GTB Hotel

He lay on his back in the hotel room, his hands behind his head on the pillow as he stared somewhat vacantly at the ceiling. The lids drooped sleepily over his eyes, but he focused intently within, going through matches and maneuvers in his head. Some tough competition lay ahead. The muscular dragon from the GTB press conference floated through his thoughts. He blinked and his eyes glowed an emerald green, his awareness expanding. If he tried, he could still taste the liver and heart of the dragon he had slain alongside Clash with his bare hands.

He got up and paced to the window, staring out at the lights. The competitors would be rolling in soon.

Kichiro stepped out of his limousine in front of the hotel, after his entourage got out of his way first. It was tough being a political leader at social events such as a ball, that had apparently been delayed. He was on his cell phone, trying to find out information as to where it was and why he wasn't there yet.

The entourage Wrote:

> Meu Quia.- 4'8" and commonly seen in red to match her flowing red hair. She is a Chinese woman who has obviously dyed her hair, and is in charge of the Infirmary and healing divisions within the army. > > Hiro Tzu- 5'6" Chinese man with jet black hair and an astronomical IQ. He has been brought on as Kichiro's personal psychologist, and works to keep the man sane and safe. He takes over the head general position when Kichiro's attention is elsewhere, and is a "White Dragon". He is seen with two ornate thin Chinese Broad Swords. He leads the sentries and intelligence forces presently as well. > > Z.Z.- 4'6" and commonly seen in white. This is a mountain Dwarf with a very complicated name, that others have come to call Zee Zee for short. He has a long red beard and a hot temper. He's an earthborn that's lived longer than you soft footed ones, and you best know it! So dominating, he's actually learned how to drive, and usually insists on taking that position himself. He is in charge of the tunnel networks, the barracks, and technical defenses of the Shogunate.

"Calm down, Mr. Oda." Hiro Tzu, dressed in his white tuxedo with the Oda symbol on his back, was vehemently opposed to their illustrious leader being seen on a cell phone at that moment. He also wasn't fond of the fact that Kichiro was speaking in a less than polite tone. "It was only a little over a hundred thousand gold, others have donated more anyway."

"I will not be calm!" Kichiro's fiery crystal green eyes looked ahead of the street, looking both directions as he lowered his Sprint Katana cellular phone. The man was dressed in a red royal Yukata, with brown sandles and black gloves matching black stockings. His hair was down in a long ebony braid that was at the moment beginning to shift backwards in a Chi-generated wind. "I pay my intelligence good gold for knowing when and where these things are...when I was a shinobi...."

"And 'eh be right to not beh happeh!" The short dwarf that had stepped momentarily out of the driver seat was shouting in something akin to a Scottish accent. "Why if 'eh ever was to spend 'an ounce of me stash on faulty smarts, then I'd be throwin' a right battleragin' fit I would!" Dressed in a similar white tuxedo to Hiro, the contrast in temperment to the calm Chinese man was almost hysterical that he tried to dress in the same professionalism.

"Think of Avaline..." Meu reminded Kichiro, "She'll be waiting for you, and as a client, how do you think she'd react to see you all out of sorts?" The green kimono dressed woman with the red hair was trying to talk soothingly to the small-time emperor.

"And what if we can't even find her?!" Kichiro retorted with a heavy breath, closing his cell at the very last with some confused voices on the other end quickly becoming silenced. The Japanese man with the scarred face took a deep pause afterward, and looked to all of them for an answer.

Joseph walked into the hotel with a smirk on his face. He may have gotten his foot in the door, but he was planning to go for gold. Walking up to the front desk he showed his invataion before getting his room key. Once he made it to his room he dropped his small bag and layed back on the bed for about 10 minutes, glad to be off his feet.

“Well guess I need to make my appearance at the ball.”

Getting up he grabbed a clean pair of pants, his trusty coat; into which he placed his G-pills and iPod, his shoes and headed out the door and towards the ball room, hoping to grab some good food.

• A few hours prior -

Acquisition of key? Check. Room? Check. Deposited weapons in room? Check. Took a shower? Check. Check the expo out later? Work in progress. Personal Hygiene? Check.

Food acquisition? The swordsman eyed the flier directing him to the ball, finding himself swallowing unconditionally to the potential amount of food there.

....Check.

Michael was running, as fast as he could, hauling ass down the hall of the hotel, and toward his room. Apparently, Aila must of sneaked his key card from his pocket when he wasn't paying attention. Typical woman. Michael reached the door just as it was closing, and slid his hand between it. Keeping it from closing, and then giving the door a slight push. Ramming his shoulder up against it, and sending the door pushing back open. Catching his breath after he had stepped inside the room, and letting the door close behind him. Slamming roughly, and making his presence more obvious.

If it wasn't for the loss of breath, and exhaustion from running... Michael would of been hooping and hollering. After all, she stole his card, and then decided on leaving him back at the Ball. Stealing his card was one thing, but abandoning him after promising sex, and sleeping in his bed? That royally pissed him off, although it wasn't particularly obvious at this point in time. Still catching his breath, and resting his hand on his chest. Once he did catch his breath though, he spoke up, and by spoke up... Michael literally yelled.

"What the fuck, you thief, you... you... asshole." Michael said, gasping every once in awhile. Apparently that breath hadn't came back yet, but it was slowly catching up with him, and he couldn't really think of anything truly insulting. So he just tossed in random profanity, and prepared for the wrath that was probably quickly rising from the woman. Michael stepped forward, and pointed his finger at her. "You better get undressed, or so help me God, I'll toss your scrawny, teasing, ass through that window." That was more like it. Michael was back, and extremely pissed off.

vodka sour Wrote:

> I'd love to see you try.

Michael's mind went wild. Thinking of all the way(s) he could possibly remove her from the bed, and toss her through the window. It was a long drop, and death by hard pavement didn't sound very appealing. Aila wasn't human though, Michael took note of this last night, when he witnessed her eye color change. That wasn't very human-like. If the fall didn't kill her, well, Michael would of proved the fact that he was pissed. Then again, he wouldn't get anything out of her that way. Maybe proving the point that he would indeed, go through with it, would give her the impression that he was extremely pissed off.

