Mat and Meg

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Squee, May 29, 2015.

  1. @Greenie (OOC I'd appreciate some reminders of her appearance in your post xD Hard time remembering.)
    Mat is 5'10" with a slim body type, built for agility rather than power.

    The day was not unlike many others spent in the brown and gray prison cells. Iron bars splitting up the rooms, reaching from the concrete floor to the matching ceiling, sunlight was never seen, instead the area was permanently lit by a lantern that almost never went out, making it near impossible to tell night from day. Instead, the only hint that the sun was setting was the shout from the guards changing shifts. The awful stench of unbathed humans filled the room, the only thing stopping Mat from vomiting was the lack of sustenance that might find its way crawling up his throat. It was disgusting and the partnered feeling of dirty rags worn on the prisoners body made it no better.

    Mats glasses had not been changed since he had arrived as a prisoner of war. They did not care that he shared their nationality, he was labeled a traitor, and rightfully so. He had left Missea and fought against them. As horribly as he was treated, Mat agreed that he belonged here right now, but that did not change how much he detested the treatment. It was one thing to treat prisoners of war worse than dirt, but to pit them against one another in a fight to the death? That was for more than cruel, it was downright evil. Fighting one another to amuse the people of Missea, it made Mat feel even more sick than the stench of the cells.

    Looking through his glasses, the eye piece on the right eye was cracked, but he had no choice other than using these broken spectacles. With a slightly distorted image Mat could see a familiar face, though he'd never talked to her before. She was well known on the battle arena, her name was Meg, wielding Earth. Though their emblems were taken away when they weren't fighting, he did remember seeing her in combat a few times. He'd never had the pleasure of talking to her before, let alone fighting. Mat himself had earned a fair reputation in the battle arena, not as a ruthless murderer, but rather the complete opposite. Mat had never killed a foe, which made some fights particularly difficult when is foes wanted to kill him in hopes they will be rewarded. There was no reward for killing, everyone was treated the same.

    Leaning against the concrete wall, Mat looked at Meg through the bars that separated them. "Hey," he spoke simply, friends in an arena might make it easier to survive. "I'm Mat, short for Mateus." For now there was no reason for Mat to reveal his last name, it might get him in trouble as his mother, Herleva Steadman, was a general for Missea, it might get messy if he's found to be the son of the enemy. "I've heard you know how to fight better than most, do you find this to be true?" He'd have to assess her confidence, for now he would consider her a potential enemy instead of a potential friend.

  2. ((Sure thing :3 [​IMG] She looked somewhat like this. Her eyes are more of a grape green than blue. She also a thin white scar on her right cheek. Her right shoulder has a red tattoo feather on it. She's about 5'3 and 115 lbs))

    Meanwhile, the one name Meg was sitting with her back against the grimy prison cell's back wall, one leg pressed up against her chest, the other ones stretched out before her. Her chin was resting on her knee, her black hair falling on either side of her face as she as she simply stared past the bars. She was trying to imagine the scent of flowers. The keyword here was try of course. All she could smell was sweat, urine, blood and other undesirables. Her poor nose was not happy at the moment, and neither were her eyes. She couldn't remember what the sight of green grass looked like anymore. Green moss and mold, definitely. She looked a little to the side where there was a piece of something covered with fuzzy white and green substance. She couldn't recall what the heck that had been.

    "Bah," she muttered, giving up trying. The best she could maybe do was draw some for herself in the dust and dirt on the prison floor. Yeah, wouldn't the guards like seeing that? She sighed a little and brought up her other leg, tucking it under her chin as well, not wanting it to get stiff while waiting for yet another bloody fight. Dangit, didn't they realize that she was better off being sent off to be a gardener slave or something? Huh, bet they like watching an itty bitty girl get the best of a hulking fata**.

