thearena | On medicine, Punchy's choice of music, and anthropologist super powers.

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On medicine, Punchy's choice of music, and anthropologist super powers.

Who| Daniel Jackson and OPEN!
What| Or in which Plan A: Spread the Word about a sit down, is easier said than done. So is Plan A-B (survival).(Open to attack if anyone wants)
Where| Critter Country/ NO Square / Rivers of America
When| Week Three
Warnings/Notes| None so far - will edit if any come up.

The medicine from the bag was pretty incredible. He'd rubbed the paste against the bruises on his neck, and hours later, the swelling had gone down dramatically. Before, just the act of swallowing had been something he'd dreaded, since it felt like he'd downed a pack of razors each time he tried; talking was a second hell. Thanks to the paste, it had gone down to just a ring of soreness. He might as well have only strained his neck temporarily. Sore he could deal with. Sore was a lot better than before. Daniel silently thanked whoever that sponsor was. His chances for survival had been depressingly low (see: none, he thought) before, now they looked more along the fighting-chance range. The Capitol apparently had made leaps and bounds in their medical field, far more than Earth.

Sam would've had a field day if she'd gotten a sample. If she didn't have to fight Dr. Fraiser for it first.

Too bad I had to use it all, he thought. There wasn't any chance of saving a sample just in case. Daniel rubbed at the side of his head as he knelt by the edge of the water. Either that slight ringing in his head was from lack of sleep.... or it was thanks to the music that had come blaring from the wreck of the Matterhorn. Daniel could feel a headache brewing in the wings. It was timed suspiciously to either the beat of his heart or - more likely - the heavy bass trying to struggle its way out through tinny speakers. It was great and all that at least some part of his plan with Punchy was working. Would it have killed him to pick different music though?

The archaeologist eyed the water warily. He wasn't pressed for food or water since he had the contents from that bag. If he was smart, rationed it, Daniel suspected it could last for awhile. But if he could supplement that stuff while he could - Daniel dismissed the thought immediately. Too risky. The color wasn't exactly encouraging, now was it? It was this mix between puke-green and brown-black, and just as telling, he couldn't see any part of the bottom. It was hard to tell from here if it was a sludge.

Although. He was pretty sure he'd eaten and drank stuff that had been far more questionable over the course of the years. Granted, he'd also sometimes gotten sick afterwards. That was part of the job, an occupational hazard, and sometimes you just didn't say no to your host or there really wasn't anything else around. It was also a part Daniel preferred to hide from the rest of SG-1 when it inevitably happened; Jack seemed to believe Daniel had an iron stomach, starting with the first mission to Abydos, and Daniel certainly hadn't helped correct him. Daniel had always given him this 'of course: anthropologist' look at the colonel right before popping whatever it was into his mouth at the time. Then he'd just... go get sick somewhere in private. But really, who was he to break that image Jack had made up?

Maybe he shouldn't. He hadn't exactly made it a habit to get hunted by other people most of the time. The only person watching his back was himself. He couldn't afford to get sick.

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Wyatt might have been content to stick close to Howard, to keep an eye one the boy and mind his injuries, but there was still work to be done. Snares to check, fruit to pick... and, a'course, Grey and Aunamee and the rest of that ilk were still out there somewhere.

He'd much rather find them than the other way 'round.

He checked his snares one at a time, starting with the ones furthest from the mountain and working his way back, tossing anything they netted into the canvas bag he'd gotten from the Cornucopia. He was heading for the one off the old town square - a couple rats to his name - when he heard it: a high caterwhaling - like cats tearing at each other.

He hesitated, glancing back the way he'd come... then shifted his bag, and headed toward it. Better to know what might be comin' then to be surprised.

When he came up on the man by the water, he ducked back quickly, and watched from around the trunk of a tree, eyeing him carefully.

Finally, when he reached for the water, Wyatt spoke up - keeping one hand on the knife in his pocket as he did so. "I wouldn't, if I were you."

Daniel jerked with surprise; he hadn't heard the man coming up behind him until right then and by then, personally, he was a little too close for comfort. The archaeologist scrambled to his feet. A hand drifted towards the sturdy hat pin tucked into the back of his belt.

He didn't draw it just yet; after all, this Tribute hadn't exactly made any violent moves just yet. If he'd wanted to, he'd just had - and missed - the perfect chance just then. Instead Daniel studied him. He wasn't as tall as he was, but seemed well-built, maybe sturdier than Daniel himself was, and sported one impressive mustache. in one hand, he had a canvas bag. All in all, he looked a lot more put together, with it, than several of the other tributes he'd seen. Possibly himself included, considering his own luck.

