#sharparena

(Not canon in any way, but I had the scene in my head for a while and Shiv gave me the perfect opportunity to use it.)

“I will be going.”

Claire clasped her hands in front of her, patiently listening to her lord and sovereign. “How long will you be gone, my lord? And what must I do in your absence?”

“Do whatever you wish,” Thanos replied, tone lacking any kind of feeling.

This threw her off slightly, and her immediate response was to start a mental checklist of things she knew would need to be done. “I’m… not sure I understand the command,” she admitted.

He glanced at her. “There isn’t one. I will be going. What you do from here is no longer of any consequence.”

Claire suddenly knew what it was to be a fish yanked from water without warning. “G-going where?” she finally asked after a long moment, still not quite understanding.

Thanos was not impatient. He explained himself again. “Where I wish. You will remain. I no longer have interest here, and you are thus no longer bound to me.”

No longer bound to him. How could she possibly be unbound, when all of her, mind body and soul, was devoted to him? She licked her lips that had suddenly gone too dry, forcing her voice to be even, to stay strong because strength was what he had always wanted. “May I accompany-”

“No.”

Such a small word. Like a needle hitting just the right point on a glass pane so that it all came shattering down. She could hear it, feel a thousand cuts from the agonizing rain.

But it was more than that, so much more than drawing blood. That had always been Thanos’ specialty, cutting deeper than any blade ever could. With his simple, steady words, he took away Claire’s entire universe. The air left her, and sounds did, too. Suffocation, blindness, nothing but the dark of isolation awaited her.

“I don’t understand,” she said, the words measured, paced, calculated because everything had to be calculated, every risk had to be taken into account. This had never been one of them. “I have only ever served you, I don’t know what I’ve done wrong.”

“Nothing.”

Dismissal. He wasn’t getting rid of her, he wasn’t angry, he wasn’t anything. He was just dismissing her. After all this time, she really hadn’t been good enough.

She should have known. She was human, mortal, weak, how dare she think she could stand in his light and expect him to notice her at all? Her universe was collapsing, following Thanos out the door and far away from her. It stole the warmth from her heart, the fire of her soul. There were no more stars for her to aspire to, there was no vast amount of space for Thanos to someday guide her through when she was ready.

He had said it. “Nothing.” There was nothing. If there was no life with Thanos then there was no life. There was no Claire.

She loved him, and now, in the empty room, she let that love destroy her. She allowed that agony to embrace her because that was all she had left, and it would be the last thing she would ever feel.

Thanos was gone, and now, so was his assistant. The soul of Claire Fierte was dead.

@smoakinghothacker

One down. Contact had been made with Barry, so it was time for Nevaeh to keep casting her nets out for another addition to the team. She could survive on her own in District 5, but in the Arena, there were going to be at least 22 people trying to kill her at the same time, and she wanted to lower that number as much as possible. Strength in numbers, after all.

Day two of training had her scanning the floor from the monkey bars again, trying to locate the people she’d put on her “Good” list after the Reaping recap. She wanted to talk to that Barbara Gordon, she looked smart. Maybe Matt Murdock - he was blind, but all sources said he was tough as nails.

Her eyes, instead, found the last person on her list. It was the District 12 girl, Felicity Smoak, and Nevaeh actually hesitated for a moment. Felicity didn’t seem to be the type to turn on allies, would probably die before doing so. But that was the problem. Yes, Nevaeh preferred trustworthy people over the strongest, but she also wanted them to be able to survive. This Smoak girl… she was too pretty to be in the Arena.

But she was on the list for a reason. Nevaeh had gotten wind about a crazy intelligent brain behind that pretty face, and smart people got through the Games just as often as the strong.

Although… considering her current record with that bo staff (3-0, in favor of the staff), Felicity was as much in need of an alliance as Nevaeh.

@thefxstestmanalive

The point of the Hunger Games was to play one’s strengths. Actually, the point was punishment for the Districts, but to the participants, that was neither here nor there. It was up to them to find their niche, milk whatever talent they had for all it was worth and hope it got them through to the end.

