trans_9 | To the victor go the spoils [Semi-open]

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To the victor go the spoils [Semi-open]

The arena was vast and raucous, its seats not only cramped but exorbitantly expensive for the typical inhabitant of Epicurea, with even the seats set farthest from the staging area easily costing a full day's wages. It was also packed solid.

Huge holographic screens were projected high into the air above the arena itself, depicting each match (especially the end) with gruesome, crystal-clear detail. Not a drop of blood was spared, not a millimeter of shattered bone was missed, and everything was on display at multiple angles to allow the spectators the fullest extent of the experience.

The observer's box that they were now approaching was as ostentatious as they'd come to expect from their host, luxuriously decorated with fine cloth curtains, plush carpeting, absurdly cushioned seats, and a delicately carved, intricate railing that appeared to be made out of some no doubt ludicrously expensive precious metal. It was a stark contrast to the simple stone benches the other observers were afforded. And of course, their host's pterosaur was once again present at the top of the box: a tethered, living reminder of its owner's exalted status.

As Anwei and Howard were ushered onto the balcony and seated, workers were already busy scrubbing the stage clean of the loser of the last match -- or what was left of him, which by now was only a blue-black smear on the ground. They had arrived just in time for the short intermission before the next match would start.

All viewers, place your bets.

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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.

Howard recognizes that smell - and those sounds - immediately. It doesn't sound like an audience. It sounds like the mob back when Hunter was getting lynched. People are calling for blood, and if the stench of the arena is any indication, their thirst should have been slaked by now but hasn't been.

It's a setting that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up and his insides feel weak and watery. More than ever he wishes he were standing next to Orc, not Anwei and the troupe of Glimmering Prosperity servants.

And what about Zouichi? That was an impressive show he put on in the pavilion, but Howard's pretty sure that even if Zouichi wins against whatever they throw at him, the arena masters won't let him go that easily. And even though they could complete the mission without Zouichi, he finds that he actively dislikes the idea of leaving Zouichi behind. Even if only because that's one less person to talk to on Stacy.

He tries to catch Anwei's eye and mouth "we've made a mistake, plan B?" to her.

Catching Anwei's eye is easy; both of hers are darting in every direction, trying to see what trap she had put her head into. Soft, soft, she was screaming to herself; how could she have ever fooled herself that anything here could be safe? That Stacy had any interest in keeping her safe?

Here and now, she has to think of a way to get all of them (and the Orb) out of here. The time was getting near when they would have to leave - or else.

She considered all the factors, probabilities rolling through her mind in spiky waves of mathematics, and decided that they had to get the Orb first. If they could get that, and then distract the guards and escape, they would just steal a vehicle and head for the shuttle, and hope the Countess would not have time to call the local security.

Anwei stretched luxuriously in her seat, letting the deep neckline of her dress ride open a bit more than was seemly to distract the attendants.

"Howard," she yawned, "I was just thinking of the extra storage container of our delicacy in the shuttle - you know, the one for personal use? Go and place a wager with the Countess, that Zouichi will put on a performance the likes of which has not been seen here in years. That the entire crowd will scream for him. I had been intending to keep that container for myself, but, well, under the circumstances I think we should go to Plan B. Yes?"

Oh, thank God they're going to Plan B. Exactly what Howard said way back at the start. Although right now he's seriously regretting hoping for any excitement. The smell of rotting flesh and fresh blood can do that to a person.

He comes forward and lowers his head demurely, falling easily into his role as servant now that lives are on the line. "So we'll wager the extra container. And what shall I ask the Countess to wager, Mistress? And shall I tip my hat to her?"

He's already planning what to do when he gets to the Countess' box. He knows which Advisor has it, so now it's just a matter of getting in, out and back. Even with his oversized robe he probably won't be able to hide the Orb for long, given its size, so he's hoping Anwei's willing to hide it either in her dress or hat as soon as he gets it safely back to the box.

Right now, he really wishes he weren't wearing traffic cone orange as he goes to do this.

Zouichi is escorted by several heavily armed arena guards to what he can only assume is a kind of windowless backstage, where he's instructed to wait for his appearance. Easy enough, he thinks -- but what kind of room is this? There's nowhere to sit, but there is a series of cases, in which are stored countless melee weapons, some familiar in shape, others baffling. Most are polished to a high shine.

