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

[nunpunching]

"Fo' sho'." Punchy shrugs like this is no big deal. Going to a superhero academy really desensitized him to talking animals (and aliens, clones, zombies, sentient balls of gas and fairies). "Don't sweat it, you'll get on the up and up about all this shizz soon. Just stop expecting reality and your head won't get all wonked out."

[formersurgeon]

"Stop expecting reality," she repeats, mostly to herself, squinting off to the side at the expanse of sand and rock. There has to at least be some base reality that stayed the same, didn't there? Gravity, water was wet, that kind of thing.

She guesses she's going to find out.

"How many of these 'fight to the death' things have you done?"

[nunpunching]

"One." Punchy's face darkens a bit. "Not exactly rave reviews up ins. But I seen some peeps kick it, so I'mma bust us out so it don't happen again."

He stands up. "You got homies out here yet? Ain't safe to sleep alone."

Shockingly, that is not accompanied by a leer, just genuine concern.

[formersurgeon]

"If there's any way I can help with that, let me know."

He tells her it's not safe to sleep alone, and her mouth twitches in a slight smirk. She does recognize that he's not coming on to her, though, and she appreciate both that and the concern.

"I'm alone at the moment." She squints up at the sky. The sun is beating down on them, and it hasn't seemed to move in the hours she's been here. She can't be certain how long she's even been here. Doubtless that's the point.

"Honestly, I don't think I'll be sleeping for a while."

[nunpunching]

"Bizzle, you'll be zoned out like a space cake if you try to terminator through this whole shindig. Last hustle went down maybe six, seven weeks?" He scratches the back of his head, picks at a flake of peeling sunburned skin along his nose. "Peeps started dropping from dehydration and exhaustion."

He gestures at her with a finger. "Pace yo'self."

[formersurgeon]

She smiles, appreciating the concern and amused by his way of expressing it.

"Have you slept at all?"

[nunpunching]

Punchy cocks his head to the side, a little surprised to have the question turned back on him. He raises his hand and makes a 'little bit' gesture with his fingers.

"Whatchacallit, my circadian rhythm? It's always a little skewed. I never slam out more'n four hours a night anyway."

[formersurgeon]

"I know someone like that," she says, thinking of Sherlock. "If you'd like, you could take a nap and I'll stand guard. Then we can switch."

[nunpunching]

"Nothing against you, boo, but you could probably stand to bust down more'n I could, and Tim'd be pissing aerosol if I let someone else watch me sleep." Punchy raises his eyebrows. "Think he'd get jealous."

He offers her the water again, standing up and brushing sand off his outfit. "On that note, I better double back soon."

[formersurgeon]

"Fair enough," she answers, accepting the water, taking a swallow, then handing it back to him. "Take care of yourself. Watch out for the turtle."

[nunpunching]

"You too." He caps the water and puts it over his shoulder, so he can stretch his arm while carrying it. "You need to get away from someone, we're staying out that way. Long as we got that turf, ain't no one gonna hurt you."

[formersurgeon]

"I appreciate that," she says, turning to note the area he's indicating. "I'll find you if I need to."