[OPEN] ⚔⚔ March Player Plot: Enter the Arena

[pillz]

Who: Duelists, medics, friends, spectators, and you!
When: Mid-March
Where: Shock Box Arena
What: Duels to decide whether the Artifixx choose to share their technology, which will protect the Savrii, Moirans, and Ingress Complex from the space storm. Please mark any duel threads in the title so they can be found easily and linked in the entry text below. However, combat RP is optional; you can also use this log for characters to socialize, provide medical care, heckle, steal, and so on. PM me or use this post to provide feedback.
Warnings: PG-13 for violence, quite possibly language, etc.!

"Beware the storm."
"This is a battle for our very survival. You might want to grab a beer." For those of you who know Joseph Kavinsky, there might be something vaguely familiar about the young, human-looking woman emceeing the introduction of the duels. She's a slender thing brimming with manic energy, nails painted to look like molten stone, and she handles herself with the aplomb of someone immune to stagefrigh and accustomed to finding entertainment in alarming places.

THE SHOCK BOX ARENA
Chances are, you've never seen anything like it before. Unless you're a Tron character, in which case the aesthetic may seem oddly familiar. In any case, the arena is an incredible innovation of technology that borders on magic. The bleachers can seat thousands. Massive flatscreens and holographic displays project the central stages out for even the furthest audience members to see. Refreshments are served both by mobile bots at the seats and within the building corridors, which also contain locker rooms, showers, control rooms, medical triage, and other facilities.

The 'stages' themselves are composed of incredibly flexible modular technology that can form everything from seemingly stone walls to glass boxes, to levitating, moving platforms. Unexpected challenges like low-gravity, sudden flooding, and the rotation of floors and ceiling may occur at any point.

There are eerie similarities between the Artifixx weapon and the nature of the arena itself. The weapons begin merely as pods of shimmering silver metal, large enough to fill the combatant's hand. However, as combat begins, they soon begin to shape themselves to fit their wielder's needs, mimicking anything from long-lost magic focus objects to never-before-seen technology. It can be disconcerting, and perhaps the shock of having the weapon move around you like a living thing is what throws you off in the end.

However, safety measures are involved in today's duels. Knockouts, surrender, and major injury may all win the battle; attempts to cause true death are grounds for automatic disqualification and jeopardizing the trade agreement.

INITIAL ROUNDS
Combatants	Winner	Duel IC Link
Chara inconsequence	Chara	Link
Soldier 76 mylawn
Inquisitor Lavellan lavelly	Texas	Link
Agent Texas a_shadow
Andyr Prince deconstruct	Lena	Link
Lena "Tracer" Oxton desynched
Lea promises_to_keep	Darin	Link
Darin Altway forgeabettertomorrow
Solid Snake soldiergenes	"Alexander"	Link
Jamie "Alexander" Fraser brochtuarach
Rinzler notglitching	Rinzler	Link
Commander Shepard squadgoals
Zer0 gh0stamidstthec0mbat	Reinhardt	Link
Reinhardt Wilhelm grandpaladin
Shiro shiro2hero	Katsa	Link
Katsa survivra
Krieg fuelthefire	Krieg	Link
Keith businessinfront
Tron fight4theusers	Erik	Erik
Erik Lehnsherr frankensteinian
Lance yablueit	Riptide	Link
Riptide knaval
Gaige kickeminthepistons	Gaige	Link
Marian Hawke otiosity

FINAL ROUND
ERIK LEHNSHERR vs. "THE ARTIFIXX"		Link

Comments

erik lehnsherr vs. the artifixx

[pillz]

[when all is said and done, it is erik lehnsherr who proceeds to the final round. the destruction he wrought was broadly impressive; you don't have to be a mutant or even of earth to appreciate the terrifying capabilities of the magnetokinetic. as the combat box folds away, the emcee steps forward to greet him. her boots click across the floor, which is suddenly as stable as a brick stage.]

