[PS] Barracks

[Burter]

If you've been accepted, you will be escorted to a private barracks via an elevator. In the barracks there are 44 beds, numbered 1-44. You can meet, greet and strategize here. You can also still check out books from the DA Library via one of the attendants. You can also use the attendants to shop

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[Zangya]

The goddess of fear awoke with a start, only to find herself in a rather unfamiliar room. Well, unfamiliar in that it was not the room she had been told to sleep in—rather, it was something completely different, more military, more regulated, more… well, less accommodating. It was the barracks, undoubtedly, she remembered them from the previous year, but they seemed considerably new to her. They were a bit more regal despite their continuous military appearance, just as the entire complex had seemed quite medieval to her at first glance. Perhaps it was supposed to add to the theme. After all, it was called a battle “royale.”

The library had perhaps been the most obvious. Two golden statues had been manufactured in honor of the two previous winners of the tourney, Raditzu and Bardock—they each stood triumphantly by the doors that led to the museum and library, respectively. She didn’t seem too convinced that Raditzu would be one to have a statue in his honor promoting a museum or a library, but it was too late for any of those types of thoughts. She knew that now, the game must be always on her mind.

And yet she could not get her mind off of the appearance of the place. The bar, this year, had looked much like a classic Shakespearean tavern—and that seemed quaint, true, but it was not encouraging the participants to stay away from alcohol before the tournament began. After all, you saw what happen to Zangya when her indulgence went just a bit overboard—which brought her to look down at the object that had been flopping around in her hands. The rubber chicken. How… ironic that it seemed to join her in these barracks.

The barracks, resembling the other places slightly, were decorated in an appropriate manner—instead of numbers taped to each bed, there was a tapestry hanging above the headboard that signified their number. Making an about face, Zangya spotted the numeral that was sewn onto her tapestry—the number one.

“Number one?” she muttered, gazing up at the golden-threaded Arabic numeral that was staring down at her. “I’m—the first one accepted—” she stuttered, and couldn’t find it in herself to move from the spot, sitting gracefully on the bed, staring up at the number that guaranteed her passage into Dante’s Abyss 2008. Suddenly, her ponderings were rudely interrupted by the tapping of a dainty finger on her shoulder—she flipped around to find herself staring, surprised, at the blue-haired girl who had just awoken her from her trance. “Yes?” she sputtered, standing as she panted from her shock.

“The administration—Mr. Jak—asked me to inform you that we’re glad to see you up and running. You gave us a run for our money last night, trying to get you down here, Miss Zangya,” she replied, giggling slightly. “I’m sure you don’t remember, but you were quite intoxicated, and when our agents arrived to transport you, you refused to accompany them. If you hadn’t been so obviously drunk, they probably would have taken that as you exiting the competition. Knowing you were intoxicated, however, they simply dragged you down here by force. You fought back, of course, but were not injured in any way that could hinder you during the competition.”

Zangya was wide-eyed. “That seems… quite incidental.”

“Oh, yes, it is,” she assured her, “You will not be penalized for your actions under the influence. We have cleared you of any possibility of what may be called a ‘hangover’ so that your competitive spirit may be healthy. And I was to pass this information along to you as well—underneath your cot is what is called a survival bag. It contains your weapon, food, water, a scouter, a map, and a compass. You may look inside whenever you feel so compelled.”

“Thanks,” Zangya said, ushering the girl away. She didn’t waste any time of course. As soon as she felt compelled—which was rather close to ‘right away’—she shoved herself under the bed and pulled out the survival bag. She unzipped it, and reached inside. “What is it?” she wondered as she reached in and placed her hand around what must have been her weapon.

“Interesting.”

[Android 17]

Plunk…

Seventeen stared aimlessly into the crowd as Violet’s blood dripped off the tip of sword to the metal floor. Each drop struck the steel surface and broke apart with a melodic little popping noise. Those who had gathered to watch the impromptu duel began to whisper to one another about the bizarre behavior of the sword-wielding cyborg.