Unfortunately he wasn't entirely sure what to make of him yet. "I was thinking of passing, actually, but thanks," Daniel said lightly. "And you are?"

The man was staring at him like he couldn't decide whether Wyatt was fish or fowl, but Wyatt didn't mind. After all, he was doin' the same.

He studied the man for several long minutes, blue eyes unreadable. Tall feller, but lean. If he had to guess, Wyatt would say they'd be matched evenly enough so far as weight went. One of the newer tributes maybe, but it was hard to say for sure. He didn't exactly make a habit of watching the games if he didn't have to.

"Wyatt," he replied finally. "Wyatt Earp."

Edited (spacing issues) 2013-04-03 11:52 (UTC)

"nice to meet you-" the words trailed off somewhere and died along the way. There was no way he just heard him right.

Daniel's lips parted. Whatever he was about to say didn't make it out. His mouth snapped shut.

He had to be joking. Or he didn't want to say his real name for some reason. Actually, looking at him again, the man didn't look like he had a sense of humor at all, and probably wouldn't appreciate anyone implying otherwise. So it was either option two, an alias, or he was telling the truth.

"Wyatt Earp. The Wyatt Earp? As in Tombstone, Arizona?

"Dodge City, Kansas, actually," Wyatt replied, sounding bemused.

Another one of those sorts - the fans. The ones that knew. Somehow it wasn't quite as exciting a prospect as it'd once been.

'Specially since that chat with De, where he'd finally decided that maybe he was better off not knowin' what was waitin' for him.

"Though I'm told Tombstone is in my future."

Daniel did his best not to gape at him. He wasn't so sure he succeeded. It obviously meant that not only did the Capitol have the ability to pull people from all across space, they could pull people from other points in time itself. Normally the idea of a form of time-travel would excite him (it still did, in fact; here was a chance to pick the brain of history itself, right here, in a way), if it weren't for what it said for how powerful Capitol technology really was.

And the ramifications! What happened now, since they'd been pulled out of their own history? On second thought, if Tombstone was his future, maybe he better not say too much.

"You uh, certainly have something to look forward to," Daniel said lamely, cutting off the slew of questions he wanted to ask. He quickly changed the subject, survival and the Arena trickling back in belatedly; anyway, considering this was Wyatt Earp, it might be best to see what "the toughest and deadliest gunman of his day" would do and where Daniel stood. "So what are you doing around here anyway?"

"So I hear," he said, the corner of his mouth turning up in a friendly sort of expression. Untroubled and unoffended by the way Daniel looked at him, but the noticeable uncertainty in his voice. That too, he was used to, and so long as Daniel didn't turn out like Alpha and start callin' him a liar, he wasn't bothered by it. "There are lots'a folks here that know my name, though I don't quite yet know what for."

He shifted back on his heels, purposely easing his stance in hopes that Daniel might relax as well.

Wyatt had no intention of fighting unless forced.

"As to your question though..." his head tipped, "I might ask you the same." He nodded toward the Matterhorn in the distance, toward the screeching, pounding music. "Ya know what that's about?"

So he might have just dodged a bullet there. No one else was telling the man his future, and it was probably for the best; if Sam was here, she could probably going into detail, exactly all the ways one could mess up timelines and whatnot. If it wasn't completely derailed already by the Capitol swiping Wyatt up already, which it very well could be.

Daniel watched him, noting the way that he seemed to relax. Alert, but not, it seemed to him, the alert that might have him lunging at him anytime soon. Daniel found himself easing a little in return.

"Trying to stretch out my supplies and looking for Tributes who might listen rather than kill first. The usual," Daniel replied. He looked back towards the white peak of the Matterhorn, wincing a little. Punchy's idea was working on his end, and the music had even spread towards the other areas of the Arena. "Probably deafening some prying ears; I don't know how long we can count on it to last though."

Wyatt reached up unconsciously, mouth twisting wryly, and rubbed at one of his ears as Daniel mentioned the word "deaf."

"Is that the point?" he asked, brows wrinkled in confusion. "To deafen folks? Not sure that'll do ya much favors in the gettin' friends department."