Nevaeh had said it before and she’d say it again: her Games took place before the Arena. She wasn’t strong, or fast, she wasn’t a killing machine and honestly a gun in her hand would be a lot better than any of the primeval weapons set out for them. Bows? Knives? She didn’t have the skill nor did she want to get that close. Her skills were a lot quieter than that; she was flexible, and she was pretty damn charming when she wanted to be. For the most part, she was planning to use that charm to woo hordes of sponsors. However, there were a few other helpful individuals she could woo, and the training room floor was the perfect place to scope that out.

Her first target (she felt terrible for thinking about them that way, but just as that scary Bruce guy was looking at throwing knives for use, she was looking at other Tributes) wasn’t the biggest guy. She’d done some recon watching the Reaping, and she had a list of who she was avoiding and who she was schmoozing. The big scary ones she was avoiding, because she wasn’t about to risk having them turn on her. Also… there was an honest element to her search. Try as she might to believe it was strictly for survival, she wanted to find people that were good. She didn’t just want to team up with winners, she wanted to team up with people she could actually stand to survive with. If she wanted someone to watch her back, she had to watch theirs, too.

So the first person she approached wasn’t intimidating, wasn’t a promising victor. It was the sad-eyed boy from District 3, who was skinny and had cute hair and probably cried at the Reaping. But he had an iron will behind those sad eyes that said he wouldn’t bend. He also had Oliver Queen for a mentor, and that was promising enough.

Barry always thought the interviews were one of the cruelest parts of the Games: The tributes were primped, forced to smile and laugh in front of everyone while their friends and families watching a screen hundreds of miles away, knowing that person up there wasn’t really their son or daughter, their brother or sister, their classmate, neighbor, or friend anymore. They were something else, and they were most likely going to die. It was just one more way to make the families suffer.

In preparation for the procession of tributes, Barry had been scrubbed cleaner than he thought he’d ever been in his life; his nails were trimmed, his teeth were bleached, his hair was trimmed and plucked, his face was shaved. His and Wanda’s stylist had dressed them both in deep red and black with gold and white lightning bolts and signs of static imprinted on the fabric that seemed to make the two tributes look and feel positively electric. Red had seemed an odd choice to Barry, but maybe that was the point -- It was different from all the other years’ looks, memorable. That might be to their advantage.

He hadn’t gotten a proper look at himself until he was dressing for his interview. He wore red shoes with little golden lightning bolts flaring off the sides (they reminded him of Hermes’ winged sandals), black fitted trousers, a buttoned shirt in deep scarlet, a black vest, and a black tie with one long, golden lightning bolt printed on it. It felt a bit heavy on the lightning he thought, but that didn’t much concern him. He spent a long time looking at his own face in the mirror. It looked fresher than he thought it would. He had been shaved so close it looked like he hadn’t ever sprouted a single hair on his face. He looked younger, younger even than eighteen. Maybe that was the point. Maybe that was part of the entertainment.

He smiled broadly as he walked onstage to meet Caesar Flickerman. It was the first time he’d smiled in days, and it felt strange. He wondered if he was doing it right. Caesar smiled back, showing every single one of his strangely perfect teeth, and shook Barry’s hand before gesturing for him to sit down.

“So, Bartholomew--”

“Please,” Barry stressed. “Call me Barry.”

Caesar laughed. The audience laughed. Barry sat there.

“So, Barry,” Caesar said. A few more chuckles came from the audience. “How are you enjoying the Capitol?”

Barry continued to smile, and straightened his tie nervously. “It’s hard to say, I mean... It’s different. Everything’s bigger and brighter here. Not literally brighter of course, though I guess the sky is less cloudy-- but I mean, the buildings are all newer here, and I guess when I think about it the lights are a little brighter? I mean, we make them sure, but we don’t much get to use them you know?” Barry paused for breath, and Caesar stared. “I’m-- I’m rambling...”

