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thearena2015-05-25 01:44 pm
etcircenses) wrote in thearena2015-05-25 01:44 pm
Entry tags:
- ! arena 14,
- aang,
- alain johns,
- alistair theirin,
- anna of arendelle,
- bayard sartoris,
- black tom cassidy,
- bucky barnes (mcu),
- clint barton,
- commander shepard,
- ellis,
- eowyn,
- haruto soma,
- james sunderland,
- jet link,
- karkat vantas,
- kousuke nitou,
- molotov cocktease,
- phillip gray,
- revas tabris,
- roland deschain,
- sam wilson,
- terezi pyrope,
- ✘ adella trevelyan,
- ✘ anders,
- ✘ arya stark,
- ✘ clementine,
- ✘ cullen rutherford,
- ✘ dave strider,
- ✘ dorian pavus,
- ✘ feferi peixes,
- ✘ garrett,
- ✘ gary epps,
- ✘ gritta,
- ✘ jack sparrow,
- ✘ joel,
- ✘ kieren walker,
- ✘ maxwell trevelyan,
- ✘ pietro maximoff (evo),
- ✘ rose lalonde,
- ✘ steve rogers,
- ✘ tiffany doggett,
- ✘ zed
Arena 14: A Grimm Age
The morning breaks to a familiar routine for most of you. Bright and early the Tributes are roused by their escorts and stylists, escorted from their rooms and to the waiting hovercraft. The flight takes them a few hours out from the Capitol and after landing they are escorted quickly into an underground complex to be prepped. Tributes will find to their dismay that their outfits are a little less practical and a little more costume this time around, the ratio of which depends entirely on the whims of their stylist. Peacekeepers will appear almost immediately after they've finished dressing to put them in the waiting launch tubes.
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They rise up from the ground and -- phew, what's that smell? The Tribute's look around them to see a full-on medieval village, constructed entirely from wood and thatch. There are empty pens that might have once held pigs and chickens attached to the houses and a well is visible down the street. What commands attention though is what's in the centre of the village square where the Tribute's are standing; a pyre built around a tall wooden stake. Those who look amongst the piles of twigs and wood will see the gleam of weapons, as well as backpacks containing survival supplies. This is your Cornucopia, Tributes.
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Anyone who tries to look further afield, over the roofs of the houses, will see the main feature of this arena looming above them. The castle stands tall and forbidding, a monstrous sized building of stone with flags bearing the emblem of the Capitol flying from its parapets. From here, if they squint, they can see the drawbridge is down and the portcullis is open. For now.
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A triumphant sounding of trumpets is what signals this arena's beginning and with it those Tribute's with powers may feel a sudden tingling in their bones, a rush of energy as those powers are restored to them. Any with constantly active abilities will find a light illuminates immediately over their head, signalling that something about this powered arena is going to be a little different from the last. For those who try to use their powers right off the bat... well, they'll be in for a nasty shock.
[[OOC: A mod reminder that this arena is designed to punish Tribute's for using powers. If your character will attempt to use powers at any time in week 1 of the arena it needs to be reported here to be RNG'd by the mods for chances of success or injury.
There will be a thread on Death Roll posts for subsequent weeks power usage to be reported.]]
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They rise up from the ground and -- phew, what's that smell? The Tribute's look around them to see a full-on medieval village, constructed entirely from wood and thatch. There are empty pens that might have once held pigs and chickens attached to the houses and a well is visible down the street. What commands attention though is what's in the centre of the village square where the Tribute's are standing; a pyre built around a tall wooden stake. Those who look amongst the piles of twigs and wood will see the gleam of weapons, as well as backpacks containing survival supplies. This is your Cornucopia, Tributes.
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Anyone who tries to look further afield, over the roofs of the houses, will see the main feature of this arena looming above them. The castle stands tall and forbidding, a monstrous sized building of stone with flags bearing the emblem of the Capitol flying from its parapets. From here, if they squint, they can see the drawbridge is down and the portcullis is open. For now.
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A triumphant sounding of trumpets is what signals this arena's beginning and with it those Tribute's with powers may feel a sudden tingling in their bones, a rush of energy as those powers are restored to them. Any with constantly active abilities will find a light illuminates immediately over their head, signalling that something about this powered arena is going to be a little different from the last. For those who try to use their powers right off the bat... well, they'll be in for a nasty shock.
[[OOC: A mod reminder that this arena is designed to punish Tribute's for using powers. If your character will attempt to use powers at any time in week 1 of the arena it needs to be reported here to be RNG'd by the mods for chances of success or injury.
There will be a thread on Death Roll posts for subsequent weeks power usage to be reported.]]
