Desert Arena: The city girl is screwed

[formersurgeon]

Who| Joan Watson and open
What| Joan arrives in the arena
Where| Desert arena
When| Middle of week one
Warnings/Notes| I have no idea! I'll update depending on what transpires :) (And oh my god, did this get wall-o'-texty...)



She doesn't think Sherlock had this in mind when he said that when you eliminate the impossible, whatever is left, however improbable, is the truth.

Because this is impossible. Waking up in this weird place, no memory of how she got here, and being told she has to fight to the death in some sort of Thunderdome "there can be only one" crap?

And then there's the outfit.

If Joan were familiar with Game of Thrones, she might be amused by the irony of a short attractive Asian woman dressed up like the excessively tall, unattractive, blonde Brienne of Tarth. But all she can figure is that she's dressed like Joan of Arc, which is more like a bad joke. Especially considering the "armor" is just copper colored felt woven through with shiny faux metallic strands, and won't protect her a damn. They haven't even given her a sword to go with the costume.

Clearly she's dreaming, or has been slipped some sort of hallucinogen, right? But even those theories are rapidly fading into impossibilities as all this is proving to be much too real. Apparently what she thought was impossible is in actuality just very, very improbable.

She's quiet as they prepare her, alert to any possibility of escape. They're careful, though, guarding her, clearly ready to put an end to any escape attempt. She sees no point in fighting back as they inject her with the tracker, as they bring her to the pedestal. They're more likely to injure her than she's likely to escape, and if she's hurt she'll probably have less of a chance of surviving whatever they have in store for her.

She doesn't know what to expect. And in many ways, what she's confronted with upon her release is one of the worst possible scenarios. Joan has lived in the city her whole life, and has no experience whatsoever with wilderness survival. She can't even light a fire in a fireplace. Not to mention it's hot. And sunny. Joan immediately begins to broil inside her glinting, heavy felt "armor." If she doesn't get into some shade, and soon,, she's not going to survive long enough to be killed by one of the other "tributes."

She surveys the area, and heads toward the mountains, hoping for an outcropping, a large boulder, anything to get her out of the sun. On the way she picks up a rock, small enough to carry in one hand, large enough to smash someone's skull in if she has to, and gets the opportunity.

Comments

[the_marshal]

Wyatt's first thought, when he'd finally reached the maker of the tracks he'd discovered on his way to the waterhole, was on Max. The armor, though wrong, was a knee-jerk reaction, the pinch to a still raw nerve.

Though it only took him a moment to realize the armor was all wrong, and to remember that Max hadn't even been wearing his, he would have trouble thinking of the woman as anything but She-Max for some time.

Rising out of his low crouch, he whistled, a sharp high sound to get her attention and raised his hands, palms out - a peace offering.

With any luck, she'd take the fact that he'd made her and decided to reveal himself rather attack as a good faith sign and would return in kind.

[formersurgeon]

She whirls at the whistle. She didn't know anyone was following her, but she wouldn't, too intent on reaching shade and not enough on trying to not become a target. She raises the rock, reflex, knowing it's a poor weapon for self defense, but unwilling to just lay down and die.

The man is holding out his hands, though, showing he has no weapons, and if he meant to kill her, he probably would have done so already. So she crouches slowly, sets the rock on the ground, and then approaches, wary.

[the_marshal]

Blue eyes watch carefully, and the hands were slow and deliberate in lowering as she moved closer.

"No harm meant, Miss," he called, using his slow, easy drawl to it's fullest effect. "I saw yer tracks, an' caught yer armor there, I thought ya mighta been someone else."

[formersurgeon]

She edges closer, looking him over for any weapons, hidden or otherwise, staying aware of what his hands are doing.

"Do they dress a lot of people in fake armor?"

[the_marshal]

"Ya wouldn't be the first," he replied honestly, quickly, as Max's face flashed in the back of his mind.

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Last time they gave the ladies hoop skirts, and the men capes. Pinks and purples and everythin' all else."

[OOC: For reference, Wyatt is dressed like True Grit's Rooster Cogburn. Minus the eyepatch, he gave that to someone else already.]

[formersurgeon]

A faint smile plays on her lips.

"That sounds really tacky."

She takes another step closer.

"Last time. They've done this whole 'fight to the death' thing before, then."

[the_marshal]

He paused a beat, looking at her consideringly.

No... he didn't recognize her face.

"Yer new, ain't ya?"

[shambler]

R takes wandering to a whole new level. That's what he'd say, if he was Alive and trying to pump himself up for another day of stumbling around looking for that watering hole and telling himself everything was cool. Telling himself he was cool and okay.

He's not cool or okay and the only thing he is? Is hungry. Plus lost. You think he'd be used to being lost by now.

R's not sure if it's been two or three days since the Cornucopia. They blend together and he's distracted both by the hunger and the fact his exposed arms have gone from "wish they were sunburning" to full on splitting, the skin drying out and starting to crack like gray, leathery paper. It's kinda gross. R catches himself absently picking at it more than once, the zombie having to force himself to stop before he peels it down to the bone. It's something to do. R's not sure what it is, but every time he gets close enough to the animals here, they book it before he can sink his teeth into them. He can't even find something to teeth on bigger than a lizard or a snake. It's a little pathetic.

