Anwei sat down a bit gingerly on the overstuffed chair, and sighed. She had thrown herself about rather hard earlier, and she probably had bruises from the dress' undercarriage. But she would only have to put up with this overblown place for another hour or less, she hoped. Just let Zouichi do whatever he was going to do, and they could leave. For now she could sip from the iced juice glass at her elbow, look at the fruit bowls and the heavily muscled attendants with much the same air of appreciating something edible, and relax.

She smiled, and the attendants shifted back a pace.

But it was strange that the stage was dirty enough to need to be cleaned. What, were they doing paint wrestling or something? That might be nice to watch. But the smell...the smell that carried over the juice and the cushions' perfume and the crowd-sweat; it was the smell of animals, and blood. Blood and rot. And the crowds were screaming in a way that seemed very – primal, for a beauty contest or athletic competition.

Her fingers played nervously with the silverware laid out at the table by her side, and her smile was a little too wide in her face with nervousness.