Cornucopia
Happy Hunger Games!
open
The second thing he noticed was the magic. He felt it - as if he could suddenly reach out and touch the fade - as if the veil had been torn from his eyes and he could finally see. He let out a loud, satisfied, "Ha!", a grinning growing from ear to ear.
God he had missed it. He felt almost drunk on the sudden rush of power - dizzying - though he didn't pull at it. He was still on the platform. There was time yet.
He was almost impatient, giddy, waiting for the sound of the start - and then the trumpets blew, and Dorian knew he was going for the Cornucopia. He'd promised he wouldn't, but that was when he thought he would be defenseless, weak.
He was anything but defenseless now.
Open!
The way the massive structure lit the horizon, Ellis knew from the get-go that he wanted a piece of this. That he could make the run from the platform to the pyre. Was it stupidly reckless? Yes, definitely. Was it a necessary risk to ensure the survival of his friends? Hell yes, for Nick and Rochelle, Ellis would walk through fire if he had to. Besides, if Keith could survive that many burns, maybe he could too.
The only problem with that theory? Keith had immediate medical attention in a well-populated city, he wasn't in a Middle Ages setting full of disease and pestilence. Details, El thought as he took off running at the start.
After the Cornucopia
If there was anything Ellis regretted, it was not following Garrett's and Nick's independently given advice in not being so reckless. Every nerve ending in his body was on alert, begging for the heat to stop even with the promise of an advantage in the Arena for himself and his friends. Everything hurt, and what's worth, he'd left the Cornucopia empty handed. That bag of supplies was just within his reach before his survival instincts kicked in full force, the heat was too much to risk it. So instead, the mechanic jumped back into the ground.
Fluid and blood began to fill up his lungs as the heat seared his insides. "Jesus Christ, this ain't the way it shoulda been," he hissed as he stumbled into a safer corner. He truly felt like a dog hiding away to die, like Dave's mutt. He could only hope that Nick and Ro wouldn't find him, he didn't want the two to worry and fret over a dying man, a load of weight they really didn't need this early on.
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Open!
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closed to Shepard
He's been dressed up like a bard this time (minus the armored bits), and while the jacket is patently dumb, the overall effect isn't that bad. Certainly one of the better costumes he's had to put up with in this place. He gets handed a foam lute somewhere among things, and between that and the costume itself he's reminded of stupid fantasy rpgs, but that doesn't tell him enough to be sure what he'll see.
What he does see, once he's risen up on the pedestal like everyone else, is a sickle. Either the light hits it just so, or he's in a good position, or his eyes just happen to fall on the right part of the Cornucopia, but he sees it just the same. Blade curved, solid handle, familiar, and he knows he has to get it, injured leg be damned.
And sure, once the trumpets go off, he guns it for the pyre. The pyre that, as he sees once tributes of fleeter foot reach it, has begun to smoke. Fuck it, he's not backing off now. And he gets close, even as others crowd around looking for supplies of their own, and...
There's a sound like thunder (because it is thunder, loud and close above), a bright flash, and suddenly Karkat has been knocked onto his back some feet away. Is that fire? That is totally fire. It's either from the lightning or the pyre already catching alight or maybe a combination of the two, because really, neither is good for this situation. He is drastically in pain and how does he move again?
Oh god, this was a bad idea.
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open!
If there was one thing Arya regretted from the last Arena, it was not taking the chance to grab some of the supplies at the Cornucopia. She'd been unarmed apart from a rather sharp stone she'd found in the bed of the river for quite a while, and if this Arena was anything like the last, she didn't want to pass up the opportunity to gain some more warmer clothing, that was far more sensible than the costume her stylist had put her in. The colours were ridiculous, but she recognised it as the sort of thing a herald or a squire would wear, and that gave her hope that perhaps this Arena would be a more familiar setting to her than the strangeness of the Capitol.
She smells the smoke almost immediately, and begins scrabbling around trying to get her hands on something, anything, pushing other tributes out the way and ducking their blows, determined not to come away empty handed. But the fire rages higher, and soon it's all Arya can do to try to breathe. She can't see her hand in front of her face for the thickness of the smoke. All the can think of is how she finally understands just why the Hound was so deathly afraid of fire. It was all engulfing, chaotic, and there was no way to fight back against it when you were caught up in it. She abandons any hope of getting anything from the Cornucopia, and turns her attention to just getting out of there alive.
b) a couple of hours later, one of the houses in the village
She'd wanted to get to the castle, but she thinks that's probably a plan best left for tomorrow now, especially since she still feels nauseated and exhausted from coughing her lungs up with all the smoke she'd inhaled. She'd been terrified that someone would hear and follow the sound, cornering her in the house and finishing her off there and then, but she'd got lucky so far. The furniture is mostly old and rotting, which makes it easier for her to shatter a chair just by kicking it over, picking up a leg that ended in a rough point as a makeshift weapon, hiding herself under one of the beds for the night, jerking awake at any sound and stabbing at anything that moved too near to her with her stake, aiming for the ankles to incapacitate if another Tribute were to walk in. A couple of dead rats are piled up near her, so that if nothing else she'd at least have something to eat in the morning.