Congratulations, [she says.] You're proceeding to the final round. Do you have anything you want to say to someone at home?

[she might not be from the moira. most people from the ship know that 'home' is a delicate subject for them. still, the cameras pan toward him, and there's only movement far in the distance to suggest that the stage is preparing for the final battle with the artifixx. perhaps after this brief commercial break.]

[frankensteinian]

[This is honestly farther than he had expected to get. Considering that he'd only signed up for this for the fighting, and not for whatever this is supposed to accomplish.

Although anyone who knows him knows that he doesn't put much stock in diplomacy, since nine times out of ten everyone ends up fighting anyway. So this is what he expected. He just hadn't expected it to be him.

As for what he wants to say to anyone at home...]

No. There's no one to say it to.

[Although whether by 'home' he means the rather large house here he shares with several people, or whatever place he came from before arriving here, it's impossible to tell.]

joseph kavinsky (non-combatant) | ota (cw drugs)

[pillz]

the emcee } rule-63 boobvinsky (mod-approved miniplot)

[in between combat rounds, the emcee is around, mostly backstage, lackadaisically checking in on how things are running and casually hitting on pretty much anyone from the moira. even if you're beaten and bloodied from a recent round of combat, she's likely to be there. sliding in with a tube of liquid bandage, a bottle of water. something perhaps unsettling about her grin as she says,] Suits you, having seven types of shit beat outta ya.

Got some stronger stuff up in the box too, if you want. [she nods her short-cropped head at the elevator.]

regular joe kavinsky } closed to existing cr;

[if you know him at all, even just from the network, you'll have surprise guest access to the box seats. an attendant will quite simply ping your tab with the information, the moment you enter the arena. the private space provides an excellent view of the combatants and the unpredictable theater they're fighting within. the couches are luxuriously soft and a raw, painful shade of white. drinks float by on a trackless server system.

kavinsky's only there intermittently, for private reasons. but when he is, he looks characteristically bored and high, staring absently through the glass. but when he sees you, his face lights up like a jackal tasting blood in the air.] Hey, baby, [goes the greeting.] Welcome to the terrordome.

AGENT TEXAS vs. INQUISITOR LAVELLAN

[a_shadow]

It's been a long time since Tex has been able to get into a real fight—not since she beat up Wash for his behavior toward her on the Moira, and that was ages ago. She's been itching to get back out there and do battle, and this is an excellent opportunity to put herself to the test after recovering from her injuries. So when she's brought to the arena and the signal is given to begin, she shakes out her shoulders and cracks her neck.

This feels good. Really good.

She begins moving toward the center, toward Lavellan, her fists ready and waiting to carry out their work.

SUNDAY SUNDAY SUNDAY

[lavelly]

It's no until he's out on the field before he realizes that he may have made a mistake.

Not that he's a pushover. Far from it. But when he automatically tries to step back for protection, half-behind a teammate that isn't there, it suddenly occurs to him that he's never had to fight someone one-on-one before.

And now he is.

Well, shit.

He grips his staff in his remaining hand--it's lightweight enough, but still something he's unused to holding this way--and sizes up his opponent as best he can. From the way--he? she?--is moving, and the kind of armor they're wearing, they're not a mage; they're used to physical combat, and probably close range. Okay. That just means he has to get some distance if he wants to get the advantage.

Thankfully he can still feel the Fade, even from here. Even though it's distant. With a deep breath he pulls from that old, familiar energy--and dissipates and withdraws to cover, as fast as smoke on the wind.

There's enough residue to indicate, vaguely, where he went--back toward his own side of the field somewhere--but not to locate him exactly. It's a game of hide and seek now, Tex; good luck.

chara vs. soldier 69

[inconsequence]

[They won't attempt to cause true death. They know the rules very well, even if they're not much for following them. The entire arena is an over-glorified, too-polished, too-sleek affair, and the announcer is no better. The child waits patiently for their turn. The weapon granted to them is discarded in favor of the Knife; nothing else can serve them so well.