Caesar stared a moment longer, then gave another loud bark of laughter. He clapped a hand to Barry’s shoulder and shook him sideways. “Ah Barry, you’re very... Charming! With that sweet boyish face, I’m sure that bumbling awkwardness goes over well with the ladies.” He lowered his voice a little, and raised an eyebrow at Barry. Barry grinned bashfully in spite of himself.

“I mean... I guess it doesn’t hurt.”

A few members of the audience whooped. “Anyone specific you work those charms on?”

Iris. “No. I’ve had a few girlfriends sure, but nothing serious. And nothing now, which I guess is a good thing, huh?”

“I suppose so...” Caesar leaned back, smiling darkly. “Already leaving enough people behind I would assume. Family, friends...”

“Yeah...” Barry’s smile faded at last. He took a deep breath. “But at least I’m not here alone.”

“Very true! Wanda--”

“I’m not talking about Wanda.”

Caesar looked at him curiously. “Oh no?”

“No.” Barry looked at him again. “I mean yes, but-- I meant our mentor, Oliver. Oliver Queen.” Barry swallowed. They had discussed this. Barry had hunted down Oliver on the train their first night and told him his plan. They had to sell their relationship if Barry wanted sponsors, even if what they sold was no longer true, even if Barry and Oliver hadn’t spoken to each other since Oliver left for the Games. “We’ve been best friends for as long as I can remember... He’s like a brother to me.”

There was some murmuring from the audience. “Really?” Caesar asked in disbelief. “Well, that is something! It must have been difficult for you to see your closest friend become a tribute all those years ago, and then the joy you must have felt when he won! And only in eight hours!”

It was a nightmare. “It was a huge relief, yeah.”

“And now he’s training you. Your best friend, your brother in arms? What is that like?”

It’s absolute hell. “It’s... indescribable. I couldn’t be luckier.”

“And so how is your training going? Anything you can tell us about that?”

Barry grinned again, shaking his head. “Just... I think the other tributes are gonna have a tough time catching me.”

“So you think you’ve got a good chance of winning?”

No. Barry gave a nonchalant shrug. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“How do you think Oliver feels about your training so far? Is he confident in your abilities?”

No. “Yeah, I think so. I think he’ll be proud of me, no matter what.”

Caesar gave him a warm smile. “Well, it certainly sounds like you’ve got a lot to live for.”

Barry’s smile faded, and he blinked in surprise. He hadn’t much considered it until that moment. “... Yeah I guess I do.”

Caesar nodded and held out his hand to shake Barry’s. “Well, best of luck to you, young man. Ladies and gentlemen!” he said, standing with Barry as he addressed the audience once again. “District 3’s very own Barry Allen!”

Set prior to the Reaping for the 74th Hunger Games

Open to fellow Mentors/Former Victors

Another year had slipped by and it was time to get ready for another round in the arena. Sane people dreaded the event, clueless people looked forward to it. Insane people plain didn’t know what to think, and Wade Wilson fitted quite comfortably into the last heading.

His time in the arena had left Wade scarred both mentally and physically. In order to survive his games, Wade had set fire to everything he could in the arena. He watched the rest of his fellow tributes burn before the flames tried to envelop him too. He was pulled out by the game makers before he could die from his burns but the flames had left their mark on his skin permanently. The once handsome Wilson was now beyond recognisable. If he hadn’t been so scarred, he would have be used like a whore by the Capitol after the Games had finished. Now they left him alone until it was time to reap more tributes from the Districts.

All of the former Victors and mentors were called to the Capitol ahead of the Reaping ceremonies for some kind of bullshit. Wade didn’t pay much attention to it all. Every single one of them kids were doomed, whether they won or not. Wade only turned up because he had to. Capitol goons would turn up on his doorstep and bully him into going in to see the rest of their sorry faces. For fuck’s sake.

Starter for District 9. Anyone can reply first and we can figure out the order from there. 

Jack Napier stood in the same area as the other eighteen year olds. The lucky ones as some people say as it was their last year for a chance to be selected to be part of the games. After that, he would be doing whatever job he was given from the grain industry. He just wanted to take part in the games for once and try to win so that he could live a life of luxury in the Victor’s village and not worry about the next time he could feed himself. So far, he resisted the urge to volunteer each year that he was eligible to participate in to see if fate would give him the chance. 