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ah goodness i lost this SO SORRY
no worries!
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Re: open!
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open
closed to Tabris
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Closed to Anders and Alistair
Re: Closed to Anders and Alistair
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Open
open!
Black Tom
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open to joel
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For Sam
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Tiffany Doggett | OTA
As a District 1 Tribute, she's been clothed in a fancy, cumbersome dress; the first thing she does after everyone takes off is run over to one of the nearby buildings and duck behind it. There, she gets to work making her outfit a bit more manageable. She rips the sleeves off and uses them to tie the skirt up and around her legs, making it as pants-like as possible. She snaps the tiara in half, shoving one half into the ties around her legs, turning it into a makeshift holster. The other she spends a few minutes rubbing hard against the stone wall of the house she's sheltering behind - sharpening it. Weaponizing it.
When she's satisfied with the adjustments she's made, she takes a deep breath and steps out into the open, turning to face the castle. Spotting the Capitol flags on display, she gives each of them a spontaneous salute before heading off in that direction.
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"Oh!" Anna gasps at the sight of the shorter woman in her hastily modified princess clothes. The princess herself is dressed as some sort of lady pirate, her clothing pre-bedraggled for dramatic effect. She backs away a few paces, the buckles on her boots jangling. "Hey--I don't have any weapons, alright?"
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Re: Tiffany Doggett | OTA
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Maxwell| Open to Shepard
Taking a deep breath as the tube rose slowly through the dark, he smelled the arena before he saw it. Cool and damp and earthy. Like the aftermath of a recent storm. The sky came into view, overcast and gray, but still he squinted slightly, lifting a hand as his eyes adjusted and the new arena came into view.
His first thought was of Crestwood, the Old Crestwood that had risen from the depths of the lake as the water had drained away. Except there had been so much obvious destruction there. Here... it looked like everything had simply stopped. Everything except the rain, at any rate.
It took him a moment to realize that the Cornucopia was meant to be the strange stake before them, and he didn't get a chance to study the supplies piled haphazardly around it. As the count ticked down he felt it.
A tingle, at first, like an itch. Then stronger, racing across his body, down his limbs, into his hands. Into his left hand. Building, burning, hurting, sudden and fast.
Gasping, he grabbed at his wrist, watching in confusion and surprise, as the skin across his palm ripped. Crying out, he sank to his knees as instead of blood, the pale green light of the Anchor spilled free.
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The inrush of flux caught her by surprise, the amp in her skull suddenly engaging with her nervous system in a rush of feedback that was loud, abrupt, and painful; Shepard couldn't help the flinch, or the flare of blue-white corona. The beacon lit above her head almost as soon as the biotics did, and she lost time looking at it-- the field had moved on, rushing in for supplies and weapons in a bloody-minded mass. Soon, a bloody one.
Shepard wasn't the only one caught by surprise-- Max was lit up like a flare, his hand glowing with putrid green light. He looked almost as radioactive as she did, and whatever it was doing to him was obviously painful
Well, alright, Inquisition. Once more into the breach, as they say.
Shepard pulled Max up by his uninjured arm, lifting him bodily if he wouldn't stand on his own. She slung that arm over her neck and shoulders as if his weight meant nothing to her and pulled him towards a likely-looking alley between the dark and ruined houses. The cornucopia was purest chaos around them, lightning-flashes and deafening thungder-booms at close distance, light from every direction as people's beacon-flares went off, or they discharged their powers;there was no point in speaking, action would have to be words enough.
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Aang | OTA
The glow is gone. His head rushes and his knees buckle under him. He falls, catching himself on his hands. The world is spinning. He digs his fingers into the ground, and he feels it. He feels the earth humming, the air singing, the minute amounts of moisture and heat all around him... he feels complete again. Like a limb, an entire sense that was taken away has been given back.
"Powers are back on..." As if anyone probably needs him to say that. He struggles to push himself up on his feet, but he's thoroughly disoriented now, caught up in feeling the world around him and the power of the Avatar inside of him.
Garrett | Open to All
And so, dressed all in dark leathers with a hard plastic visor pulled over his face, Garrett heads away from the Cornucopia. Luckily for him, his stylist had taken advantage of the fact that his preferred outfit already fit with the medieval theme, and just added a bit of a blacksmith twist to it. Heading for the castle made the most sense; he was at home in tight, dark corridors, and the building would be defensible if needed. Getting there was the tricky part, really. He had a lot of open ground to cross in very little time, so he's sprinting toward the nearest possible cover.
