Welcome To Arena 08

[gamemakers]

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.

Comments

[formersurgeon]

She noted how flustered Sherlock was, and watched him run off before turning back to John.

"He'll be back. Yeah... first aid kit. A very bloody first aid kit."

She opened it up and surveyed the contents before reaching for the antiseptic.

"The wound is pretty even, which is good," she said, pouring some antiseptic onto a gauze pad. "Easier to stitch up. This will sting."

She starts washing the wound.

[drpsychosomatic]

"Yeah, it was a pretty clean slash," he agreed, his voice tightening as she pressed antiseptic against the wound. She hadn't been exaggerating about the sting. "There's suture thread in there? God, it's my- my lucky day..."

[formersurgeon]

"Right. Your lucky day, having to be stitched up without anesthetic. They don't even have a topical in here. And the thread is pretty thick. I mean, this is a one at least." She grimaced. This would be ugly, but of course it would be. Better TV that way, right?

She looked up at John. "Do you want to wait until Sherlock is back before I start?"

[drpsychosomatic]

He actually laughed, then- which, all things considered, wasn't the most of of character reaction, he supposed. "God no," he chuckled, trying not to imagine how twitchy and uncomfortable Sherlock would most likely be, forced to watch rather than be personally able to fix the situation. "You saw how he was just thinking about me needing stitching up. He gets- you'd find it hard to work, let's just put it that way. I can handle it, Joan, I've had worse. You'll just have to ignore me if I start humming bloody Jerusalem."

[formersurgeon]

"Yeah, I get that. The last thing we need is him freaking out more than he already is. You'll do fine."

She put antiseptic on another pad of gauze, rubbed her hands with it, then drew it over the needle and length of thread before tossing it aside. She leaned in, positioned her hands, and glanced up.

"Ready?"

[drpsychosomatic]

He nodded, breathing in deeply and letting the air fall back out between his lips in a steady exhale as he let his head fall back- finding his attention drawn to the trees above. Thick, deeply verdant and deceptively full of life, the leaves blotted out the sky.

"Ready," he said.

[formersurgeon]

She started, moving quickly, pushing the needle into the skin, pulling the thread through, looping and knotting before moving onto the next stitch. She would snip the excess thread once all the stitches were in place. She knew she was hurting him, and she hated that, but it couldn't be helped. All she could do was do it quick and do it right.

[drpsychosomatic]

He breathed in sharply each time she pierced his skin, steadying himself as best he could as the thread slid through the lips of his wound, drawing them together.

"It's fine," he assured her, his voice tight. "I'm fine."

[formersurgeon]

"You're doing great," she agreed. She tied off the third stitch and started on the fourth. "Just a couple more. You're fine." She looped the thread, tied the knot, and pushed the needle in for the last stitch. "This is it. You're almost done."

[alldeduction]

It was at that moment that Sherlock came running back. Or, as fast as he could reasonable move with the amount of supplies he had loaded upon him.

It all tumbled to the ground as he slammed in beside them. 8 cans of tuna, apples, a six pack of beer, powdered eggs, two sleeping bags, a tent, and two trap nets.

"That's all of it," He said, his voice tight and out of breath. "Is he-- Are you alright?"

[drpsychosomatic]

John smiled at Sherlock tightly, sweat beading at his hairline. It was muggy and humid, of course, but he was also expending a great deal of effort to stay still.
"She's a very good doctor," he told him, switching his attention to Joan briefly, assessing her stitches. They were neat and careful despite the speed at which she'd worked, and he had to admit he was more than a little impressed. "It's okay. Tie it off, I'm- I'm fine."

[formersurgeon]

"Better than fine," she said, looping the suture thread a couple times before completing the knot. "You're...awesome."

There. She put the needle aside, picked up the scissors, and quickly cut the thread between each stitch.

"He's fine," she said to Sherlock as she put the scissors aside and took up a gauze pad and a roll of tape. "The wound is smooth, so it should heal quickly," she said as she tore off a length of tape. She pressed the pad to the wound, taped the top. "We'll have to be careful to change the dressing, since this place is doubtless a breeding ground for germs." Two more lengths of tape, one side then the other. "But at least we have some antiseptic."

She finished the taping, sat back, looked up at Sherlock. "You okay?"

[alldeduction]

"I'm unharmed," He said quickly. 'Fine' would be a bit much, but he wasn't about to say that. He checked over John's wound himself - as if making doubly sure - but then nodded when he was satisfied.

"We've enough to last us a few days, but I've yet to see anything else edible on this island. The plants that I do recognize are incredibly poisonous, and those I don't-- well, they aren't plants that were still living in our time period."

[drpsychosomatic]

"All poisonous," he agreed, wetting his lips and slumping back with a sigh. "Brilliant. You saw how much food there was back there, Sherlock, that's what they're doing. We can ration out what food we have, but I bet you anything you like that's how they're trying to get us to play along. No food unless we steal it from the others."

[formersurgeon]

"Or unless there's some other way to get food. Last arena there were depositories throughout the arena, right? Maybe there are things like that here. Otherwise tons of people are going to either starve or die of poisoning, and that's just not good television."

[alldeduction]

Sherlock nodded and then half shook his head. "Yes, and no. I do think there are likely to be other sources of food, but we certainly shouldn't count of them. They've starved out entire arenas, before - once in sub freezing temperatures."

He carefully started to rearrange their supplies so he could put the most annoying things to carry in the bag.

"We will need to find a place to make camp. We have a tent, but keeping a tent out in the open--"

[drpsychosomatic]

"Been a while since jungle survival training," he murmured, half to himself. "God, I hope they haven't made some kind of... mutated mosquito, I hate mosquitoes enough as they are. We should make a fire if we can, the smoke wards them off- last thing we need is to catch malaria."

[formersurgeon]

"God, I didn't even think about catching diseases in these things. Wouldn't exactly put it past them to genetically modify some virus or bacteria, give us super-malaria or something."

She shook her head with a grimace. She hated this, all of this. The gamemakers held all the cards, while the Tributes could just flail around against threats they couldn't even always know exist. How many people didn't even have any way of knowing that everything there was poisonous?

[alldeduction]

"Smoke also attracts tributes," Sherlock pointed out as he slung the bag up on his shoulders. He agreed with both of them, but knew there was little they could realistically do. If the game makers wished to make them sick, they would. Using whatever means necessary.

He glanced up at Joan, holding out some of the supplies to her, before looking back at John.

"Do you think you can walk? With our help?"

[drpsychosomatic]

"I can walk," he assured him, taking a steadying breath, glancing across to Joan, hoping she would back him up. "The stitches are good, they'll hold. Just help me up, and- not too far."

[formersurgeon]

Joan met his eyes and nodded, turning to Sherlock. "As long as we walk at an easy pace, he should be fine. I doubt those stitches will pop unless we wind up running."

Of course, if that wound up happening, his muscle would fail before the stitches did. She wasn't going to say that out loud, though. There was a good chance both of them were already aware of it anyway.

[alldeduction]

Sherlock let out a hard breath but nodded, tightly, before reaching down and sliding an arm under John's to help him to his feet. He motioned his head towards the rest of the supplies for Joan to grab.

"Not far, then, but we need to get further out of the way. The fence may be electrified now but I have no doubt tributes will be coming back to check it regularly."

[drpsychosomatic]

He staggered upright, hissing in a sharp breath, but steadied himself quickly- the only obvious outward sign of the pain in his flushed white knuckles where he gripped Sherlock's arm and in his unnaturally rapid blinking.
"Alright. Let's get moving."