Panem Events (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
etcircenses) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thearena2016-01-25 04:03 pm
etcircenses) wrote in thearena2016-01-25 04:03 pm
Are you, are you, coming to the tree?
Who| All those on the liberation mission and all those being made to fight against them.
What| The liberation of District 9.
Where| District 9
When| This week.
Warnings/Notes| War, violence, death. Please warn for more in headers.
By now, even the most remote and isolated Districts are well aware of the chaos ravaging Panem. District Nine, golden with wheat and blinding with its expansive blue horizon, is quiet, and yet nothing about it feels safe; the stillness is less like a serene oasis than like tall grass that cannot help but contain lions prowling. An air raid siren was going off an hour ago at the sight of hovercrafts, driving everyone inside. No one is outside working the fields or traveling the dirt roads to the hub of the District, which sits in the center like a spider in its web or the axel of a wheel. Displaced Capitolite and Districter both are hunkered down within the corrugated-metal buildings.
The air is hot, and once outside the hovercrafts one finds that what was previously mistaken for silence is in fact the monotonous hum and whine of insects, too continuous and amorphous to really qualify as actual sound but certainly not the absence of it. The sun glares down from a cloudless sky. The earth was tilled until an hour ago, and many of the fields are only partially plowed. Some still have farm equipment left out. Mills and water towers sit awkwardly at the edge of the fields like sentinels or oversized dominos.
The crops stretch out to the horizon, ranging from waist-height to taller than the average full-grown man, depending on the breed. The sheer variety is astonishing, the quality even moreso; ears of corn are as large as toddlers and the wheat is a flawless golden color, thanks to Capitol technology and genetic modification. There are no pests, as most of the plants have a natural pesticide that is fatal upon ingestion and only removable with sprays available to importers to the Capitol, to prevent theft by the hungry employees.
There are crop circles, many in the Capitol’s logo and a few stamped with the insignias of local Capitol-run businesses. It does not reflect the sentiments of the natives but rather an attempt by those clinging to their echelons to enforce a mindset in vain. The propaganda has largely been repelled from the souls of the people here like bugs to a windshield. Only the rarest bit of graffiti may be spotted saying "All is not lost" and "you are weak" both of which have clear attempts to be scrubbed away.
The war continues, and in the back of everyone's mind is a familiar phrase; may the odds be ever in your favor.
What| The liberation of District 9.
Where| District 9
When| This week.
Warnings/Notes| War, violence, death. Please warn for more in headers.
By now, even the most remote and isolated Districts are well aware of the chaos ravaging Panem. District Nine, golden with wheat and blinding with its expansive blue horizon, is quiet, and yet nothing about it feels safe; the stillness is less like a serene oasis than like tall grass that cannot help but contain lions prowling. An air raid siren was going off an hour ago at the sight of hovercrafts, driving everyone inside. No one is outside working the fields or traveling the dirt roads to the hub of the District, which sits in the center like a spider in its web or the axel of a wheel. Displaced Capitolite and Districter both are hunkered down within the corrugated-metal buildings.
The air is hot, and once outside the hovercrafts one finds that what was previously mistaken for silence is in fact the monotonous hum and whine of insects, too continuous and amorphous to really qualify as actual sound but certainly not the absence of it. The sun glares down from a cloudless sky. The earth was tilled until an hour ago, and many of the fields are only partially plowed. Some still have farm equipment left out. Mills and water towers sit awkwardly at the edge of the fields like sentinels or oversized dominos.
The crops stretch out to the horizon, ranging from waist-height to taller than the average full-grown man, depending on the breed. The sheer variety is astonishing, the quality even moreso; ears of corn are as large as toddlers and the wheat is a flawless golden color, thanks to Capitol technology and genetic modification. There are no pests, as most of the plants have a natural pesticide that is fatal upon ingestion and only removable with sprays available to importers to the Capitol, to prevent theft by the hungry employees.
