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thearena2014-01-18 02:35 pm
etcircenses) wrote in thearena2014-01-18 02:35 pm
Entry tags:
- ! arena 09,
- aunamee,
- cassandra marko,
- commander shepard,
- harley quinn,
- joan watson,
- karkat vantas,
- matthew "punchy" o'connor,
- sigma klim,
- terezi pyrope,
- the grand highblood,
- the signless,
- wyatt earp,
- ✘ barbara gordon,
- ✘ beck,
- ✘ brainiac 5,
- ✘ carlos the scientist,
- ✘ cinderella,
- ✘ courfeyrac,
- ✘ cuthbert allgood,
- ✘ danny fenton,
- ✘ deanna winchester,
- ✘ diana ladris,
- ✘ donatello,
- ✘ dr. holiday,
- ✘ eliot spencer,
- ✘ ellie,
- ✘ eponine thenardier,
- ✘ eren,
- ✘ gabriel,
- ✘ garrus vakarian,
- ✘ hans,
- ✘ hawkeye pierce,
- ✘ homura akemi,
- ✘ howard bassem,
- ✘ ian chesterton,
- ✘ ian gallagher,
- ✘ iskierka,
- ✘ jean kirschtein,
- ✘ john watson,
- ✘ julian bashir,
- ✘ justin law,
- ✘ kain highwind,
- ✘ kankri vantas,
- ✘ kili,
- ✘ leonard mccoy,
- ✘ lindsey mcdonald,
- ✘ max guevara,
- ✘ mindy macready,
- ✘ mouse,
- ✘ nepeta leijon,
- ✘ orc,
- ✘ perry kelvin,
- ✘ pruna,
- ✘ r,
- ✘ rat,
- ✘ ruby lucas,
- ✘ sam winchester,
- ✘ sherlock holmes (bbc),
- ✘ shion,
- ✘ some ovmennet,
- ✘ starkiller,
- ✘ subaru sumeragi,
- ✘ susannah dean,
- ✘ the disciple,
- ✘ venus dee milo,
- ✘ willow,
- ✘ zelos wilder
ARENA 09 - THE MUSEUM
The Tributes are woken up early for this Arena, and switched from whatever sleeping attire they're currently in to a set of pajamas, each designed for the individual in questions. Women wear onesies, and most of the men wear two-pieces, but other than that any similarities are at random - the outfits are in all sorts of colors and patterns.
The floor of the helicopter taking them to their Arena location, and of the underground entrance to the tubes that hoist them to the surface, will feel cold under their bare feet.
Rather than bringing them to sunlight, like the tubes have in the past, instead the Tributes are presented to a dark concrete ceiling in a badly-lit parking lot. Fluorescent lights do little to illuminate the cavernous space.
The countdown begins, announced as if from far away.
20
19
18…
The Cornucopia, a ghastly thing carved from stone and concrete, sits at the center of a pattern of white and yellow lines reminiscent of spots for parked cars. The painted lines create a sort of spoked wheel, providing lanes for the Tributes leading to the prizes at the center. Some of the more unfortunate Tributes will find the concrete architecture has placed pillars in their lanes.
8
7
6…
Six parked cars lie around the outskirts of the huge lot, barely visible in the dim lighting. Glowing exit signs on two opposite sides of the chamber announce where Tributes should go to escape the bloodbath. Elevator doors are perched beneath them.
3
2
1
The gong rings out, and the countdown's voice announces "the Arena is now open". The Games have begun.
The floor of the helicopter taking them to their Arena location, and of the underground entrance to the tubes that hoist them to the surface, will feel cold under their bare feet.
Rather than bringing them to sunlight, like the tubes have in the past, instead the Tributes are presented to a dark concrete ceiling in a badly-lit parking lot. Fluorescent lights do little to illuminate the cavernous space.
The countdown begins, announced as if from far away.
