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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.
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But wishing wasn't enough to get his hands away from her throat. Internal screaming did nothing to end the contact. Neither did her feeble writing, most likely, or her faint kicks in his direction.
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The arm over her throat tightened, the other moved; a large hand sweeping up to clamp over her mouth, her nose pinched between his fingers.
"Don't make this harder than it has to be, Barbara. It will end far more pleasantly for you, if you simply accept."
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No escape this time, Barbara. No one to save you.
Just Wesker with his arms like a vise, his fingers like blunt knives.
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At least not yet.
she had to get out. She had to pry his arms off of her.
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No more struggles. No more pathetic desperation. Finality.
The last word of God.
His fingers dug into her cheek, his arm flexed, and snap.
no subject