The zombie's getting closer to the mountains when he catches that tang in the air: it's Life, human and strong. Fresh enough to make him stand up a little bit straighter and sniff again and there it is. Suddenly hopeful, R shuffles a little faster, kicking up sand and resisting the urge to start groaning on instinct. Eventually he spots a woman, this pretty one with dark hair and armor that's glinting in the sun even from all the way out here. It's not enough to make R change his mind, but he does wonder if he'll chip a tooth on that chestplate.

The hunger shrugs.

R starts lurching for Joan Watson, this mess of a boy wearing clothes that have seen better days between the frayed holes and the suspicious stains splattered over his chest. He's about two seconds from calling it a day and moaning "brains" at her.

[formersurgeon]

One of the benefits to be attacked by a zombie, apparently, is that you can hear them coming. Joan looks over at the sound of feet shuffling in the sand. Her first instinct when she sees him moving toward her is concern. The guy looks...there isn't a word that's not a massive understatement. Suffice to say, he's clearly not doing well. He looks in dire need of help, and isn't holding a weapon, so Joan takes a step in his direction.

"Hello?"

Then she notices the blood smeared across his mouth, and she takes that step back, frowning. Something is seriously not right here. Then he starts lurching for her, and she swears, turns, runs.

[shambler]

And...there she goes. Good head-start, runs like she's kept in shape. Of course he'd get a fit one.

R wheezes out a sigh and starts trekking after her, staggering as fast as his stiff legs can go. This is the part he could do without: the whole chasing them down, waiting until they tired out and he could catch up part. That part. Back home prey could lose him in the ruins of the city. Out here, though, he could see and smell a lot further and the odds of him catching up were actually a lot better. For once this heat was actually a good thing. He'd just shrivel a little bit more. Her? She'd need all that stuff like food and water and rest. He can still do this, if he can keep her within smelling range.

R follows after her. He's not sure how long . The closer to the mountains they get, the more the terrain becomes rocky and littered with boulders, R navigating his way through awkwardly. There isn't much out here to distract him. Every now and then R lifts his head and sniffs.

He thinks he's close. Then he turns a corner around one of the larger boulders and hello, there she is, as large as Life itself. Nice, healthy face, straight black hair he'll ruin once he feeds. Seems like a shame. R attacks anyway, lunging for her with a gurgling snarl and his hands outstretched.

[formersurgeon]

It's hot. It's so hot. And the heavy cloth of her fake armor just weighs her down and traps the heat. She slows, and can hear that he's still chasing her. She's not going to get out of this by running, so she forces herself to think. Think. This guy is moving pretty fast, but he's still dragging himself along. As far as she can tell, he's moving by brute force, and clearly doesn't have much coordination. She might not be able to outrun him. But she can outclimb him.

She looks at the boulders she's passing, looking for one with enough foot- and handholds that she can make it to the top. He's getting closer, she can hear it, and she's having to force herself to stay calm. Panic will get her killed.

She finally finds one, ducks to the side of it. He's right on her heels, and as he rushes her, she scrambles up as much as she can and aims a sharp kick at his face, hoping to knock him away enough so that she's able to get to the top.

[shambler]

Why is he surprised she cheats and goes up? It's like the one direction zombies struggle with. Stairs are a pain; ladders a pipe dream. R reaches the boulder as she's already scrabbling up it, the zombie going for broke and trying to grab her legs before they're out reach. All he gets for his trouble is a kick in the face.

R's head rocks back as he stumbles, tries to right himself, and nearly falls on his butt anyway. His head would be ringing, if he was human. It's a good kick for that angle, R starting to suspect he's a magnet for kicks these days. By the time he recovers, the human woman's had plenty of time to get her legs out of grabbing reach, R looking up at her with a dazed look like he has no idea how she teleported up there.

"Ghhhggr..." R moans. It's more of a whine now, R reaching up and pawing at the boulder like maybe he wants to climb up after her too. All he gets for his trouble is a few black smears across the rock's surface. Some of his drying skin flakes off. He even lets rip a louder groan to see if that'll spook her (that and it just feels natural to groan. Zombie and all that).

She's pretty damn good at not slipping and falling into his waiting mouth, R realizes with an exasperated sigh. A Dead boy can hope, right?

[formersurgeon]

She manages to get to the top, and stays for a moment on her hands and knees, head down, panting from the run and the heat. Then she turns and lies on her stomach, looking down at her pursuer. From up close, she can see the way his skin is crackling and flaking off, the way his eyes are clouded and scratched, and god, the smell.

"How the hell are you still moving around?" she asks, talking mostly to herself.

Welp

[polyturtle]

A new person. That was the first thing Don thought when he spotted her in the distance. The second, however, was different from what he would have done in other Arenas. May as well make this quick.

He decided to make the Arena more interesting. May as well start with a newer person. And why not? It wasn't like they wouldn't be likely to be brought back. And if they weren't? Well?

