thearena | [open] marching on, it's one foot then the other

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[open] marching on, it's one foot then the other

WHO| Thane and OPEN.
WHAT| Thane's just been tossed into murder island and he is not very pleased with it.
WHEN| Week 2.
WHERE| Cornucopia, Fantasyland.
WARNINGS/NOTES| Starting with the basic possibility for arena violence / attempted murder, nothing specific yet but will update as needed.

The explanation given to him had been far more than simply unsatisfactory. He had considered fighting back, attempting to get out, but when he'd reached for his biotics they were not there and without them there were too many to successfully come up with a plan for in the short space of time he had before suddenly he was being put into what he had been told was the arena. Given longer than five minutes, perhaps, but he had not been.

It was a moot point. He was in the arena now, a place where apparently he must be on his guard against everyone else. He would not kill for these people. He had taken no contract and his arm was still Shepard's, no matter where she was (and where was she, where was this place and what was happening?). But if he was an adequate representation of the people in this arena, it was only going to get more dangerous the longer he lingered in one place. He must move, and now.

There were buildings close by. Perhaps they would provide adequate shelter and if he was lucky supplies. He would go as quietly as possible through them, remain out of sight and quiet. And once he found shelter he could sit and think, consider what was going on and how he could get out.

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Today's mission was a sweatshirt. There was a lot that sucked about living on the run, both here and in Zombieland. Finding food, almost no clean water, sleeping in dirt. But the no showers bit was the thing that she always noticed the most. Her hair was getting close to matted, despite the effort to rinse it in some of the less suspicious looking water and re-braid it every few days. Nothing she could do there. The clothes though? That she can deal with. And soon. After two weeks living in holes and dirt, she was pretty sure stealth was getting close to impossible thanks to smell alone. Not to mention chilly at night, with her cape slowly resembling a chew toy more and more every day.

So to the stores it was. She spent the day pillaging through the scattered merchandise and piles of rotten food in search of her goal. Even something stamped with Snow White's face (her least princess. Who was dumb enough to take an apple and live with creepy old guys?) would work. It was just a matter of tossing things aside until an intact one could be found.

He had made his way a little distance into this stretch of shops before he heard a noise, and from there it was a matter of circling around to determine where precisely it was coming from and who was making it.

He had not expected to find a child, given the nature of this place as it had been told to him. She could not be much older than Kolyat had been all those years ago - younger perhaps than he had been when he made his first kill, though specific age on a human child was harder for him to judge than it would have been on a drell. Regardless, she was certainly young. He had worked with children, certainly, used them as informants and spies, but to throw one into a killing field was an entirely different matter.

"What is it you are searching for?" He kept his hands held up to indicate he meant no harm, back straight as he maintained a careful distance. He did not want to frighten her.

When Thane opens to door to one of the restaurants, Howard is inside. He's found some shelter here so he can try and fix up his wound, a puncture in his lower thigh from a spear. The blood on his white pants has pooled into black, and he's cut away the fabric at the knee with a knife to get better access to the injury. He's using a strip of cloth from his cape as a sort of tourniquet as he dribbles some water over it.

He freezes as the door near him opens. He's on the sitting ground and injured, and can't really move from where he's sitting on the floor quickly. So instead he just stays still, hoping that whoever decided to investigate this house will ignore him and be on their way.

He's avoiding fast movements, anything that will draw too much attention, so it's a whisper of a movement as the door opens just enough for him to slip through and close it behind him, fist at his side clenched in a gesture that would be indicative of his biotics flaring if he had access to them. He distinctly does not.

His eyebrow ridges knit firmly down as his gaze falls upon Howard and he notes the wound. He seems young - perhaps not quite a child, but still young enough for Thane to find his presence and injury troubling.

"If you wish to avoid infection, it must be cleaned thoroughly." He folds his hands behind his back, making it clear that he will not move closer yet. "How were you injured?"

The fist is clenched. Howard wonders if it's in anger or anxiety until those thoughts are dashed by the more pressing one: he's definitely, definitely noticed.

Howard stays where he is, petrified like an animal of prey as he looks at the freakish person standing in front of him. It's not even Thane's appearance that really scares him - back home, his best friend was a rock monster, and this place has giant turtles, after all. It's the offer to help.

The last time someone offered to help Howard, they ended up stabbing him. It's not a memory he easily forgets. As such, he appreciates that Thane doesn't move any closer - and that Thane doesn't appear to be armed.

He takes a deep breath and wraps his hands around the cloth tourniquet, holding onto it like the handlebar of a roller coaster. The blood flow has mostly stopped from the injury, and while it's difficult to walk on this leg Howard knows it's not impossible. It looks uglier than it feels, although infection is still a very obvious concern.

"I got speared," he stammers, worried that silence will somehow be incriminating of something. "By someone else here."

The look on Howard's face makes Thane reconsider the fact that he seems to have landed in a place where human is the default. His work took him to human colonies only rarely - he stood out too much there. Most of his life has been spent among aliens of all kinds, in places where it is expected.