Anna | OTA
She runs hard, and fast, pausing only when her path crosses with another Tribute, and doesn't stop until she reaches that castle off in the distance. Anna contemplates going inside, but can't shake the feeling that she'd be trapping herself in if she did so. Instead, she diverts her path to around the back of the castle, finding herself in an empty courtyard. It's a gloomy place, with dead trees and deader leaves scattered across the paving stones, but it's also devoid of other Tributes, so it's where Anna decides to stop and take stock of herself. That done, she goes about finding some sort of weapon, and the best she can manage to do is snap off a dead branch and use a loose bit of stone to sharpen the end. Hopefully, nobody who happens upon her here will be any better armed than she is.
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Eventually, though, she gets to her goal; and while lacking Anna's fear, she nonetheless feels it a good idea to check the perimeter. She's wholly unfamiliar with the gamemakers' whims, but a little caution is a smart bet in circumstances like these. She circles 'round, eventually hitting the back, and...
There's someone there: a girl, older than her, working (it looks like) to sharpen a stick. Not a bad idea, in absence of real weapons, though not the sturdiest. The danger level shouldn't be too high, if she's judging things right, but she moves no closer just in case. A sharpened stick is still better than empty hands.
But you know... in absence of needles, maybe that could work.
"Excuse me," she calls out, and the beard is proved even faker than it already looks. She has the voice of a 13-year-old girl.
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Steve Rogers | OTA
No, he stops that train of thought.
His eyes search for something he can't name, but when they land on Sam, then dart over to Bucky, he realizes. Hard not to when his heart almost screams at him that they are safe, to go to them, but he can't, no one is safe. He knows that, everyone is going to hurt him, kill him, even them. No one is safe, especially rebels- No, that's wrong, but it's the truth- no!
Steve chokes off a sound that tries to rise in his throat and escape, locking his knees as his body begins to strain with the weight of the layers of fabric of his outfit.
The Stylist hadn't been prepared for what he is, she had to improvise. A mishmash of fabrics and robes and scrapped Pope outfit ideas.
Despite her best effort, the layers and layers do nothing to hide how the fabric hangs off him like a hanger, with no mass under them to support their shape. How the wide sleeves make his large hands look bony, his wrists sharp and thin. The red velvet on his shoulders making his bruised pallor contrast noticeably, the dark circles around his sunken and dull eyes stark in comparison. And the tall hat does nothing to hide how he no longer stands over six foot.
He's nearly unrecognizable in his original state, the serum no longer coursing through his veins – a super soldier no more. There is no light above him.
Steve's abused legs shake with the strain of being used to support weight when they've gone through so much disuse in the last month. Part of him knows the Capitol hopes he falls, stumbles, blows himself up in a poetic end, but through sheer willpower, he refuses. He has to survive. He has to.
When the countdown reaches zero, Steve doesn't even hesitate to turn tail and run, get as far away from these people and madness and threat as his shaking body can take him. Fear pumping adrenalin through his veins, pushing his body when it begs to be pushed no further.
He just about makes it to the first buildings before his legs seize and refuse to support him, making him tumble to the ground in a grunt of surprise. He tries to stand again, but his legs keep crumbling beneath him, leaving him here, helpless.
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The constant illumination over his head makes him wary, even when he feels the change in his insides from the rush of power. Last time he used his powers and it didn't help him one bit. He suspects the light is meant to be something of a target or a beacon, so he doesn't waste too much time loitering around the Cornucopia. He intends to find Feferi and keep with her, but when he sees her join the rush he decides he'll hold the fort a little further out.
There's restraint in his movements when he jogs, brows raising curiously at the holy figure before him. He doesn't recognise them and that's weird, because there's nobody that small in District Nine and all of District Nine is in religious apparel. It doesn't matter much when the figure goes tumbling in front of him and he lets out an audible groan to go with the cringe on his face. He pauses, glancing behind him to calculate for a moment before he rolls his eyes behind his shades and approaches the stranger.
"C'mon your Holiness. Ain't no Pope Mobile for you here." Of all the things for a nun wearing aviators to say as they stick an arm down for the pope to grab onto. He wants to identify the person, but he's still flicking his eyes around to make sure nobody gets any hilarious ideas about killing him for this.
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Rose | OPEN
By now, though, her initial impression that maybe this was some strange, pre-death hallucination has worn thin. She knows perception of time can be wonky with certain psychological issues, but it's been long enough that surely she should have died by now, right? After scoring, costuming, what brief snatches of explanation she got, and now...
