Match Three; Arthur + Peter

[AUCTIONEER]

"Ladies and gentleman, boys and girls, welcome to Archadia's first battle arena! This is it folks, the entertainment you've all been waiting for! Before the match can officially begin let me tell you some things about our contestants and what they can do. Keep this in mind should you wish to purchase them during the auction, more details about that later on."

「Roleplaying Rules 」

Follow the basic roleplay guidelines, I doubt this needs to be said but on the off chance someone tries or makes a mistake it's better to be safe than sorry. Do not godmod, do not autohit, do not powerplay. A mistake is fine - but if it is deemed you are doing this on purpose the match will be terminated and the offender will lose. Your mutant will receive the highest punishment and you will receive a warning.

Feel free to go all out. You're able to use your powers however you wish against your opponent while keeping in mind the restrictions you've put in place. And while you are able to use them against your opponent, any action that goes against the crowd will result in your mutant being electrified. 

• Ah yes, this is a new feature created solely for this event. All mutants have a collar around their neck, this collar can not be removed without a four digit pass code. Attempting to remove the collar earns you a Level One shock. There are four levels total, none fatal. Should a mutant act out against the crowd during their fight they will receive a Level Four shock, rendering them unable to move for a few seconds due to the electrical current. So, play it safe!

You are free to refuse to fight your opponent, we as mods understand characters differ and some simply refuse to hurt another. However, the mutant who shows or states that they refuse to fight will undergo a punishment in front of the crowd. The other mutant will simply be dragged back to their cell while the other is punished, the punishment is randomized but entirely up to the moderating team.

A battle can only be won by rendering your opponent unconscious. 

March 3rd marks the end of the event and the battles! If a battle has not been completed by March 3rd the last to post will be deemed the winner.

Mutants who choose to participate and fight will get a prize by the end of the match if they are the winner.

「Punishments 」

A mutant will be stripped of all clothing save their underwear, afterwards they will be forced on their hands and knees as different kinds of candle wax is dripped onto their back and legs. The hottest wax will be reserved for last. Should they try to fight their captor they will receive a shock through the collar.

A mutant will be stripped of all clothing save their underwear and undergo a whipping. The number of lashings vary from fifteen to twenty. 

A mutant will receive five Level Four shocks. Naturally, as we don't want to kill you, each shock will happen between a two-minute interval. 


"Let the match--begin!"

[Deleted]

1332

Tags: Arthur W. Kirkland

Peter had really seen some odd people walk by from where he sat in the cages. However, one was continuing to unsettle him a little bit. The odd redhead grown-up had to be pushed to the back of his mind, though, as he looked through a crowd of people wandering around the cages, looking for someone worth buying, looking for someone with just the right power or just the right promise. Some of these humans were acting very strange, though! They kept on pointing at cages and saying odd things like "Five to one that he's out in fifteen," or maybe "Hello, pretty thing," or sometimes "F***ing mutant scum!" He wasn't very sure what most of those meant. He did know that people who said that last man's word-with-an-f-in-it got in huge trouble, though, so he didn't ask.

And then, occasionally, someone like the weird redhead one would walk by and say "Poor child," and Peter wasn't entirely sure why they'd say that either, but ever since the redhead man had walked by it hit him that they saw something wrong with the fact that he sat behind steel, waiting for another turn to show off. Was that wrong? He didn't think so, right? If he was bought, after all, he'd never be alone again...

However, the next voice that he heard was none of those. It was a load, harsh, "HEY! KID!" that caused his head to jerk up. If he had been wearing his normal hat it would have almost fallen off, but the stupid rabbit hat did not. Perhaps there was an upside to wearing a hat that was not his hat after all? He was pulled out of thoughts by the loud crashing of a cage being opened- his cage being opened. The ringing sound of black metal against black metal hurt his ears for a moment. He didn't think it was his turn yet, was it?

The man then grabbed Peter's arm. Hard. "Hey! Ow!" he exclaimed. The man just grabbed his harm harder and growled at him to shut up. Peter did, but he felt strange. None of the teachers at school had mentioned this when they had told him that he was to perform and honor the school. They had said that he would get to show off his powers a few times before the crowd in various displays put up by Weeds, and that he would enjoy it. And so far, he mostly had, but he didn't much like how his arm felt like it was bruising horribly already from that man's grip! He would get in so much trouble if he did something like that! Didn't the man learn that in school?

He looked at the man and, with a start, realized that he was in a guard's uniform, only not a school guard's uniform but an Underground guard's uniform. That was weird. Why would an Underground guard be escorting him somewhere? Although, escorting was only one word for it- he was being dragged unwillingly by the feel of his arm. He almost protested when the man roughly forced a lead around Peter's wrist as well. He wasn't one of the bad mutants! He was a good mutant, at least, everyone said so, and because of that he would go to a nice family one day!

