keep moving toward her. If Anna is lucky, this girl won't know how to use that weapon. If she's not, well--she'll worry about that when the time comes.

She falters when she sees just who she's facing. Between her slender figure and auburn hair, she could almost be looking at Sansa. It's not the first time she's considered what would happen if those she cared about were brought into the Arena, and she's unsure if she could bring herself to kill Jon or Sansa if she was faced with them. She has to remind herself that Anna has been here much longer than she has, and must have racked up numerous kills herself. It doesn't stop her from looking pained as she continues forward, holding the mace up awkwardly with both hands.

"I'm sorry ... I have to."

Anna goes a little pale as the younger girl holds up that mace. It looks heavy, judging by the way she has to handle it with two hands, but that doesn't make it any less dangerous in inexperienced hands. And all Anna has is a knife.

She could run, but what good would that do? It would only make her look cowardly, and this girl can probably run faster than Anna anyway, from the looks of her.

So Anna holds up her knife at waist level, ready to stab. "I'm sorry, too," she says softly, wishing there was more conviction behind it, and lurches forward, knife outstretched.

Arya dodges out of the way of the knife, but the weight of the mace makes her movements more sluggish than she'd like, and she finds herself stumbling. Her gaze flickers between Arya and her knife, unsure what her best strategy is here and not used to such close combat on these terms, opting simply to swing the mace forward and let it pull her body weight forward with it, hoping to strike Anna as she does so.

Anna lets out a little cry as her stab lands short of hitting its mark; she corrects herself before she tumbles through empty space, one foot falling forward to catch her body weight. This has the unfortunate side effect of putting her directly in the path of Arya's swing.

The mace catches Anna in the ribs; she cries out again, the wind knocked out of her as she stumbles and falls, legs tangling underneath her. She's pretty sure she's sprained something in her foot, but she can't concentrate too hard on that between the blinding pain in her ribs and the looming threat of the mace. Her arms slashes out wildly, hoping to connect with something, anything, but even in the back of her mind she's admitted that it's too little, too late.

She's never killed with this sort of weapon before, but she's fairly sure that unless a rib punctured her organs, this sort of crushing pain would give her a rather drawn out death. For once Arya's not thinking of the danger to herself if she let her be and waited for her to die, in case she mustered up the strength to come after her: she just wants to put Anna out of her misery. She didn't deserve this, that much was clear, not the Arena and not this sort of gruesome end.

She grits her teeth tightly together as she raises the mace high above her, bringing it down in a heavy swing toward Anna's head, trying to avoid looking at her, at seeing Sansa before her instead of a complete stranger, as she delivers the final blow.

This worn down, this weary and out of breath and injured, this hopeless, Anna can't do much at this point. She could try and roll out of the way, but that's an evasion tactic at best. She has to admit to herself that her time in this Arena is over. The sooner she accepts that, the sooner she'll be back in the Capitol with her loved ones.

So she merely watches as Arya brings the mace down on her head, noticing at the last moment how she looks away like she can't bear to watch, before everything is bright, white light and pain and then nothing. Blissful, empty nothing, her body sprawled across the draw-bridge, dark blood seeping from her head.

Shepard had helped to fill in the gaps of what he was missing, what he needed to know here - at this stage, trust no one. well, that he could do. He'd had years of it, working for Anderson out in the wilds of the galaxy, he could do it now.

He hadn't seen anyone for a day or so, which was fine - all he cared about now was surviving as long as he could. He was realistic - arriving so late, with no support behind him, and no biotics, no weapons... he had little chance. Survival was all that mattered, a chance to regroup, to rethink.

And so he'd taken to the forest; it seems the logical place to ensure he stayed safe as long as possible.

When she sees a shadow moving between the trees she's half tempted to retreat. There are several new Tributes in this Arena and she doesn't have a good grasp on their abilities, and with her tired out as it is she's unsure if trailing after one of them is that good an idea. Her caution is outweighed by the security she feels in the forest and the feeling that victory is almost within her grasp. Peering out from behind a tree, she spies Kaidan and is on the one hand glad to recognise him, but on the other wary as he's bigger and stronger than her, and she's not sure what he's capable of. She follows from a little way behind, looking for any advantage, hoping she doesn't give herself away.

Keep low, keep out of sight. That's the idea at the moment, though it's easier said than done. Kaidan is a tall man, muscular, though those muscles are being eaten at an alarming rate by his own metabolism - biotics need a large amount of calories a day simply to survive, far in excess of normal humans.

Still, he wasn't down and out yet. His biotics had worked once, over at the castle, so he was relatively confident of them holding up - a barrier would buy him time to compensate for being weaponless still.

She scrambles up a tree, crawling along a branch to see if she can get the drop on him, but she finds herself underestimating the strength of the bough, shaking and bending and scattering leaves and acorns all around Kaidan. She grits her teeth as she grips on, barely managing to keep her balance.

The leaves and acorns have Kaidan scrambling for cover, automatically forming the mnemonic to use his biotics as he had before, but swearing as it failed. He could feel his amp trying to response, but nothing was happening.

Shit.

His gaze darted about looking for any avenue for escape, anything that would help him.