Michael took off. Dead sprinting across the room, and halting when he reached the bed. Diving across it, sliding, and above all grabbing the sheet that was underneath her. Pulling it with him, and landing on the ground with ease. Right foot hitting first, and then left. If this all went as planned, Michael would of pulled her off the bed, and built up enough momentum for his next action. Once he noticed the woman sliding off the bed, he would turn his body slightly, and swing the sheet around(with Aila in it). Aiming for the wall, and not the window though. Tossing her through the window would probably piss her off a lot more then the hard wall. But it would indeed, get his point across, and hopefully get the message through her head.

That probably went better then he had planned, but it didn't phase her at all. Michael watched as she hit the wall, stood back up, and tended with her injury. Pushing each rib back into place, and that made Michael cringe dramatically. Michael soon snapped back into reality, wiping that cringing off of his face, and turning it into a more sadistic look. Aila had a counter attack already planned, and that was the throwing of some random, sharp, pointy, object. More then one actually.

Michael had no clue where she was aiming, until they pierced through his skin, and met hard bone. Nurgle had blessed, and cursed him at the same time. At this point in time, though, it was more of a blessing. What happened next was pus, acid, and steaming. Pus quickly turned into a acidic liquid, and dissolved the metal that was currently placed at his neck. Which created the steam, metal being eaten away, and completely vanishing in a mere second or two. Acid now dripped from his new wound(s), running down his neck, and hitting the floor once it had no more body left. Steaming, bubbling, and eating away at the floor.

"It's play time, bitch." Escaped his mouth, and wicked laughter followed. Michael extended his right arm, turned it over, and allowed his forearm to be visible. Opening his palm, and basically offering her his hand. A popping noise escaped his arm, one single pus pocket exploded, and a bone unhinged. Snapping through his skin(below forearm, of right arm), and letting more acidic liquid drip toward the floor. This bone was black, jagged, and extremely sharp. Bending to life once it hit the fresh air of the room, and then shaking violently. More of these black bone(s) appeared suddenly, growing off the mutation, and exposing the true potential of the weapon. They were also sharp, and jagged. But smaller then the one they grew off of. Much smaller. What happened next, was these bones began spinning around in a circular motion around the bigger bone. Akin to a chainsaw. Spinning violently, and creating a vibrating noise.

"Apologize, and I won't have to remove that pretty head." Michael spoke calmly, keeping his vision narrowed, and on her. Like a lion in the thrill of the hunt.

Michael kind of expected this, she couldn't take the heat, so she got herself out of the kitchen. How cute. Though, this brought up the pursuing factor, and drove Michael even further. Chasing her down wouldn't be easy, seeing as he was still standing there, dumbfounded, and utterly confused. Michael's right arm soon changed again, bone folded back in toward his arm, and tucked away safely back from whence it came. Acid dripped from his arm, and eat away at his skin. Sealing his self-inflicted wound, and hiding his mutation. After all of this had taken place, Michael approached the window. Stepping onto broken glass, and breaking it further under his weight.

Peeking his head out of the window, and watching as Aila sprinted off toward the pool. Michael was still extremely confused, and was questioning why she was running off toward the pool in his head. Over and over again. Eventually though, he grabbed the window seal cautiously, avoiding any glass, and pushed himself over it. Leaping through the window after her. As he fell, he closed each eye, and concentrated on his back. Popping another pocket of pus, and letting the mutation take over his entire body. After the first one had popped, another one exploded, forcing black bone out through his back, and creating what looked like a makeshift wing.

Although in this case, they weren't what they seemed, in reality, it was another sharp barb. Which scratched down the wall of the building, and slowed down his falling speed. This continued until he met the ground, soft, and sound. Dusting himself off once he landed on the ground, and forcing the bone back into his back. Sealing his wound once again, and then taking off across the cement. Kicking his feet behind him, and running once again. Making his way toward the pool, and stopping once he reached the gate. Which he hopped over, and then stripped off his shirt. Exposing his muscular upper body, and catching the eye of every other female sun bathing. Michael was indeed, a good looking guy. Approaching the edge of the pool, he kicked off each boot, rolled up each pant leg, and placed his feet in the water. Kicking them every once in awhile, and waiting for his target. It wouldn't take very long, but eventually, she would notice him, and probably run off.

Seth being checked in before simply went up to his room. the hotel itself was very pretty in nature. It was well lit, and had vast hallways. But then again Seth expected nothing less from a hotel hosting a large tournament like this. By the time Seth walked over to the elevator he was slouching in a tired manner.

" YYYYYaawwwn .."

...Excussse me

A smile crept on his face. the place wasn't very lively much but that was maybe becuase they was already in bed already. Seth was such a creature accustomed to the night. As his sleepish behavior lingered Seth noticed his vision was back to normal, he was sober again. The doors opened to the elevator inviting Seth inside, so he went. Pressing the number of his floor the doors closed swiftly behind him. It moved fast for one of those top of the line things.

DDDINNNGGGGG~!!!

"...Here is my stop" To his room he went for a nice slumber

Having returned to his room that night, after a most interesting opener, Cyril made his way through the door and towards his bed. Plopping down heavily onto the bed, he faced upwards, staring blankly at the ceiling, wondering exactly what it was that he was doing. Cyril knew that fighting was in his blood, but to make an exhibition of it such as this, for his own greed and prophet. He didn't understand exactly what had dragged his state of mind into thinking this was at all a good idea. He didn't understand what exactly had driven him to this decision. He was a rebel of sorts, dabbling into unconventional techniques for his melee combat, and always finding a way to have fun, even if the situation called for something along the lines of a more serious visage.