    She blinked and looked up when she realized she heard words spoken by someone who was a prisoner. Curious, she looked over to the other cell to see the taller fellow with the glasses. Hm... He said his name was Mat, but she already knew that, having seen him a few times before in a fight. Admittedly, she had been a little impressed but mostly wary. She didn't understand what he wielded, not did she understand why he didn't kill his opponents. What if they came back for him afterwards? It puzzled her... and now he was talking to her? Hm... what's his deal?

    "Er, maybe?" Meg wasn't sure why she decided to talk to the fellow. A snickering part of her mind was telling her it was because of the glasses, but she told that part of her mind to shut the hell up. "I dunno... I just use whatever I can to stay alive... no bloody clue why though. It's not like we're gonna get outta here anyway." She stood up, wincing as her stiff legs protested, though she ignored that after a moment and walked over to where the bars separated the cells. "I've seen you fight before, you're not half bad... why don't you just off 'em?"​
  3. In her current position it was very hard to tell how tall she was, but it was definite that she was indeed shorter than himself. She was quite humble about her abilities and this made Mat gain a small degree of respect for her. Arrogance was a good way to make yourself look bad to anyone that seeks to kindle a friendly relationship. She had a fair question of her own. Granted it made it harder for him to survive here but he did not like the idea of killing what was essentially his kin. If he were to kill anyone else that was a prisoner he'd not only be no better than those that kept him here but he'd be killing victims, he was able to survive just fine when he wielded, focusing more on incapacitating the enemy rather than eliminating them. Everyone that fought were just prisoners of war just like themselves.

    Of course he did not know Meg well enough to reveal this, instead he took a deep breath just to cough out the stench of the prison, this was even worse than poison. "I guess I don't have the heart." This was a slightly cryptic answer, for now he refused to give her more information than she needed. If she was so modest throughout her character then it was certain that she fought to survive, he could use this to his advantage. If they were to fight then they could probably make it a mutual spar. Then again, the spectators may not like the idea of this.

    Mat pushed his back off the concrete wall and approached the bars that separated Mat from Meg and showed his full face. His right hand involuntarily floated to his face and adjusted his broken glasses ever so slightly. This was less out of necessity and more out of habit, in combat he always needed to adjust them and living in a place like this meant he had done a lot of adjustments to his glasses. "Maybe we will get out. I fight because I hope for freedom, though it may be foolish." Mat had a lot of hope, but it was a hope born from blissful ignorance, he had no contact with the outside world and the only way to get fresh air was to fight, he had no idea what condition the world was in. The war could have been lost by now, or even won but the prisoners held captive forgotten about. He knew all of this, but refused to let go.

    There was but one time where they were given power and that was in the battle arena. As of yet nobody had been foolhardy enough to try breaking out of the arena as there were many prison guards and witnesses to see it all happen if anything had been attempted. Not to mention winning a battle earns ever so slightly better treatment, the risk you take upon escaping is death, though in this way death was far more certain than the arena. So far Mat had only met one who had the power to kill him but when victory was declared and his foe was given the option Mat was shown mercy much like the mercy Mat had given his opponents. Mat had earned a reputation and it worked in his favor, if his foes knew they were not putting their lives on the line they usually acted much less aggressively towards him. It was his own strategy, risky as it may be.
  4. "Seriously?" Meg was a little surprised to hear Mat's excuse for not killing any of the prisoners. She could have understood him if he was a newbie, a rookie, someone who was unfledged. But she had been here a while and survived, and during that time she had heard his name, even seen him fight. She knew he wasn't a newbie. So then... why? What if he ended up dying one day? What was the point then? She rubbed at her forehead, trying to get his reasoning to make some sort of sense, but at the moment it just refused to. There was one idea that perhaps he was selfless. But then that made even less sense! Wouldn't a selfless person kill the poor opponent rather than ensure that they remained in this vile place?