The feeling he's getting now might best be described thus: "I've got a bad feeling about this drop."

He's not sure whether he'll even need a weapon, but it can't hurt to follow instructions, can it?

Zouichi picks out a long halberd, which is not quite as elaborately filigreed as some of the other choices. Then, he waits.

Anwei stroked her throat meditatively, deliberately defocusing her eyes - the giant screens hovering over the audience were showing highlights from the previous match, and they were making her hungry. Very hungry.

"I think I can afford to be generous - after all, I have every faith in my - in Zouichi. So why don't we ask for," she tilted her head, carefully judging just how far back that great feathery sweep of her headgear would make the attendants retreat, "her fine flying beast, all its harness, and a year's worth of food and board." She actually batted her eyelashes - although that might have just been trying to get out the glitter falling into her eyes from the ceiling.

"And you will tip your hat, with the greatest politeness, or I shall have to give you hat-tipping lessons. Harsh lessons." Her eyes went needle-bright on his face, then she leaned forward just enough so that only he could see her eyes, and they softened. You can do this, those eyes said. I have faith on you.

She leaned back again, all ice, and barked, "Go!"

Howard follows Anwei's eyes to the screens, although his expression isn't hers of contemplative desire but one of barely suppressed nausea and fear. He does note her hunger, though. It doesn't encourage him any.

He nods curtly, keeping those terms in mind. It's a good thing Anwei seems to have some faith in him - he could read it in her expression - because while he knows it's possible he can do this, it'll be another issue entirely to actually go through with it. Especially since he doubts the Glimmering Prosperity clan will go all too softly on thieves.

Suddenly, getting the Orb has not become just the necessary thing to do, but the brave thing to do. He doesn't know what fate awaits him if they let Stacy down, but he's willing to bet it's not as immediately terrifying as the Glimmering Prosperity bodyguards who, in addition to having two or more feet on him, are also heavily armed. And some of whom are riding dinosaurs with very sharp teeth.

Once out of Anwei's box, Howard takes a second to lean against a wall, swallow and close his eyes. Theft is easy. He nicked things all the time back before the FAYZ, back after the FAYZ, too. Usually he had Orc around to cause a distraction, and usually the worst that could happen would be that the sheriff would pull him in and threaten him with juvie, but he's stolen before. Even valuable things.

He considers trying to grab the Orb and just steal the dinosaur there, ditching Anwei and Zouichi and making it back to the shuttle with time to spare, but that'd be too risky, and besides, he doesn't know how to fly a dinosaur. Not even close.

He wishes for confidence. It doesn't magically appear. Neither does a mystical well of courage.

He doesn't spend much time meditating on this, since they are on a time limit. He makes his way to the Countess' box, his virtual invisibility still strong.

"O most heralded Countess of Feminine Roundness," he says with a deep bow. "My superior wishes to place a wager with you."

The Countess nods to one of her advisors, who stomps up to Howard in those impossibly tall shoes with that impossibly tall body. Howard's heart skips a beat when he realizes it's the one with the Orb, or so they think. "A lowly male servant should not address the Countess directly. It is only for pity's sake that I deign to address you."

"I apologize for my stupidity. It must be my Y chromosome," he says, half-pleading and secretly sarcastic. "It won't happen again."

"Tell me of this wager."

"My mistress wagers that her servant will put on a performance of a lifetime, to be remembered throughout the years. The audience will all scream his name after his triumph. For this, she will put forward an extra twenty-gallon container of her most delicious substances, and..."

The lightbulb goes off as Howard realizes how he's going to do this. He turns to the Countess.

"And she expects that you will wager your fine flying beast and a year of food and board, ma'am."

The Countess' nostrils flare and Howard shrinks back, but she rounds not on him but on the Advisor. "Is it really such a task for you to keep worth-nothing male servants from addressing me? And not even by my proper title! I should have you whipped and beaten for your inattention to your duty! The only reason I've bestowed such a illustrious position upon you is because of your family, to whom you serve as an utter disgrace! Perhaps they'll find you more honorable when you've been fed, bit by bit, to my pet!"