That is not important now, though. Useless musings for another time, or no time at all. This young human looks like he has managed to mostly fix himself, but he will find movement difficult and there are others out there, apparently. Others with weapons and, it would seem, a willingness to wound at least.

"Are they pursuing you?" That would be the logical choice on their part, if they knew they had hurt him. It is best to take down wounded prey before they start trying to fight back. "Do you have a weapon?"

Spotting him wasn't very difficult. Hyperion always kept moving, be it back or forth, through new and gradually familiar places, and he always kept watch, even when the implants behind his eyes refused to work.

There was little to be mistaken about humanoid shapes carrying something visibly different, something that - in Hyperion's tired eyes - sparked his interest. Someone currently as aimless as him only had something like that to guide him around. (Follow your curiosity, see where it takes you.)

Only one violent encounter had been written into his history so far, more a result of his attacker's despair than his own initiative, still visible on the blood staining the sleeve of his jacket. Surely that would have scared most of those dwelling the Arena, but he found himself wanting more.

So he followed.

"No, no, someone else got in the way." Howard tries, gingerly, to get his feet beneath him. He doesn't make any noise as he stands up, but he does wince; it clearly isn't an easy task, and he favors one leg significantly.

"I'm unarmed." It's a lie. He has a knife in his pocket, but he's not about to disclose that to a stranger - at best it's a threat, at worst it's an impetus to attack him and steal it. Howard's small and skinny and wounded; Thane could overpower him without much difficulty. "My name's Howard. What's yours?"

Little Rock swung around at the sound of the voice, hoping over a small pile of ruble to put an extra few feet between her and the-

The frog monster.

She stumbled another step back, one foot getting caught in a pile of torn up stuffed Micky's and Minnie's and sending her sprawling onto her butt. What the hell.

"I don't taste good."

He cannot say he had been expecting that particular reaction - in fact, he does not think he has ever gotten. Drell are not particularly common among space, but they are but one race among many.

Her reaction indicated that it was unlikely she had had much contact with aliens before.

"I'm not going to eat you." He crouched down to make himself smaller and less able to move towards her, frowning. "I promise I will not cause you harm."

There was a sense you obtained, when you had lived a life in the shadows as long as Thane had. A knowledge of when people were watching you, the moments it was not safe to move.

Right now he had that feeling, and while he had no desire to look over his shoulder and alert anyone behind him that he was aware of any eyes, he did not have any intentions of letting someone else stalk him. He still had his professional pride.

He takes advantage of the first cover he finds to start working his way into more, hiding himself and beginning to double back on a path parallel to the one he had been taking, watching for movement while moving as stealthily as he can.

Edited (tenseees) 2013-03-30 20:47 (UTC)

"I am Thane." No need for a last name - he does not think Krios will bring to bear the same weight here that it does at home, but nevertheless he would prefer not to take that chance.

He maintains his distance, still, considering. "Then there are people here who accept what they have been told." A faint curl of disdain just in the very edges of his voice. Thugs. An assassin at least has honor. "I have only just arrived, myself, but you have clearly been here at least a little while."

"Not just accept it. There are sickos out there having fun." He remembers the glee on Aunamee's face as he held Howard down and twisted a knife in his chest. He remembers the excitement in Grey's eyes as he reading the spear. "And there are people like me just trying not to die."

He sags a bit, trying to keep weight off his injured leg. "Sorry about you getting dropped in here mid-Arena. That's rough. I'd know."

"Wha-"

She was trying to come up with complete sentences. Really, she was. Too bad her brain had stopped on monster and not really moved past there. Zombies were one thing. Zombies were just people and a bug. This was...was...

Talking to her.

"You're not from Disney."

"That is correct. I am from Kahje." Though he does not believe that will make any sense to her. Even if she was acquainted with aliens, the hanar do not fall on many people's radars. Neither do the drell, and they prefer it that way.

Though none of that is relevant to right now. "How old are you?" Still frowning, because if what they have told him about this place is true then a child's presence is very troubling.

Having fun. Thane's frown deepens just a little at that. Hunting down innocents for sport - or even the not so innocent - it is an idea that he finds repugnant.

"Thank you. You also came in during the middle? How long has this been going?"

Howard tries to decipher the frown, whether it's an act or a genuine expression of distaste. He supposes none of the usual tells for lying would be on a face so alien to him.

"Seventy-five years, I think? I mean, not this one, but the Games in general."

From their camp on the upper floor of a shop, he could see a decent number of the streets below. It made for an easy time developing a mental map of the area and there were certainly less advantageous spots in the town surrounding them. Enjolras had to admit that despite her eccentricities, Little Rock was far from stupid regarding their predicament. Naturally, it called into question why someone, particularly a girl, so young should be so knowledgeable.

