president_evil (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
president_evil) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thearena2013-05-09 06:41 am
president_evil) wrote in thearena2013-05-09 06:41 am
Entry tags:
One more thing before we start the final face-off...
WHO| Wesker, Barbara Gordon, Karis Needleteeth, and Clint Barton and Tony Stark
WHAT| It's the final countdown, ya'll.
WHERE| Tomorrowland
WHEN| End of Week 8ish
WARNINGS/NOTES| Wesker and not the bloody deathAunamee his fellow tributes were hoping for.
In the old restaurant that Wesker had claimed as his base of operations, on a table near the back - closest to where he slept - he was keeping count of his fellow tributes. Scratching hash-marks into the pale plastic for every death. It was a loose tally, allowing for the plus or minus of any newcomers who had debuted mid-arena or any deaths he might have missed, but even so, as the days stretched on and the tabletop was lost beneath a sea of pock marks, he knew.
Victory was close at hand.
The end was nigh.
WHAT| It's the final countdown, ya'll.
WHERE| Tomorrowland
WHEN| End of Week 8ish
WARNINGS/NOTES| Wesker and not the bloody death
In the old restaurant that Wesker had claimed as his base of operations, on a table near the back - closest to where he slept - he was keeping count of his fellow tributes. Scratching hash-marks into the pale plastic for every death. It was a loose tally, allowing for the plus or minus of any newcomers who had debuted mid-arena or any deaths he might have missed, but even so, as the days stretched on and the tabletop was lost beneath a sea of pock marks, he knew.
Victory was close at hand.
The end was nigh.
no subject
Wesker knew this, and as the days stretched and the numbers dwindled - three now, perhaps four, including himself - he patrolled the borders. Waited. Endlessly patient.
They would come, sooner or later, by their own design or the Gamemakers, and here, where he was all but unstoppable, he would claim his victory.
no subject
He was more than willing to make bad jokes right now, just before they died. There couldn't be too many of them left in the arena anymore, which meant, he was almost done here. He'd almost saved Tony.
no subject
There is literally no enthusiasm behind that comment to be found.
"Should be interesting," he's still kind of perplexed at just what the hell he's wound up with. An evil blade fan? He's more likely to cut off his own damn fingers with this thing than kill someone with it. But hey. When life gives you lemons?
Throw them at someone else's face.
In all seriousness however, Tony is quite aware of the graveness of their situation. So his empty stomach is in knots; bundles of sour nerves that twist and turn and nag at him as he and Clint continue on, still not sure if he's wanting to die in pursuit of a goddamn orange or not. But then again? The end is at hand. They've all been handed weapons. There's been a so many faces in the sky, the body count has to be enormous. The pickings are clearly getting slim.
Numbers have dwindled, and now it's show time. He has no delusions in knowing most of the world is watching their every move, hanging on their every word.
He's seen enough footage of the finales prior to know what they look like. And this? This, my friend, is the finale. Just a few more left. And once people make it this far.... well, may as well play to win.
no subject
That was Wesker's intention. The only result he'd accept. ...But even so, as eager as he was to be done with it, when the voices finally came, he was wise enough, controlled enough, to drift back into the filtered shade of the trees. To watch them approach, to give himself time to determine their level of threat and the best, quickest, way to dispose of them.
Behind the cracked, flaking trunk of an apple tree, he waited, listening to their inner workings as they drew closer. To the hearts beating steady, to the strange mechanical hum, purring from inside the closest.
His head tipped, momentarily intrigued,... but then they were there, the curiosity was pushed aside, forgotten, as he burst from behind the tree. His fingers wrapped in the shirt of the man of metal and bone and swung him aside with impossible strength, smashing him into the unforgiving trunk.
no subject
As soon as the guy attacked, his ax came up, and he swung it directly at their attacker's back, intending to embed it in his spinal cord.
sorry this is so late. :c
Shit.
This was already bad and about to get worse.
There's the familiar tang of blood in his mouth and the piercing pain of a freshly broken rib or two. But he's far from out from the game. Not yet, anyway. He stumble-pushes himself away from the tree. Away from his attacker. Then snaps open his bladed fan in preparation to fight.
No prob, bb. <3
While the second was hefting the axe, he was already shifting, a blurred movement that saw him side-stepping the swing of the blade. A blink and he was moving again, closing in as the blow landed on air, a fist with all his impossible strength behind it swinging at Clint's face.
no subject
The guy sure packed a wallop, but Clint wasn't going to dwell on that while there was still a chance he might actually be able to get Tony out of this alive.
no subject
Goddamn it. These were the worst sort of assholes to deal with around here; the ones that just attacked a guy for no good reason. And while Tony may not be sporting his favourite suit at the moment, he knows that this fight or flight situation he's in, really only has one option.
Fight.
Optimism isn't really something he's big on in this place, but it's two against one and he and Clint even have the advantage of fighting together before. Granted, they were a little bit disadvantaged without... all their home field advantages, here. So yeah. Optimism isn't high. Likely, he's already earned a few broken ribs and Clint's face just got readjusted. This guy clearly means business and judging by speed and strength alone he's definitely not someone originally from the same earth Clint and Tony are from. Some robot alien vampire mutant test subject or what the fuck ever.
Holy hell does he wish he had something more useful that a... metal fan.
"Not even a hello?" he snarks at their new friend. Figures that if he's going to go out, might as well do it as himself: a smart ass.
no subject
Wesker wanted to win, and that's what he intended to do.
At the sound of Tony's voice, he whipped around, cape swirling like a pale tail. His lip curled, serpentine eyes flashing red beneath the black lenses of his glasses.
"Hello," he sneered.
And he moved, crossing the distance between them in a blink. He twisted, his back to Tony, and drove his elbow into the man's sternum.
Goodbye.
no subject
no subject
Its a blur or people and arms and fists and blood. He can taste it in his own mouth and he can actually feel pieces of him inside that are broken, so sharp it leaves him breathless.
This is going down hill fast.
no subject
There and gone. Barely registering.
Clint came at him with the axe, but he was already spinning, twisting to catch the staff as it arched.
He stared over the handle at Clint and sneered - a slow, cold smile - before a fist came up and struck across with bone crushing force.
no subject