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thearena2014-06-18 02:12 pm
carnagecarnival) wrote in thearena2014-06-18 02:12 pm
Entry tags:
Don't fret precious my dear, step away from the window, go back to sleep
Who| Initiate and Kain, Justin & Sigma, Elsa, Orc, and Di (all separate times and threads). ALSO OPEN.
What| DEATH AND MURDER ALL THE WAY THROUGH. Also zombie-family.
Where| The forest/orchard, the amusement park, wherever
When| Week Four! And maybe onward???
WARNINGS| Gore, violence, death, desecration of corpses, language, Initiate, so on
When the people start emerging from the fog, wandering, lost, he doesn't think much of it at first. Sometimes they brought motherfuckers in part way through these things. New blood, new faces. He watches a few pass, keeping low. Maybe "thinking nothing of it" is understating. It's hard not to grow a little suspicious when person after person passes with that same blank-faced, glassy-eyed look. He finds himself gripping his weapon a little tighter than before, eyes narrowed.
But then, just as easy, just as quick, he forgets all that. From the fog emerges a new form, this one with horns. He knows those horns. He would know them if all he were a motherfucker struck blind.
His descendant emerges, looking lost, but it ain't that different than how all he'd been, it ain't that different at all. Just like there were harsh administrations done painful is all just--
He's rolled off the food stand roof he'd been perched on and is landing hard on his feet before he even gets the thought in pan to get such actions done. He's pulled like a fish on a hook, feet picking up speed and carrying him along and then he's there, before him, the descendant he'd never meet without the Capitol (and never have with it).
"Gamzee!" He shouts at the kid. "GAMZEE!" His hands are on the kid's shoulders, shaking him. Gamzee doesn't respond. He stares blankly up at the Initiate, like he doesn't recognize him.
"Motherfucker, speak!" He doesn't. Gamzee doesn't make a sound. He just continues staring blankly right on through. There's a strange hollow feeling in him that the Initiate is only half sure he recognizes. His expression makes to twist but he stops it and hardens it all, making himself colder. He slides the pack off his shoulders and slips it on Gamzee easy, kneeling as he does so. He makes sure it's on good, gives Gamzee's shoulders one more pat as he stares into the kid's unseeing eyes. Then, in a few awkward but quick motions, he gets his descendant's bone thin arms wrapped up around his neck and hoists up the kid's legs, carrying the boy on his back. Gamzee's head rests on his shoulder, his curly hair getting up in front of his eyes and in his paint, but not a thing is evinced, no change in expression at all, just a mere blinking.
He knows a place he can keep the boy safe, deep in the Not-Carnival. Safe in a place where all he can make to come back to. For the first time in any arena, he gets the thought in him to try and beat all everyone. But not for his own self. It'll be easy. Just a quick raking of claws along his own throat. Then, maybe, it could work.
In the back of his mind still cries the Alternian rule; he's a detriment, it's dangerous, he's been made invalid, he's just wiggler bratt, he should be culled, it is duty, It's his duty as subjugglator. He should be culled.
Alternia could get pailed.
What| DEATH AND MURDER ALL THE WAY THROUGH. Also zombie-family.
Where| The forest/orchard, the amusement park, wherever
When| Week Four! And maybe onward???
WARNINGS| Gore, violence, death, desecration of corpses, language, Initiate, so on
When the people start emerging from the fog, wandering, lost, he doesn't think much of it at first. Sometimes they brought motherfuckers in part way through these things. New blood, new faces. He watches a few pass, keeping low. Maybe "thinking nothing of it" is understating. It's hard not to grow a little suspicious when person after person passes with that same blank-faced, glassy-eyed look. He finds himself gripping his weapon a little tighter than before, eyes narrowed.
But then, just as easy, just as quick, he forgets all that. From the fog emerges a new form, this one with horns. He knows those horns. He would know them if all he were a motherfucker struck blind.