Nonetheless, there was no use mourning over spilled milk. Cyril's decision had been made, and he could not fall back. He was of his people, and surrender was most certainly not an option. Although, this upcoming fight would most assuredly be something new to him. A lesson, if you will. He was soon to learn what it was to fight a warrior maiden. His opponents had consisted of those of a more male persuasion in the past, and Cyril was unaccustomed to thinking that he would have to bring upon his hand in battle against that of a woman... He was putting much to much thought into this, for if he could not take an objective view of his opponents, then he was guaranteed defeat. He had to take this as he would any battle before, the opponent was his opponent, regardless of what they were to him outside of the arena, what they were to him in it, was a threat. An obstacle. A mean to his ends. He would have to follow that mean through, so that he could reach his end.

Cyril, having had enough thought for the night, decided he was ready for bed..

The following morning, he woke early, ready for the day. He began, with his usual regiment of nutritional breakfast, large enough to provide the boost of energy for the day, but not enough to weigh him down so that he could not be capable in combat. Cyril moved back up to his room, to commence his stretches, of course, now his nudity was much less than public. Remaining in his room, continuing what he needed to do so that he could actually present a decent amount of threat in the upcoming battle. Even if this wasn't truly war, he had to create the scenario in his head, so that he could truly bring out in him what he would need to succeed..

And with that.. Cyril was ready.

"We need to talk."

It was entirely true. Weeks ago, Stryphe Ebrowen Epothos had stalked down Raulin Quatremaine, High Priest of the Falician Order, and beat the man into a near-dead bloody heap for not instantly supplying information. The demon-man couldn't have felt any less conlficted that night, but afterwards he still had to question his own intentions.

Only for a second though, because recalling smashing the High Preist's frail skull into the temple wall caused Epothos to don a toothy smirk that left no doubt for anyone: it had been worth it.

Unfortunately, it had been that same night when Sey had mysteriously fled the temple with two, smalled cloaked figures in tow, and so Epothos had not been able to get any answers until now when he'd finally managed to track her down.

"There were some loose ends I had to tie up before I came looking for you, though- circles that don't need to know me anymore. Not now. Hurry."

The tall, shadowy man in a black business suit was taking long strides through the crowds and commotions on the way from the infirmary to the hotel, thankful for the plentiful noise in the air to mask both his and Seyumi's voices. He hadn't left much time for a proper greeting or reunion, fully aware that there might even never be one. It was straight to brass tacs.

"You seem far less concerned for yourself, and those other two that fled with you, than you should be, Seyumi!"

Stryphe shouldered his way into the hotel and straight for the nearest elevator.

There was a pause for satisfaction before he continued- at the bottom of it all, the him that would never change delighted in raising hell, especially for the Falicians.

"I said," Through the side of his mouth that was now twisted into a slightly annoyed grimace, "I didn't learn anything. That's why I'm asking you."

He didn't feel stupid for attacking Raulin that night and going away empty handed- but now he felt like quite the fool, having not looked back to the temple even once for Sey. Apparently she'd never been in any danger at all.

"You've hidden them. Raulin must known this."

"Yes," He said blankly, "you've made it clear that this isn't about you."

Ding~

The demon-man pushed away from the floor, lazily sliding up the backside of the elevator and rising to his full height, glowering through long, wavy, dark brown locks of hair over at the little white mage.

"Once, for the right price, Raulin could have easily hired me to take those children away from you. It wouldn't be difficult, and I've never had much patience for the middle-man, either. I don't care what oaths Raulin has taken..."

Rhoslyn lazily rolled onto his side to face Iru, giving her a half-wave before yawning and rubbing the side of his jaw. It seemed he'd fallen asleep at the poolside, and they yawn a few seconds later only confirmed it.

"Mmh.. been here for a while. Sup, lovely?"

He looked around for his drink, then after a few seconds of blinking and looking around with broad neck movements, sighed and gave up.

He gave her a lazy grin and took a drink before answering.

"I did. I'm just... running low on energy these days. Between the work I did for this tournament and all of the assorted background and whatnot spells, the whole... complicating the family tree thing, and I'm just pooped."

He took another drink, then another, and staggered to his feet, stretching out a bit. Unsurprisingly, his glamour was being out to good use as makeshift clothing, and his tattoos seemed to be moving just a little bit and to be kinda faded as opposed to their normal, vibrant colors.

"Mmmh... mmh. I'm getting old," Rhoslyn grumbled.

She'd feel some wicked knots, unsurprisingly.

"Ancient, then. Honestly, at this point, I could secretly have grandchildren... that I've outlived. Of course, I don't think I do..." he mused, his grin growing bigger as he relaxed his tense muscles. Somewhere, sitting in some rather convenient plot area, Rhoslyn's mostly-human redheaded grandkids were sitting around a movie theater, high as fuck and munching on popcorn. He had absolutely no idea of this family, but still, it was worth noting.

"And... I could sleep for a week. I've done it before, y'know. Though it's effective to say my well is limitless, there's only so much magic and sex I can throw around before it starts being a chore to simply exist in this strange little 3-D world."

He sorta looked like he was gonna say more, but then her thumb hit a knot hard and Rhoslyn just moan/sighed and closed his eyes.

"Maybe next month. I just need to, like... not cast as much for the next few days. Which is really inconvenient, since I wanna track down that guy who killed the other one and harvest a limb for wasting my damn time... grr."

He'd go silent again, aside from the noises that went along with either really good sex or a really good massage. After a few more minutes, Rhoslyn'd take another drink, then idly toss the glass to the side and awkwardly TK-move it to be landing where it wouldn't break. It jerked and spasm'd as it moved, unsurprisingly.

"Mmm...ah. So what'dja find on our room, babes?"

He sorta wanted to sit down. Or maybe just lay down, but this was just fine. Massages were always good.

"Er... they all finished. Technically... yeah, you have no idea how many fuckin' spells it took to make sure that all of these time paradoxes don't spawn a few clock-roaches."

He waved his hand and took a few quick strides to a handy plastic lounge chair, then settled down to lay on his belly, facing the pool.