The weapon glints scarlet, gripped in one hand, when they are called to their FIGHT. Their opponent has the build and stance of a human, unsurprisingly.

This should make it easy for all parties.


Chara stares, unwavering, tightening their grip on their blade. If he moves first, they will counter. It will be simple.]

[mylawn]

[76 isn't quite sure what he's walking into, with this. He's more than confident in his own abilities and really is just in it to get some action, but he's been around the block enough times to know when he might get bit in the ass. He's confident, but not overly-so, ready to handle whatever's thrown at him.

Or at least, he thinks he is until what they throw at him is a child.

A child with a knife, but a child nonetheless. 76 is immediately wary, dropping his gun to his side and looking around him as if he expects some kind of hidden camera meant to capture his reaction. Suffice to say that he does not settle into either an offensive or defensive stance.]

Is this a joke?

[He says, to no one in particular.]

Reinhardt vs Zer0

[grandpaladin]

[He's admittedly a little excited to see what this will entail. He remembers this "Zer0". The armored individual who'd arrived recently with the loud man. It will be interesting to see what they're capable of.]

[Needless to say, Reinhardt arrives in full armor. Bearing his hammer in hand, his head held high, eyes bright under the helmet.]

[This isn't a duel to the death -- he has no intentions of making it so. Thus he sees no issue with a little showboating. Holding his hammer aloft to the crowd, and bellows, without a single trace of irony:]

CATCH-PHRASE!

[gh0stamidstthec0mbat]

[Zer0 wasn't much for showboating, at least not until a battle was already underway. He took a moment to size Reinhardt up instead (and up and up holy hell this guy is even bigger in person), trying to decide on the best way to approach this particular duel. Reinhardt is enormous, probably pretty slow judging by the armor and bigass hammer. Outpacing him wouldn't be much of a challenge--]

...Catch-phrase.

[Aaaand he was an absolute dork. This was going to be an interesting match.]

GAIGE vs. HAWKE

[kickeminthepistons]

[It's different than what she's used to, sure. If the arenas on Pandora are grunge, then this is techno -- clean, polished, sterile. Like a doctor's office, or one of those dust-free rooms where they assemble spaceshuttle parts.]

[But on the other hand, for someone self-styled as a Mechromancer, something about this place feels just like home. It's mechanical, it's electric. Part of her wants to put this shiny gun down and start pulling things open. Which is totally not an option, but... still. This is encouraging. Even as one of the biggest lightweights in the group, she and her secret weapon should do well, so long as she doesn't get matched up with, like, a hacker or someone with superpowered magnets.]

[... and there probably isn't anyone in this tourney like that, right?]

[As she enters the arena, she gives her new weapon a confident tap from her cybernetic arm, like she were petting a dog. Deathtrap probably can't hear her, and the arena weapon may not have an AI at all, but...] You ready, guys? Let's go make some mayhem.

Shiro vs Katsa

[shiro2hero]

[He doesn't know why he volunteered for this. It's probably the worst idea he's had in a long time. Being back in an arena, any arena. He can feel himself struggling as soon as he steps into the ring. At least it looks different. It's more futuristic looking. Cleaner.]

[And he's armored. Using the weight of it against him to ground himself.]

[There's no bravado here. Just a tall, broad shape in black and white armor, standing calmly and quietly, waiting. Focusing. Repeating to himself where he is. What's going on. When he is.]

[Focus.]

[survivra]

[ Katsa isn't very good at sitting still. Even in this place, unfamiliar and mistrustful as she is to it all, standing by has never been an option—especially with the promise that all of this is, somehow, crucial to survival. Katsa doesn't understand how fighting could help, really, and certainly not the explanation of the thing it is for which they're fighting. But this is a language she understands. Getting involved, she hopes, will gain her more information; and perhaps an understanding of who among the other Ingress-captured travelers might be good friends and allies just in case.