"Sir, where are we going? I can walk on my-"

"SHUT UP!" roared the man, and Peter flinched as the man yanked on the rope that tied them together. He swallowed and followed the man. A curious roar of noise arose as he followed, quickly keeping pace. The arena? That meant he got to show off again, right? That would be so much fun- he could get his fish to do all sorts of things, he was certain! And if not, was he going to stand up there and 'honor the school' and all that, sing the school song ("We live for you"), or tell stories, or something? That wasn't on the list of things he though he would do, but it sounded like fun to him.

As he finally got to the 'backstage' of the arena, the guard locked the door and pulled the rope off of Peter. He rubbed his wrist, but he knew better than to say a word. The guard must have been having a bad day or something. The roar gets louder as he hears an announcer call out. Before he goes out, though, he feels something hard an metal snap around his neck. He whimpers. He's fairly certain that's once of the collars the REALLY bad mutants wore, the ones that stopped them from hurting others...

He hadn't done anything wrong, right...?

And suddenly he's pushed blinking back into daylight, stumbling over himself as he takes in the huge crowd- much bigger than the one that had showed up for the school performances. There's a roaring, money's exchanging hands, there are so many people and every eye is on him.

A tumultuous whisper winds its way though the crowd: "They really did it?" or "He's really only thirteen," or "Pay up," or "His odds are twenty-five to one" or "I've never seen him here before- I wonder what he can do?"

What exactly was happening?

Then, suddenly- "Ladies and gentleman, boys and girls, welcome to Archadia's battle arena! This is it folks, the entertainment you've all been waiting for! Before the match can officially begin let me tell you some things about our contestants and what they can do. Keep this in mind should you wish to purchase them during the auction, more details about that later on. In this match, the third of this series, we see Peter Kirkland against Arthur Kirkland, the fish-controller versus the ghosts! Let's hope he's got something poisonous, because this will be a hammering like no other..."

He's so shocked, he does not move, only stare terrified ahead as he attempts to process this fact. His brain only tackles it bit by bit, and it cannot process all of it- it is too much, his head is whirling, why is it that with everyone around him he feels so abandoned, so alone, he can't think, what did he just say?

Any other time, the last part would be what worried him. However, his brain ignores it for now, files it away. The part that is dangerous to his life is what's important.

He is about to fight

with an adult

who was powerful

with his own weak, mostly untrained abilities

in front of everyone.

This... What was happening? He wasn't ready! He hadn't even practiced any fighting yet, he still had another year until he did, why wasn't he warned, what sort of test was this, why would he be here, what could he do, he didn't understand, God please help him, if you even help mutants anyway since everyone says you're more like a human, someone please help him, strange man who said nice things that confused him maybe you can help, someone tell him what to do because a plexiglass fish tank full of fish sits behind him and he doesn't even know what kinds, there's no time, there's no time, HE DOESN'T UNDERSTAND-

But he understands once he hears the next words out of the announcer's mouth: "Let the match-- begin!"

And he turns around to face the fishtank and without thinking he grabs it but it's too heavy is there a smaller bowl somewhere he can grab or does he have to get the man closer to him so the fish can jump out he doesn't know but he knows that his arm still hurts and his head still hurts and this is wrong, this isn't what they say should happen, and his heart is telling him that he's missed the most important thing of all about his opponent-

There's no time.

There's no time.

There's no time.

What is he missing?

Notes: And so it begins...

made by MISSO on IoF

[Arthur W. Kirkland]

culpae poenae par esto

Very little time had passed since Arthur's first contract had ended. And though he still held the appearance of one who belonged within the cold embrace of the Underground, his time away had given him a brief touch of a healthy appearance, not much, but a taste—with the not-quite-emaciated thinness and the small show of colour from the enviable sun over his skin. He wondered if savouring the offer of a taste was more cruel than kind, to be shown what life could never be for the likes of them.

Later when the Underground guards began to provide them with more food than usual, there was an immediate suspicion for yet another upcoming auction. It was common enough procedure to attempt to make the mutants look like they’d been treated well enough for purchase. When the guards begin to escort them from their usual cells, it was quite apparent in the brisk, almost professional way that they handled the procedure that this is no ordinary event.