"And then, since there's just not enough high-level mages sitting around, the group of us all have to work together to provide the sheer power for some of the more complicated... bleh. Just... well, basically, that guy who was snogging the blondie at the ball? Yeah, his stupid ass killed his opponent... and then they had to revive him and then it turned out Fucko had planned it in advance and I'm going to cut off one of his balls if I get the chance."

Rhoslyn sounded grumpy as fuck with that, and sighed, idly making ripples in the pool by bouncing his fingers up and down. He could still feel the steady trickling drain of it, but better to be a bit more exhausted than to risk HURRZURKER'ing or just going all I EATED UR REALITY LOL mode.

"Wait so is there already a winner? Or did that guy just lose?" Iru asked with a tilt of her head. She had been enjoying her vacation, but she hadn't been paying attention to the actual fighting.

She followed him to the chair and sat on the chair next to his. Now she could really work those knots out. It would be easier with him on his belly like that.

"Huh...Didn't know you guys could revive people too. No wonder you're almost dead on your feet." She pressed her wrist down into one of the knots to flatten it out.

"So do you think you'll have to do any more spells in the near future?" She moved to his lower back to work out some of the stiffness there.

Iru listened to Ross's explanation without talking much. She never totally understood the whole paradox deal other than the fact that it screwed with time and apparently took up a lot of power.

White mages? Well, she more or less knew what those were from playing Final Fantasy games. They were damn useful when you get them healing magic. She put a little extra pressure on the spot he indicated. She used her knuckle to really get down into that spot. "You sound like you're having sex." She chucked.

Iru let out a giggle. The man could barely speak! Though, who could blame him? One by one she was smoothing out the knots in his back and it probably felt hella good. "Hehe, well that is true. It does take focus to do thing right." She rolled her knuckle over yet another knot. Just how many were there?! "Hehe, well then that means I'm making progress. It's fun to mess with you through massage."

Iru laughed a little. Now she was able to really get into his back. Most of the knots were gone. There was just one more that she wanted to get. It felt like a pretty big one too. One more pop...There! Iru rubbed his back a little and patted it a bit. "Alright. I think I got most of the kinks out. How do you feel?"

Well, it sounded like it was supposed to be a compliment, so she would take it as such. "Well thanks. Glad I could help you feel at least a little more comfortable." She stood then walked so that she could kneel in front of him. She wanted to see if his eyes were blood shot or not. It was kind of hard to tell, really. "Ask for a massage anytime." She kissed the tip of his nose then stood up.

"I don't really mind if you do." Iru replied with a shrug before sitting down on the ground. She took one of his hands and idly played with his fingers. The tattoos were crazy looking, but ignorable if you really tired. Okay, maybe not. "Sooo.....Are your tattoos alive or something?"

Iru kept playing with his hand as he sort of explained why his tattoos moved. "Magic ink?" Well, she understood the simple version in any case. She didn't need to know the details anyway. "Well as long as they get up and walk around then I'm good." She glanced at Ross, then at his hand. She was starting to get bored, so she nibbled on his finger. It wasn't hard enough to hurt, of course. She was just being a bother now.

Little by little, fights were ending in some way or another. The man in his room showed no emotion as some screens turned off at the end of the match, being as he had no reason to further watch those fights. The monitors that were left on kept his attention, among other things. The lack of emotion stopped as his eyes caught certain fights, he was laughing at some of these now.

"What the fuck was that shit? Seriously? Did that fuck just try to nuke everyone or some shit?" Tous let out to the people he had come to the hotel room with. "Kinda was hoping that Dark Elf kid would have won, too bad he almost died." He continued on, merely speaking his thoughts to the populous of the room. "Make sure you're taking down the names of these people, the invites will be ready soon enough."

"Rewind." He'd say, which would cause the screen to take a few steps back. "Where the fuck did that bitch shoot those fucking blades from? If she's cracking a whip, it cracks in the middle not the fucking top. The shit these people try to do. All she's doing is friggin ribbon dancing. Hakujou wins automatically in my eyes."

Tous sighed, motioning for a few others to take up his position. He'd stand before they got to him, moving from behind the screens. "I think I only have a few days left in this world... possibly... though... perhaps I can cause a bit of a tuff. Seems this shit needs a bit of entertainment."

With those words he motioned for five of the men to follow him out of the room. They'd make their way to the elevator, to the main room and out of the hotel.

Well, his fingers tasted nothing like candy, so she stopped and looked over her shoulder at him. "I'm going to take a dip in the pool. You should come in too. It might help you relax." Due to his shiny, she assumed he was wearing trunks. She smiled and stood up. She put on her new swim suit, and she was going to use it. Without waiting for his answer, she walked towards the edge of the pool and jumped in with a small splash.

"It'll take a while for you to get that order. You would probably put a small buffet restaurant out of business." Iru went underwater for a moment the came back up. Water was a great tool too make a girl look sexy. The bikini helped, of course. She ran her fingers through her hair and moved it out of her face. "Will you come in when you're done eating?"

Iru chuckled. She wouldn't get in between Ross and his food. Not one would be foolish enough to do something like that. For now, she would just swim around in the pool. "Alright. I'll just play a little." She began to swim on her back.

Iru knew where he was looking. How could she not? She decided to dive under the water and swim down there for about twenty seconds. She had to come up for air after that time. His food came out pretty early since they were aware of the shiny high roller in their mist. Who wouldn't want hundreds in tip?

Iru would wait until he was done eating before she got out of the water and walked over to him. The shiny reflecting in the water on her body made for a nice effect. "Are you full or just satisfied after all that?" She asked.

"Haha. Try not to explode yourself with food. I bet you win ever eating contest you come across." She reached for her towel so she could dry her face. She had been swimming for ten minutes and was about done with swimming by herself.

Once Iru's face was more or less dry, she put the towel down and looked at Ross. "Hmm..." She grinned then tried to hug him so she could get him wet too. Her boredom was starting to set in again, so she had to cause trouble for people.