There are crop circles, many in the Capitol’s logo and a few stamped with the insignias of local Capitol-run businesses. It does not reflect the sentiments of the natives but rather an attempt by those clinging to their echelons to enforce a mindset in vain. The propaganda has largely been repelled from the souls of the people here like bugs to a windshield. Only the rarest bit of graffiti may be spotted saying "All is not lost" and "you are weak" both of which have clear attempts to be scrubbed away.
The war continues, and in the back of everyone's mind is a familiar phrase; may the odds be ever in your favor.
no subject
Ermac sits cross-legged on the floor of one of the Capitol's hovercrafts, meditating before the battle. He looks completely calm, almost serene. And indeed, he is calm. He'd made his decision, and merely had to find an opportunity to return to District 13.
B: Open
Even the literal one-man-army wasn't immune to the effects of smoke, so Ermac was forced to glide low to the ground. He'd managed to lose his unit from the Capitol, but now he had to find some of the Rebels among the crops, smoke, and fire so he could return to District 13.
B - after Black Tom's death
The mechanic spotted the telltale movements and lack of sounds Ermac made and he grinned. True to his words and code, he kept his weapons holstered as he asked, "Didn't expect t' see ya around...headed my way?"
Headed back to the Rebellion and away from the Capitol's grip.
no subject
"Yes. Are your transports nearby?"
no subject
"They're over the mills where Thirteen's medics are hidin' out. We're gonna start pullin' back, shit's hittin' the fan hard," he whispered, but only when they get back to the Rebellion does it really become clear how badly this battle went. The mechanic had one purpose besides helping people evacuate and once that purpose was done, he had to retreat, lest he be captured by the Capitol. Something told the young man he had one hell of a rap sheet there.
"Cover me, I hear peacekeepers an' they ain't happy about me killin' their commander."
Go big or go home.
no subject
He smirks grimly.
"Well done. We will destroy any pursuers."
Ermac turns in midair and begins flying backwards alongside Ellis. He assumes that Ellis will take care of any threats between them and the medics; the soul vessel could sense other souls in his vicinity, but he could only spread his attention so thin. Right now, it needed to be directed more toward any enemies following them. His hands begin to glow with green light as he prepares to launch soul energy at the first unlucky foe he sees.
He'd been holding back while fighting for the Capitol; now, he was very much looking forward to killing for a group he felt he could support.
no subject
While Ermac takes the aerial approach, Ellis is making sure those on the ground do not get a chance to draw their weapons. Peacekeepers scream in pain and shock as they see their firing hands fall off with the swipe of his blade.
It's halfway through the trail that the mechanic spots a Peacekeeper load up what amounted to a mini-gun. "Oh GET FUCKED OFF. Ermac!"
Annnnd somewhat descriptive gore.
The warrior's movements are difficult to follow, both because of his natural speed and his constant teleporting to disorient his enemy. Every punch and kick hits with either a loud, meaty smack or the sickening crunch of bones being broken. Once he's satisfied that the man is on the brink of death, Ermac puts him in a telekinetic hold. If he had the time, he'd give the man a very dramatic death. But, there's still a battle raging around him, so a shorter one will have to do. Ermac spreads his arms, pulling on the man's limbs. They strain against the invisible force for a moment, then tear off. The man passes out from the pain, and Ermac drops him unceremoniously.
He turns to Ellis and speaks calmly, as if he wasn't splattered with another man's blood.
"Do you see any more?"
no subject
"Not particularly! Let's mozy on outta here, I ain't likin' the wheat this long an' I'm pretty sure I don't want Black Tom's wife t' catch more than jus' a glimpse at me!"
Because he knows for sure that if he's ever seized by the Capitol, Ellis would have to face the rage of a miffed Molotov, even if she hasn't seen combat. He's seen the Arena tapes, he knows what hell that red-head can achieve.
no subject
"...ssion for Ermac. Ermac do you copy? Transmission for Ermac. Ermac do you copy?"