If nothing else, at least she gets a good fight out of it all.

Having spectators to a duel is nothing new for Katsa. She often had many spectators to her training sessions, especially those she had with Po in the Middluns in the early days of their friendship. What's unsettling is the strangeness of it all: the lights, the displays, the strange shimmering silver held loosely in her palm. Katsa eyes Shiro from across the arena and takes him in as she orders herself to breathe. A good fight will return her completely to herself, she knows, whatever other strangeness abounds. What remains to be seen is how good a fight it will be.

He's silent and steady, a figure in thick armor that Katsa notes she will most need to find a way to break through. She's only wearing the sturdy leather cuirass she'd had on her when she arrived, but that's all right: it will keep her lighter, quicker. If he's stronger than she is, or heavier, she will need that speed and limberness. Her Grace will lessen any pain for the rest of it.

There's no way to tell from here how Shiro prefers to fight, nor how Katsa should be prepared to meet him; but that is thrilling in itself, and the only way to learn it is to fight him. She raises a hand to him to indicate her readiness—and then dashes across the arena towards him, the silver beginning to shift and change in her hand. She'll strike the first blow aimed directly upwards at his jaw. ]

[ ooc - hey, feel free to let me know/contact if you want to work out any details beforehand! ]

riptide vs lance

[knaval]

[riptide's holoform - mercifully fully clothed - stands in the arena, inspecting the digitally created nails. he's seen this move on tv before. apparently, it represents cool detachment. riptide is taking part for nothing if not fun and to look cool.]

Hey nerd! [he yells at whoever his opponent is.] So I was thinking we could just mess around with whatever this tech is but if you wanna fight, I guess that works too.

[the holoform appears as a short woman with no armour on and has yet to even pick up the provided weapon. should be easy pickings, right?]

[yablueit]

[ Lance looks like he's ready for a fight, all decked out in head to toe armor, his bayard shifting into its energy rifle form... until he gets a look at the girl he's fighting. ]

Whoa... I'm game for whatever you are, beautiful.

Shepard v. Rinzler

[notglitching]

Familiar is an understatement. The lights, the screens, the rising platforms and the liquid shift of the cage walls. All of it could be as good as copied from the Grid. Maybe it was. The users might claim limits to their Portals, but Rinzler knows better than to trust that kind of promise, especially when it keeps so many here.

(Keeps them useful.)

But the use he's come to serve today is hardly one Rinzler objects to. It's what he was made for. It's a chance to fight, to move, to take out cycles worth of rage trapped in the loop of wait and follow on whatever conscript was unfortunate enough make it to the end. And if things are different now, if Rinzler is different (and more) (and less), the program still would never refuse a chance to do his job.

He reports where he's instructed. He waits, voiceless and faceless, through the recitation of the rules. The speaker probably won't pick up the amusement in the low rumble of code errors—no killing as if that mattered, as if that wasn't what this place was for. Certainly it's what he's here for. Rinzler takes the unmarked pod of silver without question, docking it beside one of his batons. He won't need it.

And then it's time. The clear tones of the announcer, the parasitic seething of the crowd below. Rinzler steps into place amidst a swell of sound: indistinct, unsettled (they don't know his name). Across from him, another pod deposits his opponent. The enforcer steps forward, hunch shifting to a ready lean as he assesses...

...oh.

Shepard.

That. Changed things a little.

:TOOT:

[squadgoals]

Without a word to anyone (not even Nihlus — consequences be damned), she'd signed up.

A year's-- two years of stress, built up, overflowed, and still leaking out of every crack, she'd signed up to do what she already knew how to do. Fight. This, at least, was something she could do right. Surely.

Wordlessly, she'd taken the silver pod from the organizers, confidence dismissing it almost out of hand. She wouldn't need it.

Everything passes like a blur. Her role, her position, until she's on the field, pod opening on to the field. Across from her, the opponent's pod is already open. Her opponent--

Damn.