His descendant emerges, looking lost, but it ain't that different than how all he'd been, it ain't that different at all. Just like there were harsh administrations done painful is all just--
He's rolled off the food stand roof he'd been perched on and is landing hard on his feet before he even gets the thought in pan to get such actions done. He's pulled like a fish on a hook, feet picking up speed and carrying him along and then he's there, before him, the descendant he'd never meet without the Capitol (and never have with it).
"Gamzee!" He shouts at the kid. "GAMZEE!" His hands are on the kid's shoulders, shaking him. Gamzee doesn't respond. He stares blankly up at the Initiate, like he doesn't recognize him.
"Motherfucker, speak!" He doesn't. Gamzee doesn't make a sound. He just continues staring blankly right on through. There's a strange hollow feeling in him that the Initiate is only half sure he recognizes. His expression makes to twist but he stops it and hardens it all, making himself colder. He slides the pack off his shoulders and slips it on Gamzee easy, kneeling as he does so. He makes sure it's on good, gives Gamzee's shoulders one more pat as he stares into the kid's unseeing eyes. Then, in a few awkward but quick motions, he gets his descendant's bone thin arms wrapped up around his neck and hoists up the kid's legs, carrying the boy on his back. Gamzee's head rests on his shoulder, his curly hair getting up in front of his eyes and in his paint, but not a thing is evinced, no change in expression at all, just a mere blinking.
He knows a place he can keep the boy safe, deep in the Not-Carnival. Safe in a place where all he can make to come back to. For the first time in any arena, he gets the thought in him to try and beat all everyone. But not for his own self. It'll be easy. Just a quick raking of claws along his own throat. Then, maybe, it could work.
In the back of his mind still cries the Alternian rule; he's a detriment, it's dangerous, he's been made invalid, he's just wiggler bratt, he should be culled, it is duty, It's his duty as subjugglator. He should be culled.
Alternia could get pailed.
Re: Orc
He keeps hanging on to that chain, pulling it tight and maybe using it to keep his own feet off the ground at this point. He just hangs off it even as Orc starts to spin. This is why he preferred clubs, to the point and none of this waiting shit. He can here the motherfucker wheezing. Just a bit more. Come on.
Distantly, it occurs to him, if the motherfucker falls back he's gonna have to get his leap on out of the way. Well, that'll just have to motherfucking do.
Re: Orc
Did his tormenter roll to safety? Or is there something breaking under the weight of this monstrous boy?
Re: Orc
But gods does it hurt anyway when he swings himself and his body lands on pavement beside the boy. Pain sings along his broken leg, just like it did so long ago, but he couldn't stop then and he ain't stopping now. So for all it twists his face up he gets right back to holding that chain, pulling both ends tight in one hand now.
The with the other hand, he tries gripping that stone head, pulling it up and forcing it back down. He's a highblood. He's got strength to crush metal like it's a bunch of sweetbugs, at least without no capitol intervention. He doesn't know if there's a pan inside there what ain't just more rock, but he hopes there is and he hope that when all he smashes the motherfucker's head to pavement, getting a crack going, it's his own casings what flick that off switch. It's the only way to be sure when he don't even know if this one's head could even come off.
If that all don't kill him, he ain't know what will.
Re: Orc
As the rocks fell away revealing a smooth bald head, the troll would only catch a glimpse of the mangled face of a fifteen year old human boy before the dark blood washed over his fingers. The brain had been crushed, the canons sounded over head.
The sponsors would no doubt be falling over themselves to give gifts to the troll who had conquered Orc.
Re: Orc
He rolls onto his side and reaches down to his leg, feeling out the break. Yeah. Same motherfucking place. He takes a deep breath, presses it, and it cracks again. He bites down on the noise. There's still blood on his hands so he paints the red onto his skin, making bones on him and adding to the paint of his face. He paints on the ground in Alternian letters, NEXT? and honk.
And that's all what he needs. He has no use for their gifts. He forces himself to his feet and starts limping on back to where he's left the weapons, and to his descendant waiting so he can make some of this all motherfucking right.