Even with amount of times he had to sign up for the tesserae, he was never called up. This time...If his nams was not pulled out of the bowl, then he will openly volunteer.Challenge fate and see where it brought him. Just putting the noose on to tempt Death. At least if he dies out there, he wouldn’t have to off himself. Such a cowardly act. 

The young man glanced around, tuning out the usual ceremony the Reaping brought on. An announcement on why the games are needed, showing off the past victors, best kills and the annoying, strangely dressed escort with the squeaky voice. Along with smaller things. Such a huge show for something very few wanted. The guys around him shifted nervously. None of them wanted to be here or selected. He wanted to be and it was well hidden. Green eyes focused on the male escort when it was time. Hand hovering over the glass bowl filled with male names. 

Please...Let it be his name. Let it be him to go into the games. To be trained by their district victor and attempt to achieve the same victory. At least no one will be too worried about him. Perks of being an orphan really and not having actual close friends. 

Silence...It was almost unbearable. The green haired eighteen year old wanted to just jump and scream. Keep it cool Jack...Keep it cool. Hand was inside the bowl, gently moving the slips around until the escort decided to grab one and retrieved it. Unfolding it with a smile. He approached the microphone once more and read the name out loud. 

“Jack Napier” 

The excitement remained hidden as he was lead up to the stage, but it reflected in his eyes. Green eyes shining with happiness at being selected. So he stood in silence as the escort moved on to the other bowl filled with the names of every female that was of age. 

District 11 posting order: @sergeantpunkbarnes, @leavesxf-three, @moveslikelightning, @the-darkness-ismy-friend

Bucky watched the Reaping from inside of District 11′s main hall. He couldn’t actually face being stood out on the stage, all of those eyes watching him, judging him for what he did to win. Not one of them knew what he had to sacrifice in order to survive and until they had been in the same position as he, they would never know. But now two brand new tributes, Pamela and Pietro, had been chosen to go into the arena and they were going to learn how far they would go to see another day. Bucky, despite not believing in a higher power since he was a child, said a prayer for them.

After the Reaping ceremony had been completed, Pamela and Pietro were ushered into the hall. Bucky stood waiting for them, a dark expression on his brow. “I would say congratulations,” he said, his voice low in honour of the grim occasion, “but I don’t mean it. What you’re about to go through, I wouldn’t wish on anyone. Except maybe President Snow. But I’m getting off point already.

“My name is Bucky Barnes. I will be your mentor for these games. It’s my job to tell you how to survive in the arena. Do not call me, under any circumstances, the Winter Soldier. That’s the name the Capitol gave me, not my real name. You want to stay on my good side? Stick to calling me Bucky.”

@thanos-of-titan

Behind the set in a television studio, employees moved casually to and fro, fetching coffee, adjusting cameras, issuing news updates, and checking sound. On the set, MC Matty Mason was interviewing one of the most powerful men in the universe, a person who could create his own world and destroy everything in it. He was a god among men, a force before which all others trembled, as ruthless as he was brilliant, as commanding as he was unstoppable.

He was Thanos, the head Gamemaker in the 74th Annual Hunger Games.

And, seated in a chair by the wall, watching with unbridled pride and avoided by the majority of the station’s employees, was his red-headed assistant, Claire Fierte.

It didn’t matter that this interview wasn’t for her, nor that her name was usually glossed over whenever the Gamemakers were mentioned. Be careful not to practice your righteousness in front of others to be seen by them. If you do, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven. Claire was nothing if not obedient. The credit and glory were due to Thanos, to the one who made all of this excitement possible. She was undeserving of equivalent fame.

When the interview ended and Thanos shook hands with Miss Mason, Claire took the cue to rise with a wide smile. She was ready with a brief recap of the Reaping and a glass of ice water, holding them out to him when he approached. “Sir Thanos,” she said with equal parts warmth and reverence. “Your Tributes, and iced tears straight from District Twelve.”