Tony Stark (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nightlightheart) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thearena2013-02-03 09:11 pm
nightlightheart) wrote in thearena2013-02-03 09:11 pm
Entry tags:
On The Rocks With A Splash of Bitters; Closed
WHO| Tony & Danny
WHAT| Who the heck are you, anyway!?
WHEN| After the conclusion of this post
WHERE| On ice.
WARNINGS/NOTES| Probably bad language. Because look who is involved.
The cold has made Tony twitchy and irritable and goddamn has he never before missed the smog-choked southern California skies of home ever like he is right now. And these are on his list of good things. His frostbitten fingers are burning with pain and he can feel his heart beat on every single numbed fingertip as though he'd just taken a blowtorch to them. The burning cold comes rushing in in bitter painful breaths and his face is so numb it hurts. And now? He has this to deal with.
An echo of a canon fire still vibrated somewhere down in his eardrums, and the aftermath has left him with this guy, and he had half a can of tuna left and he doesn't want to admit to himself how much he doesn't want to share it even though by now, his own selfishness should hardly surprise him.
"So what the hell was all that?" he's asking the guy anyway, and maybe he should remember his name but he's never been particularly troubled to learn most of them anyway. But whatever. He's asking because he's there and doesn't seem to currently be at Tony's throat and Tony doesn't dare go for his and hope to come out better for it.
After all, if there is anything he's learned in this place it is that when in doubt: smile for the camera.
WHAT| Who the heck are you, anyway!?
WHEN| After the conclusion of this post
WHERE| On ice.
WARNINGS/NOTES| Probably bad language. Because look who is involved.
The cold has made Tony twitchy and irritable and goddamn has he never before missed the smog-choked southern California skies of home ever like he is right now. And these are on his list of good things. His frostbitten fingers are burning with pain and he can feel his heart beat on every single numbed fingertip as though he'd just taken a blowtorch to them. The burning cold comes rushing in in bitter painful breaths and his face is so numb it hurts. And now? He has this to deal with.
An echo of a canon fire still vibrated somewhere down in his eardrums, and the aftermath has left him with this guy, and he had half a can of tuna left and he doesn't want to admit to himself how much he doesn't want to share it even though by now, his own selfishness should hardly surprise him.
"So what the hell was all that?" he's asking the guy anyway, and maybe he should remember his name but he's never been particularly troubled to learn most of them anyway. But whatever. He's asking because he's there and doesn't seem to currently be at Tony's throat and Tony doesn't dare go for his and hope to come out better for it.
After all, if there is anything he's learned in this place it is that when in doubt: smile for the camera.
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"What the hell was that? That was some crazy asshole killing the only person I knew and could trust in this goddamn hellhole. In cold fucking blood."
This guy had to have some sort of angle, it was all that made any sense whatsoever. He didn't look like the cop type so a sense of serve and protect probably wasn't in the cards. Maybe he just wanted what he thought was in his bag.
All this went though Danny's head while he retained a defensive stance. He still had his ax and this guy looked unarmed. But a long career in the force taught him that looks were almost always deceiving and that people could and did hide weapons in the strangest of places.
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He thinks about pausing his answer, and then realizes within half a breath that he doesn't care. He knows they've been cramming new people in here left and right lately, and this is definitely one of the ones from the new batch. "Look, whatever that was, it's dicks like that no one wants to see win. So do what you have to do to make sure that doesn't happen. Sometimes that means getting off your ass and running the other way."
He isn't even sure why he's standing here practically lecturing the guy, but they'd walked right into a trap. It doesn't set will in his stomach, still, and he thinks it's a good thing it doesn't. Everyone has to play this game, but decent, good people... don't play to win. It's the line that Tony has drawn for himself. He won't purposefully harm anyone he thinks rises above it.
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"Wait wait wait, freshman? I thought this damn thing was to the death. How the hell can you be something OTHER than a freshman? Which you most certainly just implied by that statement." Danny glared at Tony, "So, what? People come back from the dead? Only Vampires, Zombies and Mark Twain do that!"
Yeah, the rest of it would have to wait, because this was sorta a big thing.
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What asshats!
"Whoa, gear down there big shifter," he bats his hand through the air, "You're new right? That makes you a freshman. New kid on the block. Fresh meat. I could go on, but I think you get the idea."
"And it is to the death. And it can really fucking hurt. You can and probably will die. And I'm not entirely certain you do come back to life." Tony tells him with all the seriousness in the world. "Not all of them do. I think it's more like a reset button. Do over. You wake up in big comfy bed three days after your face melts off and you look good as new... No one fucking told you this before they dumped you here?"
Granted, no one had really done him any favors his first time, either, but had made it his business to learn what he could before game time. Maybe Joey McIntyre over there hadn't had the time for that kind of thing.