    Ugh, I am thinking too much, Meg told herself, lightly hitting her forehead with her fist. Stop, stop now. She blinked and looked up in time to see Mat approach the bars. For a moment she stared at the fellow shamelessly, taking in his form. Definitely taller than her, but then, so were so many of the fighters here. It was something she didn't mind, because being of small stature did have its own perks while fighting. Well, at least he wasn't fat like the last person she'd fought against. It had been a literal pain in the neck to move him off of her; at least if she had to fight against Mat, she didn't have to worry about being squashed to death. Or rather... it seemed she didn't have to worry at all about dying if she was to ever go up against him. But... what about her? Would she be able to kill someone she knew wouldn't try to off her? What a moral dilemma.

    Her eyes moved to the glasses and she groaned inwardly. She'd always had a thing for specs, and obviously being shoved in a prison cell hadn't stopped her brain from noticing. Dammit, she thought before she realized he had said something... something about freedom. Her hands lightly held the bars of the cell as she actually cracked a dry smile. Her lips cracked a little; it had been a while since they had curved in that direction. "Are you... wait, you are seriously saying that," she breathed. She didn't want to sound as if she was scorning him. She'd never been that kind of person, nor did she want to turn into someone who only saw the shadows in the tunnel and not the light at the end. But... it was hard. Even a normal free person would have negative thoughts if they were living in these conditions. The added labels of 'slave' and gladiator crushed a person's spirit even further. And for the moment, it seemed as if Meg's spirits were struggling to remain intact.

    "Freedom is something I don't wanna think about," she finally said, looking away from Mat and down to where the bars met with the cell floors. "Y'know, thinking about stuff like that, hope, freedom, escape... It just ends up hurting inside when you know it's futile." She looked up, a dark look in her green eyes. "All of 'em out there that fought and died, they probably thought the same but... well yeah... now they're dead and no one gives a s***." She sighed and scuffed the grimy ground with her foot. "Don't even know why I try no more..." The last part was muttered mostly to herself.​
  5. Seeing Meg in her despair irked Mat ever so slightly, just enough that his eyes showed disappointment as he looked at her face. It wasn't unusual to see someone without the spirit to go on, but there was something different about this one, for some reason he felt absolutely compelled to fix her view on freedom. He wanted to escape, and she had to want out too, one way or another. A fire began to kindle in his soul, a burning desire to prove her wrong, the drive to show her that freedom, while with a steep price, can always be achieved. "It's true, a lot of them died, a lot of us died." His hand adjusted his glasses once more, this time intentional as they had fallen ever so slightly down his nose.

    "Maybe the reason you try," Mat continued, this time speaking louder and with more authority than before, it was his attempt at demanding respect, "Is because deep down inside there is a small ember of desire, you try because deep down inside you think someday you could be saved." This may have been a little bit mean, but Mat cared very little for being abrasive time to time, it was just like him to be as brutally honest as possible. With that honesty, he also found the urge to continue on even more. "Perhaps you even desire to save someone else in return." It was originally just a thought, but an idea quickly sprouted from the ashes of lost hope.

    "Perhaps we could save eachother." By saying that he remembered something his mother once said to him. "All the failures have to fuel success, some of us that have died would have loved nothing more than to see others see freedom." There was not much else to say. Mat could foresee one of two responses, her yelling at him and rejecting his ideas, or a possible breakdown, he did not see her agreeing with his madness, the idea of escaping was not a new one but it was one that never ended well.
  6. Meg had looked back up just in time to see the disappointed eyes. They confused her... and also made her feel ashamed, as if she had just said something wrong. She bit the inside of her mouth, keeping her expression neutral although the shame did cause her face to turn red and warm. It was a normal thing for her, back when she used to be free. She hated disappointing people, seeing those kind of eyes. She just hadn't expected seeing them in here. Scared eyes, angry eyes, taunting eyes, yes. Not disappointed ones.

    She looked at the bars once more, rubbing her neck a little as she listened to his words. Was that really why she fought? Wasn't it just because death was... scary? Every single sentient being feared death, unless they were crazy or suicidal. She had begun to get feeling of the latter, but every time she found herself pitted against someone, she refused to die. It was an instinctive thing for her... or that's what she had thought. Could he be right and she was wrong?

