GTB Hotel

[Opening Day, 8 PM]

The lights, the glamor, the glory, these were the things that were awaiting at the entrance of the hotel as the arrival day for the second annual Gaian Tenkaichi Budokai had come. Visitors from all across the world were coming in to get in on this event, even though the fights will be broadcasted live when the fighting begins. But for now, it was just the prefights, the day where the fighters settle into their rooms and get to know both their environment and their competition. Some cameramen and news crew were waiting at the entrance, but they were not going to be much of a bother. Midus Sonners, the president of GTB, made sure of that, only allowing approved media to come in, as long as they followed the rules given to them, one being importantly to not push on those they interview when they show resistance.

Stationed around the hotel were security, men and women of the Gaian Police Department. Though they had a universal uniform code, some showed personalization in their looks. As long as you saw their badges, however, you knew who you to watch out for. But surely, if something does happen, they'll be the ones to to break it all up.

Of course, this was the GTB. With a hotel full of fighters ready to fight, what's the worst that can happen?

The roar of an engine reached the hotel long before the vehicle in question ever showed up, like a herald of the dawn. But show up the motorcycle did, carrying on it's oversized wheels and seat a one Damion Hedley, fresh from the end of the Heaven or Hell tournament. His helmet blocked who he was from veiw, but with a flash of his invitation he had the concierge take the bike to wherever it was they parked such things as he swung a heavy bag onto his back, looking at the building through tinted plastic. He was dressed differently, and thus anyone who had heard of him wouldn't place him immediately as the third fighter on Team Pheonix. His jeans were tight around the waist but seemed looser the further down you went, finally terminating in heavy boots as befitting a bike rider. His shirt was short sleeved and tight, wet suit tight and moved with his body as he walked down the strip that led to the door, ignoring the camera's as much as they probably ignored him.

"Hn....think they could have just sent me the key." He murmured, yanking his helmet off with his free right hand, gazing around the plush room for amoment to see if anyone he recognized was running about before making his way to the desk to receive his room key and be on his way.

Then, suddenly a mass of pitch black epic praportions became apparent. Whizzing toward the sidewalk before all the bussle. And before it could actually, impact, The sphere of tendrils would expand and halt instantly. The darkness itself peeling back. Leaving four different wolves in a sqaure formation around a ghostly haired young man. The six foot figure and his pets strolled through the media.

Brialliant yellow eyes completely ignoring them. Hell. Most of them had fallen/jumped back when the 'thing' collided with the ground. The ones that did get photos, video. Had pictures and footage of exactly nothing at all.

The dhampir shoved the doors of the hotel open. Walking in with his four companions. One of them seaped away at the door, His deep blue eyes the last thing vissible before he vanished. Being twice the size of a full grown male polar bear, the creature wouldn't have fit in the halls. Marut would have to hang back in Matthew's shadow.

The remaining three made a new formation. The reddish and greyish wolves in front.The reddish one maybe the size of a lion, while the grey one was standard size for a male wolf. The other though. The eerie jet black 'bear sized' wolf. It would hang back, its crimson eyes keeping watch on everything.

Eventually the group made it to the front desk. Matthew signed the sheet. Smiled at the jack off behind the counter. And took his key for room 1030. No directions needed. He'd head to the elevator and punch in the propper keys as the poor bus boy asked about luggage.

He laghed. Whilst his wolves moved into the little space. Taking up all the available room.

"Heh...I saw a pool..."

"You know what that means.."

The door shut. They all grinned. And then spoke out as one.

"Pool honeys!"

*Muso was different than most making their arrival into the hotel. For one he was equipped in heavy strength training armor that covered his form, purposely keeping his physical strength in great condition just like his durability that will be shown in combat. Jogging this muscular Athletic warrior would be approaching the entrance to the five star hotel, known where GTB II will have its fighters stationed there.

His appearance told everyone the type of person he was. Filled with that competitive drive to win, eagerness to battle, and lastly meeting some new faces resulted in an amazing event that was similar to Christmas in some degree. Muso Ragori the prime martial artist will show these fighters a thing or two about the artform of hand to hand combat. The advance combat suit he wore was tightly wore on his muscular stature.