"Rinzler. Looks like fate's got our number again."

She calls out to the program, last seen assisting her with chassis repair. Damn. Damn it. But they were here, and they both knew what they'd signed up for.

"Ready for round three?"

jamie vs. snake

[soldiergenes]

When the news had come around that a tournament would be held for the purpose of possibly helping their situation here in Thisavrou, Snake hadn't hesitated to sign up. As things stand, there's not enough opportunity for him to actually put any of his training to use, and he hates the idea of getting rusty. Granted, he does plenty to keep himself in shape, between his strict exercise regimen and frequent target practice.

Nothing quite matches the real deal, though. This tournament is meant to be civil, with no actual harm allowed. The Artifixx simply want to see them fight and admire their skills in battle, as far as Snake understands. The concept of a culture that appreciates the art of combat isn't foreign to him, although it's nothing he's had direct contact with before.

Of course, the fact that the Artifixx are synthetic is enough to make him paranoid, so he's also here to keep an eye on things. He realizes that it's a bias of his, but there's nothing wrong with being extra careful, is there.

Snake's as prepared as he can be, having engaged in a spar to warm up and also watched some of the other fights play out. The biggest obstacle here is going to be the arena itself, with how unpredictable it's proved to be so far. That being said, it starts off as a clean slate as he walks out when his name is called. He doesn't know this Alexander he's been pitted up against, but he's already got a few ideas for how to put him down without doing any real harm to the guy. All in good fun, right?

Outfitted in full sneaking suit with a pistol holstered at his hip, Snake's got a few tricks up the proverbial sleeve as well. For now, though, he's more interested in the strange metal shining in his palm. It's some kind of weapon, but he doesn't know what to make of it yet.

Kazuhira Miller (non-combatant) | OTA

[warandpeace]

[Miller isn't here to fight. He sort of wishes he was, but some of the best combatants from the Moira are already on the case. That's pleasing, leaving him happy to see them show off abilities that's been admiring for some time now. Now, he's not happy it has to be against each other, not happy that the Savrii have put the Ingress's victims in charge of something that will mostly benefit them in the long term. But happy to see the competition.]

[There are sometimes combat can really bring people together. It's the difference between the winner offering the loser a hand up? And spitting on them when they're down.]

[Miller's in the audience, having snagged a seat as close as he can and hoping at some point to meet with one of the Artifixx contacts at some point (maybe when he's leaving), but also shouting for some of the people he's rooting for. Snake, Reinhardt (if for no other reason he's good to his friend), Rinzler (sorry Shepard), Riptide and 76. Whether or not they hear him, he's lending his voice to the fray. Every yell, he knows, is a bolster to confidence.]

[Though there might be a few critical, How did you miss that opening!? To the right, it's to the right! shouts in there, too.]

[When some fights are done he goes to look for people. He also keeps an eye out for their visitors, the event's hosts. There's a hell of a lot of questions that Miller still wants to ask.]

[artifixx]

[There are numerous rounds yet before the Artifixx themselves are set to perform. It's not likely to expect the alien visitors to be milling around the audience, as such. It wouldn't be regarded as very traditional for duels among humans and most other beings. Most fighters need time to prepare, both physically and mentally.

But most fighters aren't essentially robots.

So perhaps it's not that altogether surprising, when Miller sees a group of figures walking along within the complex. Outside, the bleachers are still throbbing with activity, cheers and shouts and— less expertly than Miller, but still-- constructive criticism, hurled in the direction of the two fighters projected from center stage. Inside, there are fewer people, but still plenty going for the restroom facilities, refreshments, or following the rumors that the robots are here. In general, the Savrii and other peoples go ignored by the Artifixx. The one walking center is smallest, shaped by female secondary characteristics, with long, wing-like projects dimly aglow with reserve energy; armor blue. Behind it, the green is narrow and sharply plated. The red one is massive, standing at perhaps eleven feet, something mobile and almost fleshy about the dull grey substance of its body.