The Advisor flinches and hunches her shoulders in mortification, unwilling to break eye contact with the Countess even to shoot a glare at said worth-nothing male servant. And Howard uses that opportunity to sneak a hand through one of the Velcro'ed holes in his robe and slip it into the Advisor's bustle - thankfully, the structure is solid and large enough that the Advisor doesn't feel it. He settles his hand on a box and quickly undoes the clasp, hoping to God that it's the Orb he's wrapping his hand around. It feels warm and vaguely like it's vibrating in his hand. He slips his hand back out, silently and skilled, and back into his robe. Then into his pocket. He's slipped away, out of the box, before the Countess has even finished her tirade.

When he returns to Anwei's box, still no less anxious than he was ten minutes ago - they still need to get a dinosaur, after all - he gives her the slightest nod and a twitch of his lip to tell her he's got it.

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Anwei had been alternating her time between peeking at the attendants to see them flinch, and toying with her candy-box. Every time she rattles it, the pterosaur on top of the Countess's box rolls its deepset eyes at her, and by the beading on its saddle, she was confident that she had fed this one before.

But would a treat be enough to bring the beast to her? And would she be able to ride it? Well...of course she could. It couldn't be that different than riding an enhanced war-bear, could it?

Such a thin thread to hang all their lives on. And what if they returned to Stacy and she told them they had done it wrong? What then? Could she take the Violations on herself, say that she had given the orders that led to this? Hopefully.

"Did the Countess accept my wager?" she asks Howard when he returns, not missing the gesture of his lip. She leans closer to him, letting her ruffles form a frothy mound between her and the side of her chair - a mound that could hide almost anything. "Because if so, I might have another errand for you."

"Unfortunately, there appeared to be some trouble with one of the Advisors, and her attention couldn't be bought long enough to set the wager. I think we won't need it, though."

At the second statement, he chances a glance up to Anwei's face again. Not what a servant is supposed to do, but it's the easiest way they can communicate their actual plans in this scenario, and the ruffles should hide them for the moment. His eyes are wide with fear, since he has an inkling of what she'll ask. A soft, unbidden whimper escapes his throat. He mouths the phrase "please don't get me killed" at her.

He also scoots in closer to her and slips his arm back through the sleeve of his robe, pulling the Orb out and sneaking it into her palm. Hopefully she can find a place to hide it. It's not just the Orb, but a statement, too - by unburdening himself of the Orb, he's preparing for whatever task she's setting up.

Even in the darkness, the Rex could hear the dull roar of the crowd above, smell the scent of fresh blood. It was the small things again, fighting to the death not for food or for territory, but for something she could not understand. Here, meat was provided for her; the small things she killed in this place could hardly be expected to sustain her. Here, she fought for only one reason: to survive.

Once, she had fought for other reasons, but that time seemed dim now. Distant. A dull pain settled in her heart when she recalled the ones she had lost. That hateful small thing, who had taken her clutch from her.

She snorted, a harsh chuffing sound. And she also waited.

"I have every confidence in Zouichi's glamor. But I do dearly want that flying beast," she said, rolling one of her eyes to look at it and back. They had seen those animals soaring over the city, leaping from gilded spire to spire; they were agile and fast, and could carry three people from the arena to the shuttle - hopefully fast enough to outfly any warnings. That depended, of course, on how much of a distraction they could raise here.

She put both her eyes back on Howard's face, and for an instant tried to send to him with her expression: I will save you. At the same time her hand closed over the heavy round weight that must be the Orb.

"You know, I was thinking that this whole spectacle promises to be quite grand. I'd like to look over the records of this establishment, see what sort of a profit it turns, what its overhead runs, and so on. It might be an amusing distraction for my retirement, to own an arena. I'm especially interested in how the animals are kept - they do sound quite excited, don't they? I hope they are securely confined."

She flicked her hand at him. "Go and examine the animal pens, and bring me back a report. And mind yourself - I don't want any of the animals breaking a tooth on your bones, not if I'm going to be buying them." The most in-character way she could think of to say 'be careful.'

Howard barely suppresses a groan when his suspicions about his assignment are confirmed. She doesn't need to tell Howard to be careful. It's already firmly ingrained into his nature.

He does, however, shoot her a look that tells her he doesn't trust her as far as he can throw her in regards to her rescuing him. Not that he'd blame her. He's not exactly the first person you'd throw onto a life-raft.

