Fantasy The Great Games of Nye

[Goliath]

Elriel nodded softly as Brynwyr repeated his snow leopard's name. Honestly, he had taken a long time trying to name her, using different titles for her though nothing ever stuck. Until one day, he spoke the name Pardus out loud and his familiar had a pleasant reaction. She responded by looking up at him and that had been her name ever since.

He gave a soft smile looking down at his familiar listening to Ada compliment her. He couldn’t help but feel a little proud. Pardus, on the other hand, didn’t pay it much attention, even as her name was spoken. She could be described as aloof unless you were alone with her and she trusted you. Then all she wanted was to be pet in your lap and purr for hours.

Elriel couldn’t help his lavender eyes widening at the man who entered into the room because — it was an entrance indeed. Rudely barging in while talking was obnoxious enough since the stranger had no way of knowing if they were speaking. But in Valencia gestures, such as pointing into the air while frozen like a painting, would get one thrown out of any high-class party at the drop of a hat.

The pose was an insult to performers everywhere and his behavior was an embarrassment to all of the wealthy class. Elriel felt a bit of secondhand embarrassment at the entire situation, moving to straighten his clothes to distract himself.

Elriel looked at Adamaris, this man felt like bad news, and his eyes communicated that to them knowing even without words his childhood best friend would know what he was saying. Unlike the other contestants, Elriel said nothing in response initially listening to them instead. Ada seemed mildly curious and Adrian was interested in money. Brynwyr went for her blade first, which was also unique, before muttering to herself.

Elriel looked the stranger up and down before he finally spoke. “There are certain traditions that are withheld within these games. As my fellow contestant said, I didn't know outsiders could come into the locker rooms. What strings did you pull?” He asked not interested in any offer that could be proposed to him.

Jet Emphoa Arcanist Fred Colon

 

[Huntertabbysandshark3]

Ava Marco
interaction: EldridSmith Lost Echo
Jet​

“Oh yeah it’s all fine just be careful around here your liable to get yourself or someone else hurt hanging around the lockers“ she’d say with a cheerful smile frankly added the someone else part because with how chill the small guy was.. it seemed odd? Clearly there was something up with him but Ava couldn’t put her finger on it. The rat comment however made her even more suspicious.. seeing as their where camera and mark being mark melted them perhaps this little guy was sent to check on everyone in here make sure they’d not murdered one another. oh and mark had figured it out possibly maybe they where a centurian here to look at what they’d discovered as possibly confiscate it.. or get them to stop snooping around nye? “Hu well this just got interesting“ she’d mumble to herself.

 

[Jet]

​

Johan wasn't sure how to react. He was the polar opposite of funny, a humorless vacuum where comedy died and decomposed. It was his greatest weakness and a point of mild embarrassment, yet there she stood, pleasantly laughing with merry eyes. She even complimented him for being crazy, the good kind that was, like an eccentric friend who brightened everyone's mood.

He blinked a few times to process her words, narrowly smiling as his cheeks turned pink. "You're the first person who's ever said that." He thought about the regulars at his favorite tavern, grizzled veterans with nothing nice to say about him. The closest he'd heard was, "You're prettier than my ex wife," but he suspected that was more insulting than complimentary.

"I guess I'm just… well." He carefully considered his words. "Being myself instead of who I'm supposed to be." He weighed his words for another long, awkward moment, wondering why she avoided his question. He wanted to know what her passions were; what she'd do given unlimited freedom and opportunity. Hell, maybe he'd pull strings and help her see it through. He wouldn't expect anything in return of course, that wasn't his reason anyway. He only wanted to do something good before the end. "Let me know if you think of something, until then you're a gardener to me."

He stopped there to let Narzas speak; perhaps she'd answer him perhaps not, but twenty seconds later another man stormed towards them.

​

"Johan!" He pressed his finger into the assassin's chest. "You better shape up before I report you for dereliction, at least look busy you fuckin' waste of space." He looked at Narzas with arrogant, brutish eyes, shamelessly glancing at her chest. "And you're no different, standing around like window dressing instead of making yourself useful." He crossed his arms with a deep, judgemental frown. "I'll remember this next year when I'm in charge."

rozukitsune

 

[Lost Echo]

Anya listened carefully to the boy, seeming to admit he was Bean, and clarify that he was the winner from last year. Of course, she’d heard of him, the youngest to ever win (she was sure a bunch of young idiots joined the preliminaries and were killed this year.) It didn’t surprise her Nye got its grip on him fast, nor that he wanted to rebel a little against his authorities.

She tensed when Mark moved beside her, worried he would escalate into violence they would not win. Even if they somehow beat this kid, there was no way they would manage to make it back to Peirama or McCragg or anywhere out of Nye’s reach. For all she knew, they could lock the door externally and just pour poison through the vents. Just like everyone else, they were nothing to Nye (except the Centurion--his story was too popular to lose) but unlike everyone, they’d caught the mega power's attention.

Still, she took the dagger, immediately sheathing it in easy reach on her leg, allowing the boy to see it. Even unarmed she would fight back (she wasn’t kidding that her legs were weapons themselves) but the visual showed she didn’t plan nor want to. Because this boy, out of all Centurions had enough leverage to keep them alive if he wanted. So it’d be best to work with him. Thankfully, Mark agreed. She couldn’t read Ava enough to know if she agreed, but hopefully, she’d follow her cousin’s lead.

She waited through the wordplay, knowing it was not a skill of hers. She could understand what the boy was talking about (them) but how to play along with the analogy? No idea. Mark seemed to let it go, so she figured it was safe to do the same, “Did you know him?” Was that why he’d offered to help? Anya couldn’t believe it was just because he liked them.

 

[Jet]

​

Bean took the evidence from Mark and bowed his head. "Thank you kind sir!" His eyes were comically wide and adoring, shimmering in the fluorescent light. "Not sure what ya reward will be, I'll have to ask me-lord!" He opened the vial and examined the hair within, a disgusting strand caked with dried blood and drain scum. "Well well, what do we have here?" His exaggerated accent was gone now, replaced by a low, growling tone. "You've leveled with me so I'll return the favor; you antsy bastards will jump me if I don't."

Their physical threats weren't lost on him. He noticed Anya's blade and Wilzemi had made a move too, standing by the door to stop him from escaping. Then there was Mark. His violent intent leaked from his pores like poison gas from a vent, and the muscular woman was close enough to grab him. They were perfectly prepared to kill him if need be, but luckily for them, he was on their side for now.

"There was a murder here last week, jockey lost a race he was supposed to win, went missing for a few days. Turns out he'd been killed and stuffed in there." He glanced at the row of lockers. "This hair gives us a suspect, one the council must've protected with a clean up crew."