The red one looks to him. Its opaque face adjusts faintly.] Miller, [it calls out. The other two stop to look.]

[saveyourserpent]

[Liquid's a fighter, so why isn't he involved here? That's nobody's business, that's why. He still turns up to watch for a bit, anyway.

It's between fights that he notices Miller... milling around, so he nods, walking up to him.]

Maybe I should've got involved, [he says by way of greeting.]

[fight4theusers]

The Arena. Familiar, yet different. The glow wasn't the same, the crowds not lit with their own ambient light from circuits on each program. Yet still, the excitement hummed in the air, the cheers surging through Tron like a wash of energy.

He'd nearly forgotten how much he missed the Games. The way they used to be, before Clu, before the corruption.

Rezzing on his helmet, Tron pulled his discs from his back, ignoring the strange weapon offered to him for now. He'd been told it would adjust to his needs, but what good was that when he was already more than proficient with his own?

His opponent also wore a helmet, but his face was exposed... Tron did not know him.

[frankensteinian]

He's not sure what to make of the weapon he was handed. He can't tell by looking exactly what it's supposed to do, but he doesn't expect to need it anyway. There's plenty of metal around; he can feel it beneath his feet as much as he can see it littering the ground or holding up the structure of the arena. He sets it aside for now, but still close enough that he can grab it if he decides he needs it.

He turns to face his opponent. He's ready to go. Let's get this started.

76 | ota just chillin

[mylawn]

a. before

[76 isn't in this to win it--the tournament seems like a good way to blow off steam if nothing else, and that's what has him entering. He's not sure how seriously he wants to take this, but he thinks he could stand to stretch his combat muscles, such as it were.

He's easily found watching the matches prior to his, or warming up in one of the designated areas for combatants. Just ignore the fact that he looks maybe a little too old for this--but that giant gun has to be good for something, right?]

b. after

[He throws the fight because he doesn't want to hurt a kid (even if that kid turned out to be legitimately insane), and gets shanked for his efforts. He backs out after that, mostly because he still doesn't want to hurt a kid (even after that) and isn't sure how this thing could become even more of a farce. Fine. Whatever. He's had worse.

Doesn't mean he isn't just a little miffed--76 is generally ornery on a good day, which means that he's especially difficult on a bad one. He receives medical attention fairly quickly, but he'll have to seek out Angela for a proper patching-up. In the meantime, 76 decides he's going to give himself a moment to sulk. He's clearly uncomfortable, a testament to the injury he's sustained, but perhaps he sticks around because he wonders if the rest of the tournament is going to be as much of a disaster as his fight turned out to be. It occurs to him that by sticking around, he's opening himself up to ridicule for losing to an eight year old, but he's tired and injured and will cross that bridge if he comes to it.

If you're previously acquainted, he might offer a nod of acknowledgement. If not, well--]

What are you looking at?

c. wildcard

((I'll do whatever pre- or post-match stuff you want. Hit me up on plurk at whitticus))

[soldiergenes]

[ The chance to warm up is one that Snake usually doesn't get prior to a fight. Generally those crises come unexpectedly, forcing him to spring into action and be sharp enough to handle what's thrown at him. So this is something of a luxury.

Of course, the fights themselves are meant to be for entertainment rather than anything else. Maybe he shouldn't be endorsing this in the first place, but he's also got plenty of steam to let off, and it's supposedly for a good cause. So here he is, in full sneaking suit with bandana cinched into place around his forehead. While he's got an arsenal tailored to non-lethal takedown, it's the hand-to-hand techniques that need some practice.

The best way to warm up is with a sparring partner, so when he spots none other than Jack Morrison hanging around, he doesn't hesitate to approach him. It'll be interesting to see him in action, after everything that he's heard.

