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
Derek doesn't look bored - but that's mostly because this is still a fight, even if it's with a crazy offworlder rebel who drives tractors and uses them to spell out stupid messages in the middle of a battlefield. He'll agree with Chuck in that the woman's tactic would be more effective if it wasn't on a pair of Victors, though.
Especially one Victor who'd done the exact same thing, and one who's spent all his life training with him.
"You shoot her then."
Yeah, he's still cranky about Chuck's comment about his aim.
no subject
Whatever, Chuck's never cared about that sort of shit. The bored look doesn't necessarily fade away, but he rolls his eyes anyway. Derek isn't subtle at all with his crankiness. So whatever, he shifts, steady, gun cocked. Harley's grinning and cackling and swinging that absolutely ridiculous weapon -- even if it isn't, really. He's already so done with this battle.
"We get back we're hitting the range." Is all he says, wry, smirk at his mouth even as he shoots, aiming between those crazed eyes.
no subject
It was not the most graceful landing even by her standards but the freshly cut ground is slick and sends her onto her ass rolling awkwardly and sinking the blade into the dirt. Looking up at a gun barrel pointed between her eyes, her vision crosses as she looks right up the barrel and grins sheepishly.
"Ya know you two make a cute couple. It's really too bad you can't spend more time together instead of fighting a losing battle."
Keeping her eyes on the barrel she twists her arm almost jerking it out of her socket to fling herself backwards and tumbling once more jerking the scythe free and scattering dirt at both of the men hopefully distracting her. She was a victor too after all even if she never got her crowning ceremony.
A fact she was still bitter about even with everything else more important in her life.