He walked away and paced the room, checking nooks and crannies for hidden cameras and mics. When he was finally satisfied, he faced them again and said, "There are two groups of Centurions, ones loyal to the council, and ones loyal to Lord Vincent. The owner of this fine orange lock." He held up the hair. "Is a council boot licker named Felix Marston, and you're going to help me implicate him in the murder." A creepy smile stretched across his face. "Unless you're council boot lickers too."

Lost Echo EldridSmith Huntertabbysandshark3

 

[rozukitsune]

Narzas raised an eyebrow, poised to tell him she hadn't meant that as a  good thing... but the expression on his face stilled her tongue. He looked so confused and... pleased? The novice assassin couldn't honestly remember the last time someone had shown her such a pleasant emotion.

And... was he blushing? Her eyes rested on the pink color of his cheeks in consternation. Somehow, clearing up his assumption that she'd been complimenting him seemed mean-spirited.

She sighed as he pressed the prior topic and rubbed an arm nervously. "I'd... be a dancer." She answers sheepishly, half under her breath in embarrassment.

Of course that would have to be when some official had to walk up while she was feeling vulnerable and stare at her chest while dressing her down.

Mirth wholeheartedly forgotten, she slips back into her mask and bows to the newcomer, burying her anger and disgust as she did so and murmuring, "My apologies... I should know better. I will be getting back to work now, sir." She flits off down the hallway and vanishes into the shadows while hoping she finds something to stab soon to vent these tumultuous feeling writhing in her gut.

Jet

 

[EldridSmith]

Ava thankfully moved next to the door while Anya carefully listened and acted. At her question about if he knew him, he wasn't quite sure how to respond at first as he was focused on bean. "Well I know a good deal about the current list of centurions and keeping track of Nye and their operatives is an important part of business." He admits with his eyes turning green as some of his abnormal traits started occurring as he managed to merge with his familiar once more before cackling madly... it was funny how fucked they were. Well he was one of the slimiest mercenaries out there able to slide his way out of most things... if he could slide his way out of this one it would land them a large pay check... or a large target on their backs. However they didn't have much of a choice now did they.

Mark's mad laughter stopped abruptly as he leans down to glare at Bean. "Kind... you know better than to call me that... after all you were there in the stands last year. So... I do hope your lord knows the price of a good mercenary these days." He remarked in a guttural tone which felt like a venomous mist descending, Mark faded and the Mad Plague was in charge now... they shared much but one personality was much more... intimidating. He chortled in response to Bean saying they would be jumped if they didn't give him something useful... he wasn't wrong... considering what he knew of Nye.

Mark slowly slid his dart back into his coat as he looked at Bean. "And why would we do this Centurion Bean?" He says circling around Bean now that Anya had moved to a safer position. He craned over with his beak over Bean's shoulder as his eyes lit up. "Firstly... this puts us in a good deal of danger." He says before craning around to look him in the eye while his legs still remained behind him, coiling around them like a venomous snake would. "Secondly... I don't care which rich bastard sits on the throne we're all vipers in the same pit fighting over the same prizes... so I will work for whichever rich bastard will give the most. As far as I'm concerned I'm surrounded by my fellow snakes, I can fire in any direction and hit an enemy." He says vehemently with venom and vitriol thick enough to be felt.

"So I do hope this is made to be worth my time... as one thing I'm confident in is that one of us would survive. Seeing as you already know about me, I figure you also know I've got nothing to lose... and were I to die here so would everyone in this room who doesn't have the antidote, seeing as I'm already a dead man walking." He says with such a tone that his maniacal and mad grin could be felt. He then returned to his normal posture moving to face Bean. "Now, what do you offer us in return for helping pick which snake is on the throne... and more importantly, how can we know you won't backstab us?" He says taking a seat with his leg crossed and his hands folded as he glared at Bean with his glowing green eyes behind the mask as the hidden vents in the mask start to glow with the same sickly green.
Jet Lost Echo Huntertabbysandshark3

 

[ZackStop]

Ren took the card thoughtlessly out of instinctive kindness he was taught to have. He looked down at the card he was given after he had turned bashful. "Companion in the n-night, huh?" He thought to himself, shy from the idea but caught its meaning. He was only 16 after all.

Talk of the other locker room got him thinking what other happenings could be going on as they spoke. Were they really separated by rank? He didn't see how a mechanic such as himself could wind up with a sailor and celebrity. Ren also wondered what Mav was in that regard, he really didn't have time to say much before the man Damian showed up. The man wasn't particularly loud, but he knew how to say a lot with few words. He was almost jealous.

Finally though, Ren remembered his equipment he had left in the locker. He had gotten so wrapped up in the conversations that he almost forgot he was participating. He tucked the card he was given away as he took a small step back from the group. "Well excuse me, I should make some adjustments to my equipment before I forget!" He turned towards the locker to open it. after all, he hadn't moved very far from it since the little group formed. He pulled out his bag and took out a few tools that he clasped his teeth around to free his hands. He reached for one of his round shields as he sat down on the bench to begin tinkering.

Crossing one leg ontop of the other as a makeshift work bench, Ren passed his hand across the finely polished cerulean surface of the shield's face before flipping it over, creating a blue light that reflected off of it. He opened a small hatch in the back that exposed some gears, taut metal strings and other inner workings. The interior was complex for what appeared to only be a simple shield.

Ren took a tool out of his mouth and began to work it inside of the hatch, and from then on the shield began to emit various clicks as he turned parts, and whirrings when he let up from it. He continued to adjust and tightness his little machine, then moved onto the second one, an identical shield built the same way.

 

[Fred Colon]

All attention was on him, exactly as it should be! He saw a few faces that didn't look exactly pleased by his arrival, but that was likely because they were outsiders, intimidated by the presence of the richest man in Nye.

Well, he would make them feel at ease! He was comfortable with rubbing elbows with the rabble, after all. Howard knew that everyone was just a person at the end of the day. Sure, these people were poorer, less educated, not as well dressed, and dirtier than he was! But it wasn't their fault!

He strode deeper into the room, and put a hand on the shoulder of the two that looked the *most* excited to see him. This should make him seem friendly and more approachable to everyone else! He chose the female knight from, he guessed, Albion. He could tell that she was pleased to see him by how her hand drifted to her sword! She was probably about to pledge her sword to him or whatever the folks from Albion did, before she remembered she was in Nye, where everyone was accepted and her backwards, feudal ways were no longer necessary! Arcanist

"Of course they don't just let anyone in here! But I'm not anyone, fortunately. I'm Howard Greenfellow! My family helps fund these games!" He added, "You are very welcome, no need to thank me." Just to make sure that their conversation wasn't derailed by overly effusive thanks from the contestants here.

It seemed to work, as no one thanked him. Perfect!