Arya sees him glance about and knows it's now or never - she's got to get him now or he'll bolt away and she'll lose him in the trees. Taking a sharp breath, she drops from the tree, hoping to land on his shoulders and incapacitate him.

For all Arya was a young girl, when she caught him jumping down, she was solid, and unprepared for an assault from that angle, Kaidan staggered, desperate to try and throw her off. An attack close to his amp, buried at the base of his skull, would incapacitate him quicker than most.

She tightens her legs around his shoulders to keep her balance, her arms wheeling about as she tries to grab for her weapons - she'd have one readied if she hadn't needed both hands to hold onto the tree branch. She gives a sharp tug on the handle of the mace, and it snaps from her belt loop with a sharp tearing of fabric. Gripping it tightly, she brings it down toward Kaidan's head.

Stupid. Unprepared. Truth was, he didn't truly think it would happen to him, that Shepard and the others were just exaggerating.

Way to find out that he was wrong.

He desperately tried to throw the weight off, throwing himself against a tree, in an attempt to dislodge her from his shoulders, but suddenly all went dark as he felt an incredible pain, more intense than his migraines at their worst. He didn't even have time to react.

He sank to the ground, trying to fight through it, but only managing to vaguely raise his head from the ground.

Arya slips off him onto the ground as he falls, feeling flustered and out of breath from hanging onto him while he was thrashing around. She scrambles to her feet, knowing she needs to end it now before he regains his senses, placing a foot on his back to prevent him from moving around or getting away as she delivers the final blow.

It was instinctive - anything anywhere near his amp, and he tried to shake it off. It was where a biotic was most sensitive and most fragile. So as soon as Arya's foot back down on his back he bucked up without even being conscious of doing it, desperate to throw her off.

She's taken by surprise - she hadn't thought there was that much fight left in him - and stumbles backwards, tripping over her own feet and landing sprawled next to him on the forest floor. She scrambles desperately to get up before he's able to, knowing he'd have a big advantage over her fighting close up.

The blow to the head had taken its toll on Kaidan, and he couldn't force his way back up onto hands and knees. He tried, but he just ended up back on his stomach again.

How many weeks now has she been hobbling along on that goddamned makeshift crutch? Five or six? Maybe it's seven weeks. Joel's gone. All that's left for Tess is Shepard; they've been keeping each other up and going since watching Joel take the hit that he had that had ended his run in the arena.

What's she doing in the forest? Tess is starving, worse than she remembers ever being hungry in Boston, the rations there being restrictive from the military from nearly beginning to end, and that had been part of her reasoning to deal with the smuggling business. Thin, bony, she's been losing meat fast on her bones, her cheeks hollowing. Sleep has been hell for her on and off throughout the weeks with her ankle being broken, never able to find a comfortable position, the ache dull and a constant reminder.

"Dammit Joel," she mutters to no one but herself as she hops along, dirt and leaves kicked up with her sluggish movements. Not like there's anyone really left who would hear her. "Should've left me like I told you to. Just couldn't listen, never did. Asshole."

Arya's sat up in the boughs of a tree, leaning against the trunk and watching a squirrel hop about from branch to branch, sharpening one of her knives on a long, flat stone. Tess is hard to miss, even if she wasn't grumbling to herself the thud of her crutch and the crunch of leaves as she hobbles along. She's surprised someone else hasn't appeared to take her out already. It's what she's considering doing herself, until she hears a name far too familiar to her.

"You know Joel? Is he all right?"

Even before the words are out of her mouth she knows he must be dead.

Unsure where the voice comes from, Tess twists to look behind her and then around before she jerks her eyes upward. Oh, up there. "Pretty smart idea, being up there where no one can really get to you," she compliments, and then adds, "Joel? I know him. Known him for a while."

Tess shakes her head and leans against the crutch, wincing as she takes some more weight off her injured ankle. "Bastard's long gone. Probably enjoying himself a good steak and some of that coffee he likes so much."

Arya grins, proud of herself from having thought of it. "No one looks up. It's the one place they should look, in a forest. I could have jumped you and you wouldn't even realise until it was too late." In hindsight, there's a part of Arya that wishes she'd done that rather than alert Tess to her presence.

She still looks unhappy about Joel, though, and it's enough to distract her attention for the moment. "How did he die? Who did it?" She sounds more curious than upset.

"That's my bad," Tess answers with a small smirk. The girl is obviously proud of the advantage she has. Tess would be too.

Switching back to the Joel topic doesn't widen the smirk, instead it slowly flattens out. Tess shakes her head. "Couldn't see, everything was happening all at once. Knew he was there with me but sometimes they're right when they say it's better not to let anyone you're with out of your sight."

And that's when Shepard had stepped in to help. Tess doesn't know where she would've been now if Shepard hadn't been there, probably dead, probably back in the Capitol with Joel and glued to the television watching Shepard's race to the end.

"How do you know him?"

"So you didn't kill him," she says a little pedantically. "You let him die."

She leans back against the trunk, swinging her legs out into the air beneath her. "He's looked out for me, in the Capitol. He introduced me to cheeseburgers."

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Poor bastard doesn't know what has hit him yet...

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open; week 7

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