Plunk…

A frown spread across the android’s face, and with an exasperated sigh, he lifted the sword up to eye level. Although the blood had marred most of the sword’s normally reflective surface, there was still enough clear space for Seventeen to see the fire burning in his eyes. He knew that he should feel sorry or something, but deep down inside, he didn’t give a rat’s ass about the woman and her emotions. If she hadn’t be so vain with her love life then maybe she would have walked away like a normal human being, instead of making a scene for all the giddy media paparazzi.

Plunk…

“Fuck you,” Seventeen snarled, taking a wide step to the side and swinging the sword toward the wall. With a onomatopoetic splash, the blood from the blade smacked against the concrete wall, leaving behind a gruesome-looking design on the previously bland surface. “Fuck all of you!” The android added, turning toward the crowd as they began to back away from him.

“You’re all pathetic!” Seventeen spat, taking a single, menacing step toward the amalgamation of men, women, and bizarre aliens. The majority of them turned tail and evacuated the scene, and those that stayed took a number of steps away from the livid android. After all, they had all bore witness to what the fighter had done in the last two tournaments, and none of them wanted to wind up on the wrong end of the cyborg’s insanity.

“Mr. Seventeen,” spoke a timid voice from behind the infuriated android. With a rasping shout, the machine-hybrid sheathed the ensanguined blade and pivoted to face the man.

“What?” The cyborg hissed, frowning heavily at the puny, balding gentleman. The man let out a whimper and raised his shaking hands in the air.

“I-I-I’m just here to say that you’ve been selected to compete and may now report to barracks,” he whimpered, his voice wavering as he tried to avoid the android’s fiery glare. “You’re number two,” he added before fleeing down the hallway like a tiny rodent vying to escape the outstretched claws of a hungry housecat. Frowning, Seventeen cracked his neck and started down a nearby corridor. After making a few looping turns, he entered the small, circular room that contained the lift that led down into the barracks.

“Name and number?” The muscular attendant inquired—his voice as deep as his muscles were massive.

“Name is Seventeen, and I’m number two,” the android answered, hoping that the pea-brained bouncer wouldn’t confuse his name with the number the show’s producers had assigned to him. After consoling a small handheld device, the muscular guy nodded his head and motioned for the android to board the platform.

“Good luck,” he replied snidely as he reached to his right and yanked a large lever hidden behind the doorway. From beneath the android, he could hear the sound of rusty gears and cogs grinding against one another, and then in an instant, he was descending into the murkiness of the barracks. Although the lift only had to drop a few yards, the wait felt like forever, and a couple of times, Seventeen felt like reaching out and blasting apart on of the rows of lights that lined the wall of the lift shaft.

Ting!

In front of the ebony-haired android, the wall broke apart and swung open to reveal the musty, cramped barracks. It took only a few moments for a new frown to form upon the cyborg’s visage. After all, the majority of the room’s beds were empty, and the few warriors standing around appeared to be newcomers to the competition. Sighing at the strangers in the dank chamber, Seventeen made his way to the second bed in the first row and plopped down on the cot.

“And now he wait,” he muttered as he leaned back to rest his head against the tiny pillow that the lovely people at Syntech had provided for all the competitors.

[Celipa]

"A familiar face!"

Seventeen's eyes snapped open to find a female visage hovering over his own. He blinked in confusion and then rifled through his inner processor. The face was easily pinned to a name and identity. Celipa, a saiyan he had previously had an excursion on the North Kaio's planet with. His eyebrow arched at her sprawling grin.

"Celipa?" he inquired calmly. There were no traces of sleep in his voice, since his intricate design allowed his body to snap back into function immediately.

"That's me," she replied happily. Her back rolled back up, so she was no longer leaning uncomfortably close to the cyborg. "Seventeen, right? We hung out at King Kai's."

"Yeah," the noir haired warrior affirmed. "We did. I see that you've entered the Abyss, now," he sat up on his bed, so to better see the saiyaness. She climbed up onto the foot of his bed, and took a seat.

Still grinning stupidly, she replied, "Yep. This is my second time. Last year, a chick with blue hair shoved her fist through my back."