19
18…
The Cornucopia, a ghastly thing carved from stone and concrete, sits at the center of a pattern of white and yellow lines reminiscent of spots for parked cars. The painted lines create a sort of spoked wheel, providing lanes for the Tributes leading to the prizes at the center. Some of the more unfortunate Tributes will find the concrete architecture has placed pillars in their lanes.
7
6…
Six parked cars lie around the outskirts of the huge lot, barely visible in the dim lighting. Glowing exit signs on two opposite sides of the chamber announce where Tributes should go to escape the bloodbath. Elevator doors are perched beneath them.
2
1
The gong rings out, and the countdown's voice announces "the Arena is now open". The Games have begun.
FIRST FLOOR
Prince Hans | OTA
The pajamas seem wildly inappropriate for battle, but they're a lot less embarrassing than the other outfits he'd managed to see before hightailing it out of there. The silence of the first floor is deafening in comparison to the chaos downstairs, he's treading as quietly as he can whilst he makes his way around.
He needs a weapon currently, he'd take anything he could get his hands on right now. Anything is a weapon in the hands of someone desperate enough, after all. When he finds the cafe, he makes a beeline for the cafe, searching for knives or forks or anything pointy. What he finds instead are pastries and what appears to be components of coffee. Not quite what he'd hoped for, but it's something. He tucks a few of the packets into his sleeves, longing for a bag but making do without one.
The pastries seem too good to be true, so while he thinks he's alone he'll crack one open and sniff it. There doesn't seem to be any issue with it so far, but it pays to be safe.
no subject
As luck has it, he's not the first one there. Unfortunately for Starkiller, his pajamas mean that his approach is well heard in advance. Try as he might, he couldn't pull the slippers off without feeling like his feet would rip off too. Either his stylists thought they were being nice, or they were just assholes.
He's inclined to think they're assholes, because every step he takes is punctuated with the sound of heavy breathing from the shoes, a loud 'Kssssh khhhh' type noise, like breathing through life support systems. It doesn't make for a very inconspicuous approach. All in all he's really not happy at all, but survival wins out over throwing a tantrum about it.
When he sees Hans, he's on guard immediately. With no weapon currently, all he has is whatever brute strength he's built up during years of fighting. "If you value your life, you will stay away," he says in a low voice. "I've come for food and nothing more."
no subject
Hans gathers as many of the pastries as he can, drawing in a deep breath and exhaling as quietly as he can and drawing himself away from food and the newcomer in silence. When the other tribute finally enters, Hans kind of acts on instinct. He heard the word life, he panicked and he hurled a donut at the other man, aiming to have the cinnamon laden projectile hit his eye so he could edge out of the cafe and away.
no subject
Immediately he's on the defensive, doing a roll behind one of the cafe's tables before peeking his head up over it to look at Hans with a glare. All the while, his slippers breathe obnoxiously.
"You will pay for that," he growls, cursing the fact that he has nothing as a weapon- only to realize that the probably didn't need one, if all Hans has to defend himself with is a pastry. "How pathetic do you have to be to sling food around?"
no subject
Even so, Hans couldn't hope to best him in a fight. He might be capable of defending himself, but he doesn't look as if he'd pack as much of a punch even on a good day. Instead, he'll raise his hands and let the donuts drop back onto the tray like wow he doesn't even care, so chill.
"Fear is a strange motivator, wouldn't you say." He gives him a wary look, but he keeps his hands raised. "Forgive me. The strange noises put me on edge."
no subject
"I don't like them either," he says, his voice full of contempt. Slowly, he stands up, the slippers making little breathes with each soft movement. "But they must be glued to my feet with something strong, because I can't remove them."
He carefully makes his way around the table he'd dove behind, waiting for a possible betrayal. "Did you take them all, or are there any left?" He gestures to the sweets.
no subject
"When they said we'd be fighting each other, I didn't really imagine we'd be dressed like this." He looks down at himself when he says that, not fond of the stripes and the all too comfortable fit of them. It makes it that much harder to believe that he's in some sort of battle to the death. "That's unfortunate." He adds as an after thought, looking genuinely sympathetic.
