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

[disciplewhomsignlessloves]

Her eyebrows arch, then furrow. Her body sinks closer to the ground as she prepares for the fight she knows is coming. Initiate. Highblood. She feels the nails she had filed into claws dig into her hands as all the hatred bubbles up inside of her. A dark little part of her wants to kill and hurt and maim--him, just him most of all. She lets the hatred settle heavy in her chest as her eyes dart over his prizes and she spies something she needs--a water container.

Her eyes narrow and she darts forward, one hand raised to strike, the other to grab.

[carnagecarnival]

His eyes move with hers. She's planning on taking from him. She thinks she can be all to take him on thieve from him. Like fuck.

He darts as well, to meet her, and he moves to roughly grasp her arm and jerk it high, squeeze it or dig his claws in, maybe both. Whatever hurts.

[disciplewhomsignlessloves]

Her growl rises in her throat roughly--but a hiss of pain, real and rising in pitch, interrupts it. She can't let pain deter her. She's been through so much worse, so much more. The pain is just reality. She can overcome this like anything else in her life.

"Fuckyou." Whispered in the din of violence and dying screams, she roughly pulls at her arm. It hurts, it does, but she can't be shackled to it. If he has a hold of her, she can't get leverage.

[carnagecarnival]

He grins. "Oh, I've got for a much motherfucking better idea."

She wants her arm? Fine. She can motherfucking have for it. But not without fight, never without a fight. He brings his other arm up to snap against, and so, hear it snap. He lets go.

"EAT SHIT DISCIPLE, AND MAYBE GET TO KICKING IT ALL REAL DAMN SOON TOO TO ADD TO FAVOR!" He snarls.

[disciplewhomsignlessloves]

Her scream is short--interrupted as she bites it down and cradles her arm against her chest. Adrenaline makes her breath come fast and she feels the shock start coming. Biting the inside of her cheek to keep herself in the here and now, she doesn't let the tears starting to form bother her. Her body reacts and she can't stop it. The pain will pass.

But a thirst for something, revenge or something greater, rises in her chest. Her heart hurts, her body hurts, how dare he, how dare he. What useful limbs she has tense. How dare he.

She's moving before she realizes it, her small body thudding against his with more power than she looks like she's capable of. When he's off balance--or at least distracted, her nails rake over his face. Vivid indigo blossoms and drips down her hand.

[carnagecarnival]

He doesn't expect the sudden charge--stupid, stupid-- and it knocks him back. Blood spatters all along the ground, pouring in seconds down over his face.

His eye doesn't come with him.

He stumbles back, clutches a hand over the empty socket and shrieks. It's animal and furious. His head snaps up sharp. There is no clarity to his remaining eye. The blood runs in rivulets along the three cut lines and spills over from his empty socket. His scream turns into a humorless sort of cackle.

"You bitch. YOU HERETICAL TRAITOROUS INSULT-HUED MOTHERFUCKING HORRORSHOW OF A HEATHEN! I'll kill you. I WILL MOTHERFUCKING TEAR OUT YOUR THROAT!"

He swings his arm, claws slashing blindly throw the air, depth perception ruined.

[disciplewhomsignlessloves]

Her arm screams in protest at her rough treatment, up and on her feet again before he can react properly. Before he can take another of her limbs--and properly this time. Skin crawling at his shriek, she skitters backwards along the platform, feet stepping around the things littered there. He's going to rush her in a moment, she can feel it and not being within arms reach will at least help.

And there comes the claws, a hairs breath away from her back, she can feel the wind from the missed strike as she scans the chaos for small horns. She has to go. She has to run.

Anything at hand is shoved into some bag, eyes watching for the next strike. Her brain ignores her arm long enough for her to grab a few things that look like food and something that looks like it might hold water. She's not thinking, she not preparing, what she gets is dumb blind luck.

"Fuck you."