The other person who he put his arms around was a young man who seemed to be from Valencia, and who was the best dressed there. They were stylish buddies! He had been looking Howard up and down, probably to appreciate Howards sense of style! There was no way they *couldn't* be friends! Great minds dressed alike, as they say.

Honestly, he was always impressed when the rabble was able to find such fine clothes! The ingenuity of the poor never ceased to amaze him! But under his rule, every poor person would be issued a Cravat, suit or dress, and dress pants! No one would ever have to go about unstylishly again! No need to scrounge for affordable fashions! Goliath

"Goodness me, I love what you're wearing! But no. No strings! I just walked on in! Don't worry. I remembered to tip the guards." He winked at everyone, as he knew he didn't *have* to tip the guards. He wasn't an idiot!

But perhaps it would inspire them to treat the guards with more generosity! They couldn't match Howards own generosity, of course, but he didn't expect them to! He just hoped that these poor folks, who never-the-less experienced a slightly elevated position as contestants in the games, would help out the *other* poor that didn't have that same elevated position.


"Now. I'm sure you've all heard by now. But I'm looking for people to help me out." He laughed. "Now. I know what you're thinking. Help Howard Greenfellow out?! How could we ever manage to do that?! But here's the thing. You *can*. Even someone as great as me has trouble sometimes, and needs help from people like you! I'm looking to become the new Prime Minister! Our current one is a fusty, overly controlling old fart whose not at *all* in touch with the common people. Not in the way that I am, anyway. I'm looking for people to talk positively about me in the games! Get my name out there, support my campaign to institute free and fair elections where I can beat Prime Minister Emrys! He is refusing to call elections, but I want to wear him down via public support!"

He grinned at the rough looking young man asking for a contract. He didn't blame him. He was sure that whatever backwater he came from, he had to be suspicious and picky. He didn't yet realize how kind and trustworthy Howard Greenfellow was! Not yet, at least.
"Sure! I can have someone write up a contract! I don't particularly mind when I pay you, either, so long as we come to an agreement! And I'd be happy to have you promoting me. You look like a fine competitor, worth every penny of endorsement!" Jet

"Or how about you?" He said, turning to the young man with the Chameleon familiar. Emphoa

"You seem like a tough one! Very impressive scars, and your familiar is quite adorable! I've always loved lizards. I have a few chameleons in my menagerie back home! They're getting a little fat with all I feed them, but it's hard not to want to spoil the littler buggers!"

He looked out at the other competitors in the room, not wanting to leave them out of things.

"Everyone is welcome! You're all more than worthy enough to be sponsored by me! The more the merrier!"

 

[Jet]

Johan became increasingly demoralized with every word Darius spoke; the man was a natural pain in the ass, a real bastard who rained on parades like a storm cloud. His abrasive bullshit made the assassin groan like a scolded child, frowning as Narzas humbly bowed and apologized. His frown deepened even more when she turned away and ran off, leaving him alone with the salty veteran of many wars.

"You had to ruin it huh?" Johan ruffled his hair as a deep, frustrated sigh escaped him. "Look man." He sized up the centurion. "I could lecture you about how I'm in charge this year, call you a grumpy windbag with nothing better to do, how you lost the position because your a brutal twat who can't control—

"A what?" Darius stepped forward with his hand on his sword. "Watch what you say, boy. In here you're in charge, but out there? Who's to say a tragic accident won't claim you? Kind of thing nobody could anticipate; would be a shame to lose a storied warrior like that."

"That routine's not gonna work on me." Johan stepped back and placed his hand on his belt, right beside a poisoned dagger he carried for protection. "Either make a move or sod off, I don't have time for your bullshit."

Darius creepily stared at the assassin. "No routine here boy, only promises. I was a Centurion when you were sucking your mothers tit. I've seen and done things you couldn't imagine, spent months on the front while you killed petty nobles and politicians." He stepped forward to close the gap. "You've never been tested boy, you've never spent months out west, stranded in the desert with no food or water."

Johan aimlessly blinked several times. "Are mirages real? Like the ones from a cartoon? They always seemed unrealistic to me."

"You're a coward, Johan Koch, a coddled child unfit to sharpen my sword."

"Well, I am a knife user to be fair."

Darius dangerously laughed below his breath. "You know what we'd do to boys like you out west?"

"Don't threaten me with a good time."

"We'd cull the weak ones like you." He leaned forward and whispered into Johan's ear. "Might even eat you if the men are hungry enough."

"I'm too skinny for a good meal, nothing but skin and bones really." Johan wryly smiled as the veteran seethed. "Your ghost stories won't scare me Darius, I've been out west, it's not as dangerous as you claim. The tribals are quite nice when you get to know them."

"It's impressive." Darius slowly shook his head. "You always have something to say; a deflection here, a joke there, but never anything of substance."

"Smart people are afflicted with that curse."

"Your arrogance stinks like an old, decaying carcass." Darius brushed past the assassin and strolled away, looking back as he said his final words. "I'll be seeing you, boy, and when I have a chance, I'll kill you with my bare fucking hands."

Johan simply smiled and waved in response. "I wish you good fortune!" He winked and looked away from the violent man, scanning the area for the other assassin. He couldn't see her anywhere, no surprise there, she was well trained and moved with stealthy purpose. Without any other way to find her, he fused with his pocketed familiar — a small carnivorous bat. Fine hairs sprout on his face as his ears became more and more sensitive. He closed his eyes and deeply listened for her quiet, precise footsteps in the arena. Their unique softness would make her stand out among hordes of slow, clumsy attendants with elephant feet.

"Got ya!" He heard her footsteps and the sound of a closing door. Her quiet breathing was barely audible too; nothing more than a whisper in the loud arena. "Now I just gotta catch ya." He ran off using his wings to shoot forward, half running half flying through the arena. After a minute he found where she was hiding; a broom closet with a green metal door. "Hey it's me!"

Johan opened the door with a sheepish smile. "Sorry about Darius, hates me like an alcoholic hates water."

He defused with his familiar, dissipating his wings, hairy skin and scraggly bat ears. "So... a dancer huh?" He slid another cigarette from his pocket, lighting it as smoke trickled from his mouth. "You've got the look of one you know." He glanced at her feet. "The footwork too, your steps are precise and quieter than a mouse; could barely hear you even with my mutations." He quietly laughed. "Want to walk and talk? Might as well look busy while we're bullshitting; maybe then that idiot won't bother us."

Johan hoped the confrontation hadn't bothered her, but then again, she was hiding in a god damn closet. She was probably pissed or nervous, even scared of Darius for some reason. Johan failed to consider that when he mindlessly opened the door, and he was acutely aware of his pig headedness, but it was too late now. The cat was already out the bag. Nothing he could do but face the music and apologize if she was mad.


rozukitsune

 

[rozukitsune]

Narzas slid through the throngs of individuals who all may has well have bled into one another for all the notice she took of them. Somewhere in the back of her mind, her attention to detail was automatically cataloging each one while her mind pulled up it's map of the arena for somewhere to disappear for a bit.