Iru pouted in her mind when he barely reacted to the wet hug. It wasn't fun without a reaction. She rested her head on his chest and looked up towards him. "You're looking better already."

Iru's narrator was having trouble with logic, but little details didn't matter all that much outside of fighting. She felt something sliding under the bottom part of her suit and sat up to see what it was. She was relieved to see that it was just Ross's finger. Bugs in a swim suit were not fun. "Eh, it's fine." She looked at her wet hand. "Swimming got boring pretty quickly."

The fabric made a small snap sound after Ross let it go. She grinned a little then looked at him. "No way. Sitting here would be just as boring as swimming by myself." She stood up and followed him into the pool. Since she was behind him, Ross would end up getting a cold and wet sensation on his back after they were both in the water. He would pay dearly for letting her get bored.

Liquid Lights Wrote:

> "...whatever. I've always cared, Sey, and I don't know why- it just doesn't piss me off anymore."

She was silent as she stared incredulously at his back while he spoke with a candor that was unprecedented in the seven years that she'd known him. Seven years they'd known each other, nearly dying thousands of times in their collection of misadventures - and it took him... this long to say all of this?

Before she truly realized what she was doing, her legs had halved the distance between them, heels clicking against the hardwood in a determined rapid pace. Once again, she reached out to grab him and her hand clenched around his arm, yanking the demon back from the window to face her and using all of the strength that she could muster without her magic.

Her face was flushed, shoulders held back, eyes flashing brightly and teeth clenched as the whole of her petite self exuded an emotion she so often held tightly underfoot:

Anger.

"Well it pisses me off!" Sey yelled, her free hand rearing back as she dragged him around, slapping him hard on the cheek.

"Just because it took you so long to get over yourself... Some of us were suffering you know!" She couldn't help herself as the tears welled in her eyes, dangerously close to falling from her black lashes. The words that rushed from her trembling mouth were words she'd been wanting to say for months - no, years - and there was nothing she could do to stop them now that she'd started.

"After Samael and the Forgotten One... After the Temple was destroyed, I was alone. You left me to suffer alone; even after what you did!" Her head shook as her bitter laugh cut through the air, the tears in her eyes shaken lose at the movement and she let go of his arm as her anger rose at her body's traitorous tears. She suffered alone for eight months and fourteen days in a wheelchair, back broken, soul the battleground for the great siege that had not ended for her after she was knocked from the sky by lightning.

Months of suffering and she still gave more grievance over their first and last kiss. Her fist real kiss with no magic infused to sedate anyone.

"And then when I left the Temple after you punched Him-" Her voice cracked a moment and her hands tightened into fists, the white mage's shoulders trembling as though she was struggling to hold back the urge to slug him in the face just as he did her God all those years ago.

Each point she brought up had so many memories, so many emotions attached to them. She had left everything she knew in this world for a chance to live a normal life. For a chance to experience love and live for herself - something that she could not do if she stayed and accepted the ultimatum of her God. She took that chance greedily... But he wasn't there when she searched for him.

"Nothing. There was absolutely no sign of you anywhere. And now you say you care? Now you're making an effort to CARE!?" It was clear in her tone of voice that her anger was abating to sadness, the immense amount of sorrow she felt originally hidden by her fiery outburst. There was no way that the innumerable tear-filled nights and spurned emotions could be truly hidden in her words, not when they held so much stock in her heart.

"*I loved you Stryphe*. I didn't care that you were a demon, I didn't even care that you had fought my God. I brushed off what everyone was saying about how you would simply hurt me and I fell for you.

I let you talk me into fighting in Heaven or Hell. I let myself make you the reason why I went crawling back to Falis, to beg him for his help in saving your bullet filled body."

She, in her weakness, let her emotions compromise her principals and now she was here living with the consequences. Back under the yolk of her destiny as a White Mage and once more the dutiful handmaiden of her God, Sey had learned her lesson from the cruelness of his absence.

And she would make sure that he knew perfectly well how she had felt all these years.

"*I* have always cared, Stryphe Ebrowen Epothos! And if you dare to claim the same then... then... I haven't slapped you hard enough!"

Epothos was more than glad to revert to recent events. After today, the threat of actually feeling sorry for himself didn't seem so bad when compared to the little priestess feeling sorry for him.

"Before I came looking," He started, the sound of relief quickly fading to cold, gruff focus, "when I was burning some darker bridges, I overheard some disturbing talk. At the time," He breathed, "I was so certain that you were in trouble, it didn't register at the time. 'A hefty price for a couple squirts.'"

In fact, the night Epothos'd heard that he'd been in a drunken stupor at some shady bar in Durem, and some lowlife complaining about the price he payed for his 'squirts' wasn't totally uncommon.

"There's a good chance this could be way off, but I think Raulin could be looking for someone to do some dirty work. That and I kinda admire the guy. Can't be good."

He rested his chin against a fist while digesting all the information Sey was sharing with him, realizing that he was quite thirsty somewhere amidst it all.

When she was finished, his jagged, concetrating frown parted. "You guys have superior's, don't you? I was going to say you should try to talk to them, but with how strict your rules are I'm not sure he'd be acting outside of the Order's wishes yet."

It was hard to say what pleased him more- a perfect reason to stand against the entire Falician Order, or the idea that Raulin was indeed acting on orders from the very first link in the platinum chain of power. He'd steeple his fingers over his lips and sent a sly, quizical look up at the young priestess to see what she thought.

"Ha-ha!" He mocked as he pulled the door closed then turned down the hall, taking a few large strides to put him next to the petite priestess. "I really do hope it tries, and I don't doubt it. That's why I like you- you're such good bait for things to maim."

Falis, the Order, Raulin, those kids... it was all a horse that was still alive and well and would surely be recieving another beating soon. He'd heard what he needed to hear, and she'd said what she needed to say. Though he certainly still housed his own suspicions, the immediate situation was clearly not as dire as he'd expected.