Seventeen blinked, and then his eyes darted over Cel's shoulder. The saiyaness' head shifted to follow his gaze, and her eyes came to rest on a purple haired woman, standing a short distance away from the bed and staring at them. Her face looked familiar to Celipa, but she couldn't pinpoint exactly why...

There was a moment of hesitation and then the woman stated, "Hey, err, I never got to thank you, um..."

"Celipa," the saiyaness answered. Her eyes had lit up with recognition. "I bartered with Baba to have you revived once!"

"Yeah. My name's Violet," she stated. Then her gaze turned to the cyborg behind the saiyaness. "And Seventeen, I'm so -"

He cut her off with a sharp interjection. "Me too," Seventeen's voice seemed unsure, almost.

An awkward silence fell over the three, like a particularly uncomfortable blanket. Cel looked from one acquaintance to the other, and she felt that she could probably shatter the tension with her fist.

"So!" she exclaimed. "How 'bout them Arlians!?"

Both Violet and Seventeen shared glances with one another, which were probably supposed to slip Celipa's notice, but didn't quite do so. The saiyaness rose to her feet and hopped down from Seventeen's bed. Carelessly, she stretched out her arms and then scratched her nose rather unceremoniously.

"We enter the island soon," the saiyan stated, to spark up some sort of conversation. "I sure hope I don't have to kill you guys."

"Yeah," Seventeen replied. He didn't seem as if he would be too concerned about killing her, though. This particular cyborg struck Celipa as the kind of man who would play to win in a situation such as this.

That was ok, though. She was playing to win, too.

Violet smiled faintly. "This place always brings out the worst in people."

[Kirano]

It was only when Kirano removed himself from the barstool that he began feeling the effects of the alcohol he had consumed. It had slowly invaded his system and now it was taking its toll on him, as he nearly lost balance after taking one step forward. “You alright?” the short ader asked, witnessing what had transpired through the corner of her eye.

“I think I had too much to drink,” he realised as the bar and its occupants began to slowly spin. He used a hand to caress his face, hoping to rub off the effects, but that obviously did not work, neither could he even feel his face.

It was only when his body swayed to the right, that Zangya offered to support him, shifting her small frame next to his, wrapping a tiny arm around his waist, while she threw his left arm on her shoulder. “Easy, small steps” she advised, carefully guiding him towards the exit, which seemed so far away due to their sluggish pace. “Don’t worry, the barracks have beds you can rest on.”

“Barracks, what’s the barracks?” he asked, in a dopey tone, with lazy reddish eyes that made him appear sedated. He must have been seriously wasted if he had already forgotten about the barracks.

“Don’t worry, you’ll soon see for yourself.” She was not even sure how well the squinted eyed human could see at present. It was like leading a half blind man.

“You’re Kirano,” said a bald headed man dressed in a maroon robe, holding a clipboard with information attached to it. He was sure ‘earth’s young hero’ was standing before him.

“What if I am?” he asked, jerking his head towards the man.

“Congratulations, sir, you have been accepted into the barracks.”

Zangya gazed up at the newly accepted participant. “I thought you said you had been accepted into the barracks already.”

“What? Wuh?”

Zangya simply shook her head, knowing she was not going to get a proper answer from him in his current condition.

The DA member of staff reached into his robe and pulled out a scroll to present to the human, as an official confirmation. “What’s that for?” the blonde haired man asked. Sighing, Zangya took the scroll from the man.

“See that he gets some rest,” said the concerned staff member.

“I will,” she replied.

-------

Zangya had successfully managed to guide all 200 pounds of Kirano to the barracks. After presenting both her and his scroll of acceptance to one of the two guards at the entrance door, she along with her new dependant companion entered. “Thanks babe,” he smiled to the orange haired ader. Whenever she would need a favor, she would definitely come to Kirano.

The people in the room seemed a blur, but with effort he managed to identify their features, notably, recognizing android Seventeen. If only Kirano remembered his mission.

[Zangya]

“Seventeen!” Kirano called, quite drunkenly.