His mind linger around this establishment and he smiled. His brother Darious Kaiq survive until the 3rd round of the grand Heaven or Hell 08 tournament, but unlike him he didn't align himself with others, instead relying on his own abilities to survive in this tournament. Pacing towards the desk in a calm manner, Muso placed the ticket on the desk to receive his keycard to Suite 201.

" Nice day we're having. Well here my ticket and I hope you enjoy the battles."*

Reyin Nova was far from the most world-reknown name entered in the tournament. Hell, aside from three or four people outside of his own parents, the rest of the population didn't even know he existed. This probably explained why he arrived at the hotel in the back of a farm truck without much fanfare. He hopped out of the bed of the truck, snagged up his dusty duffle bag and sword, and thanked the driver for the ride.

The media didn't even seem to pay that much attention to him. A few snapshots were taken of what speculation assumed was just a farm boy who managed to get into the tournament through some sort of fluke. Fit as he looked, there just wasn't anything spectacular about him that separated him from the other competitors. His clothing was fairly plain, his hair was tousled and unkempt, and his face was covered in dirt and grime from sleeping in the back of a truck. Even the sword he carried didn't look as though it were anything special.

Quite frankly, he looked like a homeless person with a sword and a duffle bag.

The woman behind the front desk looked wary upon his arrival, but the ticket he held was genuine. Suite 667 was his assigned room, and he took the key with a smile.

If the blonde-haired, green eyed young man had anything going for him, it was manners. There was a boyish charm about him that some female fans found appealing, but the dirt and smell kept them from approaching too close.

Deciding to take the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator, Reyin half ran, half walked up the six flights to get to his room. Once inside his suite, Reyin deposited his belongings on the bed and headed to the bathroom.

First order of business?

A nice, long shower.

Whhhiiirrrrrm..

The day after the official opening the tournament, a black Rune arrived, weaving in and out of traffic to screech to a stop in front of the hotel. The driver was clad in riding leathers and wore a black helmet, his face hidden behind the opaque blackness of the face-plate. The silver outline of a wolf head decaled each sided of the helmet, though no such decoration touched the plain black-and-chrome machine that the rider was sitting on.

Rubber burnt on asphalt as the bike came to a halt, swerving slightly to give the rider a side-long view of the hotel. The media outside swiveled to turn their cameras on the black leather clad arrival. The crowd was surprisingly large - media and fans had come from all over, and quite a few had seeped away from Heaven or Hell to follow their favorite fighters to the GTB II. The Psi Nine News crew, led by one Jonnie Farragut was even present - another Psi Nine team was still covering the Heaven or Hell Finals. The Psi Nine reporter motion fervently at his camera man, and the operator zoomed in on the black face-plate of the Rune's rider.

"This is Jonnie Farragut with Psi Nine News! Another fighter has arrived - late, no less!" the suited man commented, standing beside the camera man to let the watchers at home have a full view of the man. The rider stepped off of his hog, whapping the kick-stand with his heel to knock it in place. A valet hurried up, taking the keys from the be-leathered rider, and the bags from the bike before scurrying off.

This must be the place..

Black gloved hands reached up to grasp the helmet, pulling it away. A sheen of dark hair rushed out from the confines of the helmet over the rider's broad shoulders as he stood tall in front of the crowd as the proud, almost saturnine features of Deitric Jocasta were revealed once the helmet was fully removed. A black-and-white patterned bandanna covered the top of the warrior's head, his turquoise eyes glaring out at those around him. He didn't look happy - but then again, he rarely looked anything other than stony and calm.

Farragut let out a cry and approached the former Vice-Captain of Bloodfire. He offered the warrior his hand, and the solemn fighter took it in a handshake, cameras flashing while Farragut smiled and Deitric remained as impassive as ever. A few men with "Psi Nine" labeled T-shirts managed to keep the other media folk away while the two men made their way to the hotel entrance, Farragut following on Deitric's right while Karr followed on the left with his ever-present camera.

"Deitric Jocasta - The Thundering Tempest! Are you here to compete? Do you believe you'll fare as good in your second tournament as you did in Heaven or Hell with Dragosani Kain and James Eredas? Do you have a message for the watchers at home?" The mic was shoved in front of the red-skinned man's face, and he paused mid-stride to respond.