Hell, the last place he'd expected to find her would be at a major public event in a shiny dress. Finding her like that and without a care in the world had been his first, albeit gentler, slap in the face of the night. He took some satisfaction in changing the subject so abruptly.

"But yeah, I'm starved."

Meanwhile...

Somewhere 'around', a man sat alone at a table in a small room in his boxer shorts and looking like he'd just woken up despite it being late in the afternoon. Such were the inverted nights and days of a person who makes a living off of the things that go bump in the night.

As he poured milk into a bowl of cornflakes, he couldn't help but feel like someone was talking about him. Particularly two someones, each of which had a soul bond to him, riding in an elevator... but of course he wouldn't know that, now would he?

***Fin*.**

"Eredas..." He tugged the Midgard Serpent out from between the corners of the elevator with a short grunt, "...I see."

The demon-man emerged from the elevator and into the lobby next to the priestess, looking around for some indication of a bar. The place was ritzy, so there had to be one somewhere.

"Well," He began, sounding displeased only due to the cumbersome weapon that he didn't want to ditch, "I didn't spot any bars on my way in, and I don't think this place has a pub."

One of the receptionists picked up on his quandry and piped up.

"...Thank you." He nodded towards the desk and made for the... poolside bar. Give the Lancer a dank, dim, smokey bar full of ruffians and grease any day of the week. Hopefully they'd be grilling up some steaks or something, though, and given the lot that these tournaments drew in it probably wouldn't be a total fruit-fest.

LE EXIT

Round 1 had scarcely ended and already the vampire was moving on to other projects. Only the light of day held him back, the time between his match and the final judgment more then enough for his devices. Until the sun fell however, he had to sate himself with preparation.

Adoring fans clambered around him, many of them ignoring his burns as they cheered and chanted. He smiled to them and signed autographs, the combination of his initialed name and inhuman speeding making the process relatively easy. All the while he was keeping a mental inventory, as well as a conscious tally of local security.

As the crowd eventually began to disperse, KB spread his gloved hands to a few individuals. "Ladies, gentlemen..." He cooed, his predatory smile stuck in place. He needn't say more as he gestured for them to follow, each of them giving themselves over to their desires. They dreamed of a vampire's kiss, of infinite pleasure and romance.

When they reached his room they would find a fate worse than death.

One after another they were drained, revitalizing the vampire and healing him in full. Though, this was a relatively pleasurable experience for the lot of them. The horror came when he had seduced them to the more private portions of his suite, and poisoned each. The mortals lapsed into a deep sleep, and he set to work upon their flesh with crude tools. Through necromancy and technical precision he was able to keep them alive through their operations, depositing devices into otherwise lethal cavities, their enduring spirits shackled to his will.

War, Seyumi.

Hours after his match the vampire left his empty suite behind him, his new thralls dismissed. Unbeknownst to each of them they now carried important parcels. All the mortals knew was their destination and the strong will to arrive there on time, their vacant eyes betraying nothing of their intent. They were only half alive with one foot in the grave, their souls wavering in a vain attempt to shake their newfound communal curse.

As for KB himself, he simply took to wandering the Hotel, exploring with benign curiosity.

Now that most of the fights had ended, activity was sure to pick up. Esouna wanted nothing to do with it.

The infirmary staff refused to take her seriously--no bleeding, after all--so the fairy had to wait until the rush of fighters thinned out before the nurses could take care of her. Esouna had bruises over the entire front of her body, her legs, her head, and at the tip of one of her flight wings. All of it sucked. To soothe the intense aches, the diminutive woman slipped into the pool, fully clothed. Her expression remained as that of worn-down resolve, sad and having difficulty with how beaten up she was.

Breathe in, breath out. Relax. Dammit, she shouldn't be having problems with even the first round, if she wanted to achieve her life goal before death. The fairy gritted her teeth, annoyed at herself. Rrgh...she could only hope that she won this fight, and her next opponent would be a pushover. Esouna groaned and lay limp in the water, one arm on the side of the pool to keep from drowning.

His second shot was filled and the demon-man wasted no time down it and replacing the glass.

"Ack-" He smacked his lips and spit out the remaining hunk of soggy toothpick. "We'll see just how tough soon enough. I'm challenging you to an exhibition match." For all Stryphe knew, a test of Seyumi's strength was well on it's way- and not in the form of an exhibition match between the two of them. And that would be sweet.

Shot filled. Downed.

"Waddaya say?" He leaned his head back and to the side to look at her cheek after popping a fresh toothpick into his mouth.

"What a lousy first round..."

"Save for that fight with the half dragon. That was pretty awesome."

"Except the one who killed him was a poser."

Sokoya Ramak, reigning champion of [The Dark Tournament], would comment to no one in particular are she strolled in through the hotel's front doors. The silvery haired fighter was dressed in her usual fashion, which is to say that she was dressed outside the realm of what is classified as 'normal'. And due to laziness, we'll just say it was a little Kink Fink. But let's add some old nazi captain's hat, just for shits and giggles.

Sliming/rolling in the door after her was none other than Mormon Jesus, her pet metal slime. After having ran into each other on the Black Sand Island, the pair had become quite inseperable. Mainly because the pet was all but indestructable, and seemed to actually like the violent woman for whatever reason. That, and he was just so god damn cute.

Pausing there in the lobby, the woman would cast her bloody gaze around. Unsure of where to head next, she ended up settling for the bar area. Posting up along the counter and waiting for something exciting to happen.

Something exciting was already happening at the bar. Well... only half exciting, dependent on who you were and probably what you had for breakfast. The cyberpunk, slightly burned from his first round match-up; but gradually undergoing a Goblin fruit regiment prescribed by none other than Wigi, had set up about eight glasses of water (each glass about half full) at the bar. He took a long gulp from a ninth and then tenth glass, placing the two at either end of the line and plopping his ass down on the stool. He regarded Sokoya and her pet momentarily with a smile.

