THE GREATEST SHOW UNEARTHED

[whocouldwinarabbit]

WHO: The HABIT whocouldwinarabbit and his eighteen lucky Rabbits.
WHERE: Yankee Stadium.
WHEN: Tuesday, November 13 afternoon onward.
WARNINGS: Not for the children. Graphic murder expected.
SUMMARY: THUNDERDOME.
FORMAT: Whatever our contestants would like.

"Rise and fucking shine, campers!" blasts the loudspeaker.

Eighteen bodies. Not a bad turnout. He's hauled them into the locker rooms to wake up together, tied balloon strings to their wrists, the balloons Skittles colors. Angora, some say in sharpie, Flemish Giant. And all have a smile drawn on, bunny ears on top.

"You're probably wondering what the hell you're doing here, right? Wonder no more! Welcome to the Trials, rabbits. Time to feed the HABIT."

The crowd roars in response, their fists in the air. They're not nearly enough to fill the stands, not hardly, the count's barely crawling up to a hundred -- but it's the impassive eyes of the cameras set up around the stadium that matter. These idiots are just for the noise of it.

"Now, see, the rules to this game are real simple. All you gotta do is kill everybody else. That's it! What could be easier, right? Knife in the brain. Sword in the guts. I don't care how you do it, just do it, meat. Look at it this way: the Porter'll bring you back good as new. So... what's keeping you? Besides, hey... the winner gets a prize."

HABIT laughs tinnily through the sound system, over the sound of the crowd. "If one of you makes a break for it -- go ahead! I encourage it, make your move -- but you will notice that there's no escape. Can't have you spoiling my fun, now can we? The good people up there in the stands paid twenty-nine ninety-nine for a show, and by fucking golly, they're gonna get it."

"Now... if you'll look at the balloons for your group assignments. Flemish Giants, why don't you come on out here? No, no, hey, don't be shy. Being first is a big ol' honor. So show us some blood!"

He hits the music, and opens the doors.

Comments

[invoking]

Are you alright? [ Gil is swift to move to Lenalee's side, offering his arm for support. He exhales slowly, trying to get his heart to stop beating so loud and fast in his chest. He needs to stay calm. They all do. Put their heads together and figure a way out of this situation before they or anyone else gets hurt.

But the first "contestants"...

Damian's attitude gets a sharp look. ] This is definitely a kidnapping, which is a crime! [ That's enough to send someone after the person behind it all.

And then he glowers again. ]

He calls us rabbits. [ He drew the connection quickly, but he doesn't know what it will do now. ] Like that person on the Network. Did any of you speak to someone like that?

[apostled]

[ Lenalee gave a nod of her head to the both of them. Damian was right, but sometimes people didn't try the simplest solutions and they ended up being the right ones. Only this was not one of those times. At least they knew for certain now.

She gave Gil a small smile without looking up at him as she straightened herself out. ]

I'm sure the three of us can think of a way out. We all have different abilities... can he really count for all of us?

[ She tried to think about the word 'rabbits'. If that brought up anything.... ]

I remember that person inviting everyone to a party of some sort...

[ Her eyes went a little wide. ]

I accepted the invitation.

[xuffasch]

<sub>( Damian scoffs with such derision, it’s evident he can’t imagine a much stupider course of action. He decides not to mention his own interactions with that particular presence on the Network; even if he had made that mistake, what was the point of bringing it up, now?

He’s wrestling with the concept of survival. His every instinct tells him to just slit these two’s throats, and live through this enough to exact revenge. Death isn’t even permanent, here. The promise wouldn’t be broken. But even as he thinks that he knows he can’t do it. So he continues to stare at his two competitors, robbed of his only means for handling things—violence. )</sub>

I don’t care why we’re here! I care about making it out in one piece.

[invoking]

[ He momentarily looks at the bat in his hand. People in the stands boo and attempt to rile Lionhead. "Fight! Fight! Fight!" comes the roar from the stands. He easily lets go of his weapon, not too sure why he picked it up in the first place. He won't be a pawn in this. ]

Raven. [ He calls quietly, holding out his left hand.

Nothing.

He doesn't sense his Chain at all and the colour drains from his face.

In a hazy moment, there's something else. It distracts him for a few seconds before he shakes his head. ] ... What? [ He grabs his left hand, unable to help a quiver. ] My Chain didn't... it wasn't summoned?

[ That would be too easy. This isn't about easy. Damian's right. ]

[apostled]

[ The boos are starting in the crowd, and that jars Lenalee. For the first time she looks up and around. There's not a lot of people, but there's still people. Still people calling for blood.

Their blood.

Her attention is drawn back to the people around her. ]

Chain? What's that?

[ She asks. She looks back at Damian for the first time and nods her head. ] You're right. We should focus on getting out of here.

[ She lowers her voice. ]

Maybe there's a way somewhere in the arena? Away from sight? [ They have to try. ]

[xuffasch]

<sub>( Damian decides to take this time to ignore his fellow competitors. Instead, he’s making a slow circle around the area, leering at the onlookers. It’s disgusting, really. They’re enjoying watching a bloodbath. Even at his worst, Damian only liked causing pain. Watching it was just lazy. But he’s also trying to think as he’s circling, keen eyes looking for anything amiss.

There’s nothing he can spot, no way out. He doesn’t even have the stupendous powers of the others—just the weapons in his hands and a lifetime’s worth of training. He bares his teeth into a snarl and pivots until the sword in his hands is pointed outwards, at the “crowd.” )</sub>

Don’t think you’re not next!

[invoking]

My power, it's-- [ Lenalee and Damian's voices fade. The crowd's roaring doesn't reach his ears. There's a soft, pleasant hum in his ears before he hears it:

Let me help.

He looks at Damian quickly. It doesn't sound like him. Gil presses his hand to his temple, groaning. ] What did you say?

[apostled]

[ Lenalee understood Damian's frustrations with the crowd. He wasn't wrong either. Whoever took them all was obviously very messed up in their head. It started with all of them as victims, it'd move on to everyone else.

She looked out at the crowd that didn't seem any bit placated by Damian's reaction. Then Gil spoke again.

Lenalee turned to look at him. He looked like his head was hurting. She took a step forward, raising a tentative hand to help. ]

Gil? Are you all right?

[xuffasch]

_{( He didn't know Gilbert well enough--or at all, really--to realize that something was wrong. But when Lenalee spoke up, Damian turned back around to face the two of them. His eyes narrowed. )}

What is it? What's wrong with him?

[invoking]

[ Their voices are almost drowned out-- still far away from reaching his ears. There's only one voice that echoes pleasantly in the back of his head. "I can help," it says.

He shakes his head initially, though he is giving it some thought for some inexplicable reason. They need to get out of here. Every inch of him is desperate to escape this twisted game.

Refusing help seems brash and he's tired and not sure what to do. Maybe if he just lets someone else take the reigns...

As Lenalee draws closer, he finds the bat in his hand again. He has no recollection of picking it up, which sets him off. When we attempts to open his mouth, no words come out. His heart is beating a hundred times faster as he directs the blunt side of the bat toward Lenalee's stomach. ]