She slid into the first broom closet she came across like a whisper of wind and then curled herself into the first available bit of floor. Her skin automatically shifted tone to match the peeling white paint of the interior and the gray concrete floor even as she pulled all the available light into herself and plunged the tiny space into darkness.

All the while, Narzas's ever helpful photographic memory replayed the look of lust in Darius's eyes as they had stared at her chest. Logically, she'd known all her life men were prone to such expressions... had been trained even to expect them given her shape and her choice of work outfit. She'd even seen that expression before a few times.

None of that really helped to calm the roiling feeling in her stomach at the instant replays, nor did it help her to know that a man of such power and influence could very easily make her disappear and turn her into his personal toy if he had the whim for it. She was no one... and no one would miss her. The thought was infinitely more terrifying than any fear she had experienced regarding the dread of death. Death was a normal, natural part of her life. To be used against her will... that was surely a fate worse than death.

"Hey it's me!"

Fear lanced through her as Johan pushed open the door to her hiding place. Gears clicked into place as he blathered about Darius and about Dancing. She stared at him and the nigh invisible spider on her ear wriggled slightly in response to her rising fury.

This was all clearly some kind of plan. Get her to talk... get her to admit something that could be used against her... use that weakness to trap her into servitude...

Her eyes narrowed up at Johan and she pulled a dagger from her belt again, this time instead of targeting him with it though, she brought the blade to her own throat. "I will not be participating in whatever black market slave trade you and your friend are a part of. Go find some other woman to trap with your façade of friendship."

Jet

 

[Emphoa]

The previous conversation was once more in the back of Adamaris' mind as they looked to Howard, their eyebrows furrowed just for a moment as they tried to gauge and read the wealthy man. They were not unfamiliar with those in wealth- his own family once had such a privilege that no longer had its grasp on them particularly. They hummed out a little bit, sparing a glance around the room to their fellow contestants before they looked back to the odd man that had made such a presence already. It seemed easily- that this man had no such thing as 'class' or a sort of ability to hold one's self back. One might have been able to call him a little bit of a narcissist if anything else and their eyes flitted back to meet with Elriel's own. They were sure they were both thinking very similarly and they finally puffed out in amusement.

"Ahhh so you have bribed your way in to start brown-nosing your way into politics with your money." They stated rather simply, waving a hand as if to dismiss the idea. But they quieted, listening to whatever spiel that the odd man would ave for them. Howard greenfellow... Yes, the name was certainly familiar, they would have supposed they heard it at least once or twice, but where from they wouldn't have been able to say. They were quiet, mulling and contemplating what he man particularly wanted from them, but their brows just furrowed. They could feel how Nueto seemed much more stiff, and they reached up to rub a finger against his head.

"No thanks." They stated, straightening up a little bit as they looked to Elriel, giving him a pitying look as Howard had draped an arm over him, before they looked back to the wealthy man. "I don't have a need for money- and I'm not interested in helping someone like you. Actually- before you came in we were having conversation amongst ourselves and preparing for the games. Wouldn't really want someone to take my mind out of it, you know." They tapped the side of their head and they gave a little bit of a sneer at the man. And finally, they looked back to Adrian and pulled the former part of their conversation from the back of their mind.

" Alithini Enotita, an interesting concept. I suppose it makes sense for one to see their familiar as themselves- I suppose that is what they are in the end." They mused at the thought, and their eyebrows furrowed at the idea. "I suppose it depends on one's own mindset and the way they think of themselves- or their circumstances. Nueto here is my friend, thus I think of him as his own being myself." They stated with a much more fond smile as they looked to the chameleon- reaching up a finger for Nueto to grasp. So easily slipping back into their former conversation despite the well dressed gentleman seeking to give out some sort of business prospect.

Goliath Jet Arcanist Fred Colon

 

[Huntertabbysandshark3]

Ava Marco
interaction: EldridSmith Lost Echo Jet​

"so what your saying is there's internal conflict but more subtle, aaah reminds me of home except, the brawls usually are less subtle and well are brawls, tho their definitely subtly beforehand sometimes but anyway i think i catch your drift bean" ava replied in a soft tone making sure to not make it so echoey that it could be heard form outside the locker rooms. she'd then turn back to bean nodding again. "ok so murdered jocky got stuffed in here im willing to bet if we don't work with you theirs gonna be someone else who won't take too kindly to us poking around aaaand then we are gonna end up stuffed in a shower drain too right?" she'd say crossing her arms and letting out a small slightly annoyed huff. "only real question iv got is why are you intending on making him look like the murderer?"

 

[Jet]

​

Damian pleasantly smiled as Kilderkin said her piece. It was riveting dialogue indeed, worthy of applause as improvisation was a lost art. Theater was too constrained these days, scripted and curated to mimic classics of antiquity. It was perfect for stories of angels and demons, kings and courtesans, cliche peasants and cursed crones. It wasn't, however, worth a damn for capturing the human spirit. That was reserved for charlatans who slipped into character for a quick buck, or imposters hiding their true colors like her.

"Bravo!" He slowly clapped several times. "You've quite a way with words, impeccable delivery." He thought about her requests for a moment. They were basic and boring by design, but then again, his best customers often started with trinkets. "I can provide exquisite ramen made by a world renowned chef, each ingredient singing harmoniously on your palate, a symphonic experience I assure you." There was a local chef who owed him favors, and a damn good one at that. He was famous and skilled beyond belief, but his personal life was dark. Years ago he'd done something terrible and needed help escaping punishment, shamelessly begging Damian for assistance. The merchant agreed and now, years later, he still paid his dues.

"As for your Ushanka; would you fancy an enchanted one that stops even the strongest attacks, hand crafted by a master from the blue market? It would be trivial for me to acquire." He knew a master craftsman who was famed for enchanted clothing, one who owed him many favors because of a cleared gambling debt. "I can have it for you by tonight."

Damian looked from Kilderkin to Nyall after a moment. His dancing eyes held excitement at the prospect of working with the celebrity; famous people were usually fantastic partners. "I can provide much more than a sponsorship, perhaps you'd like a new opportunity? A chance to branch out from your production company? They can be so stifling after all, sucking away your freedom like a leech." He knew what the performer was dealing with; his sources were never wrong. Nyall was little more than a dancing monkey in a cage, but Damian could easily change that. "It'd be trivial to provide another path for you to walk on, just say the word."