At least her evaluation of ridiculous was spot on. From dystopian novel to crapsack fantasy, that's what this feels like. And worse, she's dressed like one of her mom's shitty wizard figurines. And the wall art. And the 20 foot granite statue that used to be in the living room (requiescat in pace, Zazzerpan).
There's yet another counter ticking down, but honestly, it's hard to be as worried over this one when she's still reeling from everything else. She fails to blow up when it hits zero - despite the weird, bone-deep tingling that washes over her - and that's good enough.
Forget that pyre, though. It may have weapons and tantalizing backpacks of who knows what, but she's not about to become the witch in this metaphor. She adjusts her hood (which keeps trying to slip down in front of her eyes), hitches up her robe, and makes haste for the castle. She doesn't know what will lie within, but it certainly looks both safer and more promising than the decrepit houses in the nearer village. Besides, if this really is a death game, she'd like to get some distance from her competitors.
Look out, Panem: there's a wizard on the loose.
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He is also yelling at his stomach.
"Dude, no! Just because you're sensing magic doesn't mean we're gonna eat it!" He hasn't noticed Rose yet, but he's somehow on track to walk right into her if he keeps going like this. What is situational awareness?
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James Sunderland | Open!
The setting was painfully familiar, vintage compared to the hell he'd survived a few weeks ago. The desolation, the abandonment, everything reminded James of Silent Hill. Old habits and instincts die hard and the first thing Sunderland did was not to head into the Cornucopia but to look for anything he could use as a weapon. He kept his radio close, hoping for any sounds or creaks of monsters or the sort...what he didn't expect was to hear...voices. Voices he didn't recognize at all but they were there and they were real. But he held out hope, vainly of course, that one of them was her.
"Maybe you're here, Mary..."
Kousuke Nitou | Open
Thanks, Gary.So now the long white beard he was wearing wasn't quite touching the ground anymore because a big chunk of it had gotten singed off, and the gray robes he's wearing are ratty and smoking around the edges. He didn't mind that; the robe still hid other burns, other injuries.He was trying to stick close to Haruto in the long run, but he still needed a little bit of space every now and then. Plus, it would be easier for someone to spot two light-up markers in the sky together than it would be just one. A little space would be a good thing. Nitou glared up at that faint marker in the sky, shaking a fist. "Go on, get out of here, would you?
He looked down at his stomach. "And you, quit your bitchin'!" There was a dramatic roll of the eyes at his stomach as he gestured fairly expressively. "Eat him, eat her, do you ever think to listen to yourself every once in a while? Could we maybe not eat people? Huh? There's gotta be another source of magic out here you'd like better!" Really, Nitou had no idea how strongly he was bearing a resemblance to a crazy old man yelling alternately at the sky and his own stomach. He was also getting louder than would be advisable at this or any other point in the Games, and between that noise and the light in the sky, it would be easy for someone to find him.
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He'd convinced her to save him from the dogs, but she's pretty sure that doesn't make them allies (The arena doesn't count - that's another thing he'd said). Should she attack? Should she try to collect on that favor? Or maybe she'll just cautiously slide around the corner of this building and into his view, eyeing him a little suspiciously as she does so. If he goes for a weapon, she'll be prepared to strike out with hers, too.
"The fuck are you shouting about? You trying to draw attention to yourself?"
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Zed | Open
The castle was the obvious place for him to go. It was the most familiar-looking thing in the area; of course he wanted to check it out. He didn't regret it, not once he was inside and checking out the stained glass. So bright! So shining! So...multicolored like certain annoying sentai teams! He had a funny sort of longing look on his face as he stared at it, eventually coming to slowly reach an outstretched hand towards it. Anyone who was able to sneak up on him just might hear him singing "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" very softly. Nothing to worry about; everything was normal here.
And once he tore himself away from the stained glass, his explorations of the castle led him down into the dungeons. The darkness didn't bother him. The darkness, as much as he disliked it, felt like home. He was comfortable here, even as the light in the air stubbornly followed him around. "Well, well...isn't that cute?" Most people wouldn't be quite so amused at stumbling onto a room full of medieval torture equipment, but most people weren't Zed. Zed was poking around the equipment with a fair amount of curiosity, wondering if he should try taking any of it with him.
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"You got one of those too?" She jerks her head at the flame following. She doesn't have one of her own, but she's seen plenty of people with them so far. She can't help but feel a little jealous. It makes them look special; notable.
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Phillip Gray | Open!
Raiding may not have been his specialty but the Phone Guy was quick on his feet when a fire is lit under his ass. Hell, he even took off his overly huge hat and made it into his personal supply bag. Okay, that's that, he thought as he took off into the town. Rats weren't a big a deal but they still irked him, as some of his vestigial restaurant management instincts kicked in, ugh disease. The first few days were all about surviving, and Phil always made it a goal to make it five days at a time. He had a few promises to keep, and come hell or high water was he keeping them.