    "Save someone?" The words came out of Meg's mouth and her eyes stung slightly. Dammit, I will not cry. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep a hold on her unsteady emotions. "There was one... effing bastard." Ulrich had been his name. He had been young, just ten years old when she found him, a victim of both poverty as well as abuse from men who were worse than animals. She along with her friend Bram had cared for him, brought him back to health, loved him like a brother... and then he had betrayed them for power. Just thinking of it made her want to both cry in grief and punch the wall in rage.

    She did neither however, letting out a slow breath to calm herself. "Save each other?" Weren't those just... fancy words? How could they come true? She sighed softly, shaking her head, about to say no... when she paused. What was that he said? "... some of us that have died would have loved nothing more than to see others see freedom." In her mind she could hear the voice of her friend Bram. He had really been more of a father figure, having found her in the streets and taking her under his wings. He would always tell her to think positively, see the glass half full, along with any other analogies, similes and metaphors he could throw in. He had been sent to this hell as well. He had never been a fighter, however, and soon succumbed to his wounds, dying in the midst of a fight.

    "We'll get outta here Meggie, just wait." He would tell her this whenever he'd see her. And when she would hear those words, she would believe them... until he died.

    Meg finally looked back up, eyes dry once more. "How... would we do it?" she asked, her hands holding on to the bars that separated them once more. She didn't know if there was a point in even thinking about it... but maybe she could hope again? It had been awhile since someone had even talked to her in such a manner. Maybe it was a sign?
  7. The response mat received was certainly not what he had expected, but he was glad this was the response. The way she responded showed to Mat that she had plenty of feelings still built up, much like himself, though it was without a doubt his were different. Mat looked her in the eyes as his hands grabbed the bars, though his broken glasses distorted the image ever so slightly. The hindrance to his vision was frustrating, but he could still see better with them on than off, at least this way he had one good eye. He could at least make out through her facial expressions that he had struck a cord, and a rather sensitive one. He could also hear it in her voice, this actually made Mat happy. Not about bringing up negative thoughts, but because he had found beauty in a negative space.

    Her next question was a difficult one, and truth be told he had no real answer. The question of how was one he'd been seeking the answer to for so long, long enough that he'd forgotten when the idea first came to his head. "How?" Mat adjusted his glasses as he knelt down to get a closer, less distorted look at her face. Now the shot at his eyes would be far more clear to her, though his vision remained the same. As he tried to cook up a decent answer the sad truth was all he could say, making him feel like a fool for even initiating conversation. "I...Well, it's..." Trying to reach for words that would make him seem less like a child dreaming of the impossible, he surrendered to the truth as he looked away, not wanting to look in her eyes as he spoke. "I don't know."

    He paused for a small moment before taking in a deep breath of air and huffing it right back out in the form of a heavy sigh. Mat had not a single idea of how to get out of here, he'd played through so many scenarios as he could in his head and each one had the same conclusion of failure. The only time he'd be given the power to escape was in combat when prisoners were given weapons and emblems to wield their respective elements. During this time they were heavily guarded, there was very little room for survival if one were to rebel. Still, it was the best bet, but probably the most dangerous. It was a painful truth that the prison they were in was of impeccable security. Escaping would not be easy.

    Leaving that thought behind, Mat had to say something, anything to make up for appearing to be no more than a dreamer. "However, I will escape. The problem is," he continued, this time turning his head to look back at her face that was now level with his own, "I can't do it alone. Nobody can." It was painfully obvious this was his way of asking if she would help him without actually using the exact words. His tone said it all, he was serious, worried, and above all, scared. Scared of the response, terrified of the results, and petrified of what might happen if he were to make a mistake that might cost her life. Despite it all, this was his last option. If she truly felt as though she had nothing left, then he could recruit her help and somehow find a way out of this small pit of hell.
  8. Meg stared at him as he knelt down, and she was kind of grateful for that. Craning her neck up to see someone taller could be a little painful from this close. She blinked, looking at the cracked glasses in the frame. She was actually surprised that it wasn't cracked even more than it already was. In fact, she was surprised he still had them. How did he manage to fight with them on? Wasn't it hard, keeping them intact? Bram had worn specs as well. There had been this one time she had forcefully snatched them from him and put them on. He had been quite gleeful to tell her she deserved the headache that had assaulted her.