Considering how loud and awful the music was, Daniel had to wonder the very same thing. If not, he was certainly almost deafened from it. Well, he had to trust that it worked for now. Time, unfortunately, wasn't something they had in spades, and there was going to be a point where he had to just out and say it, and while they had the music going, before the Capitol switched it off.

"The Capitol's ears, actually," Daniel corrected him. "Or at least to buy some time for those of us who are trying to get the word out. There may be another way to end these games.:

An eyebrow rose.

"Is that so?" Thanks to Elias, Wyatt was aware of the rebellion movement and of how certain folks (Wyatt included) hoped to make the Capitol pay for everything they were doin'... but Elias had made clear that a certain sort of care was to be taken. He wasn't used to anybody bein' quite so blatant about it and he wasn't immediately sure what to do about it.

Part of him wanted to jump in and get it done, but another part, one with more sense, told him to be wary - just 'cause this fella thought the Capitol wasn't listenin' in didn't mean they weren't.

Hell, it might even be a trap.

"What'd ya have in mind exactly?" he asked carefully, casually curious, as hopefully anybody would be in his place.

Well, Daniel wasn't entirely sure if his idea would work. It hinged on a lot of things, namely the Tributes trusting each other to some degree, and putting a lot of faith in there being some good in people. And it hinged on Tributes not taking advantage of the situation, he had to admit, could happen.

It probably wouldn't end the Games as an institution. But with the cannons booming out deaths every single day, they were short on time.

The music blared loudly just then, a screech of metal and distorted voices. It was followed by a crackle of feedback. More "music" followed. Punchy, if he hadn't deafened those cameras, had certainly come close to deafening this archaeologist with that music. Daniel winced then took the plunge. "A sit down. We don't fight. I know it's asking a lot, but there's no Games if we all refuse."

For a moment Wyatt did nothing but blink, slowly, as if he wasn't sure he'd heard Daniel right, then, after a beat, his mouth twisted wryly.

"Is that all?" His amusement was a dark, sad sort; the curl of his lips doing nothing to warm his face.

His shook his head. "An admirable effort, friend, but I don't see it happenin'. There are too many here who enjoy this. They'd be sure to ruin it for the rest of us."

Somehow it was the amusement from Wyatt, at Daniel's expense, that rankled him. Like his idea was just some daydream or joke. It could work, he was sure of it. Surely people didn't want to play along with the Capitol. Most of the people he'd met had been decent. If there was a way out that didn't involve killing, he hoped people would take it.

Daniel's face twisted with distaste at the idea that there might be a sizeable number who actually got a kick out of the killing. "I'm not saying everyone should sit down and let those people come by and slit throats," Daniel argued. "Everyone has the right to defend themselves. But eventually, it may come down to it. Why wouldn't people take a chance?"

"Don't misunderstand me, I've got no love for the Capitol," Wyatt explained, softening a fraction in the face of Daniel's reaction.

He understood Daniel's anger, certainly; he'd been there, and he'd have given anything if it would guarantee the killing would just stop...

"And I truly wish it could be that simple, but I think ya might be barkin' up the wrong tree in here. Even if ya can convince all the others to trust each other, what's to stop the Capitol from just offin' us all and bringin' us back for the next arena?"

Daniel blinked, owlishly. Bringing them all back? He hoped that didn't sound like exactly what he thought it did. Because there was a world of problems and a world of pain following if they could do that. Suddenly Eva's warnings took a more serious note. He'd asked her why he should worry about voicing his political opinions if he was being sent into the reason. There might very well be cause to. "Because they wouldn't have a game if they killed everyone off themselves. They want us to fight each other, kill each other off."

He rushed on. "Please tell me you're joking. They can't possible have a sarcophagus or something," Daniel trailed off.

And why not? The Goa'uld knew how to cheat death. The Nox could pull a person back if it wasn't too late. The ability or technology to do so was out there.

He hadn't known.

Wyatt stared sadly back at him.

"I don't know nothing about any 'sarcophagus,'" he replied gently. "But I can tell ya that dyin' here, ain't like dyin' anywhere else. When ya die in the arena, the Capitol takes ya back to the city and patches ya up - just in time for the next one." He exhaled heavily, glancing around the square. "The last one was made of ice. Ice and snow as far ya could see..."

His steely blue gaze flicked back to Daniel, expression tired. "This is my fifth arena."