Zangya darted after the blonde-headed human as he stalked over to his numeral-named friend—she quickly caught hold of him as he tipped over, saving him from a nasty fall into the headboard. “Hey! Can someone come get this crap out of his system?” she called. An attendant was over momentarily, and told Zangya that they had turned off the machine for the night—there was really nothing they could do. The Ader cursed under her breath, and then assisted Kirano in sitting down next to his friend. “Hi,” she said, “He’s had a bit too much to drink.”

“I can tell,” Seventeen replied. “Well, let me thank you for bringing him down here. And your name is?” the android asked her, and she opened her mouth to tell him, but Celipa piped up beforehand.

“This is Zangya,” she said. “I met her at last year’s Dante’s Abyss—I nearly killed her. We’ve reconciled.” The saiyan smiled at her fledgling friend. Zangya grinned back, nodding. “Zangya, this is Violet,” she said, pointing to the purple-haired woman, “And Seventeen. He’s an android.” The green-skinned femme looked at both of her new acquaintances, and bowed her head cordially. They did the same.

“Hi, Zangya,” Violet said, “So, this is your second time in Dante’s Abyss?” she asked, and Zangya nodded. “Well, that’s good. If I remember right, this is my second time, too.” Violet grinned, pushing a bit of her hair back behind her ear. “So we have something in common!”

Zangya smiled awkwardly. She normally didn’t associate with humans that well—Celipa was a saiyan, so she got along easily with her, and she had only meant to have a fleeting conversation with Kirano, but now she was being friendly to this human woman? It astounded her; she’d never really had a relationship like that, besides perhaps that shinobi during the Pantheon’s invasion. But that wasn’t meant to be long-term, either.

“Only a few more hours before the competition’s set to begin,” Seventeen noted. His processors were counting down. “Everyone seems excited.”

Zangya looked at him. She wasn’t quite sure she liked him being so observant to be able to tell her emotions. But then again, she supposed there was no harm in it—he seemed fine enough. She quickly found a seat next to Violet; the circle of four—well, five, if you could count the slowly awakening Kirano—stared at one another for a second, and then the silence was broken.

“So… how ‘bout them Arlians?” Celipa piped up again.

“Please,” Seventeen said.

And then, in tandem, he and Kirano shouted: “NO MORE ARLIANS!”

[Violet]

Shift. In cars, it’s the mechanism that changes your speed. In life…it’s a clammy hand on your shoulder that ushers your soul in a completely different direction. It wasn’t just a friendly push tonight, it was Chuck Norris round-housing her across the room. She’d shifted tonight, opened herself up enough to feel the pleasure of another’s company a little more intimate than mere small talk. She’d felt again. It was like the blossoming of a flower bud in spring, if you watched, you’d miss it completely. Tonight, however, she didn’t miss it.

She could feel the ghostly impressions of his fingers as they clutched her so possessively against him, feeling his skin move against hers as it responded to the soft touch. His lips tasted like Chardonnay, intoxicatingly sweet and mellow against her tongue as she drank from his bronzed cup. She was drunk off that kiss; a slow, hazy smile lifted to her rosy lips as she recalled the sweet sensation. It was good, no, it was amazing. It turned her on to the point where he invaded her thoughts like a virus, overwriting everything else that she should be thinking about. Like her survival.

It was hard to tack the events that had compelled this attraction, as there were far too many to have inspired her sudden decision. It had to be done, though; she had to let him know that not only did she not lack courage, but that some small part of her cared for him. The message was clear: if he didn’t get it, then she knew that these emotions were wrong. She was hoping she wasn’t wrong, because how could something like that be a mistake?

Since her arrival in the Barracks, two others had joined them, a weird green skinned chick with buttery yellow hair, and Kirano. Hell, she hadn’t seen him in, what? Three years? Shooting her troubled thoughts to the wind, Violet decided it would be better to try to concentrate on her current company than to think about Bardock. It would do her a lot of good to just let him have his own space, as she most definitely needed hers.

