thearena | Welcome To Arena 08

Welcome To Arena 08

Today begins particularly early by normal standards. Long before the sun, or even a hint of dawn arrives. When the world is still and black and quiet, save for the parties still raging on from the night before. Night owls still have not gone to sleep. Everyone knows what today is, even if you've only just arrived.

There is a palpable tension in the air as everyone is ushered out under the cover of darkness to board the hovercrafts. A stream of faces both familiar and unknown filter in and take their seats, and very little is said as tributes are strapped in and attendants make their rounds, activating tracking devices. There are no windows, no openings no view of the outside world as it passes silently, below. The journey takes hours. And when everyone finally arrives, there is no hint of sky or grass or cloud or tree. Just long concrete hallways and rows of uniformed peacekeepers that remind everyone to keep in line in the underbelly of the unknown.

One by one, each tribute is lead into a small concrete room where stylists outfit tributes in their only bit of protection for the next coming weeks. Little is given away by the clothing each stylists put their tribute in. No flair or flourish or costumed monstrosity this time. Just simple, functional mundane civilian clothing. Khakis, cotton shirts, boots.

There is little time to dress and say goodbyes. Only a few small moments left to gather your thoughts. And then, the countdown starts. A countdown displayed in holographic blue begins:

25. 24. 23. 22....

The smell of earth and grass and a general damp green fills your lungs as you rise, slowly into a large grass field. At first, its the only thing you can see in all directions until the pedestal locks in place.

20. 19. 18. 17....

In the near distance, the cornucopia looms. Massive. Copper. Even hidden by the grass you can see its spoils are plentiful, tempting anyone with even a mild curiosity streak to come explore. Some may see this as a warning sign already .

15. 14. 13...

You can see the others, around you. Their heads, maybe the shoulders of taller tributes, and very little else. If there is anything hidden in this field you would never know it. The grass is too tall and too thick to show what might be lurking near the ground.

10. 9. 8....

There is just a hint of a breeze and the lingering scent of recent rain. The humidity is more uncomfortable than the heat., its a thick, jungle-like warm. You can see a dense tangle of trees in the distance. Blue sky filled with towering white clouds. Its the sort of place where nothing ever truly seems to be dry. At least you might not have to worry about freezing to death.

6. 5. 4...

For just a moment, everything goes perfectly still. Perfectly silent.

The grass rustles.

You feel the breeze.

2.

1.

0.

You will have two hours until a short warning alarm will sound and the sonic fences turn on across the entire arena.

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Wyatt nodded and his hand fell away too, a beat after Max's.

"No tellin' what they've got hidden in here, best to get as prepared as we can before it finds us."

He took a breath, looked up at the trees again.

"I got my supplies buried nearby. Should pick 'em up before someone else makes off with 'em."

"I have what you see," Maximus said, turning slightly so Wyatt could see everything he'd managed to string up on his back, the bag over-stuffed and full, the extra strapped as well to it as he could.

He tapped the case of beer hanging from his side. "I've no concept if it is exactly to your taste, but."

Looking for his trail of hash-marks, Wyatt turned back, the case catching him off guard. A surprised twitch pulling at his mouth.

First, that the Gamemakers would include beer among the supplies. Second, that Max would bother.

"You got beer for me?"

"Thought you might need a drink," Maximus said, pleased at that twitch in Wyatt's lip as he fell back along side him.

"A bedroll, too, and more besides. If you managed some supplies as well, we should be well prepared for the coming arena."

"Wish I could offer some wine in turn," he replied, touching the fresh cut in the trunk of the closest tree with the tip of the spear as they passed. "But if they had any, I didn't manage it."

He was silent a moment, going through the mental list of everything he'd come away with.

"Didn't get a sleeping roll neither, so I 'spose we'll have to share again." Maybe that should have bothered him, but it didn't. He'd rather gotten used to the smell of earth in his nose as he'd fallen asleep. Sometimes it was hard to, now, without it. "Got a bow though. ...Yer welcome to it."

"I did not see any," Maximus assured him, watching as Wyatt tracked his way back to his supplies.

"I have four spears, and three knives besides the one I gave you. The bow may be useful for hunting, however. Have you seen any living creature, thus far?"

"Ya mean besides you?" Another mark and a familiar tangle of roots and a mound of dirt recently disturbed. Boot prints leading toward and away again. "Not yet."

Wyatt crouched and dug at the earth, hands turning dark as he pawed and revealed the bag and the containers he'd tied to it. The bow, still gleaming despite it's dirt bath.

He pulled the bag free, empty canteens clinking gently against one another, and brushed at it before pausing, looking up at Max, his brow furrowed with concern.

"To be honest, it kinda worries me. What if there ain't any? Maybe why there was so much there at the Cornucopia, because that's all there is."

Maximus mirrored his frown, leaning on his spear as he shook out his leg slowly, glancing around them. It was incredibly quiet - no sounds save for the whisper of the humid wind through the trees.

"You believe they would put us in a lifeless world?" Maximus asked, and then let out a breath as he found Wyatt's gaze again. "... Possible. But I can't imagine they would let go of the chance to have wild beasts kill, eat and trample us," he said mildly.

He pulled up the bow, and the quiver beneath it, fingering away the clumps of damp earth that clung to the fletching on the arrows.

"Maybe there ain't many then, not enough for us all. Er maybe they ain't edible. Somethin' wrong with 'em..." The arrows rattled between his fingers, then stilled as he remembered an arena past. "There was an arena, before ya got here. A forest. There was lots of animals, but they were all strange, sick like. They made all the tributes sick too."