When the heavy sound of the guards' footfalls drew close to his cell, Arthur didn't offer his usual resistance or the litany of snide remarks. The guards hadn't received much of any sort of reaction from him since his return from his contract with Bonnefoy—Arthur had been quiet and almost morose, far more than usual. It weighed upon him; the experiences that he’d had outside his cage. With how surprisingly wonderful some of them had been, some of the most succulent ones from surprise visits, they were also painful to recall. Like being offered an illusion that was lovely beyond words, only to be reminded that the cage that he was held in, the chill that clung to his bones, and the resounding emptiness was the reality that had remained unchanged. Most mutants had probably experienced this in the distant past when they received their very first contract. Arthur was essentially still processing his.

He was led to a cage outside among an area that was set apart for some sort of festivity from the looks of it. The idea of the humans enjoying their façade while the mutants surveyed them from behind bars was a sickening notion, no more than anything else that had been done to them, in all honesty. Even so, Arthur couldn’t find the motivation to react beyond casting a somewhat lazy, withering glance across the setup while the guards led him. When they had reached the cage that was meant for him, the furthest one from the crowd, the last in line, probably meant to discourage the majority of the throng from making the long walk just to view him, minimising the likelihood of uncomfortable feelings if any entities happened to be present. While Arthur could refrain from causing harm to the onlookers, as the punishments were made abundantly clear before he had even stepped foot outside his cell, the entities’ listless, unseen presence had a tendency to stir a deep uneasiness to oblivious spectators. It was an effect that couldn’t easily be remedied, thus the precaution was set.

There was a creak to the door as they opened it on its iron hinges. Upon being escorted in with no less than three guards, the nearest guard, a tall man with greasy hair, roughly grabbed Arthur’s chin the moment they were inside the cage, forcing him to raise it, revealing the expanse of his vulnerable throat before another guard snapped on some sort of collar. The coldness of the metal raised his flesh; miniscule shivers touched his body. The guard gave him a long, unnerving look before pressing his fingers along Arthur’s jaw in a hard caress. His stomach dropped with the touch, eyes flitting toward the other guards, all wearing the same roguish grin.

Arthur’s expression hardened and he could hardly catch the harsh words from escaping his mouth. ”What the hell is this?” There was a slight scratchiness to his voice from disuse. The guard touching him seemed to grow more amused with his widened smile, his fingers passing down, hooking them tightly behind the collar before giving it a rough tug. Arthur felt a harsh jolt and his teeth automatically clenched hard. He couldn’t hear the guards laughter until the pressure from the collar eased, his mind recollecting what had just happened. Shock collars—yet another accessory for animals who misbehaved.

The fury was thick, almost blinding, though it was only evident in the way his fingers tightened and clenched. He wasn’t expecting another yank from his collar, this one far harsher than before, releasing a greater current of electricity. Arthur made a harsh, aggrieved sound this time when he felt his knees come into contact with the ground, which encouraged more laughter. His body was trembling, his nerves a mess with the sensory overload. What caused more agony was his wounded pride, tender and pulsing beneath the cage of bones. “It’s a shame these haven’t been implemented sooner,” the guard before him stared bemusedly at the recovering mutant on the ground.

When the guards made their leave after they had their fun, Arthur maneuvered toward the middle of his cage with his back to the onlookers, his ears deaf to their words. His knees were close to his chest and his arms rested neatly over the boney ends. His expression was stony, seeing the cold metal bars without really seeing much else. He wanted to be alone with little but the tedium of his thoughts and the unfeeling presence of the entities lingering outside his cell to keep him poor company. Luckily, it seemed that he was to have very few visitors during this portion of the event, or whatever it was the government had planned for today. For that, at least, Arthur was somewhat glad. He didn’t want certain others to see him like this.

A different set of guards retrieved him later, how much later since he’d been placed there, Arthur couldn’t tell. His eyes trailed to the restraints and weapons meant to detain and control held in tight grips by the guards surrounding him. They led him into a building, shading them from the brilliant blue of the sky. Although he’d enjoyed the sight while under contract, he couldn’t find any beauty in it for the moment. Walking through short corridors, an all-too familiar stench assaulted their senses, of blood, grime, and metal. It smelled like the arena, only this one seemed to be fashioned on a grander scale. As soon as the guards saw it fit to finally remove his restraints, he rubbed at the indent made at his wrists, his eyes trailing along the entrance before him. He could hear the muffled roar of the crowd, a contemptible level of excitement and bloodlust, as usual. Apparently whatever this event was that the guards and officials had failed to tell the mutants, there was going to be fighting, the climax for their festivities, no doubt.

“You know what to do,” the guard closest to him muttered, a hint of warning in his tone. Arthur didn’t look at him, didn't offer hardly any response. He certainly wasn’t a pushover in the arena; whoever had been pitted against him in the Underground quickly discovered that they’d have to use more than their power to earn a victory against imperceptible assailants.

