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
His groan was dubious now. Of course he wanted to eat. He was doing much better than before but there was always a part of him that eyeballed people like Beck and dreamed about ripping their flesh from their bones. Stealing away each and every precious memory and letting it run through his veins. Gulping, R shook his head hurriedly. Nope, no eating here!
"Am...good," R said. "You...eat...okay?"
He decided to busy himself copying Beck - look busy, pretend he knew what he was looking for in his share of supplies. This would've been easier if Julie or Howard were here to point out what was worth keeping (that whole Living perspective) but it was just him now. He'd have to wing it.
R got down to his hands and knees, his movements ungainly like he could tip over at any second. He began to paw though the stuff, picking up a can of food and peering at the label, aware of. What he assumed were words swam. The meaning tickled his consciousness like a bad itch. Holding out the can toward Beck, R grunted:
"What's...it say...?"
no subject
He wasn't a medical person, anyway. User or Program.
When R suggested he eat, Beck nodded, and tore into a pack of crackers he managed to snab at the Cornucopia. Things grew a little...quiet. It wasn't completely awkward, but at the same time, you could tell that something kind of bad was there.
At R's question, Beck raised his head, swallowing whatever food was in his mouth. "Beans." He said, with a little smile. "That's all it really says." Big and bold in black.
"Need help with anything?"
no subject
"Beans," R repeated. Beans were good, weren't they? No clue how you ate them, if they were raw or had to be cooked, but he remembered beans. Beans were Living food. He put the can of beans down in front of Beck, nudging it toward him. "More...stuff.."
He pulled the sleeping bag closer to show off his haul to Beck, trusting him not to grab and run. R couldn't even say he had that vibe, not when he knew who Beck was - or thought, felt, he was - and he knew he was honest. Eager to help, even when sticking his nose into places was a Bad Idea. It was qualities like that which got him killed. Reaching into the sleeping bag, he pulled out more stuff.
i should have given you a list of the stuff beck got...
Was this making him uncomfortable? Beck had to wonder, because if this was him, he'd be anxious.
"Here." Beck slid over his own bag, smiling to the corrupted User. "You can look through some of my stuff, if you want."
no subject
He came up with a potato and a can of tuna (he liked the shape, the curve of the steel; the little picture of a fish on the cover), holding them up to show Beck his trophies. R was banking on them being food and/or something useful to a human. If he lived long enough to make it to Julie or Howard, he'd let them take their pick.
"Thank...you." R started to lurch to his feet. A scream, faint but not faint enough, cut through the air from the Cornucopia's direction - a reminder that they might've survived the first hour or so, but that could easily change if they weren't careful and on the move. R held out his hand to help Beck back to his feet. "Stay...safe, o-kay?"
He bobbed his head, looking Beck in the eye.