Fred Colon Anne Boolean ManofManyRoles ZackStop

 

[EldridSmith]

The boy teased Mischa more before crooning then looking at him with a mischievous look... he clearly said something that was being misconstrued in English... oh joy. "A quote from someone great in history though his country is now a wasteland." Ivan says with a shrug. "The quote made sense to me, I am unsure why you find it... so humorous. I am guessing it has a double meaning I am unaware of?" He inquires considering Mischa was also grinning mischievously like the boy.

At Mischa's comment about his snacks he laughed. "If it is poisoned I too am poisoned... I ate two packs on the way here." He says jokingly looking down at his stomach. "As for what they are, fried sunflower seeds with seasoning. Very healthy and tasty snack!" He says with a wide grin as he sets his helmet down after dumping out the bags of snacks back into his giant dufflebag. Thankfully they had his lance transported to the main area of the arena as it would not fit in the locker room.

Mischa started coughing which concerned Ivan, as he watched on ready to perform the Heimlich maneuver in case she couldn't breathe, thankfully nothing came of it as she coughed the seeds... down? Well at least she found something the boy said funny. "Would you like water to wash them down?" He inquires as he pulls out a sealed water bottle. "I have many with me, also it is clean and un-poisoned... again unless someone else did it then I am once again in a bad position for this tournament. I would rather win honorably. It is the way of both sides of my family. Indeed it is the Lord's will on who wins and loses, and if he deems me to lose and either of you to win then so be it." He says honestly after rat speaks up, Ivan keeping his friendly smile.

"I uhh am big guy. So I eat a lot of snacks." He says somewhat bashfully rubbing the back of his head. "Oh the armor, it is standard for a proper knight. I am proud of it, I practiced a lot to earn it." He admitted, though he was proud he didn't want to be overly prideful of it. "Being prepared is very important for staying alive especially as I will be forced to serve in the civil war against my own kin if I fail here... unless I can somehow fix things another way." He says with a worried look. "Ah forgive me for gloomy thoughts." He said remembering that he should trust the Lord instead of worry over it, it was his timing not his own.

Ivan chuckled as he put on the last of his armor, aside his helmet, and Mischa started friendly banter with Rat before she comments on her own preparedness. "Worry not I think you will do fine Mischa. If you are concerned I have spare chain mail... granted it would be more like a chain mail dress on you but if you are in need I can lend it to you." He says rummaging through his pack and pulling it out.

"It offers some protection versus piercing and much versus slashing which is most common in such tournaments. This should keep you from losing limbs at least, worst case scenario." He says with a neighborly grin, though it was odd considering how little he though of such injuries. Still his kind intentions were blatant. "With all you have I'm sure you will impress everyone back home, and do your family proud." He said earnestly, still smiling, especially considering how she also enjoyed semechki. "Feel free to keep the entire bag I have plenty. Perhaps incentive to visit sometime after the tournament." He says with hearty laughter especially considering the young lady seemed to eat like a knight. "You have the makings of a good protector Mischa."
Jet Emphoa ZackStop

 

[Jet]

​

Johan was completely lost. He'd been hit with trafficking accusations of all things, and now a knife was raised at him with murderous intent. He was utterly confused and the emotion played out across his face, jaw dropping like a heavy stone in water. His voice faltered as he struggled to find words, only managing a few "ums" and "ahs" between stammering breaths. He instinctively raised his hands to try and ease her concerns, but he couldn't speak for ten seconds straight.

Eventually he found his footing and broke the awkward silence. "The only thing I'm trafficking is cigarettes into no smoking zones." He deeply inhaled from the one between his lips. "So I don't know what you're talking about. I've never…" He struggled to find words once again, deeply breathing to calm his pounding heart. He knew panicking wouldn't help when she was on a razor's edge; he needed to ease her nerves with calm, gentle words. "Look, I don't even like that guy, he's a Grade A prick if I've ever seen one."

Johan took a small step back and lowered his hands. "I wouldn't partner with him in a damn relay race, let alone a trafficking scheme." He gently chuckled below his breath; if only she knew how much he despised Darius. The old centurion was his mortal enemy for god's sake, but then again, she didn't know anything about them. For all she knew they were the lowest of the low, monsters with hearts blacker than coal. Johan figured a little history lesson wouldn't hurt; perhaps then she'd understand why they'd never traffick slaves.

"We're both Centurions anyway; have more money then we know what to do with. So there's no reason for us to pull something shady like that." He softly smiled at her, warily eying her knife. "But if you still don't believe me, ask yourself this, why would two Centurions resort to trickery when we can do this?" His finger glowed with light as a beam instantly flashed past her head, deeply cutting into the wall behind her. "We're the strongest of the strong, best of the best and all that jazz, so if we were gonna kidnap you... well you'd already be kidnapped."

rozukitsune

 

[rozukitsune]

At first, the knife cut into her flesh as she prepared to end herself at the slightest of movements signaling the time for conversation had ended. Yet as silence reigned and nothing seemed to happen, some part of her that still really wanted to live asserted itself and her eyes focused on Johan's shocked, confused expression. As close to the edge of her feelings as she still was, the raw emotion on his face disarmed her instinct to commit seppuku long before he opened his mouth.

The wrist holding the dagger slipped slowly down into her lap inch by inch, centimeter by centimeter, as he finally began to speak - and she realized she had entirely misread the earlier situation. The stare at her chest had merely been a passing thing from... Using Johan's own words: a prick, nothing more. Not some barely disguised sinister intent... or at the very least not *that* kind of sinister intent.

Then Johan admitted he and the other man were Centurion's and it was Nar's turn to stare at him wide-eyed in shock and confusion. She'd heard all kinds of stories about the great legends that were the Centurions of Nye. Great warriors who held the greatest of all honorable positions and the freedom to do as they saw fit at all other times.

No wonder he was so chatty for an assassin. Her eyes took him in like she was seeing him for the first time - a child newly introduced to wonders they'd never before been allowed close to.

She blushed and dropped her eyes to the floor. How dare she stare at such a powerful man directly?! Oh if her betters had heard her accusations against his character... Her cheeks paled and she looked slightly ill.

"Forgive me, sir. I did not know..." She slides the knife back into its holster, bowing her head and trying for as penitent a position as she can manage in the tight space of the broom closet. "I was not chosen for my ability to understand social context clues... please have mercy." She murmurs low and with the appropriate amount of groveling, expecting some variety or other of punishment for her outburst while forgetting the gentle trickle of blood making its way down her throat.


Jet

 

[Jet]

​

Adrian wryly smiled at the abusive barrage Howard endured. It was classy hatred if he'd ever seen it, the kind of cutting banter rarely seen in his backwater town. He was used to ignorant barbs and drunken rages, murderous threats and curses by the dozen, not to mention brawls and thrown bottles of beer. There was a certain charm to it all, but there was something to be said about the clever, cutting tone of socialites.