Freed of the Orb (which he still hasn't gotten a good look at and is only familiar with through touch), he nods and exits the box again, feeling like he's about to walk headfirst into death.

It takes him a while, far too long for comfort, to find the entrance to the animal pens. They're way at the bottom of the arena, through a nearly labyrinthine series of corridors. Not to mention that the lighting down here is terrible, and everything reeks of dinosaur manure and rotting food. Mistress Anwei would be most displeased, if she actually gave a damn.

Two guards in meido outfits stop him as he gets close to one of the pens, which seems a bit more like a cell in some medieval dungeon movie. They don't even bother to block him physically, relying on their rather intimidating stature and status to do the job for them. "Halt, servant. What brings you here?"

"Aren't you a bit far from your master?" the second sneers.

After two days of this Howard's getting pretty sick of the servant act, but he bows down on one knee regardless. "I apologize. My mistress instructed me to observe the details of the arena. She expressed special interest in the boarding for the fighting animals."

"You aren't authorized to be here."

"My mistress said-"

"Your mistress can come down here and authorize the visit herself!" one of the guards snaps.

Well, this isn't working.

Time for crazy, stupid, completely unfun plan C. A plan Howard would never, ever bother to go with if not for the fact that they are on a very, very tight schedule.

He sprints past them. And much to his relief, he finds that despite their longer strides, the fact that they're wearing wedge sandals and he's wearing running shoes nearly evens the pace. He's a fast runner. Not fast enough for comfort.

He slips his arms out of the sleeves of his robe, undoes the Velcro, and stops and ducks in his tracks, letting the guard behind him go plowing into and over him. She and her comrade shriek and he yelps as he skins his knees on the floor and knocks his head on what must be someone's ankle, but he's up again before the fallen one can get her bearings. He throws his robes around the other one's knees as she's turning around. It doesn't quite work as well as action movies would have him believe, but it's such an odd gesture that the guard pauses for just a second. A second's all he needs to stomp on her foot with all his strength, the attack emphasized by the awkwardly-shaped shoe she wears. He whirls around and sprints off again as she grabs for him and misses by half an inch.

Thankfully, free of the robe and back in cargo shorts and a t-shirt, he can move around more freely, and even blends in a bit with the shadowy stone walls. Unfortunately, they're more familiar with the layout of this place than he is, so he knows he can't use the freaky corridors to his advantage. Which leaves one very, very risky, very, very stupid alternative. He climbs up onto the hinges of a pen door, peeks inside, sees nothing immediately, and crawls in through the window.

He's sweating, breathing hard, his ears are ringing, his heart's about to beat out of his chest, his knees are bleeding, and yet thank God thank God, he chose a cell with an herbivore. He heaves a sigh of relief as he tries to figure out what to pick the locks with. The Ankylosaurus in the cell with him stares at him, either perplexed or just stupid.

Anwei craned her neck as though wondering where Zouichi was going to emerge below, then gestured over one of the attendants. "This cushion is insufficiently perfumed, fix it!" When the girl nervously misted the cushion from a heavy cut-glass atomizer, she caught some on her wrist and rubbed it under her nose.

Anything to cut down on the smell of meat.

With her other hand she judged the heft of the Orb. She couldn't hide it in her dress, unfortunately, because she definitely might be slipping out of it during their departure - it was heavy and awkward, and she didn't particularly like white ruffles on glitter ruffles on white satin. She felt like a Terran wedding cake. The only item of clothing that she wouldn't be ditching without effort was her hat, a towering spire of ribbons, mirrors, feathers, streamers, held on by metal clamps that pinched her scalp constantly. Well, they were about to pinch some more.

She shifted in her seat, stomping one foot with mock impatience. "Oh, I hate waiting," she lied. "I hate it, hate it, hate it!" With each 'hate' she gave a vigorous nod of her head, setting the mass of her headgear bobbing up and down, up and down and - now! The ruffles around her wrist hid her hand as she raised her hand, pressing the Orb hard against the back of her muscular neck. The back of her skull was a solid layer of muscle over bone, and it compressed where bone didn't, letting her force the Orb up under the edge of the hat and deep under it. It hurt; she could feel the bruises already. But now the Orb was on top of her head, under the hat, and safe. At least as long as her head was.