Of course, there was still the matter of supplies. Food and weaponry were essentially if they were to survive, and while their outpost had yet to be attacked, as the other Tributes took care of each other (loathed though he was to apply those terms to it), the survivors would come for them. It was only logical, practical on some terrifying level. And that, is what led him into the small street near what he presumed to be midday. The shadows were few and far between, but the ruins were more or less sufficient cover. Still, Enjolras found himself actually missing the grey and claustrophobic looming of Parisian architecture. That would have been infinitely more practical.

So distracted was he by attempting to sneak around a particularly open intersection that the rather imposing figure in the distance caught him by surprise. Nevertheless, that was his path and Enjolras would not be deterred. It wasn't until he was barely twelve feet from the other... Person, he supposed, that his appearance truly caught up with him.

"God in heaven..." He breathed, unable to stop himself. What on earth was this man?

It was only sheer luck, and the weight of the Tribute jumping on him, rather than silently winding the garrote around his neck, that Daniel came out more or less alive. Nearly throttled in your sleep was a hell of a lot better than actually throttled, although immediately after, when Daniel had tried to run a few yards, part of him wished that the Tribute had finished the job. The effort it took to drag in air down his throat was agonizing. He'd slowed into as fast a trot as he could, turning at the waist every now and then to make sure the Tribute wasn't following him.

He didn't have anywhere set in mind. Daniel made his way haphazardly through the streets, the internal map he had of the place - hazy at best- forgotten. Anywhere but where that Tribute was. Whatever urge to sleep he'd entertained? Pretty much gone. If he survived this, he had a feeling he'd have a hard time relaxing at all, even if he was back at home, or letting his guard down. Sleeping each time had nearly gotten him killed!

Daniel hoped this wasn't how Jack had felt back when he'd been in Black Ops. If so, how did he keep his sanity?

For now, he weaved through the buildings. His chances for survival had took a nose dive. He probably would've done a lot better if he'd dislocated a shoulder or something.And he'd have a harder time going through with his part of the plan. Daniel had counted on everything but Games stealing away his most valuable tool; his words.

It was only when he'd come up to a row of shops, some with windows shattered, others barely hanging on, that Daniel stopped. He hunched over, the wheezing seemingly too loud against ruins. So much for stealth, he thought. His best option now was to hide, wait for the swelling to go down, or hope to God that one of the sponsors had some mercy on him.

Daniel's eyes slid upwards to the partial window in front of him. He tilted his neck, just a fraction, holding back the soft swear when even that much movement was enough to send a lance of pain down his body. Even in the dusty surface, he could see the beginnings of a spectacular bruise sprouting. Daniel touched it gingerly with a finger and yes, unsurprisingly doing that hurt and yes, he should know better.

Edited 2013-04-01 12:48 (UTC)

His arrival was quiet. There was a predictability about the careful wandering man, looking around for something he thought he'd seen only moments ago, now mysteriously out of reach. Hyperion kept his hands tucked away, fingers playing with the folded knife - his only weapon so far. For a moment he felt as though he had stepped right into the center of a spotlight, being watched and unable to see.

So he whistled. A harmless little tune, nothing anyone else would remember from their childhood, falling out of rhythm his slow steps crackling against the ground.

His long slow blink is the only outward sign he shows of precisely how startled that makes him feel. A death trap going on for 75 years and no one else in the galaxy knows of it? Impossible. This cannot be real.

For a moment he entertains the notion that he has died and this is his reward for his life, but he does not think that seems likely either.

"What planet is this?"

Howard blinks back, although his blinking is faster, not startled but merely confused. "Earth. I think."

He leans against the wall to take weight off his leg. "I didn't think to ask no one."

That wasn't what she meant...too late. Conversation moving on. And now it wanted her age. What else, a note from her parents to be here? Whatever it was, it was still clearly an adult. Only old people asked that kind of question. Usually so they could frown at the answer. But the bright side was people who cared about her age typically were the ones who would fret instead of fight. Maybe at worst try to force her to show where her supplies were. If she made enough noise while leading him, the guys might notice...

"Twelve. How old are you?"

It was a rather open intersection, and Thane himself was working on making sure he avoided it when he caught sight of the other person in the distance. He supposed it made sense that if they were supposed to kill each other they would be put in a space small enough that run ins were inevitable, but he would have preferred not to see as many people.

Eventually he knew he would run into the people who had accepted the idea that they must kill each other. That was a fight he did not wish to be forced into.

But now he moved forward towards the other person, stopping when he did. "Being out in the open is dangerous, here." Calm and measured, tilting his head in consideration.

He watched, for a long moment, and then rose from his cover to the side of this seemingly fearless man and took a step inwards. There was not caution to his movements - he had no weapon, the closer he got the more confident he became in his ability to manage any arising situations.

"You were following me." Neutral, more interest than any sort of judgment in it.

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[open] marching on, it's one foot then the other

Fantasyland

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Fantasyland

Fantasyland - hasn't seen Thane yet

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well enjolras when two drell love each other very much

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