"With any luck, I will do just as good - perhaps better. I had faith in my teammates, but I'm much more suited to this style of fighting - two men enter, one man wins. I look forward to the first round, and all those after it. The only message I have is that they should keep watching; things will get interesting if this tournament is as great as it's been advertised," the warrior flashed a rare smile and the Psi Nine camera cut, letting Jonnie pat the man on the back as they continued walking into the hotel, pushing the doors open. The Psi Nine men melted away again and the crowd massed together again, jostling for the front and center.

"Such a fuckin' hassle to work out there with those animals. Tell me Deitric, would you be willing to do another interview for Psi Nine? Of course, you don't need a ride this time, but we can pay you in gold," Farragut questioned, looking up at the slightly taller fighter. As much as Jonnie loved his job, he hated it too - he couldn't swear, couldn't drink on the job, and he had to deal with things ranging from crowds of magically-inclined kooks to fighters with all sorts of personality disorders. Luckily, he'd found one he could interview and get ratings off of that was relatively normal, if a little quiet.

"Of course, Jonnie. But not right now - Right now, I have other matters to attend to. You can reach me at my room - eight-sixty. Let the clerk know before hand so they can alert me," Deitric responded, his long legs carrying him away from the reporter and camera man as quickly as he could manage.

He flashed the ticket he'd received to the front-desk clerk, and the woman idly slid him a key. He only offered a nod and took it, turning away to find his room. Eight-sixty. Somewhere on the eighth floor. He let out a grunt as he disappeared behind the doors of the nearest elevator, away from the crowd and to his own room for some rest.

Spyke looked down from the rooftop of the hotel. at all the fighters coming in. The spectators and news people weren't his affair. They didn't matter to him. It was the men and women going through the doors that he had interest in. His body completely hidden under his black cloak with the exception of his brunette hair and icy blue optics. He felt out the powers present at the moment and raised an eyebrow. Some of them were already planning on playing games. Some were just biding time and still others were enjoying themselves.

Spyke came to the conclusion that watching these entities enter would neither reveal anything of interest nor do any good in the long run so he deemed it a opportune time to proceed with his own plans. He stepped off the rooftop and went into a head first free fall. Unconcerned he plummeted towards the ground as some rich looking man entered the doors. Unnoticed till Spyke landed on his feet and vanished through the doors. By the time anyone would have seen him he would already be inside. Rumors of a man in a black cloak would be passed through the crowd like wildfire through dry grass. In the end it would be mostly dismissed. A shadow is just that.

Once through the doors Spyke approached the desk with completely unchanging features. He neither smiled nor scowled. He didn't even speak to the woman at the desk. His eyes locked onto hers and as if drawing her soul out through her eyes she continued to stare into his optics. Fear and discomfort on her features and body language. He placed his letter on the counter and eager to break the gaze of this man the woman grabbed for it and read it. Hurriedly she placed the key before Spyke. A naked muscular arm protruded from beneath the folds of the dark cloak revealing nothing more of the form underneath.

Taking the key inside the abyss along with the retracted appendage Spyke bowed to the shaken woman and melted into the ground. The real man was already standing in his room. 1150. The shadow sent in the front door had merely been sent to collect the key and check in. Spyke stood there for several minutes before turning to the door. His eyes flashed momentarily and from outside there would be a muffled thudding noise. Otherwise all was silent.

Sandals stop in front of the hotel, someone in a summer outfit standing before the media. It was a tall boy with a lanky body, wearing jean shorts, a red buttoned-up vest, and a hat on the top of his head, black bangs falling from it. His eyes were large, yet they held more of a silent composure than one of the usual cute status. And his mouth was pretty large, even with it closed. Though he was lanky, he held some muscle features along his legs and arms, so he probably wasn't as weak as he looked.

He had already grabbed the attention of the media and anyone else standing around, even though he was not a competitor in the tournament. But since the media were tired of having people walk past them without knowing whether they were in the tournament or not, mics and cameras were already pointing at the new boy.

"Huh?" He stared at the people as they pointed their cameras at him, questions already coming at him.

