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

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[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.

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

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

[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.]

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.

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.

[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.]

[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.]

[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!

[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.

[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.]

[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?]

[ 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! ]

[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.]

[the second before erik speaks, the arena is silent, excited savrii, the emcee, and other champions alike waiting for the mutant's response. and then he answers in the negative, flat voice ringing out across hundreds of yards of field space.

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?

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.

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.

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.

Edited 2017-03-13 16:36 (UTC)

His doing that move immediately out of the gate makes her roll her eyes behind her helmet—she has an invisibility cloak herself, so she knows how useful a move that can be. But she wouldn't do it to gain an advantage from the outset like that. Not in a tournament. In any case, though the vapor trail that appears seems to indicate he retreated, she knows this can't be trusted. He could be anywhere around her. So she's cautious as she proceeds to track him down. She knows from what she's been told about the arena itself that it'll become a factor. The ground could shift, or an obstacle could suddenly appear. But for now, she's left to approach Lavellan's side of the arena, seeking to run into the invisible. Her fists are still at the ready as she steps her way forward, though her classic impatience means she ends up coming in his direction at a bit of a jog.

[It's not usual that Erik has to look up at someone, but he's still no more worried than he was when this all started. He has the same advantages now that he had before, and he hasn't felt truly threatened in years.

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.

A classic concept, [the synthetic answers. it's hard to tell by his eerie digital voice if he's sincere. but then the holographic number shatters into pixels, and there is no more time for conversation; the battle begins.

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.]

Edited (removed helmet and changed line of dialogue after some thought! artifixx used to be slaves after al) 2017-03-15 15:47 (UTC)

[ 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.

Cool. Come over here, I'll punch you in the face.

[oh, lance. ohhhh, lance. this is what happens when you try to be a nice man.]

[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.]

[Is this a joke?

They certainly are smiling enough for it to count as such.

He makes the mistake of dropping his guard immediately. Commenting on the perceived inanity of the situation, rather than facing the reality of the child, armed with a Knife, who is very much

Coming at him with a nimble skip to one side before bringing the Knife sharply up to aim for the center of his mass. No maiming, no intent to kill, those are the rules. Thus, they do not aim to kill. They will play by the rules of the Game, if that is what leads them to the End.

So they do not aim to kill. They simply aim to hurt. It is hardly their fault that the abdominal region is the one least likely to prompt some measure of fatal bleeding.]

[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.]

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.

[He's not sure if he feels better or worse for seeing his opponent is someone human. Part of him twists. Painful, a little panicked. While he's starting to think maybe this was a terrible, terrible idea. But if these aliens wanted to see technology, then there's really only one good way to show them.]

[Because holding up your hand and making it glow doesn't exactly do it justice, does it?]

[Focus -- keep his mind here. On the task at hand. And not rolling around in the old memories. No matter how raw and familiar they were, being here. Rising up the back of his mind like goosebumps. But, no. He has to stay present. Study the opponent.]

[She's wearing... leather? Is that leather? Something is in her hand. It has to be a weapon. But it seems like it's moving while she holds it. Like something alive? It's hard to tell. He's never met her, or seen her before, makes sizing her up difficult to do.]

[She moves first. His weight shifts, and it's all automatic. Like pieces falling into place. He feels the hand activate, before he sees the purple light bloom from fingertip to wrist. Pulling it up to cover his face, trusting alien metal against whatever it is she's using.]

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 1 of 15

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

erik lehnsherr vs. the artifixx

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

AGENT TEXAS vs. INQUISITOR LAVELLAN

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chara vs. soldier 69

Reinhardt vs Zer0

GAIGE vs. HAWKE

Shiro vs Katsa

riptide vs lance

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i will summarize teh combat next tag

SUNDAY SUNDAY SUNDAY

Shepard v. Rinzler

jamie vs. snake

no subject

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lmk if this needs any clarification

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Kazuhira Miller (non-combatant) | OTA

no subject

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