"Ow! she complained, and glared at the youngest and prettiest attendant. "Can't you see that I have a neck cramp? Don't just stand there, come and massage it away!" She smiled.

Zouichi felt movement a moment before the area of the room in which he was standing began to rise. The ceiling, high above him, opened; through it he could see the crowd. And the arena. The noise from the crowd must be deafening from the stands; from where he stood, it was merely a dull roar.

As he rose, he made a point of looking around, scanning for Anwei and Howard. Anwei he spotted almost immediately, seated in the eye-gougingly bright observer's box, but Howard... Howard wasn't with her.

He activated his receiver, murmuring softly, but with a clear undertone of urgency. "What's the plan, Howard?"

The Rex felt it. It was time. She was being moved upwards, to face another opponent. The small things were all around her, screaming, shouting, their voices combining into an unintelligible buzz. The small things did not matter. Her snout and legs were covered in white scars, from countless attackers who had been prodded, either by dreams of fame or physical force, into challenging her. She had beaten them all.

This one was different from the others, though. It did not smell like sweat. It did not smell like fear.

This small one stood motionless, watching her with a steady gaze, its fang in hand. Waiting for her to make the first strike.

She was seized with a sudden fury. She would make it afraid. She would crush its frail little body in her jaws, tear it, toss it aside with one shake of her great head. But before that, she would make sure that it died in mortal terror.

The Rex thundered forward, beginning her circling motion; she opened her jaws and roared. It was an ear-splitting, ancient sound, a sound of fury and blood and promises of pain. She would fight. She would kill.

Howard's trying to flatten out the spiral from his little spiral-bound notebook, hoping to use it to help pick the locks. Howard doesn't even remember he has the communicator until it starts making sound. He holds it up close to his face and whispers into it. "We have the Orb. Also, I'm in a pen with a bunch of dinosaurs."

A bunch of dinosaurs that aren't looking at him like they want to eat him, but definitely like he's in their territory. They're huge and armored, with tails like bludgeons. He glances over to them. "Please don't club me to death," he whispers.

"Anyway, I'm going to let some dinos loose and cause a distraction. Anwei's going to steal a flying one and save our asses. And you just try not to die, okay?"

He pauses to shatter his pen with his foot and try and get some useful lock-picking shards out of the plastic. He can hear one of the guards racing around outside.

"And yes, our plan is that stupid. Gotta go, every guard in the arena's looking for me."

Anwei clapped her hands together and squealed as Zouichi rose up through the trap door. "Oh, just look at how masculine he is!" she cried out, and gestured several of the attendants forward so they could look as well.

All the better to shove them over the railing and into the ring, when the time came.

Easy for Howard to say. He doesn't have 6.8 metric tons of angry thunder lizard after him.

Running, Zouichi thinks, would be the wrong move here. And moreover, there's nowhere to run to -- the arena is completely sealed off. The platforms were the only way he can see of getting in; if he wants out now, he'll have to make his own exit.

He drops the spear in his hands, backing into a fistfighting stance instead. It isn't in his nature to hurt innocents, and he includes animals in that category. Unfortunately, this is a very angry animal, and from the sound of that roar, it's very short on patience.

The small one isn't running; it's not even trying to back away. It has dropped its single fang to the ground, without which it is wholly defenseless. Why?

It doesn't matter. The Rex barrels forward, eating up the ground in long, surprisingly graceful strides, her long, stiff tail following behind her as counterbalance, jaws already opening in anticipation of that satisfying clack!

As soon as the Rex is in range, Zouichi darts forward, pulling back one satin-gloved hand and delivering a single punch to its snout. He hits her hard; that kind of blow would have easily shattered a human skull upon impact.

But the Rex isn't human, so she merely rears back, bellowing in pain and fury. Zouichi takes the opportunity to dash past her, past the huge jaws and daggerlike teeth, the powerful neck, the massive, sinewy legs...

Zouichi grabs hold of her tail, held lower to the ground now that she's raised her head away and out of reach; he uses his momentum, digs into his position, and --

What is happening? What is going on? All of a sudden, her vision has exploded into light and pain. That little insect, that little warmblooded thing has hurt her!

The Rex is in brief but exquisite agony, but she can still sense him dimly; he is circling around to her rear. She must turn and stop him, she must --

To the victor go the spoils [Semi-open]

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