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thearena2016-03-28 11:13 am
etcircenses) wrote in thearena2016-03-28 11:13 am
Strange things did happen here No stranger would it be
Who| All those on the breakout mission and all those being made to fight against them.
What| The liberation of District 6.
Where| District 6.
When| This week.
Warnings/Notes| War, violence, death. Please warn for more in headers.
District Six stretches out for miles, a wide expanse of red and brown dirt with only the slightest hint of mountains in the distance. The air is starchy and arid, sucking the moisture right out of the eyes and mouth. The sun pummels down. Everything about the District screams of harshness, of elements cruel in their intensity and exposure being a serious concern. Combatants are advised to hydrate and try to avoid heatstroke in the temperatures rising above a hundred and fifteen fahrenheit.
People in District Six are too poor to consider their safety, already risking it every day in their jobs at the auto manufacturer with huge under-kept machines and toxic exhaust as they build cars and hovercrafts. Though they know they’re the epicenter of another attack, they go back to their assemblylines, under the watchful and paranoid eyes of Capitolite foremen. There’s an anxious air about the place. People drop their wrenches sometimes and make their screws extra tight, as if fortifying the vehicles against the coming storm.
They’ve been told that there are Rebels attacking, and so the residents here have diligently placed landmines throughout the desert; the wind has already erased all traces of where they are. Other than that, there are machine guns at each factory, aimed towards anyone - anyone - who approaches.
Between that, and subservience, there's not much in the way of propoganda. Most of what's done are the chalk drawings of children. A watch. A coin being flipped. A very small arrow with flame.
Vultures circle high overhead.
What| The liberation of District 6.
Where| District 6.
When| This week.
Warnings/Notes| War, violence, death. Please warn for more in headers.
District Six stretches out for miles, a wide expanse of red and brown dirt with only the slightest hint of mountains in the distance. The air is starchy and arid, sucking the moisture right out of the eyes and mouth. The sun pummels down. Everything about the District screams of harshness, of elements cruel in their intensity and exposure being a serious concern. Combatants are advised to hydrate and try to avoid heatstroke in the temperatures rising above a hundred and fifteen fahrenheit.
People in District Six are too poor to consider their safety, already risking it every day in their jobs at the auto manufacturer with huge under-kept machines and toxic exhaust as they build cars and hovercrafts. Though they know they’re the epicenter of another attack, they go back to their assemblylines, under the watchful and paranoid eyes of Capitolite foremen. There’s an anxious air about the place. People drop their wrenches sometimes and make their screws extra tight, as if fortifying the vehicles against the coming storm.
They’ve been told that there are Rebels attacking, and so the residents here have diligently placed landmines throughout the desert; the wind has already erased all traces of where they are. Other than that, there are machine guns at each factory, aimed towards anyone - anyone - who approaches.
Between that, and subservience, there's not much in the way of propoganda. Most of what's done are the chalk drawings of children. A watch. A coin being flipped. A very small arrow with flame.
Vultures circle high overhead.
no subject
"Excuse me?" His voice rose in anger, and he had to consciously bring it down. She was just a kid; he shouldn't yell at her. "I'm not scared of anything these bastards can throw at us. I'm just... Just wor--concerned about the way you're talkin'."
It'd border on insult to talk to one of his fellow gangsters that way, and he's even reluctant to do so with her. But there's no getting around it: he's afraid for her.