The Signless (
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thearena2014-12-13 08:10 pm
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Who| Signless and Psii, Signless and Davesprite, Signless and OPEN!
What| A catchall for the first two weeks of the arena, including but not limited to: fighting xenomutts, CBOT-12 shenanigans, Signless having inopportune trances, puzzle rooms, and gravity throwing a fit.
Where| All over the station.
When| Week 0 and Week 1
Warnings/Notes| Injuries, most likely.
A | Week 0 | Closed to Davesprite
This is not the first pack of the smaller, quadrupedal xenomorphs the Signless has fought, but it's the first he's fought on his own and all he has is a pocket knife (and a taser, but he isn't entirely sure how to use it and so doesn't feel like giving up the knife to experiment). It doesn't help that his usual method for dispatching small game -- stabbing through the eye and up -- doesn't work on creatures with no actual discernible eyes.
They've backed him into a corner where two hallways cross and while thus-far he's managed to ward them off, he is probably not going to be able to do so much longer. His first instinct when he catches movement out of the corner of one eye is to think oh, no, not more of them.
B | Week 0 | Closed to the Psiioniic
The Signless is exploring the hallways of the upper levels when he first hears the voice, distant and yet unmistakable.
"Help! Please--"
His Disciple is somewhere nearby. His Disciple is in danger, and if she's screaming for help then it must truly be dire. Did they bring her back? He knows that sometimes a tribute will show up in an arena already in progress: it's how he arrived all the way back in arena six. His bloodpusher skips several beats and he holds very, very still until she cries out again and he finds his feet carrying him toward her voice without input from his brain. For the first time he gives no thought to the noise his boots make against the floor or to checking around corners before turning them; all he thinks about is getting to her.
He should know that it's a trap, but part of him wants so desperately to believe he hasn't permanently lost her.
C | Week 1 | OPEN
The one downside to Signless's strategy is that, while wandering in order to have as clear a picture of the arena he's dealing with as possible is a good idea in theory, he often finds himself stumbling into places he probably could have gone without exploring. The first few puzzle rooms took him a good while to work his way through (they would have gone faster if gravity hadn't switched on him halfway through the first one, leaving him floating awkwardly near the ceiling). Now that he has the hang of them (and gravity is back to normal for the moment) they're not quite so bad -- in fact, he's starting to get good at working out the solutions.
That's why this room worries him. It's clearly built to require two people to solve, he can tell that much by the configuration of platforms and buttons. This poses a problem, as he is only one person. With no other option, he's forced to wait for another person to accidentally stumble in and hope that they'll be the sort to be more interested in solving logic puzzles than killing other tributes.
[Signless in his wanderings will probably get stuck in many impassable two-person rooms. Feel free to state in your tag the current state of gravity at the start of your thread; we can also always switch midway through, since it changes every half hour!]
What| A catchall for the first two weeks of the arena, including but not limited to: fighting xenomutts, CBOT-12 shenanigans, Signless having inopportune trances, puzzle rooms, and gravity throwing a fit.
Where| All over the station.
When| Week 0 and Week 1
Warnings/Notes| Injuries, most likely.
A | Week 0 | Closed to Davesprite
This is not the first pack of the smaller, quadrupedal xenomorphs the Signless has fought, but it's the first he's fought on his own and all he has is a pocket knife (and a taser, but he isn't entirely sure how to use it and so doesn't feel like giving up the knife to experiment). It doesn't help that his usual method for dispatching small game -- stabbing through the eye and up -- doesn't work on creatures with no actual discernible eyes.
They've backed him into a corner where two hallways cross and while thus-far he's managed to ward them off, he is probably not going to be able to do so much longer. His first instinct when he catches movement out of the corner of one eye is to think oh, no, not more of them.
B | Week 0 | Closed to the Psiioniic
The Signless is exploring the hallways of the upper levels when he first hears the voice, distant and yet unmistakable.
"Help! Please--"
His Disciple is somewhere nearby. His Disciple is in danger, and if she's screaming for help then it must truly be dire. Did they bring her back? He knows that sometimes a tribute will show up in an arena already in progress: it's how he arrived all the way back in arena six. His bloodpusher skips several beats and he holds very, very still until she cries out again and he finds his feet carrying him toward her voice without input from his brain. For the first time he gives no thought to the noise his boots make against the floor or to checking around corners before turning them; all he thinks about is getting to her.
He should know that it's a trap, but part of him wants so desperately to believe he hasn't permanently lost her.