Hans is going to step around the table and away from Starkiller, making it seem like a perfectly natural motion. "Are you kidding?" He raises a brow. "There's hundreds of them! I couldn't eat that much- let alone carry that much."
no subject
Besides, he's fearful and friendly, someone is bound to consider him a target. Starkiller's been painted as a target for plenty of things, it seems only natural Hans will be targeted too.
"They're mocking us," he says, irritation clear in his tone as his lips curl up in disgust. "It isn't enough to make us play this game, they want to make us look like fools in the process. It's the tactic of cowards." He isn't paying much attention to Hans' movements at this point and he takes a long moment to breathe, keeping his temper in check. Without the influence of the dark side, it's surprisingly easy to let anger go. He isn't used to such... clarity and ease of controlling his emotions.
He gives a curt nod. "Good. No sense in starving to death, at any rate." He moves over to look around, before spotting some untouched pastries. He moves over to them and picks one of them up. He'd never had proper food before coming here, so this is... rather foreign to him. "What are they, exactly?"
no subject
Hans would of course resent the assumption that he's inconsequential, but truthfully that's the impression he's aiming for. It's far better than being considered an easy target, much better to be dismissed than to be pinpointed as someone to take down.
"I suppose you're right." He says morosely, though he agrees it's certainly not a situation to reflect lightly on. "I guess all that's left is to show them we're more than a joke." Though the look on his face indicates he doubts his own words. "I don't imagine we'll be anything more than entertainment, regardless of how we're presented." That was meant to be comforting he's sure. He trails off as Starkiller peruses the sweets, keeping his stupidly expressive eyes fixed on him as he does and brightening when he's acknowledged again.
"Oh! Wienerbrod!" He seems really, really excited to see a Danish. "I'll tell you what they are! Delicious."
no subject
At the response to his question, Starkiller takes a long look at the danish in his hand, noting how excited Hans is to see the thing. It must be good if he could perk up so easily after such a morose conversation. But...
He brings back his hand and flicks it forward, hurling the danish towards Hans' face.
"That tells me nothing."
And because even small acts of revenge can be rewarding sometimes.
no subject
His cheery exterior fades in place of a long suffering sigh and a miserable, thin lipped stare in the direction of the other man.
"What more do you need to know beyond it being delicious?" He asks indignantly, bringing the back of his hand up to wipe his face. "I'm a Prince, not a pastry chef."
no subject
And Hans isn't the only one who can cheekily smooth things over, either.
"You seemed so excited about it," he says, "I thought it only right to share."
But he moves on quickly though, "Anyway. I've never had anything like it before." He picks up another one, not wanting to adhere to the five second rule by picking up the thrown one off of the ground. Slowly, he brings it to his mouth and takes a bite.
For the first time since arriving in this strange new world, Starkiller shows a bit more emotion beyond linefacing and deadpan as his eyes widen and his eyebrows raise in surprise. The explosion of taste across his buds is almost overwhelming after having stuck to basic food in the Capitol and living off food he's hunted back home.
He won't say it, but... Yes, Hans, you were right. It IS delicious.
no subject
"It's no good to me now." He points out, glancing down at it before back up to the other man. Princes don't eat off the ground, even if this is the so-called Hunger Games. "Who hasn't had wienerbrod?" His voice sounds faintly amused as he watches that reaction. He can't help but feel a little pity for him, as superficial as it may be, it reminds him that he doesn't know much about worlds beyond his own.
"I told you it was delicious." There's an air of self-righteousness in his tone too, but his expression softens a little. "What's your name?" That will most certainly come in handy later.
no subject
"Starkiller," he answers a moment later, looking down at the other treats before him. So many different things he could try- and so many things he doesn't feel comfortable trying in front of Hans. It's something he would like to take his time to enjoy and he regrets only eating very simple foods in the Capitol.
He tries something else, though he finds he doesn't like it as much as the danish. "And yours?" he asks after swallowing the unsatisfactory pastry, throwing it over his shoulder.