Dipping his fingers into the water, the punk began to run his fingertips over the rims of each individual glass and produced a pretty badass song. A classical music enthusiast would probably recognize it as one of Bach's Fugues, but that wasn't entirely important. Nah, Ed had a guest. Kind of. Sokoya probably wasn't looking for him in particular.

"Heya, Soak." The cyberpunk greeted the silver-haired chick in an accent of British origin that probably shouldn't have existed anymore. The punk peered though his black, thick-rimmed glasses at her and grinned without even missing a note in his playing. "Betcha didn't think you'd find me here?"

Dismissing the bartender's cautious approach, Sokoya would regard the man just down a little ways along the counter top. One Edward Queensborough. Fighter, hooligan, punk, cyborg hipster. The last time she'd seen him, minus when the Bone Mistress watching his fight, was at The Dark Tournament. The thug had been paid off by a teammate of hers to slow her down. Beat her up. Be a general asshole.

That all ended in a hail of bullet fire.

Eddie Wrote:

> "Heya, Soak." The cyberpunk greeted the silver-haired chick in an accent of British origin that probably shouldn't have existed anymore. The punk peered though his black, thick-rimmed glasses at her and grinned without even missing a note in his playing. "Betcha didn't think you'd find me here?"

"Dear oh dear, what 'ave we got here?"

"No..." She'd reply back, crossing her legs and leaning her elbow up on the bar. "Can't say that I did." A moment here, as the smouldering hell-gems she called eyes studied the man. "How'd you like your fight?"

Sey Wrote:

> "You've got to be kidding me Stryphe. Either you've had one too many of those already or I haven't had enough."

"Oh, I haven't even started." The Lancers eyes followed the two new patrons, both fighters in the tournament. He was still standing with his back to the bar, propped up on his elbows.

Barside was actually a fairly colorful display. A tall, dark man in a disheveled business suit. To the left of him and sitting towards the bar was the petite white mage, still dressed in her sparkly, formal gown; following her was a woman who was dressed to either rock or command a german army (or both) and her slime, and finally was a stylish punk making glasses sing.

The demon-man also couldn't help but notice the girl who'd come to the side of the pool to stair towards the bar, and maybe even straight at the dude three stools down.

"Seyumi Kaikou," He said in mock reverence as the bartender slid a renewed shotglass his way. He picked it up, set it down, then slid the empty glass back. "Platinum Chicken."

He drew in a sharp breath as a spark ran through his body when she'd called him'demon'. In that moment, he wasn't some snide old, dissapointing friend of hers that had come back to conquer his shame- he was a hellspawn that was soon to be banished from this world, burned out of existence by this priestess who's duty it was to destroy his kind. In that moment, Seyumi Kaikou was dangerous.

He'd turn to face her and in his eyes she'd find something more than attraction; it was a beastial, exhilarated passion that threatened to overtake her at any moment.

Then the demon-man downed yet another shot, picked his glaive up off the ground and dropped some cash down on the bar.

"Let's."

With a grin on his face and an excited stride Epothos led the way to the arenas.

Roan's entry to the bar area wasn't one to be missed by Sokoya. Though, just for orientation's sake, she was facing the other direction. It was the woman's scent that had given her away. The stench of old blood and old power. The smell she'd become acquainted with during a few visits to the DeSeer's business front.

In her casual sweep of the room, the pale demonkin would glance over her slender shoulder. Eyeing the devil along with the creepasaurus rex further behind her. A curt nod of respect before her attention was brought back to the cyborg and his offer of a drink. "Sure, surprise me." She would reply.

Let the words sink in.

Wait for it.

Almost there...

"Wait. Roen got arrested? For killing a whole island? Maybe I misread him." SoCo would comment offhandedly, humor having found it's way into her voice. For the little amount that she'd known the devil, he had never seemed to be the type to go out and off large groups of nobody.

She kinda liked it.

The cyberpunk noticed Roan as well, though not for the reason Sokoya had. He had no idea who she was. It was probably for the best. He paid the Cainite no more than a glance before returning his attention to the Bone chick. Nodding, the cyberpunk turned his head towards the bartender and ordered her a drink in his Guy Ritchie film accent. "A Flaming Doctor Pepper for the girl."

The barkeep nodded and immeadiatly began to make Sok's drink. Three quarters Amaretto, one quarter Everclear in a shot glass, and a pint of some dark colored beer in a pub glass was placed on the bar in front of her. "This is my favorite part," whispered Ed dreamily to no one in particular as the bartender lit the shot on fire with a spell and poured it's burning contents in the pub glass. The fire extinguished and the glass foaming at the top, the bartender pushed the glass closer to Sokoya before walking away to do other cool shit. The cyborg clapped.

"Start drinking. I swear to all the Gods I don't believe in. That tastes like Doctor fucking Pepper."

He'd let her enjoy the drink, drinking his Guinness out of his own pub glass. It was comparatively boring to Sokoya's drink, but pints of the stuff Ed was drinking made you strong. Or really fucking drunk. Whichever came first.

"Well, not the whole island. A good bit of the island, but that's not to say he didn't have help. I heard he just summoned a bunch of... giant babies.. and they did all the work." The punk pondered, staring into his pint glass and frowning a tad bit. "Yeah, I didn't think he was into that either. How about you?"

Something told Edward that he didn't want to know the answer to that. He shrugged, took a gulp of Guinness, and asked anyways. "Do you enjoy the wholesale slaughter of a multitude of perfect strangers?"

"Hey!"

"Yeah, I'm talking to you."

"I'm gonna come over there and whoop yos ass."

Dejak was heading toward the building. Jack Offet was heading toward Derjak.

Jack was a very, big fan of Sephiroth. For the past few hours... days his life had been a total spiraling place crash into a dark abyss where childhood dreams were run over by semis and his mother was dead. His hero, his idol, his time to... Jack Offet was very much devoted to this select fighter. When he found out he was to be competing in this year's GTB he flipped out, cried, ate cheesecake and cried some more. But even the thick amounts of fat that surrounded his exterior couldn't help brace him for what he saw. He saw some nobody with a walking stick literally punk his best friend! Everything that he thought was real wasn't.