Howard had it coming one way or another. His arrogance was bad enough to stink up the room, but somehow it wasn't intentional. The man seemingly believed everything he said, even when he acted like the greatest thing since sliced bread. Maybe that's why Adrian was less annoyed than the others. He found Howard honest and quaint in a sick, strange way, like a child proudly displaying bad artwork. He found it equally sad though, and he wondered what kind of sheltered, boring life made a man like him. He'd always heard that experience humbled even the proudest men, so Howard must've lived poorly despite his wealth. Like a king in an empty castle, one who'd never experienced the lows needed to feel the highs.

"You know what Howard, you're not half bad." Adrian stood and slowly approached the noble. "I don't care who rules this place, don't care about fancy titles and famous names, and honestly, your politics put me to sleep." He nonchalantly shrugged. "But when you're paying me? I say let democracy have a chance, let the people have their say and make a difference with their vote." He softly sighed below his breath. "I could get used to this, beats trawling through swamps clubbing Bunyips with a salt stick."

Adrian looked at the others with a mischievous hint of a smirk, raising the corners of his mouth like a puppeteer was pulling a string. "I say we hear him out. The voice of the people matters, and Howard Greenfellow is that voice! His ear is pressed to the grindstone, his boots are caked with the same mud as the common man!" He clapped Howard's shoulder with his grubby peasant hand. "Together we'll make a difference my friend."

He barely contained a laugh before looking at Adamaris and Brynwr. He'd gotten carried away with his new best friend, neglecting to answer their previous points. "Just make sure to bring a notebook." Adrian glanced at the knight. He liked her banter. It was clever and quick, needing only a few sharp words to illustrate her point.

Adamaris was a much different. He was an orator who spoke in great detail, and Adrian answered in kind. "I can't agree with you, not when I've seen my teacher kill a grown Azhdaya with his bare hands. There's a reason we do what we do." He stopped to think for a moment. It was true that complete unity enabled mastery over mutations, but none of his teachers fought alongside their familiars. It was possible that their doctrine only helped pure fusers like them, ignoring those who fought alongside their familiars. "Maybe your way's better if you don't fuse with your familiar, but we always merge before a scrap."

Arcanist Goliath Fred Colon Emphoa

 

[Jet]

​

Bean cocked his head like a curious meerkat, idly scratching it when Mark threatened him. He wasn't sure why a contestant was bold enough to loom over him, talking about killing this and killing that, something about snakes and payments, boring nitty gritties he wasn't fond of. He wasn't scared or worried about his new friend's posturing, not when he could instantly superheat and cook the man where he stood. Instead he shrugged and clapped the man's shoulder, a condescending smirk plastered on his face. "Well that's the spirit innit?" He placed his hands on his hips and leaned back, grunting as he stretched his back. "But there's no need to get your knickers in a wad. We got rules and stuff, can't go around willy nilly with our pricks out, killing people like madmen."

Bean paused and looked at Ava. "Which is why we're goin after the Felix twat; lunatic killed a man over horse racing." He walked over to the damaged wall, running his fingers over the burned gouges. "I can tell it was that idiot by the look of this. He's a flame dealer with a wolf spirit, so this ain't a frame job if that's what ya worried about."

Bean faced the group and slowly paced the room, clicking his tongue as he weighed his words. "As far as payments concerned, ain't the people's gratitude enough?" He raised his brow at Mark, barely containing a laugh before continuing. "Don't blow a gasket mate, just pullin your chain. Now I can't promise anythin' solid like, but Lord Vincent has more coin than a Valencian bank. Won't leave you wanting for nothing, ya have my word on that."

"Now if you don't want to wrap yourself in our fuckery? Well that's your business, don't matter to me one way or another. Just don't warn the twat or you'll become a co-conspirator. Might end up hangin from a post somewhere, or maybe a the headsman will make a show of ya?" He ran his finger across his neck like a knife. "But you don't gotta worry about wee little Bean."

He glanced at Anya for the briefest of moments. "Not interested in crushing rats these days, have more entertaining hunts out west." Bean creepily smiled with thoughts of the wasteland. He loved fighting the warriors who lived there; men of unmatched savagery and martial prowess. He was addicted to hunting them down. The rush of adrenaline when his life flashed before his eyes, facing monstrous men who rivaled the strongest centurions. He cared little for crushing rookies in comparison, not when the wilderness beckoned him so, promising untold freedom and gritty fights to the death.

Lost Echo EldridSmith Huntertabbysandshark3

 

[Arcanist]

Brynwyr Protheroe



Mentions: Goliath Emphoa Jet Fred Colon ​

The pompous man, much to the veiled disgust of Brynwyr, sauntered over to her and clasped a hand on her shoulder. He seemed much too comfortable among them all as if they were old friends exchanging tales over a table of strong drinks. But that familiarity gained weight because of his position - a Howard Greenfellow, descendant of those who funded these games. She kept that stony expression, and kept the knowing realisation from softening it. Déjà vu set in. She had met a few people like him; lords and ladies alike.

But that did not stop her from still offering pleasantries.

“Howard Greenfellow,” she repeated, not even sure of his title to address him properly, “a pleasure.”

It did not take him long to flit to Elriel, throwing compliments as easily as one did beggars in the street expecting thanks for their good deed. Something about the way he spoke, trying to rally them, it came off as if he was trying too hard to gain a rapport from them all. Brynwyr’s mind cast back to knights bigger than their gauntlets trying to schmooze their way above their station, trying too hard with their lords and ladies. It was not always the right people put into those positions.

Brynwyr would have been all too happy to return to her preparations, but alas, she would not be so rude to turn her back upon a man, even one trying to buy their respect. But she listened nonetheless, tapping her elbow with her finger as she did. He sought free and fair elections, a way of gaining power by democratic means. It was not something practised in Albion, she knew well. Brynwyr sucked her teeth as she listened to the irony of what he preached, as if he was any further in touch with the ‘common people’. Nobles were often blind to the lives of those beneath their feet.

That was not to say this Howard was not genuine in his cause and desires - she could start to see it as well as Adrian could. As much as her heart bled for those in the gutters looking up at the stars, could someone so out-of-touch turn around society?

An ironic question.

Adrian had no qualms showing his support for the man - though, she doubted that was based on genuine desire to help the people. He looked as if he was almost spluttering when he turned his gaze to her and Adamaris. Money made their world go round, and she would not disparage anyone who sought it above all else.

“I’m afraid I must keep my focus on these games,” she tried to tactfully decline. “And of course, learn from fellow competitors in the meanwhile. Though, I admire your…ambition to enact change. And so publicly as well, I might add.” She hardly thought the Prime Minister would be eager to hear this news. Such news wouldn’t go down well at home, where everyone knew their place. It would not bode well for her to align herself in political shake-ups, given her own position in Albion.

She did not want his name to come up when hers was mentioned. Brynwyr Protheroe’s name would hold a different reputation.