It didn't matter. She was new. Better she died, then.

And so the turtle approached, his face completely blank save for the darkness in his eyes. Harley was...wherever she was. It didn't matter. It didn't matter. Little did now. Only death.

[formersurgeon]

Joan has started moving in cycles of walking a bit, then resting in the shadow of an outcropping for a bit. She can't sustain motion in the sunlight, but she also doesn't want to be a sitting target for any longer than she has to.

She's in one of her resting stages when she sees motion out of the corner of her eye. She turns her head, and frowns faintly when she doesn't see anything. Someone could be following her, though.

She stands warily, and keeps moving, glancing behind her every once in a while.

[polyturtle]

Was Joan being followed? You bet she was. Even if she herself was uncertain of it. There was a turtle following, and like a snake in the grass, he hounded her, hiding behind cacti, hills, anything which would give him cover.

Soon, she was going towards a more rocky area. Good. Silently he leaped up onto the rocks, intending to ambush her from above.

Make this quick. But entertaining. If she was getting scared? All the better for the audience, right?

[formersurgeon]

Joan starts moving a little faster, and forgoes the rest cycles. She hasn't gotten a good look at whoever or whatever it is, but there definitely is something behind her, following and gaining. She thinks about running, but she's already pretty exhausted from walking in the sun in this outfit, and if she doesn't know where she's running to, it may well just wind up with her trapped, or hurt if she took a bad step on rock or sand.

She might just have to face this person.

There's a narrow pathway between two boulders, so she heads for that. If there's more than one, she can back into the path, and they'll be forced to deal with her one on one.

Her heart is pounding as she turns, her hand tightening on the rock in her hand.

"Hello?! I don't want any trouble!"

[polyturtle]

He saw the rock in her hand. It is quite obvious that she intended to attack him with it. First order of business: either disarm her, or have her throw it. Make her lose control of her weapon. Take the upper hand completely in the situation.

And thus there was a sudden shadow overhead, the silhouette blacked in shadow by the light of the sun. A small but imposing shadow, and it was jumping down on Joan. Near Joan.

She might not want trouble. Well. Hopefully, if she doesn't manage to flee, she won't make too much of it for him.

[formersurgeon]

She sees the shadow in just enough time to not be completely surprised when he drops down toward her. She scrambles back toward the narrow passage, lifting the rock, ready to strike or throw.

It hovers, though, as she gets her first good look at him, and gapes. She thought her costume was overkill.

"God...you've got to be baking in that thing."

[nunpunching]

Punchy's unarmed. He came with a little cloth and wire sword to go with his Zorro costume, but that didn't seem to come with him after he died and ended up here. It's a shame, because he feels like he could seriously use some wire or something to string his two jugs of water together from the Sponsors. As it stands now he's just carrying them, adding some strain to those well-sculpted biceps he's toting around.

After a while, he takes his cape off and tries to thread it through the handles, but that's no easier to hold and gives him a rash when he slings it over his shoulder. Between the sunburn and the Irish genes and the fact that he's wearing all black, he's certain that this Arena was made specifically to tick him off.

At least he has water. He takes a seat on a rocky outcropping and watches a scorpion crawl across the sand. He listens for someone around him, but there's only the wind. He takes a sip of water and nearly drops it when he realizes how close Joan is, how they haven't noticed each other.

"Whoa, shawty, you be bustin' up on a brother like that. You got light feet."

[formersurgeon]

She hears him first, and jumps away, startled, raising the rock. He's clearly not armed, and she lowers the rock, taking a breath.

"Sorry. Just a little jumpy, people fighting to the death and everything."

She glances at the water, licks her lips.

"Can I have some?"

[nunpunching]

"Word. This kinda tension is roasting my bean. Even I'm scared of getting jumped if I bust a move too fast in this hood."

He holds his jug of water out, eyes on the rock. He mulls the little cloth puppet he carries in his hand. She seems unfit for this, he thinks. Too fast to startle, which probably means she isn't scouting people out to kill - those tend to be the confident types or the way too desperate types.

"Fo' shizz, shawty. You been here long?"

[formersurgeon]

He looks at the rock, and she sets it down before approaching.

"No, I'm the new kid, apparently. And it's Joan, not 'shorty.'"

It's said mildly. She's not terribly offended or anything, she's just setting him right. She accepts the jug, and takes a swallow of water, then sighs and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand as she extends it back to him.

"Thanks."

[nunpunching]

"Whatever you say, boo. Ain't trying to put the mack on you." Not that he would mind, given that he's both single and attracted to just about anything with two X chromosomes around here. "I'm Punchy."

He takes it back smoothly, rather than snatching it back. He's good at ignoring the burgeoning thirst in his throat. Besides, it's just water, and he'd prefer Red Bull, so he just tells himself how disappointing it is.

"You the new kid in the hood?"

[formersurgeon]

"Yep. Just recently been tossed into Thunderdome here."

She's pretty sure he's not going to attack her, but she still keeps her distance in case she's wrong.

"How long have you been here?"