“It’s been a while, Kirano. How’s life been treating you since we massacred the Red Stallions?” Vi pulled her knees to her chest as she watched the inebriated man stumble over his words, trying desperately to remember what the hell she was talking about.

“Red what?” he mumbled, staring at her with his foggy wandering eyes. “You mean where we…”

“It was the last time Civil Unrest teamed up outside of Dante’s Abyss. Surely, you couldn’t forget it, Piccolo ended up spirit bombing them bitches.” She offered. “What happened to you guys? I mean, not Zangya or Celipa, because last I checked, I was the only reigning female in the house.” She shot a venomous glare towards the two girls in question. No one intruded upon her domain. She was the lioness of this fucking pride.

“I have a son.” Kirano stated clearly, as if the thought of his child wiped away some of the effects of his intoxication. “And just you know, around.”

It seemed they’ve all been ‘around’. “Yeah, same here, minus the whole ‘kid’ thing.” Vi chuckled. “Just a little more around than I’d like to be.”

“Where have you been, by the way, Vi? I haven’t seen you since our excursion in space a while back ago.” Seventeen asked, a familiar shine sparkled in his ebony eyes. He was referring back to when she tried to kill them both when she went on a depressed rampage in space. She had a lot to thank him for, but that’ll all come later. Regaling her brothers in tales of her exploits seemed a hell of a lot more interesting.

“Me and Jackie, and some crazy bitch, oh, what’s her name? Bulma? She worked for Capsule Corp or some shit, but we took down Red Ribbon. Still can’t shake the crazies that keep trying to kill me.” Violet smiled. “In fact, we got one that needs taken care of after the game.”

“We?” Seventeen’s interest piqued. “You still keep in touch with Jackie Chun?”

Shaking her head, she replied, “I haven’t heard from him since then, really. I am referring to someone else.” Her cheeks colored to a deep, rosy hue as she recalled how she left the flustered Saiyan back at the arcade.

“Oh? Who?”

“Ironically, we all met him during Dante’s Abyss a few years ago. Remember when Ragnarok Black ganged up on us?”

‘teen nodded, he remembered, alright. Fuckers took out half their team. “Don’t tell me you’re here with that cosmetically challenged asshole that won that year.”

She shook her head, a nervous smile touching her lips. “Nope. I’m here with his pops, the guy that won last year’s game. Funny, huh?”







OOC: Bleh.

[Aero]

Aero walked past the grouping of females, slinging his head behind him at every piece of tail that looked reasonably good. Damn shame these chicks want to waste their time on some guy named Bardock, he thought as he turned his head back around to look at the path he walked along. A damn shame.

Another hallway outstretched before him, and at the end of it were two metal slabs that met together—and elevator. He approached it and pressed in the button labeled with a downward arrow. Ting! The button flashed and the doors parted. Aero walked into the elevator and stared at the side panel.

The panel, instead of numbers, was marked with the names of the locations he could choose to go to—the barracks, the bar, the library, Living Quarters. He thought the options over in his head, reaching a hand up to rub his indistinguishable facial hair. The bar is always fun, he said to himself, almost pressing the button with his free hand. But then again, there might be more people in the barracks. He pressed the button to the barracks.

***

“Name and number,” the attendant remarked, using one of his robust arms to block the door (a wonderfully crafted tattoo rested on his forearm).

Aero took a look at the attendant. He was a brawny middle-aged man—a symbol of Karl Jak’s power . . . and homosexuality. Why else would there be such an imposing figure guarding a meaningless door? Hopefully it wasn’t meant to intimidate the contenders. Aero wasn’t intimidated.

“The name’s Aero, Joe,” he replied, tempted to reach out and swat the man’s arm away. He didn’t give a hell about those muscles. To him they only displayed overcompensation and the effectiveness of human growth hormone.

“The number?” the attendant inquired, taking out what seemed to be a palm pilot, and searching for the contestant’s name. “I’m going to need that number.”

“Look, I was never given a one,” Aero retort ed. “So how about you just step aside and let me threw. Make both our lives a little easier, ya dig?”