    Hm... His answer to her question along with the way he looked away didn't really stir any confidence in her. A pipe dream, was it? She was a little surprised at herself however, when she didn't look away in disdain. Instead she simply scratched at the old scar on her cheek, trying to think a little on the problem. A seed of hope had been planted in her heart and she didn't want that seed to dry up and die. A little gardener she was, whether for a garden of the world or the garden of her heart. The latter garden was infested with weeds and cobwebs, but maybe, just maybe once more it could be cultivated.

    She heard him sigh and a frown came on her face. Oi... you don't get to sigh after the monologue! But that was something she would never dare say out loud, unless she really wanted to be a mean person. Meg was a fighter, a dirty fighter at that. She would yank hair, throw sand in someone's face, kick them in the crotch. But she didn't use words against them, or tried not to anyway. Sticks and stones hurt like hell, but words hurt inside where you couldn't bind and bandage.

    But 'how' was a good question, and the answer was needed. She blinked when he looked back at her. He seemed to have his resolve once more. She tried to look away from his eyes but it was rather difficult, especially after his last statement, the tone of voice. Ugh... Meg started chewing on her bottom lip, a rather silly thing to do as it was already burning from having cracked before. She couldn't help it though, it was a nervous habit. She scratched the back of her head rather fiercely before letting out a huff, rubbing her temple with her fingers.

    "I want out," she finally said to him. "You're right, I don't wanna die... but I don't wanna live here for the rest of my life and die of old age in... these." She held up her arms to show her stained and dirty shirt. A wry smile came on her face and she winced; her lips hurt. "Ain't that just like a girl, worried about clothes."​
  9. Things were beginning to look promising between the two. Her comment made Mat giggle very lightly as he looked at his own disgusting wardrobe. Clothes that their captors didn't even bother to wash. It was rather strange to think the lucky were the ones that got their clothing damaged in the arena, it meant the next piece of fabric they'd cover their bodies with would be fresh. Well, as fresh as they came. Still rancid, by comparison it was a breath of spring air. Mat let go of the bars as he found his hands slipping lower, closer to hers, and placed one on his knee and the other at his side.

    "I don't even remember who I used to be. I don't remember my old friends or what I thought my destiny to be, I only know that I want those back." The truth was this quote was one he'd been wanting to say, he had a lot of time to work on it before finding someone he felt he could speak to like this. Maybe it was a little too poetic to fit into the conversation, but once the words were out there he couldn't take them back. His hand moved from his side to adjust his glasses once again, it was near impossible for him to resist the urge to move the specs.

    An idea had come across Mats mind, a way the two could assess one another in a completely unbiased environment. "We should fight in the arena." He gave a pause to allow time for his suggestion to sink in before he continued. "If we fight we can take the opportunity to show eachother what we can do, a fair way of knowing just how far we can push one another. It will, of course, be staged. If you don't trust me I have no problem agreeing that you will be the victor." Maybe it was a bad idea, but it was an idea regardless. He had already begun to play out a way in which the fight might happen, a way the guards might buy their staged spar for a real fight. It was simple, stage an argument.
  10. Meg's eyes widened a little when she realized her comment on clothes actually amused Mat. It also made her feel good, however, that even in their pitiable condition they could actually find something to laugh about. She brought a hand up to touch her lip, bringing her finger back to scowl a little at the drop of blood on it. Oh well, worth it, she thought to herself before licking her lips a little in an attempt to moisten them. She had just remembered she liked to smile and laugh. Perhaps one day in the future she would remember that she was actually a bit of a talkative person when around friends.