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"No, I mean," he pauses and thinks back on his conversations with the capitol flunkies. "They just said it was to the death, that being chosen was an honor... that bullshit. I met Sherlock in our suite and since neither of us knew just what the fuck was going on, we figured we'd pair up and figure it out together. He was a 'freshman' too"
Danny was talking to himself the way he did during an investigation. When he tried to lay out the facts verbally to help both himself and his team figure out just what the fuck was going on.
Then it hits him, that little bit of weariness in the guy's voice could only have one explanation based on the current facts. "Jesus, just how many of these have you done?"
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"Uh, four now. A few have been around for all five. Not many though. Sometimes, they reset you. Sometimes this is your one-time chance to shine in the spotlight and millions of people will watch you bleed out all over national television. It might be an honor, for the unknown and the forgettable. To be remembered for anything, some may say, is better than to be forgotten entirely." He pauses a moment and shrugs, "If you're into that sort of thing, I suppose."
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He snorted and put out a hand, "Danny Williams, figure we should at least know each others names since you just saved my ass back there."
Change the channel, survive, mourn later if you had time.
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And then, for the first time since they had paused to chat, Tony begins to walk again. He likes to keep moving when he can. Its so goddamn cold here. "You have anything good in that pack of yours?"
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His last alliance had worked out, and there was something about the guys name that was bothering him. He knew it from somewhere. Fuck it, this guy knew the game around here, and that meant he was a useful ally. He'd take his chances.
"Two sleeping bags, some twine and this ax" he held it up for all to see. "Kinda useless to climb with unless I have another but it'll do as a weapon. Sherlock had the spear."
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"Damn. A spear would have been good. Oh well. It's gone now. I've got fire... or a way to get one going. And a bit of food left. Not much else I'm afraid." He digs into a pocket and holds up a small folded-up knife, "Just this little guy. Which is better than nothing I guess."
It's dull and the handle is a bit messed up from his attempt at caving out hand-holds. He's not sure he wants Danno over there knowing he's got a pointy butter knife for a weapon.
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"Sherlock," his breath caught a bit, but he got his composure back and continued, "Sherlock showed me how to make a decent shelter in the snowpack. I'd say we should settle in, but our last one crashed into a crevice and I don't think that was entirely an accident to be honest."
He sighs.
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Sometimes, it was hard to know what the definition of entertaining was around here, but he liked to think he was getting the hang of it.
"They get off on that sort of thing, bunch of voyeuristic ass puppets," he waves his hand around in the air, a sort of gesture to everything. "You were probably getting too comfortable. They don't like anyone settling in too long. Not nearly as fun to watch. We can settle in, but never the same place twice."
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They walked for a few minutes, "So, there's a better than average chance he's alive somewhere?" It was hard to get out of his mind. He'd seen the aftermath plenty of hellish ways to die. Bombs, drownings, various mailings and flayings. His former partners body had been found in a fucking imu, cooked for a luau. But something about the brutal way Sherlock died was sticking with him this time.
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That's all true. But as the words pour out of his mouth, he does realize that this guy just saw his friend sliced in half before his eyes, while trapped and unable to do anything about it. Oh, and they are also trapped inside a freezing ass death battle. 'Don't get your hopes up,' isn't really the kind of news he wishes he was giving. But it's hard to be optimistic in these situations.
"But all that aside, yes. It is possible he may turn back up in the Capitol in the next few days, fit as a fiddle but with a hell of a lot of questions." He pauses a moment. Then, as an afterthought, "Especially if he gained any attention with the public for a second or two. They love anyone who can give them a good show."
(WAAAY LATE, if you wanna drop I understand)
"None of this makes any goddamn sense!" he huffed, "I'm sorry, it just doesn't! We've got people rising from the grave, I'm at least a century away from my daughter. This place is a distopian nightmare. And Yes, I know that word, I might be a cop but I went to college too damn it. I was running around with a guy that claimed to be Sherlock Holmes. Which, what the hell. And I was privileged to witness him being bifurcated like a fucking green bean or something. Just, WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE!"
He panted a bit as he caught his breath. There, didn't that feel better Danny?
NO WORRIES BUDDY! <3
And this guy had a daughter?
Ouch.
He snorts at his own jibe. Of course the guy wasn't going to feel any better. None of them were. He's fairly certain that not even twenty minutes ago some gamemaker had his chubby pink finger over some digital picture with his name on it, some little id code, maybe some physical stats: just waiting to press the button that sounds the cannon. Announce to the world that his in-constant-near-peril heart has finally stopped beating.
Again.
Some sick part of him is actually curious to know just what those who are tucked up in their lavish little apartment buildings back in the Capitol are thinking about him? Do they cheer when he dies? Do they cry?
And then he remembers that he's Tony Stark. Sometimes he's even Iron Man when he can be. And he doesn't give a single fuck about what they think. But it's in his best interest that he does not let any of them know that.
"I'm not even sure where to start, with that," he confesses. A lot of things are going on here. Tony just hasn't found all the variables yet...