"Are you participating in this year's GTB?" "What's your name?" "If you are fighting, are you going to fight just as you are? There has been some people walking through with some scary weapons."

And then a large grin comes to the kid's face, his hand fixing his hat.

"Hahaha! No, I'm not in the tournament, but the chef of my pirate crew is!"

"Pirate?! Whose the person that's in this tournament?"

"Sanji, of course! Didn't he just walk past here a moment ago? Yellow hair, cigarette in his mouth."

And that is when the news reporters sweatdropped, remember the person who fit that description. But the kid was so naive, continuing to smile.

"Who are you," one of the male reporters ask.

"My name is Monkey D. Luffy, captain of the Strawhats! And soon, I'm going to be the King of the Pirates!"

"Hm? Oh, right."

He waves to the people trying to get news on him. "Sorry, guys, but we have to get going."

Stepping forward, he just walks through the crowd of reporters, entering into the hotel. He looks about for a moment, noticing how nice this place looked, but his eyes were further searching for Sanji. But with no luck, he just goes forward to the stairs. He didn't know about the elevators, mainly cause he never seen one in his life. But stairs, now those were something he was familiar with.

"He said the eleventh floor,"Luffy mutters to himself. "That means eleven flight of stairs, huh?" He then grins largely. "Easy."

Already, he was running up the steps, counting as he bypassed each number that came up.

"Two....three....four...."

And like any other participants in this tournament, the literally unknown swordsman popped into view just outside the doors of the hotel, breathing in ragged breaths and panting as if he'd just ran the marathon four times over. To an extent, it was that horrible; having walked throughout the entire journey by foot instead of taking the bus or car or any other forms of transportation has left him in a state of exhaustion.

And traveling for a few days straight without proper food or rest... The swordsman could only shudder involuntarily in disgust, not wanting to remember what price he had to pay just to get to this damn forsaken place. At least the service here would probably be better than the HoH tournament a few months back, hopefully. Ah well.

Just as he was hauling his tired body back up, some reporters were pushing their way past, trying to catch a glimpse of the other, more flashy participants coming in in their corvettes or some high-quality vehicle, acting like snobbish fools or some rich assholes with ridiculous powers.

"Oof!" One of the camera man nearly knocked the tired swordsman off balance, and straining to keep himself from falling he leaned against the wall nearby, finding the whole state of ordeal wholly unnecessary for the sake of this competition. Media broadcasters? News TV? To hell with all those things clicking their little shutter and trying to kiss ass on the participants walking by.

The swordsman, breathing out a low sigh, slowly crept up to the desk, ignoring the whole commotion of all the reporters outside waiting for some charming individual to walk in. "Avan Doleres Snow. Participant in this tournament...Room 506, I believe." The swordsman muttered, glancing down when he saw the slight disgust in the receptionists eye.

After all, he hasn't taken a shower nor kept himself tidy for the past few days.

Grabbing the key before the receptionist tried to act polite in front of him, the swordsman wandered off to the pool, deciding to take a quick shower there while letting himself enjoy - just briefly if possible - a moment of bliss... Before he himself is eclipsed by the more notoriously known fighters around here.

A man clad in armor, but little else would be seen walking up the road to the hotel. With each step, a clanking noise would be made as his amulet clashed against his breast-plate. The sword at his waist would be moving gently back and forth as he progressed and a smile was on his face. He was in a tournament, one that had a ridiculous fame about it. He was glad to be able to enter, and he would do his best to make his presence known. He was sure there would be a fair share of strong combatants, so he would take no enemy lightly. He would do his best in every fight, and if he lost, so be it.

As he neared the hotel entrance, he noticed a large crowd of reporters and media gathered there. He sighed and continued to walk forward, his cloak covering his left arm and half of his face. He didn't want the media attention just yet. They were annoying rats who liked to tell lies to the public. Brain-washers in his opinion. He was nearing the door when suddenly, reporters jumped in front of him and shoved microphones in his face. The flash of camera's went off and all he heard was the loud roar of too many idiotic questions aimed at him.

He was tempted to just kill them all, but decided against it. He didn't want to get messy yet. He just shoved them aside without a word and went to the front desk.