Arthur took advantage of the moment before they were to push him into the arena to gather his arsenal. Wherever the entities were, whether it was from a distant, forgotten past, or because of current brutalities, Arthur could immediately feel that there had been quite a few deaths within the general vicinity, an arena of death and decay. Fitting. The poor souls he summoned without any outward indication that he was reaching out to them were indeed battered and broken, some of them indicating that they had once been powerful adversaries when they were alive. Some were still fresh with hot rage and a thirst for retribution for the harm and injustice that had befallen them, whether in battle, by incident, or by design while others were old—so old that they were unable to recall their former identities and status in the world, now just wandering, blackened souls with no purpose or aim. Arthur felt a shudder when they drew near, feeling their pain and stories attempting to engulf his own motivations, hastily attempting to build a solid boundary between them. He was going to use them today, not console them.

As soon as the guards were given the signal, Arthur was pushed out the entrance into the arena. There was an explosion of sound, from the applause and shouts of encouragement and excitement. Arthur didn’t even attempt to hide his loathing as he surveyed the crowd, positively randy with their shouts for their degradation, their demand for the humanoid ‘animals’ tear into each other like the vile dogs they were believed to be.

"Ladies and gentleman, boys and girls, welcome to Archadia's first battle arena! This is it folks, the entertainment you've all been waiting for! Before the match can officially begin let me tell you some things about our contestants and what they can do. Keep this in mind should you wish to purchase them during the auction, more details about that later on. In this match, the third of this series, we see Peter Kirkland against Arthur Kirkland, the fish-controller versus the ghosts! Let's hope he's got something poisonous, because this will be a hammering like no other..."

He froze when he heard the announcer say a name that he was far too familiar with in addition to his—a name that he shared. He’d been expecting to fight one of the other Underground mutants, preferably one that he’d fought before. Arthur’s gaze fell upon his opponent at the far end of the arena and his stomach feel upon seeing that he had been pitted against a child… a child who’s wearing such a terrified and stunned expression, it wasn’t difficult to tell that he’d likely simply been pushed there with hardly any notion as to what lie ahead for him. The rising cries of the crowd demanding blood and placing obscene bets in Arthur’s favour caused his pulse to also rise, forcing a heated, potent rush to his head.

This wasn’t a fucking fight. This was a staged slaughter.

"Let the match—begin!"

But—Kirkland—the child’s name matched with familiar physical characteristics— He felt like a stone had been lodged in his throat when he noticed the boy attempting to grab at the tank behind him, a motion that was pitiful and desperate. Arthur has yet to even move, his eyes still on the boy with the familiar features currently arranged in a panic along with that ever familiar name. He can hear the taunts and jeers at his back for the ‘fight to start already.’

Slowly, still keeping an eye on the boy in his peripheral, Arthur moved closer to the centre of the arena, his gaze seeking the elite among the crowd within their privileged arrangements further along the stands. The metal collar at his throat was pressing heavily against his skin. He can feel the weight now more than ever—for the choice he’s about to make. Arthur was not prepared for this, he’d been prepared to fight as he was told for once. Everything had changed within a matter of horrifying seconds. Arthur needed to make a choice—and it wasn’t easy.

The weight of the consequences were heavy and nearly unbearable over his racing mind. He could feel his fingers shaking and an uncomfortable layer of sweat gathered in his palms, but his resolve remained firm. If he was expected to spill blood in the arena by attacking an essentially defenseless child (who was strikingly familiar, no less), then he’d rather the arena be stained with his own blood at the hands of the guards.

His eyes lingered where the governor may have been seated. Of course, it could just be yet another box filled with the shining elite of society. In either case, he didn’t really care. He only cared that what he was choosing to do would be well translated. He raised his chin to the onlookers, the tilt of defiance, his lips thinned with grim purpose. His voice was no louder than a mutter, though the simple words would hardly be a mystery given his stance before they’d be forced to inflict their torture. ”Fuck. You.” He could hardly hear his own words, drowning in the onslaught of the crowd, though if he did, he half expected to hear the slight waver in his own voice, the flutter of nerves already causing the adrenaline to rise in his blood, remembering just how nasty the shock from his collar had been.

The crowd wanted to see animals tear into each other—they wanted carnage. Arthur knew they’d receive it no matter what he decided. Let the government officials be the animals in the spectacle for once.

Culpae poenae par esto.