C | Week 1 | OPEN
The one downside to Signless's strategy is that, while wandering in order to have as clear a picture of the arena he's dealing with as possible is a good idea in theory, he often finds himself stumbling into places he probably could have gone without exploring. The first few puzzle rooms took him a good while to work his way through (they would have gone faster if gravity hadn't switched on him halfway through the first one, leaving him floating awkwardly near the ceiling). Now that he has the hang of them (and gravity is back to normal for the moment) they're not quite so bad -- in fact, he's starting to get good at working out the solutions.
That's why this room worries him. It's clearly built to require two people to solve, he can tell that much by the configuration of platforms and buttons. This poses a problem, as he is only one person. With no other option, he's forced to wait for another person to accidentally stumble in and hope that they'll be the sort to be more interested in solving logic puzzles than killing other tributes.
[Signless in his wanderings will probably get stuck in many impassable two-person rooms. Feel free to state in your tag the current state of gravity at the start of your thread; we can also always switch midway through, since it changes every half hour!]
C
Still, a tribute who avoids the more suspicious places is a boring tribute, and that won't do. So he's left behind the relatively straightforward dangers of those other places for this, whatever this turns out to be. The rooms themselves are all arranged differently but to the same apparent purpose, and he finds himself drifting along them without engaging any until he sees a familiar head of hair complete with small, rounded horns.
Odd that such a sight should be so familiar, should prompt this rush of grateful need. But this first arena without Susannah is harder than Roland had expected, and she and Cuthbert have been often in his thoughts just lately. He can't quite forget that there's nowhere to head back to and no one to meet there, that it doesn't much matter where he goes, and Roland sees the Signless and is grateful.
"Any traps in here I should know about?" Because it's not really a question that he's going to come inside. He doesn't see any obvious ones, at least not in the first few steps, but it's best to be sure. At least he'd timed it so the damn gravity still works the way it should.
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"I don't think so, it looks mostly straightforward." The rest of them have been after a few moments of messing around, anyway, so he has no reason to think this one will be different even if it will require two people.
"It's just going to take the two of us working together."
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There's the door, high out of clear reach and probably their goal; obvious, not worth pointing out. The odd wall or ledge placed seemingly at random. The tiles, raised and shaded in a way designed to conceal the sort of thing Roland's eyes are long-conditioned to spot. This it's worth pointing out, as he has no idea whether Signless would have spotted it.
"Seams around that wall." Roland sticks the jagged metal that's his only weapon into the dirty, ripped fabric tied around his waist so he can point to it. "And around those patches of floor there, and there. Wouldn't step near any of them 'till we know what they do. And I'd rather find some way to press one of those buttons from a distance." No way to progress without trying it, but there's no sense in rushing in, either. Especially when they've only just found each other.
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How he wishes they were down in the lower levels where rubble is plentiful, or at the very least that rubble was just as easy to find up here. That would make pressing those buttons without fear of traps much, much easier.
"I don't have anything heavy enough, I don't think. We may have to risk it."
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He takes a step forward, but isn't ready to leave the comfort of that hand on his waist just yet. He doesn't hesitate because he is afraid, although Roland is not completely immune to the fear of death - more than that, the fear the dark, of an end, dying this time and dying for good - and he doesn't hesitate because he truly needs to wait for Signless' agreement on this. If he wants to stop Roland, he will. He hesitates because he's no longer used to going without touch, wants very much not to become used to it, and finding Signless was a blessing in that respect. The two fingers and thumb of his right hand rub along Signless' neck briefly, because he's going to let go in a moment so they can actually start to work their way through this room. But let their hands linger; they can afford this one second.
"Perhaps two of us pressing different sections at once. But it might be best to go one at a time first, see if there's any effect."
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As much as they can in the arena anyway.
He breaks the contact first, letting his hand slide across Roland's back as it uncurls from around his waist. He doesn't step away, allowing Roland to keep touching if he wishes, but he at least starts them on the road to disengaging.
"I think that's as good a plan as any. So far nothing I've done has made anything happen at all, so we very well may need to push buttons in conjunction. Are you ready to start?"
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if you need something else to work with I can have roland do something else to wake signless up
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and nearly done?
i'd say done!
C
He's barely slept. There's things in here, monsters--aliens?--and the Cornucopia told him to watch for Tributes. Though he's survived, having downed a lot of raw potato and entirely too much cake, he has to doubt he'll make it far. Navigating and fighting with his bruises has been hard enough before the Gamemakers started fucking with the gravity.
It's turned on for the time being when he finds himself in a puzzle room, but it's less the nature of the area that catches him than the sight of someone else. He's got a case clutched in one arm and a pocket knife in his other hand, and he slips into a defensive posture before it clicks that he knows this person. Short, black hair, tiny horns--who else?