The attendant’s facial expression shifted to something much more exasperated than the blank look it had before. He glanced back down at the pilot and finally found the information he was seeking. “Aero Cowabunga, contestant number eight,” he remarked. “Inside, under the cot labeled with your number, you should find a bag; it will contain all of the supplies you’ll need for the competition. Thank you for your patience.”

“Yeah, that’s right, better of found my name,” Aero replied arrogantly. “For a moment I thought I was going to have to get disqualified for touching Karl’s precious toy.” He laughed, swatting that arm out of his way and entering the barracks.

The attendant thought about retaliating, but simply let him pass.

The barracks resembled something similar to a military facility used for the sole purpose of housing soldiers. On both sides of the room were cots columned from front to back, each with a number mounted above them—one to forty-four. Aero observed the barracks from the comfort of the doorway (still a few feet away from the attendant that that he insulted). There were a few people circled around cot number two—two males, three females. Three females. Three was more than two. Three minus two was one. One leftover woman. One perfectly fine leftover woman.

He was going to seize one of the fine ladies for his own selfish reasons. Aero was never the brightest bulb in the package, but one thing that he was cunning at was seducing women. He was a professional at it, a regular Tucker Max at it. In school he failed almost every test that was placed in front of him, but if those tests would have been questionnaires one women—anything about women, minus their emotional bipolar tendencies—he could have soared with Mavrick grades. His encounter with the groupie, after his journey through the “Wall of Champions”, left a sour taste in his mouth. He had failed, regardless if it was to a celebrity. This was a fresh opportunity to redeem himself. It was time to do just that.

“Hey fellas,” he said as he walked passed—it was the only thing he could conjure up in the moment.

A blonde man looked over at him. He had the scent of alcohol on his clothes and the bewildering expression of intoxication written all over his face. The jade-shaded female next to him followed his eyes over to him and stared at him blankly. “Hi,” she replied.

Her words caught the attention of the rest of the party and they greeted him with their eyes as well. Great, I’m on stage now, he thought. Can’t back down now.

“New here?” the other male amongst them asked. His eyes seemed different from the rest of theirs somehow.

“Yeah,” Aero responded, taking a seat next to the lady that was kind enough to say hi to him, on bed labeled number one. “What about ya’ll?”

“This is Kirano’s uno,” the blond drunkenly answered, pointing at himself as his body swayed from side to side. Aero wondered when he was going to tip over.

“Don’t mind him,” the jade lady remarked. She looked at Aero, but still watched Kirano from the corner of her eye. “I’m Zangya. This is my second DA appearance. What’s your name?”

“Damn, almost forgot bout that one. I’m Aero. First time in this competition and hopefully the only time needed in this competition!” he exclaimed, pumping his fist.

“Cocky are we?” the other man said as he glanced over at him, his black hair hiding some of his facial features. “I’m Seventeen. Like the number. And to answer your question: I’ve been here a few times. Lost count. Never kept count, for it doesn’t matter.”

Aero could detect the blandness in his voice and concluded that he was probably being honest—he didn’t keep count.

Standing in front of Seventeen was another female. She had short hair and an athletic build (they all had an athletic build; they were expected to for such a draining contest). “I’m Celipa,” she answered before he had the chance to ask. “This is my second time too. The person next to me is Violet.” Aero shot a glance around Zangya to catch the face of the woman Celipa was mentioning. Attractive, just like the other two. “Second time.”

“Well, it’s good to see that there are some attractive females competing,” Aero said with a subtle smile on his face—he tried desperately to keep it from manifesting into a perverted grin. “Maybe I can even tag along with one of you once the competition starts, ya know. Or even one of you two fellas.”

“You’ll soon discover the nature of Dante’s Abyss, Aero,” Seventeen muttered with a subsequent sigh. “It’s not a very captivating nature either.”

Aero had always suffered from his Attention Deficit Disorder. It was a handicap that had always rendered him incapable of listening very well, and even if he was able to listen, unable to retain it. This one was different, however. He spoke with such a bland voice, but his words demanding Aero’s attention. It was like an aura incased his body. An aura generated from years of experience in Dante’s Abyss.