 

[Lost Echo]

Nye had shitty cleanup crews? Her gaze flicked over to the paint she’d easily chipped off. (Ignoring the Mad Plague’s threats.) Merely painting the entire locker room and she’d not have gone further after the bleach smell. Maybe their reputation was kept clean by their propaganda skills. She certainly hadn’t heard anything about a dead jockey.

She watched as the boy searched the room obviously. Had he already known the murderer was a fellow Centurion? (Who else would Nye protect?) But why would this Bean want to uncover it? Death was an everyday part of life, her life. She doubted he was particularly scandalized about it. Especially as he didn’t seem to know the dead.

Ah, so Nye was split. Had one side grown morals (ha) or was it more a split of two evils? And for the moment at least, their side had been chosen. The prime minister got to them first. Anya was sure this Felix was a ‘council bootlicker’ though not if he was the murderer. (Ava wasn’t the type for subtly as she asked outright why blame him.) Whoever he was, (of course Mark would know every Centurion and challenger,) he’d gotten on the wrong side of Lord Vincent. At least this Bean made it seem reasonable, but really it wasn’t as if the guy would get a trial. It was so much so early. She might have joined these games planning to scheme around Nye, but she did not know which side would have Hannah. She had to play with the hand she had. She had to survive. So boo council bootlickers, for now, she guessed.

Even if Doc, no he was definitely fully Mad now, wanted compensation beyond their lives. He seemed to have forgotten who was near him (or were they just snakes too?) Anya did not want to die. Even if his distrust was reasonable, did he have to show it? “Are we on a time limit?” She asked, stepping forward, ignoring the threat of the Mad Plague behind her, even if when he was like this, it made her skin crawl, “I mean, wouldn’t the council send someone too if this room is in a blackout?”

As he claimed they had a choice to keep out of the politics, Anya wished she could believe him. But the fervor in his eyes made her want to hide behind Mark and Ava. Still, “You want us to do more?” What, testify at the trial she doubted Felix was getting? It was obvious from the hair alone this Bean had decided who the killer was. Was Lord Vincent so “good” as to require a trial? Why go through that sham? Would they really admit to the public that one of their centurions killed someone? It’d make the killing real, personal. Likely to happen to any of them. No, as good as Lord Vincent’s side claimed to be, she doubted they’d break Nye’s pretty white cover.

 

[Emphoa]

Rat couldn't help but snort at Mischa's comment about cutting his bible in half, scratching Remy's head with a little roll of his eyes. before he laughed along with her as she commented on his teasing. "What can I say? I'm a huge comedian. Gotta make some use of it, right? I mean someone has to enjoy the show I have to put on." He couldn't help but let out his laughter a moment after, his eyes gleaming as he glanced back to the young woman before he looked back to Ivan and he straightened up. "Hah- yeah big guy, it can be a kind of scandalous meaning if you let it be- or you hang around the right kind of people." He gave another chuckle at the thought alone and he couldn't help but sigh out.

The rat eased a moment or so after, eyes flitting back between the two as they spared brief words with one another and he finally let out a huff and looked to the armored man. "I get it, big guy. Need that good energy build up- specially if you're going to be wearing that armor." He clicked his tongue, sitting back again and his eyes grazing over the forge work of the other's armor. It was impressive, really, and he could truly admire the handiwork of an individual he would likely never meet. "Ehhhh being gloomy is only a minor set back- we're all here to participate and we might as well try and relax, right?" The boy paused, and he looked back to Mischa as she spoke about being rather unprepared herself. He couldn't disagree though, she didn't come with much and he assumed she didn't have much. He had been there before, before he was able to have the things he did now.

"Having good control over your magic will give you a good benefit, really, and having an item like that is impressive enough." He stated finally, carrying a more serious tone as he spoke up and his eye grazed over her glove. "Magitech is something to really know how to use and control with your magic- can save your life out there, you know?" He paused, before sneering and sitting back a little bit. Falling quiet when the armored man spoke up and offered some armor of his own and his grin only widened. He definitely liked the little crew he was put with- they were interesting individuals he was enjoying getting to know.


"Hey hey- you're a generous man big guy, rooting for you out there." He stated with that familiar grin plastered on his expression, and Remy started to bury himself in Rat's hair as he spoke. "I'd take up the offer, being over prepared is better than under, can make a difference out there for you." The boy finally stated, rolling his shoulders and mindlessly fiddling wit his gear. "When do you both think we'll start? Do you think we get to see the other's competing against each other?" He mulled over the thought, his eyebrows furrowed soon after he spoke up.

Jet EldridSmith ZackStop

 

[Jet]

​

Johan leaned against the door and rubbed his temples, thoroughly bewildered and embarrassed to be alive. He experienced a rush of second hand embarrassment too. Narzas wasn't the type to admonish herself easily, so her apology was downright sad to see. It made him question what she knew — or what she thought she knew about centurions. If she imagined them as monsters in human form, beasts of unmatched savagery and extreme violence, prone to killing underlings like cliche villains.

In reality they were like athletes with bloated egos, and most followed ancient codes of honor. They didn't roam the city killing who they pleased, crushing underlings like insects below their boots — Johan least of all. He was no better than commoners because of his strength, in fact he was arguably worse. He was a slave to the system, a cog in a meat grinding machine of death and suffering. He wasn't a demigod who pushed people around for fun, especially an interesting, somewhat confused girl who didn't understand him at all.

"Narsaz you…" He approached her with slow, tepid steps, like navigating a floor covered with spikes. "You have some red on you." He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, gently wiping away her blood as he questioned his sanity. He'd chosen to socialize instead of doing his damn job, and of course it went to shit. He was socially cursed; a leper of sorts. He always found a way to screw things up one way or another, and today was no different.

"I'll give you mercy if you do me a favor. Treat me like a guy you met on the street, like the owner of a shop you frequent, or a bookkeeper at your favorite library. Not a monster. Not all centurions are like that." He slowly slid down the wall until his butt hit the ground, staring up at her with soft, tired eyes. "Oh and please don't apologize for apologizing, just relax." He forced a weakly reassuring smile. "I promise I won't hurt you — and in fact I quite like you, probably because I understand even less social cues than you."

rozukitsune

 

[Jet]

​

Mischa almost choked when Ivan offered his massive, thoroughly oversized armor. It would be a metal dress rather than chain mail; a showstopper in a ballroom but not practical in the ring. "I think I'll pass on the armor big guy." She quietly chuckled. "It'd fit me like a battleship engine on a rowboat; would have my feet tangled before I could take a step."

Her face darkened as she thought about his other, much darker comment, wondering if lost limbs were a common occurrence. She knew it happened from time to time, but she couldn't afford to lose anything in the ring — not when she was an airship engineer. Her hands were sacred tools and she needed her legs to move around the workshop, so losing one would ruin her career before it began. It was a bone chilling thought that sent shivers up her spine.