"Signless?" he asks, straightening.
He has to look a mess. Though the blood he shed has dried and flaked away over the week, some still clings in the crevices of his suit - the pink inner one he gave him, the heavier outer one having since been lost when Feferi found him. One of its legs sports an odd tear, showing scabbed skin and bruising. His face looks beat up, too; he's acquired a black eye somewhere along the way.
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He files away the fact that Karkat is alive, that he has supplies, that he doesn't seem to be currently bleeding out -- all good things. He'd like to see the younger troll stay alive as long as possible, though he knows there's no real way to ensure that here.
"Karkat -- what happened to you?" Already he's reaching into his own case for the medkit he managed to grab. It's a little bare since he used a good bit of what it contained on Steve, but he can probably spare something for the bruising.
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"I got the shit kicked out of me at the Cornucopia," he explains, inasmuch as something that minimal can be considered such. "Don't know who did it because of the helmets, and after I got them away from me they didn't come back. I just got my shit, got inside, and... fell unconscious, I guess? Feferi found me - I didn't even know she was here - and next thing I knew she was bandaging me up. She's got Life powers, so at least I'm not dead."
Which is as much as he can diminish it. He really thought he was going to die with the condition he was in. There's nothing quite as awful as feeling stupid for even trying to get supplies when you can barely drag yourself past the entrance. Without gravity everything was easier, but inside, crawling and having to drag his broken leg... How can he admit how weak and scared he felt? It's in the past, beyond him, and being a troll of Alternia means he doesn't even want to look as weak as bringing it up would entail.
"The rest was just..." He waves his hand. "Fighting off other things in here, that junk. And getting slammed around with the gravity fuckery that's been going on lately."
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"The gamemakers do things like this all the time," he says instead, choosing to focus on the 'gravity fuckery'. "Add in new hazards that make everything doubly frustrating, particularly if they don't think enough tributes have died recently."
This hazard isn't exactly deadly, but he can see how a combination of weakened bodies and lack of sleep in a place like this would be.
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"I've just been trying to find something solid to latch onto when it happens," he says. "Preferably near the floor so I don't get yanked funny when the gravity kicks back on. Not that it always works, especially when I get caught with some creature trying to get at me, but I've managed to stave shit off so far."
It's always so far. He doesn't think he'll win, with the condition he's in. It's that kind of mood that keeps him from launching into any tirade. He's too... at the mercy of everything. He has his pocket knife and his taser; he has his teeth, and his claws, and the strength he can manage. But it's just a matter of time before something catches him off guard, or at just the wrong moment when he can't fight hard enough or quick enough. He shouldn't provoke the gamemakers into making it happen sooner.
"How about you? Obviously things have gone better on your end."
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we can probably just jump to weird blood vision unless there's important convo stuff to have happen
can do!
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C
It's through trial and error, natural agility and sheer luck that Gary manages to make it through the first couple of puzzle rooms. It's around the point where he gets bored and tired and wants to turn back that he realizes he doesn't know how. He takes one path, finds himself in an unfamiliar room, manages to cross those platforms, and then--
A familiar face stares back from the opposite corner of the course. Gary's face brightens as much as it can; he looks rather alarmingly beaten, his movements stiff, one arm dangling at his side and dried blood smeared along his chin, but apart from the hoarseness of his voice Gary doesn't seem too bothered.
"Signless?" Rhetorical question, of course it's Signless. Gary waves his good arm over his head to get the troll's attention. "Hey! Over here!"
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It's at least good to see one more person he knows present and accounted for, though looking a little worse for wear.
"What happened to your arm?" It's sad that as much as he might expect an arena hazard, he also expects a name.
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This is presented casually while Gary cranes his neck to see over the entire course.
"...How'd you get over there?" That's the way out, isn't it? It's the other side of the room, so it must be. That is definitely how these puzzles work. Gary is good at puzzles. (No, he isn't.)
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"I assumed you were at the exit."
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This obviously isn't important enough of a detail for Gary to stall over, because he's already pacing on the platform by the door and gauging the distance to the next one. It's quite far away. "Think I can make that jump? I bet I can make that jump."
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we can probably fade this soon because i am no good at actual first aid whups
sounds good! (fade and end, I'm assuming - this seems like a good place to stop)
A] and so very, very, very late
Either way, they are impossible to miss. They move in packs, like alien wild dogs, and when it sounds like there are several of them they are generally backing someone into a corner in preparation for a goddamn feast. A more opportunistic bastard would probably let it be. Let the alien dog-things take care of business; one less asshole to kill you later and less blood on your hands. But, well...