CODED BY DUCKIE OF GS

[Deleted]

1066

Tags: Arthur W. Kirkland

Peter curled up into a wince the moment the other mutant even dared speak. He had no idea what the other blonde would do, or why everything in Peter was suddenly making noise, noise, noise at the man's face. He did know that he needed to fight. That was what he was supposed to do. But the noise, it was overwhelming, and his heart, it was overwhelming, and he was so alone, so abandoned, and they had taken his markers and the fish were too far away to help and- why did he even think of the markers when he wanted to run away or curl into a ball but he had to do something-!

He ran back over to the tank again. Maybe he could carry a fish. Of course, if it was at all poisonous, the poor fish would poison him, and it would possibly die. He didn't want to kill the fish! Poisoning himself was also a rather bad idea if he wanted to win, and he was supposed to fight to win but that had to be a lie because the first thing he had to do was fight to survive and then the other mutant dared move and Peter's heart stopped as the green eyes, eyes like his own when the light chose to strike them correctly, flashed and he turned his back to his opponent and that gave Peter time, time Peter hadn't had before, and he could use it but what was the man planning?

"Fuck. You."

What? Because those words weren't directed at him, they were directed at the box of humans (funny how suddenly they seemed a bit less like people and was his teacher trying to help him? Was the funny man trying to help him? What about Mister Ivan?) and he could see rage on every face in the crowd and no, no, no, no show should go like this because he had to win and earn approval to survive much longer so why wasn't the man attacking him? He was supposed to attack Peter! Why wouldn't the other mutant attack him. ATTACK HIM, JERK!

Attack him... Because that was what the right thing to do was. Attack him Peter. Little mutants who don't do what they're supposed to, they get sent to a special little box all alone in Hell or somewhere near it, and he'd be locked in his room all ALONE as punishment and they had already abandoned him and no, no, no he couldn't let that happen again it's the right thing to do it's a sin not to attack the man, attack the man, why is he so familiar to you Peter, no what are you doing ATTACK HIM!

All Peter could really do was stand and stare. Behind him, the fish were agitated, and around him, the crowd was awful stormy white, colorless and wicked and screaming at him while he couldn't think. The mutant in front of him, though, he was a beautiful shade of green, a green not unlike poison, though, a green so corrupted that it was beautiful and deadly and defiant and it's related to you Peter, can't you see? He shook his head, whispering words he didn't understand himself under his breath as he forced himself to walk to the tank, let the fish jump into his hand, step away from the tank, hold it carefully behind the fins like he's learned, don't let his emotions take control because the fish will leap away again as his powers die again.

A tiny part of him said why hasn't someone stepped in? You know they would, they should, he isn't fighting you, you'll be all alone...

Another said something similar, but twisted: You know his name is Arthur Kirkland. You know it. Let it ring in your ears now, understand? You recognize him. Your heart says do nothing. Listen to it, not what you've been told.

But he didn't want to be alone.

Step after agonizing step, holding in the fact that he wanted to scream ATTACK ME, YOU'RE DOING IT "WRONG, YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO ATTACK ME!" He doesn't realize that his thoughts have blended into reality, that he actually shouted the end of it through his tears. He could do this, though. He could win this battle with himself and he'd never be alone again, because he'd always be wanted if he just kept on doing himself, got himself bought, he wouldn't be lonely. He couldn't be abandoned again, and he never would be! See? That's why you did these things.

God, but he felt more lonely and abandoned and like a traitor than ever but he couldn't place why, no he knew exactly why but he couldn't tell himself that he did. "I'll never be abandoned... FIGHT! Just..." The words weren't even coherent things that made sense to Peter as he took one more agonizing step. He knew what he had to do now. Telling the fish to put its fins just right, he tried to throw it.

Indecision took him instead as it flew a miserable few inches, only just barely reaching the distance it would take to graze Arthur.

Arthur Kirkland.

And then it all came flooding in and all he could do was cry because he didn't know he didn't know and it was a sin not to and it was a sin to do and he'd be so alone without them but he'd be so alone without him and he'd just be so alone and the crowd was laughing and jeering and he sank to his knees and he needed help, he needed help now because his brother had refused to fight him and Peter still fought. Wasn't that right, though? They were supposed to fight, but he couldn't, he couldn't anymore, and suddenly instead of fighting he didn't even know he launched himself forward and tried to wrap his arms around the man and sobbed and just screamed. No words, just an agonized shout to the heavens and he held the man and prayed to whoever even listened that he hadn't been hurt to badly. That they wouldn't be hurt to badly.

He had tried.

He had to keep on trying.

But his heart and soul failed him even as he told himself to fight, and he was on his knees below the man just crying out "Brother..."

Notes:  Sorry this took so long... We need an extension, don't we?

made by MISSO on IoF