"Hi, Rei Claybourne. I'm in the tournament. Room 444." He ended with a polite smile and when he was presented with the room key, he nodded and walked off, heading for his room. He was tired and wanted to get some rest before the tournament officially began.

It was sure to be a long and dangerous road.

"Thanks," Deitric grunted to the valet that had carried his bags for him. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins, passing them off to the kid before the valet left him alone in his room. He picked up the bag for a moment, weighing in his hand. Heavy, like it should of been. Had to make sure everything was still there.

Satisfied with his inspection, he turned his eyes to the room around him. It was nice. Smaller than the room at the Crimson Hawk, but then again, that room had been made to hold a team. It was still plenty big - probably bigger than he was really comfortable with.

Nice place. Fully stocked. All sorts of stuff I can use and probably end up breaking.

Deitric grunted as he placed his bag on the floor, digging his clothes out to hang them up before unzipping the bottom of the bag. There was a secondary compartment. He pulled out the package there, wrapped in thick cloth to keep someone from noticing it.

Let's see if he got the order right..

Deitric pulled away the cloth, opening the small box afterwards. Sitting inside were two tomahawks, the axe-heads glinting in the room's lightning. He could even see his own reflection in the mirror-finish, as warped as it was. He hefted up both of the weapons, both looking as if they had been carved from a single hunk of steel - no seams, no breaks. The handle was engraved up and down it's length, with the exception of the rubber-like substance that made up the grips. They were different than his old tomahawk. More modern, sleeker, but with the same functionality. After a few swings, he decided that he couldn't complain.

Without another word, the warrior set the two weapons criss-crossed at the small of his back, the hafts shoved into his belts to keep them in place before he turned on his heel to go explore the hotel.

Saphen entered the hotel quietly but of course with all the paparazzi not many fighters would be left to their own devices. Saphen's dark blue hair cascaded down each side of his face with similar colored eyes staring at the few cameras now currently in his face.

"Who are you? Are you one of the entertainers for the hotel?" asked a reporter who noted his mandolin strapped to his back and made a clever assumption but this time her keen eye failed her.

"No ma'am I am sorry to say I am not an entertainer in the fashion you take me for. I am a participant in this tournament."

The reporter looked confused and exchanged glances with her cameraman, who inturn shrugged and zoomed the camera in on his concealed face.

"Well then surely you can tell us something about yourself?" The reporter inquired happily turning to the camera to mention a few things about the tournament and it's "interesting" characters.

"Surely," replied he "I am Saphen it is a pleasure." The reporter blushed happily as he bowed to her and lifted his body back up once more.

"Do you play any music?! Surely you need to play for us!" The reporter got excited turning to the cameraman to point out the mandolin for a shot they could use for later editing.

"I am afraid I can't do that."

"Why not!" said she who was now severely disappointed in him.

"Because I value your well being," he replied with a mischievous laugh before walking away from them.

The two stared at him some what confused but with her intelligence she recovered making some joke about rock stars and their egos but this was not the case.

Saphen knew it would be unwise to draw attention to himself this early in the game. Though it would be a lie to say he did not enjoy occasionally teasing people but it was all in good spirits.

A small hand took the key to room 612. It was a good distance from the front desk but he didnt mind it at all. He was quite happy to be in this facility. "Wow." He thought to himself as he made his way through the lobby and to the elevator. There were a good amount of people there and it made him wonder if they were all fighters. Some were tall and some were short like him, some maybe even shorter. It wasnt long before he found that it would be quite a task to get to his hotel room. It was obvious that reporters would have there share of laughs, ooo's and awe's over his cute demeanour. Some even went so far as to ask who he was here with and who was the fighter he would be chearing on. The five foot naught kid with light skin simply replied, "Im here by myself to play games," with a smile and nod before continuing walking towards the elevators leaving the reporters with their awe's. Soon he found his room and opened his door, dropping his bags to the ground before running to the bed and jumping on it. "WEEEE!!!!!" He exclaimed as he laughed and giggled, not caring one bit who may pass by and wonder why a kid was registered in a hotel that was supposed to be for fighters. Yes he was quite the excitable lad and it didnt help that he didnt know exactly what to expect from his stay here.

