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thisavrou_log2017-03-11 05:45 pm
pillz) wrote in thisavrou_log2017-03-11 05:45 pm
Entry tags:
- borderlands: zer0,
- graceling: katsa (crau),
- mass effect: commander shepard,
- metal gear: kazuhira miller,
- metal gear: solid snake,
- overwatch: angela "mercy" ziegler,
- overwatch: lena oxton,
- overwatch: reinhardt wilhelm,
- overwatch: soldier 76,
- red vs blue: agent texas,
- the raven cycle: joseph kavinsky,
- tron: rinzler (crau),
- undertale: chara dreemurr,
- undertale: frisk,
- voltron ld: lance,
- voltron ld: shiro
[OPEN] ⚔⚔ March Player Plot: Enter the Arena
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.
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.!
"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.
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.
| FINAL ROUND | ||
| ERIK LEHNSHERR vs. "THE ARTIFIXX" | Link | |
i will summarize teh combat next tag
the emcee frowns slightly. fuck it. all of this has happened before, and all of this will happen again.] Okay, cool.
Moving along! Our contestant— in the friendlest possible terms. Considering our survival as two planetoids hangs in the balance. [she says.] Ladies and gentlemen, we bring you— the Artifixx.
[immediately, the stage splits apart. like a orderly unfolding a chrysanthemum, the geometry is precise, driven by an arithmetic algorithm that's as elegant up close as it is from the distance of the spectators. when the alien comes into view, his physical being is massive indeed. he is a half-body taller than erik's considerable height, humanoid but eyeless, seemingly made of some sort of alloy-- densely muscled, but ductile, seamless except for the trails of luminosity running over his broad shoulders and tapering hands. in his hand, he is holding the same silvery pod that erik and the others have been wielding throughout the duels.
the emcee wafts away, watching them with a big ol' smile, a skinny arm flung out in grand presentation. from far away, the audience begins to call out in erik's favor.
particulates shimmer in the air to erik's left and his right. and in a faint flash of light, they flatten into sturdy walls. sectioning them off from the vulnerable audience. the signal countdown illuminates the air between them in large, boxy letters. ten. nine.
the artifixx bows.] Why do you fight?
no subject
He can hear the crowd yelling his name, which is something new for him. It's strange, and he doesn't think he'd ever get used to it.
He hadn't realized there would be such a social aspect to this when he'd signed up for it. He hadn't come here to be someone's entertainment.
But the answer to why he fights is an easy one. It doesn't mean that anyone else is going to like his answer any more than they liked the last one.
Is he expected to bow in return? If that's what gets this going, then he'll bow in return.]
I fight for freedom.
lmk if this needs any clarification
instant pandemonium. the floor separates, begins to spin.
the alloy in the alien's body is a strange fit for erik's ability, compared to the metal that he is accustomed to; a desert's child first bite of ice or visit to the sea. still, he manages to catch the enemy's body, just as he comes lunging down from behind and above. they crash together. shatter apart. the weapon in the artifixx's hand hums and warps, changing shapes and functions— a dozen mutant abilities folded into one. erik can feel it when it pries at the edges of his thoughts, weaker than charles by far, trying to push past the barrier of his his training to trick his thoughts. the next moment, it's a forked whip. a blaze of raw electricity.
erik's own weapon has shaped itself to his arm, a glove that meekly assents to stay out of his way, but defend him all the same.
erik crushes the artifixx's leg to nothing, and gets a solid axe kick through his chest for his effort.
in eight minutes, erik is bleeding sluggishly from a wound in his forehead; his enemy's broken limb is a spear now, twisting like vines, the light lines in its body broadening, shimmering, technologically-assisted transformation on a molecular level. erik can feel the grip of his metallokinesis slipping, but he rends up an oar-sized spar of the metal from deep inside the stage itself and hoists it solid through the air. it thunks solidly into the artifixx's torso. enough to kill an ordinary man. enough to split an ordinary man in half. but the artifixx is nothing ordinary; nothing even alive. the emcee shouts:]
It's not over!