A brief look at that giant gun, which Snake can't imagine he'll actually use during his particular match, and then he asks: ] How's your hand-to-hand?

katsa » ota

[survivra]

a. observing

[ Katsa certainly hasn't ever seen anything like this before. It's something marvelous—but she hasn't yet decided whether that's a good thing. There's a lot going on here, more than she is sure is necessary for a simple dueling tournament, and as she walks through the arena she can be caught twitching at the holographic displays and bright lights from wall to wall. Her reflexes are on rapid-fire from all the unusual stimulation and warning signs, and until she herself enters the arena, Katsa is completely on edge because of it.

She doesn't take long to warm up before her own fight and she doesn't do much cooling down after, instead returning to sit among the rest of the observers and watch the other competitors with an intense curiosity.

Until she's disturbed by a drinkbot, and Katsa—purely out of instinct, reaction to something totally unfamiliar with no idea what it wants—whirls and grabs the thing hard enough to send drinks spilling everywhere. ]

What in the—

b. wandering

[ Katsa takes her time to explore until after she's finished fighting, at least. She's won, with little idea what to do with herself now as she awaits the rest of the results, and though she enjoys seeing the skills of the other competitors something is beginning to make her feel... uneasy.

She isn't sure what it is. Maybe it's the unfamiliar technology, alien and puzzling. Maybe it's the concept of fighting as they are—and the hope that it isn't for others' amusement, that the answers they receive will be worth it. Maybe because she still doesn't quite know why she is here.

And then suddenly she stumbles, for the ground beneath her feet has begun to move—move! Surely that can't be right, but Katsa is certain—and the concrete floors have suddenly grown clear, and she's staring down at the arena below as though hovering high above it in thin air. ]

Well. [ She says this aloud. ] I hope this isn't about to crack.

[ And there's a shift of something else moving above her. ]

c. wildcard! hmu

[soldiergenes]

[ Only the last few fights are left at this point, and Snake can't say that there's a good reason for why he's still here. He's already been tended to by medical after his own match, pride a little bruised but otherwise his wounds will heal. The whole tournament has proven itself to be a racket, with match-ups that make no sense and an arena that often decides the fight for them.

Still, it's interesting to see what some of the other people here in Thisavrou are capable of, and he doesn't often get the chance to see people's powers in action. For the moment he sits alone and watches, paying little attention to the woman who's seated a few seats away from him.

Up until the point where she seizes one of the bots bringing them refreshments and sends a few different beverages splashing into his lap.

Snake stands straight from a seat with a groan, hand going to his side when his body reminds him that he's still sporting a few wounds from his match. His lower half is dripping wet now, and he shoots a glare at the woman and the bot she's clutching onto with an iron grip. ]

What the hell was that?

[ He hasn't been having a good day. Maybe he would have been nicer if he wasn't already in pain. ]

chara | aftermath | ota

[inconsequence]

[The victory feels as cheap and pointless as any other, in that darkened and dust-streaked path. His loss. You won. Enemy cut to pieces. You gained EXP.

Your LOVE increased, if you've gone on for far and long enough.

They remain at the sidelines, watching the other duels and exchanges of blows without much underlying interest, flicking droplets of red from the blade in their hand. Their opponent had chosen poorly, electing to throw the FIGHT, apparently refusing to strike a child.

Or that which keeps pretending to be one.

Either way, they hardly seem in the mood to celebrate their triumph. And he'll live, at any rate.

He'll live.

Most don't.]

[gainedlove]

[Frisk had been watching the fight, of course. They'd wanted to tell Chara to not join this, that it was dangerous and the risk not worth it...but they couldn't. Not when they know that Chara would bend to it immediately, no matter how they felt themself. Frisk won't...they can't do that anymore. They can't.]

[So instead they sit near Chara, hands clasped tightly together in their lap as their gaze flickers from the arena to Chara, back and forth. Their knuckes are white, but their expression remains as blank as possible. They weren't hurt, it's okay, they're...Chara is okay.]

[They'll be okay.]