Thinking about it, he could remember. The cramping pain in his gut, the bitter bile crawling up the back of his throat. A hot coppery taste in his mouth as he vomited up his own blood.

Swallowing thickly - looking a bit green - he stood and held out the bow for Max to inspect.

"Wouldn't surprise me, if they tried again."

He reached out, taking the bow, testing its tensile strength by pulling the cord all the way back to his shoulder, before gently releasing and handing it back to Wyatt. A good bow, but he was thinking of something else.

"We'll make our supplies last as long as possible, and hunt only as a last resort," He decided, after Wyatt's speech. "We have enough to go several days, at least, if we keep the rations minimal."

Wyatt held up a hand, waving for Max to keep it, before lifting the heavy bag and slipping it on. He pulled the quiver on over top - if he stayed to the one side of Max, the arrows would be in easy reach - then dragged up the last of the supplies he'd stolen from the Cornucopia.

The heavy jug of peanut butter.

"How's yer leg?" he asked, passing the jug to his other hand so he could up his spear again.

He'd noticed the limp, and though he knew Max wouldn't want to talk about, wouldn't want to admit it was giving him trouble, Wyatt knew that had to.

"I prefer the trees to the grass, if given the choice between 'em, but I'd like to press on, see what else there is if yer up for it."

"It's fine," He said tightly, and that was all he said about it. In fact, it was almost in constant pain - dull and throbbing where it chafed against the prosthetic, sharp when he landed too hard or pushed too far. The leg itself sometimes nearly dead weight under him, never quite moving exactly how he expected it to.

He took the bow back, sliding it over a shoulder for now, string drawn over him. Once they had somewhere to stash the supplies, he could devise a better way for carrying it, but that was the best he could manage at the moment. He fell in beside Wyatt where he could easily reach the arrows - the mad didn't even have to ask.

He nodded to the plan. "Don't pause on my account. Let's press on - there must be more to this place, somewhere better suited for shelter."

His mouth opened, taking a purposeful breath... but only silence followed as he thought better it and bit back what he'd wanted to say.

Instead, after a long moment, he apologized.

"I'm sorry, Max."

He could explain why he'd done it, or try to at least, but it didn't make much difference. Not now.

"I'm the one that pulled ya out, an' I was too late. An' too soon."

Too late to save his leg, too soon for him to just slip away.

That caused Maximus to stop, holding up for a second as he looked at Wyatt with his brow furrowed.

He wasn't sure what to say to it, so his reply was careful and slow. "There was nothing more you could have done, Wyatt. The damage was done in seconds. Even if you'd appeared immediately, it wouldn't have saved my leg."

The confusion knit between his brows as he tilted his head. "Wyatt, I owe you my life. You need not apologize to me."

He carried on a few extra steps, before realizing that Max had paused. He turned back, shoulders slumping tiredly.

"I couldn't let ya go. I know ya wanted to, an' I know that's why yer here now, but I jus'--"

There weren't really words for it, none that he knew anyway, for what it felt like there in the dark, knowing Max was dying, having to picture what it would be like trying to go on without him.

"I jus' can't. I'll be here whatever else. I do anythin' ya ask of me, but don't expect me to do that."

He just didn't have it in him.

He didn't reply immediately, the words grinding, unspoken, in his throat. The question behind his eyes one he would not voice. He pierced his lips, frowning, shifting his weight and considering his words carefully before he stepped across the short distance between them.

"... Wyatt. I--" He sucked in a breath and held it, considering. "Had you asked me... Mere months ago, that might have been the case. But I did not long for death in that tunnel, and I did not come here to find it now. Here?" He glanced around, and behind them, before looking back at Wyatt. "Yes, it may bring my death, but it will not be permanent. And if it is, the risk is the same, or greater, as in the Capitol."

He paused, his chest suddenly incredibly tight, unsure how he was going to explain something he didn't fully understand himself.

"... I am not afraid of death. I will meet it, when it comes. But that does not mean--" He frowned. "There are things here, Wyatt. To fight for. People that I--" Pain stabbed through his chest and it was unrelated to any wound.

"... I came here for you, Wyatt. Not for death. Just for you."

Edited 2013-10-20 23:49 (UTC)

He could feel the beat of his heart, thumping against his ribs, thick in his throat. He could hear the echo in his ears, in the otherwise still forest. The words hung between them, the ones spoken, and the ones not.

The ones he could see in the lines around the man's mouth; the ones he could feel swimming in his chest. Words he wasn't actually sure existed in any language he knew, or if he'd even be able to give them voice if he did.

"A part of me wishes that ya were back in the Capitol. I wanted to know ya'd be safe, er, at least, as safe as any of us can be. ...But I meant it, when I said we were in this together." He paused, a beat, knuckles whitening on the shaft of the spear. "To be honest, I don't think I could do it alone if I wanted to. Not anymore."

Not for some time now.

"You don't have to."

He took a half step closer, the spear leaning forward slightly to knock gently against Wyatt's. Whatever he maybe have been about to say was carefully replaced back in his breast. Wyatt took his meaning. That was what mattered.

"I will ensure you don't have to," He murmured again, offering Wyatt a slightly lopsided half smile, before tilting his head back in the direction they had been heading in.

"Come. Let's find a good place to make shelter. Then perhaps we can have one of your 'beers'."

There was comfort in getting the truth out, in hearing Max denial. In seeing the promise in his eyes. It wasn't a guarantee, but then, nothing ever really was. A warmth curled in the pit of his stomach, easing the weight the cold, heavy weight, sunken so deep in his gut.

It didn't erase it, but nothing could do that, save for being free of this place, once and for all. Together.

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Welcome To Arena 08

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