[both slow. gradually, but unmistakably. erik from fatigue; the artifixx from some mystery of fuel imbalance. hundreds of feet below, the arena floor is littered with pieces of synthetic, scant drops from blood.
the clock ticks over to the twelfth minute, and it's then that erik's gauntlet begins to warp, shift, multiplying tendrils of light up his arm, wrapping over elbow and shoulder, hugging painless intimacy into his nerves. it takes inspiration from him, the surety of his instinct, the familiarity of killing. the next moment, when erik throws his hand forward, it's not metal that he feels shaping and obeying inside his head.
something deeper than that. an impossible expansion: matter itself.
and the artifixx, well— one moment he stands near eleven feet tall.
the next, it's almost anti-climactic, really. without fire or comment or much ado at all, he suddenly bunches down into a neat little two-by-two foot compacted cube, no bigger than an old tube television.
and the crowd goes wild.]
no subject
It's been a long time since using his abilities took this much out of him, and the kick to the chest definitely didn't help. He'll be sore from that for awhile. He's winded, but he's not the type to give up a fight. He will keep going until he wins or until something stops him. He hasn't survived this long by not fighting back.
It's an exhilarating feeling, when he controls more than just metal itself, and once it's over, and his opponent is nothing more than a cube on the floor in front of him, it takes him a few moments to come back to himself, and to lower his arm, and to look up at the crowd around him.
He's not used to getting that kind of a reaction out of a crowd. He doesn't know what to do with it.]
no subject
the emcee is back out again, in a moment. waving at the crowd, talking them up. she seizes erik by the wrist, and hoists his arm high.
in the meantime, some form of tractor beam comes and tows away the pathetic little crushed cube that remains of the enemy, sinking it down, down. panels open up below, to take the broken remains toward two other artifixx units standing there, tiny. one with blue optics and armored with the secondary sexual characteristics of a female human, the other taller and narrower, with green. the latter is the one who catches the cube as it drops.
the emcee presents magneto with a microphone.]
And how does it feel? [she asks.] When was the moment you knew you had it?
no subject
Not one of them out there in the audience understands. None of them can. Not even the other mutants. There are no words to describe that feeling of power.]
When it felt like nothing could stop me.
[Because only one thing could have, and as far as Erik's concerned, that was never an option.]
no subject
And was that before or after you packed him down into a fucking shoebox?
[a ripple of laughter across the stadium. He can answer of course, and they'll hang on his every word, but it's a rhetorical question.]
What do you think of your opponent?
[that's the one that guides the microphone back to erik lehnsherr's face, his breath fluttering over the computerized sensors before it dials back the sensitivity. there are a couple faint shouts from the stadium. savrii are generally polite, but other cultures are present-- ones that find it quite appropriate to shout, they suck! or such equivalent.]
no subject
Especially if what Peter said is true and somewhere out there is a way to take away someone's powers. He won't be left powerless again.]
no subject
but she can't make him talk. few people can make erik do anything he prefers not to at all. so she subsides, gesturing for the crowd, rambling a few more lines.] We bid good-bye to our champion! [and there's a faint tick of movement in the platform underneath erik, and he can feel metal parts shifting in his head, providing a polite warning before he starts to sink down again. the glare of arena lights disappears, as he glides back into the underground staging facility.
there's a bustle of staffpeople again. machine technicians, audiovisual operators. and of course, a handful of medics running up toward him.]
This way, Mr. Lehnsherr. Will you accept a protein shake once we suture your forehead?
no subject
Yes. I am a bit hungry.
[Eating is another thing he hasn't been doing on a regular schedule lately.]
no subject
when they emerge, erik's view is suddenly of the arena from the vantage of the seats, the box area. the windows show the bleachers, still full of people in all shapes and sizes, all species. some kind of entertainment troupe is prancing around on the stage he just left behind. even through the thickness of glass and metal, the music is vaguely audible, thump-thump, a pulsation of percussion and synth.
dinner is in an austerely chic room. a slick table of black glass, waitstaff just now setting down the courses. human traditions run a bit thin here; they've taken all the food out simultaneously instead of staggering the courses. salad, some form of entree. but perhaps more interestingly, there's a robotic pod sitting on the other end of the table. it's roughly oval-shaped, has red lenses planted on the surface of its chassis. much simpler than the unit he had fought.
and yet, it says:] We meet again.
no subject
He has no particular hard feelings towards his opponent. It hadn't been anything personal, and it had been a fair fight. Neither of which he'll complain about.]
Some of us are a little smaller, I see.
[It's probably easier to manage everyday things this way.]
was hiatused, am back! i know this is late, feel free to skip if you dont want extra ac c:
[the robot isn't a bad sport either. a little window opens on the front of it, and a light emits. some sort of tractor beam, apparently. it manages to focus on the two drink options available there. one is water, the other one is rather clearly wine.]
What will you have, victor?