:A sarcophagus is a device another species uses to heal injuries and restore life; possibly for thousands of years," Daniel answered weakly. Some of the color drained out of his face in less than a second. His imagination wasn't doing him any favors either. He could already picture a frightening number of ways in which this could become a living well, and what that could mean to people who tried to buck the system, rather than play nice. They might not be the Goa'uld. Maybe they hadn't had thousands upon thousands of years to refine torture into an art form, but they could very well make up for it.

Five Games? Wyatt had obviously not won one, since he was still in them, so he'd died each and every time. Daniel hadn't realized he was fidgeting with the water bottle until he almost dropped it in shock with Wyatt spoke again. He forced himself to still. "And so you've had to die over and over. There's no escaping unless you're the sole Victor?"

Or, and Daniel tried to hold onto this hope, no one had successfully stood up to the Games. It could be the answer. The Games hinged on one Victor; if the Gamemakers killed everyone, the Game itself would have failed. And what if they couldn't force the remaining ones into killing each other? Tributes refusing, sitting around, didn't make for a good game.

Edited 2013-04-16 07:44 (UTC)

Wyatt took a breath, and exhaled it slowly.

"I hear there was one," he explained carefully, keenly aware that the Capitol might be watching, whatever Daniel said. "A young woman from twelve... both she and her lover survived, were both crowned victors. But that was before they started bringin' us in. Since..." he trained off pointedly.

"Now, when things get, I don't know, slow I guess, they find ways to make it interestin'. Last arena it was earthquakes, collaspin' the ice. Some tributes died, the rest were driven together as the arena got smaller."

Daniel's mind worked fast, filling in the blanks that Eva had left, and the Baron had dismissively alluded to without quite knowing it. So there really was more to it than just a change of pace or new technology. Someone had upset the Games, and he didn't pin the Gamemakers as prone to getting a case of romantics. Had the two tributes refused? Or had the audience set their foot down?

The situation was suddenly much more complicated than it already was. Depending on how the victors had come about, this could make it a very politically charged atmosphere with the Districts and Capitol.

"I don't suppose you know what they did?" Daniel pressed. Maybe it was a risk, but he was willing to risk himself to find out as much as he could. Anyway, he doubted the Capitol could be worse than the Goa'uld; they needed their Tributes to fight, while the Goa'uld had no qualms about breaking someone or theoretically reviving someone over and over just to throw them around like the new chew toy.

He winced. "So the Gamemakers will influence the factors if things get quiet. But it seems to me that there's only so far that can go. Even if the arena get very small, there's still trouble if no one fights. Even the last two," Daniel said thoughtfully, and started to rush on, "The Games hinge on a Victor, so wouldn't they risk an upset if they killed both? Or even either one? It doesn't make for a good sport."

"As I understand it, they were the last two and rather than be forced to kill each other, they tried to off themselves instead."

The more he talked, the more desperate Daniel seemed to become and Wyatt watched him carefully, his brow furrowed. He kinda reminded Wyatt of Katurian in way, with all that uncertain, excitable energy, and as with Katurian, Wyatt wasn't sure if he should be prepared to run away or toward.

"Maybe when they couldn't bring folks back, I suppose," he agreed gently when Daniel paused. "But now..." his head tipped uncertainly. "I couldn't tell ya. Does it really matter what happens to us if they can just make us all try again?"

Choosing suicide as a way to prove to the Gamemakers that they couldn't force their victory wasn't entirely what Daniel would have had in mind. Preferably it didn't come down to that at all. Personally, he preferred the one where the Capitol got the message that they couldn't force people to kill each other at all, especially if everyone refused.

Granted, it hinged on a lot.

Daniel faltered, realizing belatedly that he was close to rambling on and that now he had Wyatt staring at him like a second head was growing from him. Daniel ducked his head, sheepishly. Sorry. "Yes, it matters. That would be giving up, letting the Capitol know they have control and that you're resigned to it. What those two did sound like it was what shut down the District's involvement in the games. It started with their refusal."

"You and I might believe that," Wyatt replied in that same slow, gentle voice. He wasn't trying to dissuade Daniel from the idea of fighting, he just wanted to make it clear that he wasn't sure trying to do it in the arena was the best idea. "But we're out gunned in here. And not just by the other tributes. The Capitol controls everythin' in here. They can move things, destroy 'em, change how hot or cold it is, the time'a day..."

He glanced sideways, eyeing the nearby trees, the empty buildings. "And they don't always take the most obvious targets."

If Daniel caught his drift.

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On medicine, Punchy's choice of music, and anthropologist super powers.

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