The Gamemakers (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
gamemakers) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
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.
I'm gonna go ahead and go, waffel can tag in whenever she's ready.
"Son of a bitch..." He hissed, eyes narrowing.
Maybe she was just a kid. And he shouldn't attack her.
And maybe she would rip his throat out first chance she could.
It was everybody on their own here, and he wasn't gonna let his guard down. Yanking back on the wood, he didn't take his eyes off her as a piece came free. A good, solid piece. A piece you could brain somebody with.
"Back off."
no subject
She didn't exactly wait for his permission, though, her hand scrabbling in where she'd broken open the crate to grab at an apple.
The fact that she then pulled it out and threw it directly at his head was another matter entirely.
no subject
But he wasn't, and it just set his defense mechanism into over drive. He didn't quite it the apple as he swung up, sense still dulled out by the lingering morphling in his system.
But the swing of his own piece of wood was heavy and fast, and heading straight towards her.
no subject
With a sharp intake of breath she kicked out with both legs, hard right into the crate of apples to try to shove the whole thing straight into him.
no subject
Show him to under estimate a little kid. You'd think after watching them murder the shit out of people for most his life, he wouldn't. Stumbling back, he swung the wood aimlessly before him, more to ward off any secondary attack then to actually hit her. The crate fell, cracking open on the ground between them.
no subject
So it is with little dignity and no preparation that the Summoner takes off at a run, trying to look back toward the majority of other tributes and trips over a ruined apple crate and two humans.
no subject
Fuck this. Fuck this. She was getting the hell out of here.
The piece of wood still in her hands, she scrambled to pull a bunch of the apples toward her, using her shirt like a basket, and then without a second's pause she took off again and into the grass.
no subject
Lashing out, with the wood, with his legs, he worked to make contact with anything, trying to keep any enemy as far away from him as possible.
Especially one with a dangerous looking pair of horns.
"Son of a bitch!"