[Right?]

How do...how d'you feel?

angela "mercy" ziegler ( the doctor is in ) OTA

[cadeuces]

( aid station ) lost in skies of powdered gold
caught in clouds of silver ropes

SIDE A
[ It was her day off, but when did she ever truly sit and rest? It wasn't in her nature to sit about and do nothing, and this was important. Those dear to her were participating, so she, too, saw herself joining in on the trek to region one, into the arena with her supplies unloaded from the pacdisc in her pocket, setting up quickly in a room right off the main stage with a screen to watch the proceedings. When she can afford it she'll be just outside and near enough to watch in person, but the moment someone is carted off her direction she'll take over, overseers handling the initial triage and collection before they pass through her hands.

It's the least she can do. Perhaps another honorable trait for the Artifixx to observe, these multiple species working together and caring for one another. Learning entirely different physiologies to see them healthy and safe.

Regardless, if you've fallen into Angela's care and have met her before, it's a safe enough bet you're in good hands. She greets everyone with a smile and a worried furrow of her brow, an easy suggestion of "let's get you taken care of" (because it's a team effort, isn't it? it isn't all on the doctor; the patient needs to want to heal as well), and she sets to work. ]


SIDE B ) FEAT. LÚCIO
[ It isn't long before Lúcio shows up to stick to her side, adding a dose of cheer, good spirits, and maybe a little music to thump along softly, encouraging healing with the technology from the device at his hip. Angela clearly enjoys his company and takes the chance to show him what she can when it arises, teasing him between the patients and watching the fights together. He's easy company, that's plain to see, and they're quite the tagteam when it comes to easing the others.

Perhaps it's a nice DJ tending to you or perhaps he's assisting Angela with a more complicated wound, or practicing sutures on a bit of synthetic skin while she's pulling real ones through your stab wounds, but the feel of the medical station is made lighter for his presence and they make it plenty welcoming. ]

( spectating ) showered by the empty hopes
as I tumble down, falling fast to the ground

[ Between trips to her medical station she's set up and once others have been seen to, she wanders down the hall to watch the arena herself, constantly glancing back down at her TAB's feed where she's set up video. (In case anyone wanders in belatedly or someone currently laid up gets any ideas about wandering off.) It's a quick enough jog back down to catch them before they reach the door unless they really hustle, so she takes the chance to watch the fights— a handful she knows, worried, others she's yet to meet or has only seen in passing, but the arena proves unforgiving. Those she believes will win have lost, those she's sure will lose catch an immense stroke of luck and emerge the victor, and she fights to keep herself a neutral party.

It's so tempting to cheer when the crowd's cries rise, after all. But it isn't terribly nice to have seen the doctor caring for you rooting for the other guy, so she clutches her travel mug to her chest and metes out what little remains, eyes sharp on the back and forth, spine straightening with every standoff, keeping her celebrations to herself with soft utterances under her breath— ]

That's right, you've got this. Just a little more—

[ No one hears her, right? You didn't hear anything. She's not favoring anyone...! ]

( ooc: or feel free to wildcard it! I'm on clegane for private plurks or pings if anyone wanted to discuss something! ♥ )

side b!

[lavelly]

[Lavellan goes to the aid station mostly because people keep telling him to. For the most part he's received the trappings of the future age with amazement, but there's something that unsettles him about the medical centers. Something about all the sharp objects seems counterintuitive to him.

But they apparently don't have much in the way of magic here, so.

What he finds in the station is even further from what he expected. Or, rather, the... strange noises and lights from Lucio's device make him think perhaps he was hit on the head harder than he'd realized. What is that thumping? That can't be healthy, right? He ends up looking between Lucio and Mercy wordlessly, wondering what he's supposed to say. Maybe he went to the wrong place by accident?]

Um.

[Nailed it. Oh, and despite appearances, he didn't actually lose his arm in the fight. That already happened. The bleeding is unrelated. Promise!]