Dave Strider | open
This time, he's head to toe in Nun robes and he's more than unimpressed. He pretends to have no shame all the same, when he steps off the platform he hitches the skirts of it up to reveal stockinged legs and he's running the moment he hits the ground. The illuminations and the power are only faintly suspicious, but he isn't inclined to leap straight into using his powers when it got him nowhere fast the last time.
Though he's running, he's trying to keep his eyes on the Cornucopia. He knows Karkat and Feferi usually run for it, but he's more useful finding shelter than he is gawking from a distance. If he bumps into someone, he's cursing. He'll try to pull together the nun act by saying "Bless you." or something along similar lines. God only hopes it helps keep his sorry ass out of trouble.
Once he's further into the village, it's time to start ransacking places like Link looking for hearts or whatever. Nobody should be suspicious of a nun barraging into filthy, worn down homes and searching in vain for anything remotely useful. The best he has is a table leg he haphazardly kicked off, perfect for clobbering with.
So far, the stink is bad, but the rats are the worst part. A well timed entry could be your ticket to seeing Dave hopping from foot to foot with horrified vigor while he smashes at the vicious little fuckers with his makeshift weapon. He carts himself out of that house fast, cursing about rats with righteous, holy fury.
Once enough time has passed, he figures Feferi will be looking for him. Or he hopes she will, anyway. He forgoes entering a house and chooses instead to climb it, pulling himself up onto the thatch roof with little regard for what's under his ass. The best part about his outfit is the thick fabric, making sitting on this grassy bullshit decidedly less uncomfortable than it could be. He doesn't seem particularly worried about being caught, he's just perched up there like an ominous bird. His stockinged legs are hitched upward and his arms are around them while he scans his surroundings for familiar faces.
Is something creaking? Nah. Probably not.
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Feferi's been hunkered down in this hovel for some time before she hears it. There's a pile of dead rats in one corner, as far from her as possible, all of them rather horrendously speared on the tip of her sword, which she hasn't been able to clean off yet. She's decided to leave her hair braided at her back and hasn't bothered with all the flowers that have been tucked into it. Part of her underskirt has been sacrificed to wrap the blisters on her hands, and she's set about removing all the metallic bells and whistles from her slightly-singed attire, trying to see if she can make anything useful from the fragile fake-gold chains and baubles.
More than that, she's trying to get her bearings. She knows she should go looking for some familiar faces, maybe get a small party together. She should go looking for Dave, he's probably looking for her, and she doesn't want to worry him. But what happened at the Cornucopia is still confusing her. The marks, the lightning, the fire. She can feel the surge of Life in her, just like she did two Arenas ago, but she doesn't dare expend the energy to use it yet. The blisters will heal themselves in time; she can wait and see if they get worse, or at least until she's somewhere more secluded. As it is, someone could decide they want to take this hut as their hiding place at any time. She tried to pick the most unappealing-looking one, to try and avoid that.
But there it is-- there's definitely something up on the roof. She readies her hand over the sword at her side, but doesn't take it up just yet. Maybe it's just ... an animal. Another rat, maybe, or a bird. A really fat bird.
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Éowyn | OTA
Rohan's white horse, on the other hand, remains almost untouched. She ought to cover that up, too - it's the horse, not the green field, that will betray her if she's trying to hide - but she can't quite bear to. Although she's a little surprised to be wearing Rohan's banner rather than Gondor's, it's the first piece of home she's been allowed since her arrival, and she can't cover it up so easily.
When she's done dirtying herself, she'll start scavenging, ducking from house to house with an arrow held ready in her fist. She has no knife, no close-range weapons, only a bow she doesn't know how to use. But that's more than many people have, and she has Firo's training in hand-to-hand combat, as well. It's not much, but it's something.
closed to Haruto and Nitou
On the one hand, he's been struck by lightning. Gary doesn't even realize this has happened, or how much damage he's done, but he knows that it sucks a lot.
On the other, that burst of adrenaline lingers. It keeps his heart pumping and his legs moving, driving him out of the central square with the now crackling Cornucopia and into the streets. He isn't keeping track of how long he runs. Or rather, staggers. It feels like a run to him; Gary's world moves in frames, one frozen bit of time after the other, comprehended for just a moment before it slips out of his grasp and the next takes its place. Every flash is like some new, horrific revelation, like he's woken up somewhere completely alien, deaf and covered in blood and in a confusing amount of pain. When the adrenaline finally wears off, Gary has no idea where he is.
In a dim, narrow alley somewhere near the Cornucopia, Gary's legs give out underneath him and he collapses face-first into the musty road.
