The Gamemakers (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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thearena2013-10-19 03:07 pm
gamemakers) wrote in thearena2013-10-19 03:07 pm
Entry tags:
- ! arena 08,
- aunamee,
- commander shepard,
- joan watson,
- sigma klim,
- terezi pyrope,
- the grand highblood,
- wyatt earp,
- ✘ andraia,
- ✘ armin arlert,
- ✘ beck,
- ✘ calico suere,
- ✘ cosette,
- ✘ donatello,
- ✘ dr. holiday,
- ✘ eliot spencer,
- ✘ ellie,
- ✘ enjolras,
- ✘ eponine thenardier,
- ✘ eva salazar,
- ✘ garrus vakarian,
- ✘ homura akemi,
- ✘ howard bassem,
- ✘ ian chesterton,
- ✘ ian gallagher,
- ✘ iskierka,
- ✘ jack atlas,
- ✘ john watson,
- ✘ justin law,
- ✘ katniss everdeen,
- ✘ marius pontmercy,
- ✘ maximus,
- ✘ meulin leijon,
- ✘ mindy macready,
- ✘ orphaner dualscar,
- ✘ pj,
- ✘ pruna,
- ✘ r,
- ✘ remy lebeau,
- ✘ sherlock holmes (bbc),
- ✘ shion,
- ✘ susannah dean,
- ✘ venus dee milo,
- ✘ volanz adarga
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.
no subject
She hasn't even been forced into clothes, largely because they would have been pointless at best, but she's managed to get her stylist to make her something approximating a harness and bellynet, so she'll at least be able to carry things once she has them.
(Thankfully, the fact that it would have been a bad idea for more than one reason has been very carefully drilled into her head, and so she spends the countdown waiting impatiently and trying to keep herself neatly contained within the space allotted on her platform.)
And then the count is over, and she's off, making for the cornucopia as fast as she can on all four legs, head up high so as to provide the best line of sight to the Cornucopia. This is what she has been bred for, and she's more than willing to make the most of it.
no subject
If this was live or die he was willing to bet that she would be a difficult opponent to take down. But first, he needed a weapon.
no subject
She even turned to look over at Garrus before picking up the pace. She didn't have much of an idea what the cornucopia even was, but she wasn't going to let anyone beat her there without putting in a significant amount of work.
no subject
"This would probably be easier if I could actually see over this grass."
no subject
"I shan't be telling you where to go."
Although given that she's presumably handing for the cornucopia as well, Garrus can probably manage just as well by following her as opposed to any more immediate line of sight.
Wow, my inbox ate this. I'm so sorry.
"Don't need you to, not with your size."