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thearena2016-02-22 01:51 pm
etcircenses) wrote in thearena2016-02-22 01:51 pm
Where a dead man called out for his love to flee.
Who| All those on the liberation mission and all those being made to fight against them.
What| The liberation of District 10.
Where| District 10.
When| This week.
Warnings/Notes| War, violence, death. Please warn for more in headers.
Fields of grass are all that can be seen in any direction for at least an hour while the hovercraft come in. These fields are broken only by the occasional color change (marking different kinds of grass and even the occasional wheat field) and a farmstead every now and again. It’s easy to see that the animals here far outnumber the people as it’s more likely to see a grazing horse or cow or even something stranger like llamas and elephant before one would ever notice a human being. The temperature is mild in this season, not too cool in the shade and not too hot under the sun, although as the hovercraft come in and the people of the main city come into view, quite a few are dressed in long pants and sleeves, their clothing worn and dirty from hours of hard labor. In wide open fields like these there are only a few groves of trees to park a hovercraft out of sight behind. It’s one of these far off groves the craft lands. It would be a shame to have to hoof it all the way into the city.
If you’re from the Capitol, this doesn’t apply, as they can land wherever is most convenient. For those in the rebel forces... well just be glad someone knew what to expect and has procured more than a few horses to carry you into town.
District Ten has always been overlooked by the Capitol. A large district by landmass alone, its people are perceived to be just as domestic as the livestock they tend to, so despite whatever political climate it may hold, rebellion is not seen as a concern here. Consequently, those on the rebellion’s side will find they’re the first ones on the scene.
They’re greeted by friendly, if not guarded, faces. These are people who stick to their own community, their own families, but they’re not an unfriendly group. They know who you are and why you’re here. They’ve said for ages that the Capitol needed to go down, that something ought to be done about Snow and his Games, but no one ever paid them any mind. Probably because all that talk may be there, but it’s only ever been that. No one expects an uprising from the countryfolk.
Being so laid back, there's really not much in the way of graffiti. No one particularly has anything to say that has been said and shrugged off. One might hear laughs and mutters about the compliance video or a morose mention of Bison and the call to fight. There are also others pointing out that this is just the way things work.
Even the peacekeeping forces here are limited and laid back, not nearly as strict as might be found in other districts, but they are still there, so it’s best to keep your heads down as you move through the town.
As for how the Capitol forces are greeted upon their arrival, well, that all depends on how successful those rebels are.
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 10.
Where| District 10.
When| This week.
Warnings/Notes| War, violence, death. Please warn for more in headers.
Fields of grass are all that can be seen in any direction for at least an hour while the hovercraft come in. These fields are broken only by the occasional color change (marking different kinds of grass and even the occasional wheat field) and a farmstead every now and again. It’s easy to see that the animals here far outnumber the people as it’s more likely to see a grazing horse or cow or even something stranger like llamas and elephant before one would ever notice a human being. The temperature is mild in this season, not too cool in the shade and not too hot under the sun, although as the hovercraft come in and the people of the main city come into view, quite a few are dressed in long pants and sleeves, their clothing worn and dirty from hours of hard labor. In wide open fields like these there are only a few groves of trees to park a hovercraft out of sight behind. It’s one of these far off groves the craft lands. It would be a shame to have to hoof it all the way into the city.
If you’re from the Capitol, this doesn’t apply, as they can land wherever is most convenient. For those in the rebel forces... well just be glad someone knew what to expect and has procured more than a few horses to carry you into town.
District Ten has always been overlooked by the Capitol. A large district by landmass alone, its people are perceived to be just as domestic as the livestock they tend to, so despite whatever political climate it may hold, rebellion is not seen as a concern here. Consequently, those on the rebellion’s side will find they’re the first ones on the scene.
They’re greeted by friendly, if not guarded, faces. These are people who stick to their own community, their own families, but they’re not an unfriendly group. They know who you are and why you’re here. They’ve said for ages that the Capitol needed to go down, that something ought to be done about Snow and his Games, but no one ever paid them any mind. Probably because all that talk may be there, but it’s only ever been that. No one expects an uprising from the countryfolk.
Being so laid back, there's really not much in the way of graffiti. No one particularly has anything to say that has been said and shrugged off. One might hear laughs and mutters about the compliance video or a morose mention of Bison and the call to fight. There are also others pointing out that this is just the way things work.
Even the peacekeeping forces here are limited and laid back, not nearly as strict as might be found in other districts, but they are still there, so it’s best to keep your heads down as you move through the town.
As for how the Capitol forces are greeted upon their arrival, well, that all depends on how successful those rebels are.
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
The last bit of Tom's self-restraint snaps, and this time he really does throw the first blow - or the first several, as he swings the cane at Albert's head, set off by that temper that's run in his blood for generations, that's always made him as impulsive as he is egotistical. The two traits winnow together. The vines and stems snap taut, trying to reverse Albert's knees.
no subject
Luckily, he had warning for all of this, fully aware that the plants around them were working with his assailant before this even came to blows. He pops out his knife, shredding his left sleeve as the blade smoothly extends from his arm with the speed of a bear trap, and hacks the plants around his left leg before the opposing forces can quarter him. Even so, they still wrench his joints painfully before he slices his way through, Albert twisting uncomfortably to get the vines at his other leg before Tom tries to lower his cane down on Albert's head like one would split a watermelon.
The mental image is so grisly, Albert leaves off freeing his leg for a moment and raises his right hand towards where Tom was standing when he went down, deciding belatedly due to the blow to his head that Tom himself is the greater danger than some irritating plant life.
no subject
He tries to bring it down on Albert like a farmer tries to decapitate a chicken.
Meanwhile, the plant life reacts with fury to the way it's hacked aside, and with renewed vigor twists into a cord of wheat and grass as thick as a fist that lurches for Albert's throat.
All the better to hold him in place.
no subject
His hand, however, comes far too close to his face and like the barrel of a gun, is scalding to the touch after having just been fired. He tries to reel from it, the metal surface burning his cheek, causing the skin to bubble like plastic along his cheek bone and eliciting a strangled bark from the German as he twists, but the cord of foliage holds him still, forcing his hand to remain near his cheek and melting the synthflesh from the point of contact almost to his ear.
He struggles, but the more he does, the more he can hear Psiioniic in his head.
You're going to die. It'll be messy...
no subject
"I'll have you dead for that!" Tom shrieks in pure, unfiltered rage, all the feigned civility ripped away to reveal him for what he is - a madman full of hatred for not just Albert, but a wide swathe of the world.
The plants continue to drag Albert to the ground, and Tom's club glows with power as he aims it at Albert's eyes, intending to use it to blast a hole where Albert's brain is now.
no subject
He can tell there's no way out of this, that death is coming, because time does that funny thing where it slows down. Logically, he knows its adrenaline forcing a change in his perception, his mind racing more than anything slowing, but the extra moments it gives him allow for a plan.
If he's going to die anyway, might as well go out with a bang.
He curls one knee bent under him, not as much of a fight as he would have thought considering, but the District is mostly grass, not the stronger stuff of roots or vines, and the foliage simply tears at that angle. He doesn't have time to wonder if the rest would come away if he tried to roll; doesn't have time or doesn't bother to consider, given his purpose. Either way, he curls his knee up and instead of throwing a hand out to prevent Tom's oncoming blast, he brings it to the side of his knee, flicking the catch that loads a micro-missile into the launcher housed in his knee.
In the seconds before the energy replaces Albert's face, he looks right at Tom with those blank white eyes. And smirks.
The explosion that follows is enough to leave a crater at its epicenter, and not leave much of Albert's body behind. At least, not intact.