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There's a loud groan as he tries to get to his feet again. What had happened? He's thinking back, trying to remember what he'd been doing..."Haruto?" That's right. They'd been just about to team up to get supplies. For once, they'd found each other before things got bad...hadn't they? "Hey, Haruto?" It's more a croak than a yell, and Nitou's not really succeeding at getting to his feet just yet.
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Adella Trevelyan | Open to Cullen
As the platform lifts her up into the Arena the first thing she sees is the pyre, and she can't help but feel a little chill in her veins. Andraste was burned on a pyre still alive, and some nights she had dreams that the same might happen to her. The next thing she noticed, however, was a low hum in her veins, the feeling of her magic calling out to her, the Fade being drawn back in around her, like an old friend saying hello. It was faint at first, but as soon as the countdown ended and the bloodbath began something different and abrupt distracted from the rush of feeling her magic returning.
The Anchor on her hand ripped itself open, every bit as painful as when she'd first received it. She lets out an involuntary cry as she falls to her knees, clutching her left wrist with her right hand as her vision darkens at the edges. There isn't much in this second for her, beyond the pain lacing up her arm, she'd be easy pickings for anyone looking for an early kill.
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He has far more important things to worry about.
It doesn't take him long to realize that powers are apparently back - the magic flying to and fro as people run for the cornucopia is ample proof, and he sprints away from it, scanning the area for anyone familiar. "Adella?" he calls. "Adella!" He doesn't even care if someone attacks him at this point - finding her is what matters.
When he hears that familiar voice - in pain, it sends a shock through him, and he runs toward her, fear gripping his heart - the last thing he wants is a repeat of what happened in the last arena, and he says a prayer, even as he spots her on the ground.
"Adella, it's me," he says, reaching for her, terrified he'll find her injured, dying. "Are you alright?"
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SEE YOU IN HELL | OTA
He recognized this outfit, and he recognized it well; he had been witness to his brother's donning of such way, way before he fell at Ostagar, Maker bless his soul. Almost certain they had donned him in this to test his mental prowess (and perhaps, the relationship he held with the other Thedans), Alistair ducked away into the forest.
He was donning the garb of the King of Ferelden.
In the forest is where he would thrive, however; in the forests is where he had spent the majority of his adventure with Tabris and the ragtag team of misfits that would save the world from the Archdemon (and did, mind you!). He stopped for a moment, listening to the electrical carnage outside. Quietly, he lifted his nose to the sky, closing his eyes and hears for a moment, just attempting to follow the smell of the Taint-- he had to find Tabris, he had to find Anders-- he had to find anyone who would be willing to help him to the end.
Tearing the scraps of fur-lined fabric from his leg-coverings, he wrapped the cloth around his fists, using his teeth to rip and secure these pseudo-gloves that he knew would provide little coverage other than perhaps keeping his hands from getting too bloodied and blistered. His Templar blood coursed through him, the Holy Fire he had learned burning inside of him-- give them something to look for, the thought crossed his mind, but it is actually Zevran's voice that silences all thought.
Give them nothing to look for. Be silent and delicate until you find what is you want. Then strike.
If he dies today, he is going to go directly to Antiva to hunt him down.
Pietro Maximoff | OTA
He took an experimental dash around the decrepit village (and neatly dodged one house that tried to collapse on him) before taking off to lap around the entire arena. He was a hundred feet from his starting position when a line of fire seemed to spout up out of nowhere, forcing him to sharply change directions to avoid it. The only sign of him was a slight white streak and a rush of wind as he ripped past, already long gone once it could even process that he was passing. He didn't stay anywhere long, only bothering to take a quick look around an area before moving on. It took him eleven minutes to check every inch of the place twice.
His two laps ended with him stopping in front of the castle (the only decent place he'd seen this whole time) and he paused there to decide whether he was going to head in now or look for something weaponish. He was supposed to be fighting to the death after all.
A sudden bolt of lightening flashed in the sky and tore down at him. If it wasn't for his mutation, he'd be dead. As it was, by the time he noticed the bolt coming for him and moved, it was practically on top of him. It didn't touch him directly, but it didn't need to to leave a vicious burn and torn skin from his shoulder to mid-back. He dodged the rest of it, but the injury slowed him, making it impossible to clear the 'blast zone' before it struck. Pietro was thrown off his feet and slid on the grass a couple inches before coming to a stop on his face.
For the first time since he'd stepped off the pedestal, he was still.
Left alone, he would begin to stir about five minutes later.
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So when he finds a young man lying on the floor, Gray's first thought is to help him, "Hey, hey...come on, are you okay?" New face and already hit by lightning. That had to be a record.