"I'd rather leave in a bodybag than without limbs, so that's not gonna happen even if it kills me." She coaxed the bag of seeds towards her with wind magic, nervously munching a few before continuing. "Thanks again for the snacks, and don't fret ya big windmill, was just pulling your chain. I know you'd never poison em… unless?"

She sarcastically winked before speaking again. "Thanks for being a friend too, hope you're right about me impressing my folks, and for that blasted war to cool down. Just the thought of you killing your own makes me die on the inside."

Her gaze drifted back to Rat and his charming smile. He was ever the diplomat; social glue holding people together. She could tell he was a good guy without digging too deep, unless he was a very, very talented actor. He seemed genuinely positive about her chances in the ring, even without impressive gear on her side. It filled her with confidence for a brief, fleeting moment, reminding her that magic was indeed the ruler of the ring. "You really know how to talk a girl up eh? Bloody sweet talker you are." She patted her glove with a proud look. "I think you're spot on, should be fine as long as I trust my skills, and my bootleg magitech. I'm more of a steam and steel kinda gal, never worked with magitech before building this bad boy."

"I'll know if it's any good soon enough, have a feeling we'll be starting any minute." She glanced at Napa and waved it towards her, slowly merging with her dolphin. She closed her eyes and focused on her ears, stretching her senses until she heard the slow, steady pounding of feet. It was a cacophonous sound; twenty thousand people filling the arena as music blared from above. "I can hear the crowd comin' in, fuck me there's a ton of em. I doubt Nye will make them wait long to see a bit of violence, so start countin' down."

GM post​

Emphoa Arcanist Fred Colon Goliath Anne Boolean rozukitsune EldridSmith Huntertabbysandshark3 Lost Echo ManofManyRoles ZackStop

Mischa's hearing was spot on. The arena was filled with nobles and commoners, happy couples and families, security guards and reckless gamblers galore. There were concession stands with loud attendants selling fresh food and memorabilia, caricature paintings and beer. There were screens mounted everywhere as well, each showing highlights of glorious victories and crushing defeats, underdog stories and valiant comebacks, not to mention Bean's incredible win against the Viper.

There was an announcer on the field too. His name was Dyus, and his ego was only eclipsed by his waistline. He was on edge because of six centurions killed or missing in the past month; thirty times more than average. He knew there was something deeply wrong in the city, a festering darkness hiding below the surface, waiting for the right time to strike. He could feel its eyes even now — even with twelve centurions surrounding him on a platform in the ring,

Dyus assumed it was the peasants. They were murdering centurions to weaken the state, and the games were an obvious target. He was sure they were watching him from the shadows; hiding among the rabble with hateful eyes and split, blackened smiles of rotten teeth. Minds filled with murderous thoughts as they barely contained their rage. He found them disgusting and scornful; unworthy of the dirt on his boots.

Dyus wouldn't kneel for cretins like them. The games would continue no matter what, so he slowly turned and raised his arms, exciting the crowd as he leaned towards a microphone. "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" He dramatically pointed at the stands. "PREPARE YOURSELVES, FOR THE GREAT GAMES OF NYE!"

Mischa​

Mischa opened her eyes and her mutations faded, restoring Napa to her normal form. "I think we get to watch the fights, let's us make strategies and the like, but fuck if I brought a notebook." Her smile returned in full force. "So, either of you have someone you want to fight? I'm hoping for that Guadalupe guy, big oaf's too stiff to hit me, never seen him run in the three years he's been here." She imagined the tall, square man running like a wounded gazelle. It was a hideous sight indeed. "Would smack him so hard his bloody grandparents will feel it."

 

[Monbon]

Euclaire Huilotzin​

The lively din of the crowd hustling through the streets seemed to drown out everything. The excitement over the games was so overwhelming, a certain redhead couldn't help but partake in the festivities. From playing a few games with children to some light gambling. Euclaire had spent so much time getting to know the locals, other travelers that were drawn to the games, and anyone who would give her their time; that she completely lost track of where she was supposed to be. Towards the end of her chaotic wandering, she'd gained herself a hefty sum of leisure money and a few new accessories to wear from both light gambling and borrowing a few trinkets from those unaware her hands seemed to have a mind of their own.

By the time she felt she got a good feel of the place, Euclaire found she was running a little behind schedule. Not that the schedule was set in stone to begin with. She was never really great when it came to planning. Acting on impulse had always just worked better in the long run. The sound of Gugu hissing was enough to tell her to get a move on.

"Oh, don't get impatient." She comforted the arthropod wrapped around her wrist with a gentle brush of her finger. It only seemed to annoy him further. Evading her affection as if she was ridden with disease, Gugu quickly crawled out of her reach. From her wrist, he rushed away to rest in the fold of her robe by the nape of her neck, out of sight, out of mind.

With a thoughtful hum, she pulled back her finger and left him be. Now that her wrist was unoccupied, she took out a silver bracelet she'd borrowed from a passerby moments before and wore it shamelessly. It was composed of three strands that were woven together. At its center it housed ametrine with diamonds embedded on the strands of silver. around it. Looking it over for but a moment, she felt satisfied and moved on to make her way to the main event.

~

Running a little behind didn't seem to effect much since the games weren't quite underway yet. Soon after arriving at the colosseum, she was met with an interview she probably did poorly in. They probably expected some sob story or maybe something more passionate. Euclaire didn't fit into either category. She wasn't a fighter. She could easily afford to survive by just robbing people blind or perhaps taking her dancing to the next level. Get signed to some bigwigs.

But she never liked being tied down and hated repetition even more. She was here to have some fun. Easy and simple. The thought of possibly putting her life on the line for some entertainment only added to the thrill of wondering what new chapter would unfold. Life was best left unpredictable.

Unpredictable seemed to be just what was in store as she opened the door to locker room #14. Immediately she was met with what felt like tension. Something went down. Euclaire wasn't sure what but tension fill the air. The atmosphere was suffocating. It was peculiar. Whatever was going on was far beyond her understanding.

It really made her curious. The first to fall to her line of sight was the massive mountain of a woman blocking the doorway. The top of her own head barely even reached the woman's chest. the sight of her alone was astonishing. It seemed natural to start off with her. Gently holding at the woman's hand and swinging it lightly in a playful manner, Euclaire ensured she'd get her attention. "Hey gorgeous, I'm not in the wrong room, am I? I hope I'm not interrupting anything." Casting her glance towards the others, Euclaire made a final attempt to make out whatever was going on but failed to come to any concrete conclusion. "Did someone die? What's with the long faces?"

---

EldridSmith Lost Echo Jet Huntertabbysandshark3