    That's when she noticed his slipping hands and gave a slight grin. She was about to say something but paused when he started speaking. It made her think a little. She could remember old friends, Bram who was dead, Ulrich who she hoped was dead. Destiny? "I never even thought that far to be honest," she admitted as she once more held on to the bars, more out of habit than needing actual support. "I guess life was..." She had to think a little. "Well, all about the next meal, really. It'd kinda get annoying at times... like... there had to be something more than just eating... right?" But when the stomach would hurt so much that she felt like vomiting, Meg would have had no other thought than filling the void in her belly.

    "Woah... what?!" Meg stared at him for a moment, wondering if he was making a joke when he mentioned fighting against each other. Hm... It didn't seem like it. She pressed her face against the bars, an eyebrow raised as she listened to the rest of his idea. By the time he was done explained, she had a finger in her mouth, chewing on a dirty finger nail. She bit a little too deep and jerked it out of her mouth, shaking her finger a little before letting out a breath. "Okay... I admit I thought you were being stupid for a sec... but I think I get you." She scratched at the back of her neck for a moment before continuing. "It'd have to look really real though... like... well... I usually try to off the ones after me." She looked a little ashamed of herself, which was a first. "If I act any diff... they'll notice. You're gonna have to like... make it hard for me... hard enough that I can't win. We all know you don't off anyone so it won't be weird if you let me go as mercy."​
    #10 Greenie, Jun 4, 2015
    Last edited: Jun 4, 2015
  11. What she said was indeed true, it would probably look strange if she didn't kill her enemy. Mat, on the other hand, was the other way around. He wondered if maybe the way they contrasted one another laid an impact on the relationship the two might have should they manage to escape, but the idea was quickly shaken off. "That's a fair point." Though the way she assumed he'd have to try extra hard slightly irked him, though maybe she simply meant it would have to look convincing. Of course, that was the point, he wanted to see how she was at her best and to show her how he was at his. Of course, if things got a little too intense, the deal was mutual and it would be possible to hold back, or even stage an opening for a counter attack.

    "I know to you I'm probably speaking in delusions of grandeur," Mat adjusted his glasses as he looked around, checking if anyone else was listening, though most seemed to be minding their own business, "But let's be honest," he continued, "We need a dream to be able to live here." The hope that he might someday escape was what Mat had used to fuel his will to survive, if he thought he'd die here there would be no point in continuing. Adjusting his clothing now rather than his glasses, Mat spoke once more, "I trust you."
  12. "To be honest, yeah... it kinda does sound like... all those fancy words you're using." Meg wet her lips rather carefully before giving a hint of a smirk, not wanting to rip them even more than they already were. She scratched at her neck once more before nodding a little. She'd once had a dream, but it had been shattered. She didn't know if she wanted to dream again, but maybe if she actually took part in something, saw some fruits... maybe that would work.

    She was silent at his last words before looking down for a moment. Trust was something that was so hard for her to give after being betrayed. For the time being though, they both seemed to have a similar goal, right? There was no reason for him to betray her, she was a nothing and there would be no sense in it. She looked back up, green eyes determined. "I trust you too," she said rather quietly. "Let's get outta this hell hole together."

    Meg then moved back from the cell, feeling a little lighter inside now that she'd said those words. It was like someone was giving her another chance, though her sensible side was telling her that in actuality she was the one who was giving a chance. Whatever... She looked around at the other cells, wondering if anyone, or maybe the guards may have heard. There did not seem to be any nearby, but you could never be too sure. She returned to her usual spot, though she was looking toward Mat. "Tomorrow, in the arena, you're goin' down, pretty boy." It was a bluff, just in case anyone was suspicious... because she knew tomorrow would be the first fight she would lose since she'd come here.​