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Jet Link | OTA
He was on his knees on the pedestal, his one working eye glanced around to spot his friends around the area. By the count of 10, he struggled to his feet, with the entire right side of his face different colors and his lips split and bleeding, he was a sad sight, but he'd be damned if he wasn't going to be standing when this damn thing started.
The countdown ended and he staggered off to the grass-- only to feel that familiar crawling sensation across his skin. The pain in his torso vanished as damaged flesh was replaced by cybernetics and synthskin and he felt even stronger on his own legs with his normal mechanical legs under him, unfortunately, the sensation only crawled into his eyes, it couldn't fix the damage done to the real skin still on his face.
Jet kept his head down and dashed away from the cornucopia, torn between finding his friends to keep them safe and staying far away from them for the same reason. He'd royally fucked up and he had no doubt his punishment had only started; there'd be more to come in and out of the arena.
for Sam Wilson
The moment Bucky rose up out of the tube he was looking. Sure, he'd do it anyway, missing best friend or not but this is personal. This is the moment of truth to know if Steve is dead or not.
He has to find Steve.
His eyes roam the circle of Tributes, counting off every face as he recognises them. Friend, foe, unknown but there's only one he's desperate to confirm. Sam is right beside him, that's good, Bruce is further out and so is Clint, he can see Aang a good quarter of the circle away from him and--
Bucky stills. That small figure, on the far side of the ring of Tributes... the sound of the countdown seems to fade away as he stares, disbelieving. It can't be, but it is. He knows that face anywhere, no matter the size of Steve's body.
His heart seizes inside him at the realisation of what they've done to Steve. The serum! They'd taken the serum from him. How is that even possible?! His head is spinning but he stays perfectly still, frozen as a statue on his podium. A list of ailments springs into his head; asthma, colour blindness, partial deafness, heart arrhythmia, high blood pressure... everything that would do him even worse in the arena than it had on the streets of Brooklyn.
They're in the last thirty seconds and Bucky forces himself to move, turning his head and trying subtly to get Sam's attention and point Steve out to him.
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Sam doesn't want to think about it.
Bucky's the first person he sees, right next to him, and that's definitely a relief. Jet, Terezi, Clint - looking like he's gearing up to run and Sam can see him eyeing the Cornucopia, oh hell no, that dumbass better not be thinking about it, not on his knee - and then...
His eyes almost slide over him, but there's something about the tiny blonde that makes Sam do a double take, and then he sees it. Steve, oh god damn, there's a flood of relief for about a second before it hits him what this means. He sees Bucky moving out of the corner of his eye and his gaze immediately darts over.
Sam nods, glancing back over at Steve for a moment before he looks back at Bucky. 'Shit,' he mouths, because goddamn, the arena is the worst place for Steve right now.
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For Clint Barton
Still, he's got it up and out of the way by the time the countdown is finished, leaving Sam free to make a beeline for Clint. Bucky can handle grabbing Steve, can probably throw him over his shoulder if he has to, and they'll meet back up after, find Jet and Bruce and Terezi and Aang and hole up together.
But first he has to grab his dumbass partner. There's absolutely no way Clint should be going for the Cornucopia on his half-healed knee, but he knows what that gleam in the archer's eye means. So Sam runs full tilt for him the second he can, and, well. Speaking of throwing people over shoulders.
"Don't you dare fight me," he shouts at Clint as he approaches, dropping his shoulder down and slowing his speed just enough that an impact with Clint won't send them both to the ground.
It's been a little bit, but he remembers this. Shoulder down and pressed into Clint's stomach, right leg in between Clint's as he grabs Clint's arm with his left hand, arm around Clint's knee - his good knee - duck down lift up, balance the weight and take off running, Clint securely over his shoulders in a fireman's carry.
Assuming Clint doesn't start struggling, anyway.
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So the countdown continued, second after second, and Clint took the time to scope the Arena itself, wondering just how his outfit worked with the theme. Nothing out here makes him feel any better. There's shelter, yes, but its so obvious, so easy -- he's sure something is waiting for any tributes who tried to set up shop there. Further still, there's something really uncomfortable about a Cornucopia shaped like a pyre. Doesn't mean he's not going to force himself forward and try to make it anyway. So the second the bell rings, Clint's on his feet and running, teeth grit as his knee protests.
It's not that Clint doesn't spot Sam beelining it his way though, but the shout means Clint's looking over, nearly tripping up over his own two feet on uneven ground. So Sam dropping, grabbing at him, it takes him half by surprise. Clint struggles with a yelp, scrabbles at Sam's shoulder for purchase as he's secured.
"The hell?" One hand reaches up to push his ridiculous hat thing out of his eyes, disgruntled, "I can walk, Sam."
Which, yes, true. But the fact is, he can't run, and that's the more important factor around here.
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