Michael Noire enters the Hotel, its as if he was always here, but until he said "Hello, I've decided to check in" every moment he spent moving from place to place never happened. His blank stare into the video cameras, including the hidden ones, remained strangely unnoticed, and when the video was viewed a second time, searching for him, the security guards strangely forgot they were looking for him by the time he showed up on the video, and eventually went back to channel surfing and planning their lunches...

+Suite 400+

Knock

Knock

Knock...

Hearing the door knock three times Jack put the cigarette out which was in his mouth and headed off the deck and into his suite. Along the way to the door he picked up a shirt and slipped it on, keeping the buttons undone at the time. With that he opened the door to his suite. On the other side stood a man of about six feet in size. He wore a plain white shirt, a pair of gray jeans, a pair of black and gray converse shoes, and a black back pack.

"Trey, come in."

Stepping away from the door the man known as Trey stepped into the room and looked around the place. Closing the door behind the young looking man Jack locked the door and followed after Trey.

"So ya came?"

Trey stopped and turned to face Jack and grinned.

"Of course I came, why would I miss out on a chance to get stronger?"

Chuckling softly Jack nodded and pulled up a seat from the nearby desk. It was a pretty nice chair, leather padding and black painted wood. Pretty nice in Jacks standards, and of course Trey's. Sitting down on the seat Jack smiled.

"Good, Good. Take a seat there."

He motioned to the bed beside Trey. Trey in turn sat down on the bed and removed his bag, setting it on the floor at his feet.

"So, Trey Stevens. You wanna learn how to get stronger, use powers you only dreamed of from where you came from? Correct? Well I can help you with that. Well I think I can. I've only once trained another person, but they turned out fine. But that was only for a short time, this time it will be for what looks to be a while. So tell me, are ya ready?"

Jack gave Trey no time at all to respond till the end in which Jack stopped talking. Taking a deep breath Trey nodded before speaking again.

"I am ready."

Grinning Jack stood up and put his right hand out to Trey for a handshake. Treys hand came up also and the two shook hands. This was the beginning of training a normal human in the use of powers he has only read about in books. Is it even possible to teach a human such things? Well only time will tell...

The door to room 1150 opened once again a short time later. For the moment it was open all that could be seen was darkness. As if the lights were casting shadows instead of light. From this darkness several quick moving black shapes raced off in different directions. Some to the stairs some to windows some through ventilation shafts and one or two squeezed through the closed elevator doors. Following the disbursement the door shut.

On the roof one of the dark shapes stopped over looking the incoming fighters.

Another stopped at the arena.

Several more stopped at locations around the hotel. Eateries, the pool, recreational areas, the gardens, etc.

Spyke stood against the wall in the lobby watching people come and go. The Ogre, the silent young man, the child, and several others. Few of them remained in the lobby longer than it took to retrieve their key and head to the stairs or elevation. Among these were a woman who ran into a familiar bard. Spyke had seen the man with the mandolin before. He was a comrade of sorts to Spyke's only living relation. He in particular Spyke was looking forward to fighting. Who his sibling aligned himself with greatly interested Spyke. However Spyke made no move to make contact. He merely watching the fighters stream in one after another.

You cannot fuckin stop me! I will keep fighting!!

You would have at least thought that they would have covered all the expenses one would have gained by buying food in the few days that would herald the beginning of the tournament. Tres didn't arrive early, he didn't have the money to do such a thing.

Instead, he got here just on time so that he wouldn't garner too much of a bill while just waiting. Tres currently didn't have a job and he was living off of a body building scholarship that paid for his meals at Durem University. Tres had in fact come to this tournament to make money.

After he entered his room 703 he dropped his duffel bag with all of his crap in the middle of the floor, not bothering to take an immediate moment to hang up his clothes. He would lay, plop!, on the bed, back first so that his pretty blue eyes would look up into the air conditioning vent that blew gently upon his hansom face. It was slightly early and Tres was not a morning person, also he hadn't had his breakfast yet. He was a tad bit tired from his trip.