He tries to tell himself it's because he has to get through this intersection that he's going to stop and help -- especially because the unsuspecting asshole who's being backed into a corner is a troll, and Davesprite is pretty sure a troll can handle itself against a bunch of xenodogs. It's not because the troll looks kind of like one Karkat Vantas, and Karkat is at least somewhat tolerable compared to other trolls he knows, and it's definitely not because it looks like the guy is trying to defend himself with a knife that is so small it's almost offensive.
There's a flash of gold-orange and a flutter of feathers as he rises into the air and pulls his sword effortlessly from his chest.
"Hup! Please keep all horns --" in an otherwise-silent dive-bomb, he comes down to take the closest mutt down by bringing the blade easily through its neck, "--and dicks inside the vehicle at all times."
it's okay we can both be late, it means we both get starbucks
At least it isn't hard to tell the two apart.
"What vehicle--" Wait, no, that's probably just a strange human way of saying 'don't move'. Obediently he stays where he is, given there's not really anywhere else he can go, still swiping with his little knife to keep the mutts back.
Oh hell yes. Sucks to be everyone who didn't get delicious coffee.
Anyway, wow. He had not expected the troll to actually not demand a human explanation for his human nonsense. He's not even standing there like a retarded stooge all out in the open for the alien mutts to rip him a new asshole. Davesprite would take the time to admit to actually being kind of impressed by this, except one of the snarling things is wheeling around and bracing itself to charge in Davesprite's direction. He yanks his sword from the first xenomutt's throat, braces it in his sword hand.
"Jesus tits," the sword doesn't go through the second mutt's neck as easily. He has to pull back on the blade and bring it down again. There's a splash of blood on the ground. "I fucking hate dogs..."
venti vanilla latte over here heck ye
"I wouldn't entirely qualify these as dogs," Signless comments (good job, troll Jesus, you're helping). One of the mutts gets a little too close and he kicks it away, for once glad to be wearing the arena-standard boots instead of being in his usual bare feet. It makes a noise unlike anything any reasonable animal should make, and he kicks at it again for good measure.
Bee!
This was worse than he thought--but not bad enough to result in her death. He'd had no vision, hadn't heard her death-cry. She had a chance, if he could get there in time. What a skilled hunter couldn't claw up, perhaps a high-level psionic could incinerate.
He flashed into view, a
bananayellow-clad troll surrounded by a wreath of red and blue. There was the robot pleading in Disciple's voice. He had been tricked. Psii's eyes widened with the fury of an optic blast, but the robot was facing away from him. Its claws were raised towards the far end of the hall and the stocky person hurtling around the corner.Psii screeched, but reined in his fatal blast in favor of wrapping his mind around the robot and wrenching it backwards. He slammed it left and held it against the wall. This took more effort than it should have, and he feared he'd have to drop it and run soon. He looked to the Tribute he'd saved, hoping he wouldn't have to do the same to a possible attacker.
"SS?!"
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"Psii-- she's not here, is she?"
He tried to keep the bitter disappointment out of his voice. He had no right to be disappointed when he should have known. Instead his tone was businesslike, clipped and to the point.
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He'd been disappointed too, knowing worlds separated them, but immediately felt guilty that he could wish his friends be enslaved here, simply because he missed them. If his suffering kept them safe, he'd endure. But Psii didn't have what Signless and Disciple had, and he knew it must have been harder on Signless without her. It didn't surprise him that he had come running at full speed.
Psii broke into a sweat and began to breathe heavily as the robot began to struggle in earnest against his hold. More sparks danced around his head and the robot as he bolstered his mind's grip.
"SS, my powerth are weaker here, I can't hold it forever and I can't inthinerate it. If you don't know how to dithmantle it fatht, I have to get rid of it thomehow. Ith there anywhere around here I can dump it and it won't come back?"
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"Down the hallway, where I came from, some of the floor had given way. Will that work?"
He watched the robot twitch, wincing very slightly every time it called out in that familiar voice. The sooner it was gone, the better.
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He jerked it from the wall, its razors clawing uselessly the air. But a few of its cylinders slid around to point a barrel at Psii. His eyes widened with barely any time to spare, only managing a small optic blast of his already weakened powers. It drowned its sight and prevented the laser from injuring him, but only charred the robot. ("Please stop!" it protested.)
"Out of the way!" Psii gasped as he swung the robot through the air towards the path Signless indicated. If he tugged it around fast enough, maybe it would have a hard time locking onto its targets. He flew with it down the hall, saw the hole, and hurled the screaming robot as fast as he could into it.
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we can probably wrap this up in a comment or two?