'At least the room was nice', he thought. He knew that what he paid to enter the tournament wasn't enough to get even a days stay at this hotel, so he made himself thankful. Yet, Treses greedy pretty boy nature would not allow him to silence the voice of desire in his mind. First, he wanted food, then he wanted pussy but he was too lazy to make himself rise from the bed to get either.

It won't be over until...! YOU! HIT! THE! GROUND!

**"Hmph." Syre entered the hotel in a huff, maybe even a storm. Needless to say he was a bit piffed. Not a single punch had been traded in his latest fight. Just some BS manoeuvres. Syre had misunderstood a rule and made a mistake, but he recovered and made sure not to mess up again. But apparently, his opponent was not so cooperative.

A give up in the first round. No not a submission, a mere whim of deciding not to participate any longer. Syre sure hoped his opponents in the future would provide a better fight. Syre was looking forward to furthering his hand to hand expertise with some of the best, and his previous fight had been just the opposite. A decision was made at that instant. Syre would rely a lot more on his strength and fighting abilities in this tournament rather then his normal flashy show. Next round, things would get bloody.

For now however, Syre would chill in the lounge of the hotel. Blow of some steam and perhaps talk to some other 'winners' if he could even be called that. There was no pride in a forfeit match.**

Exactly right. This man that Syre had no connection to what so ever had pin pointed his feeling exactly. How odd, who was this man. "Yes that is precisely how I am feeling. Its a bit of a comfort for someone to at least know the feeling." Syre stood up and smiled at the man. "Hello my name is Syrdust, you may call me Syre. May I ask your name?" Manners, manners, manners. One must be polite if he wants to get anywhere.

The thought sunk in a bit. That was not how Syre had thought about it bout now that the man said it Syre knew that was true. "Hmm you know, you are right. That is a comfort to know. Thanks." Syre said with a light nod. At least next round he would get to fight someone worthy. With that Syre was ready to leave and go train. "Well I think I'm going to go get ready for the next round even if it is a ways off. I might could lose a few pounds." Syre slapped his belly with a playful chuckle, and turned to leave.

Reyin was chilling in a hot tub, shirt off, arms splayed out around the rim, and a great big smile plastered on his face. Currently his head was arched clear back, eyes focusing on whatever happened to be above him at the time. He was pretty tired, so he didn't seem to be able to tell the difference between stars and overhead fluorescent lighting.

Unlike many of the walking wounded that had limped their way back into the hotel, Reyin was surprisingly well off. There was a nasty looking bruise across his right temple and his left forearm was wrapped in ice, but aside from the two most noticeable areas of injury he looked unscathed.

His fight didn't have a clear victor like some of the other matches, and Reyin figured that he and the samurai he had pitted off against were surprisingly evenly matched. Had the fight gone on much longer, Reyin might have actually refused to separate once the time limit was up.

But his thoughts weren't on the past, or even concerned with whether or not he had won. Instead, all he could think about was humming a little song and tapping the fingers of his right hand to the beat.

Guy really couldn't have been any happier.

Well, that went fine. The swordsman, while dodging the occasional stupidity that follows in masses of media, quickly came back to the hotel after the round ended unexpectedly. Disappointed that he couldn't fight to his fullest due to some...distraught interference, the overuse of the ability would be a huge disadvantage for those that would spectate on the fight, knowing the loopholes and flaws which is evident in his premature powers.

He needed to figure some means for a quick, near-lethal ability to take down a fighter fast before they can even begin. Something that can paralyze and render the opponent immobile.... His eyebrows furrowed along with his frowning face while he quickly hastened his speed to enter the hotel before any annoying reporters come chasing after the fighters. While the cloak billowing quickly against the wind failed to mask his urgency, his rapid, but almost soft footsteps were barely audible to a commoner's ears as he weaved to and fro the usual hotel staffs and customers, the hood lowered to conceal his identity as best as possible.

Where to go, where to go.... The thought worried him.

Deitric lounged in his room, munching away at a sandwich. He was watching the highlights on the news from the various fights, flipping from channel to channel occasionally-- different channels had different fights, so if one got uninteresting, he could always switch and check out another. He picked up his cup of thyssel tea and took a quiet sip, laying himself out across the couch to settle in.

"Wonder when the results will come in..," he murmured, tearing another chunk from the sandwich.