Screaming. And running. Jack was screaming and running. At Drejak.

"You took him away from me!" Jack sobbed out. His fat sloshed around as he charged toward the fighter. "I want my idol back!!"

BOO-

SPLASH!!!

He had been a five hundred or so pound boy. His waist was about as long as that wall that he had just hit.... like a water balloon. This was the first time it had ever happened. His giant fucking body literally exploded in a gush of blood, guts, Hot Pockets, membrane. All this human particles begin to land on or near Drejak.

Evil Little Flayer Wrote:

> Drejak was spattered with all sorts of foul-smelling human-parts...

Suddenly...

All the strands of flesh and tendon and blood and guts that had covered him from the fat bomb began to bubble up. Skin was beginning to form the pieces of Jack that had got on Drejak. Jack was coming back....

The obese boy's face formed on the man's back.

"I'll... I'll kill you! Sephiroth was my hero!"

A...flaming doctor pepper? Sokoya was mildly bemused when the cyborg punk ordered her drink. The woman's curious gaze shifting off of him to watch the bartender fulfill the order. One slender eyebrow would raise as the man behind the counter lit one part of the concoction, and then plunked it into the larger glass.

Ok then...

Sip, sip.

Not bad.

Giving a small nod of approval, the platinum haired vixen would revert to paying the man beside her attention. The man and his story of giant city destroying babies. "Er...what?" Sokoya would ask, incredulously. She couldn't rightly picture such an act, let alone someone who thought themselves so cool preforming it. And his question? It was a tough one.

Her whole life, Sokoya had sick inner desires buried deep within her personality. The desire to hurt, maim. To bleed and ache herself. Problem being, they were sectioned away into a separate personality. This allowed the girl to stay sort of normal, changing into a device of murder only by a certain 'switch'. Problem with that being that the two persona's merged during the course of The Dark Tournament.

Now, there was just a woman who ate people. Fought for fun. And had some small glimmer of who she once was in the dark recesses of her mind. So did she enjoy the wholesale slaughter of strangers. "No. Mass murder isn't personal enough. It's not intimate enough."

Oh, Mormon Jesus was still there. Eating silverware and shit.

- PIME TARADOX -

Night time, Hotel Bar

... ...

It was some late time at night in which the swordsman found himself sitting at one of far tables inside the hotel bar almost devoid of customers, sipping on some non-alcoholic cocktail idly, some finished plates resting near the corner and a half-eatened grizzled slab of steak with mashed potatoes and rice on the side in front of his presence. After leaving the infirmary for god knows how long, the swordsman was waiting for the news like any other fighters, deciding to use this time late at night to enjoy a bit of food and good cocktails to keep himself entertained for the moment. He wore the same uniform that was used in the first round fight against Rylen - his foe during that time - and specks of charred cloth hung from some parts of his longcoat...burnt areas which he'll have to fix soon. With his hood pulled back and his crimson red hair shining a bit under the ample lighting, the swordsman had left most of his gears in his hotel room, carrying only his dual wielding katanas with him out of habit.

It was a good place to eat. Not many people to worry about, and he'll have a pretty pleasing view of the night time scenery from the window nearby. Add that with some food and drinks - and it'll definitely be much better than enjoying the food and drinks alone in his room instead.

He settled his drink down on the side gently, fixating his attention currently to do some light maintenance on his weapons in the meantime. The edge reflected a bit of the light from above, causing it to glisten with a cool, silverish hue as he wiped it using a small towel soaked with cold water to clean the blood and grime off the edge; wiping the steel and polishing it up for the next match. If the match results go in his favor, of course...

His eyes narrowed, checking the sharpness and patting the wet towel over it slowly, occasionally bringing the sharp edge to a whetstone he took from his room for further maintenance.

Wipe wipe. Scrub scrube. Scrape scrape.

Using the intervals between the maintenance to eat, drink or enjoy the somewhat quiet space, time ticked idly away as the swordsman took his time to keep his gears in top shape.

The swordsman twisted his blade, checking the reflectivity of the surface. Catching a glimpse of some woman approaching him on the reflection, he didn't pay much attention to it until she spoke, sitting down across from him and propped in an amused gesture at the swordsman. He raised an eyebrow, his gaze kept at the reflection for a few seconds longer. It isn't often that a woman would simply come up to him and express some form of interest..without wanting something in return. To the swordsman, this reeked of an ambush, and similar to what he had done when he met another woman - whom he later found out was Faustina - in the infirmary some time ago, his guard immediately went up in caution.

He placed his sword down, letting it slide into the scabbard. "And what," the swordsman mentioned with a curious tone, his eyes then looking up at the woman, "is a fine lady like you doing here at this time of night?" He asked.

It was a good sign that the swordsman wasn't in attack mode and ready to jump the gun because someone approached him. Really, it was a shame that anybody had to worry about such a reaction, but the type of people who participated in these kinds of events weren't exactly known for their social skills. The man she delightfully squashed earlier in the day was a good example of the type who were really lacking in the social department. This one seemed to maybe be more advanced than most, his reply might be an indication that he knew how to play the game.

"I don't like spending the night alone in my room."

Rosalyn moved to rest her back against the chair, pulling her arms from off the table and folding them underneath her bust. She spoke in a confident tone, the implication of what she meant should had been obvious to men who had hard times picking up on cues. And if the tone of her voice didn't make it so obvious, the expression on her face and the playful whipping of her spaded tail should have done it.

From the shift in gestures, to how she spoke with such confidence made it more apparent that she was hatching up some plan behind that confident attitude of hers. The swordsman couldn't exactly guess what she has in store... But it looks like he'll have to tread softly - at least enough to get a better idea of her motives.

"Hm. Spending the night alone in your room, is it? I think we can do something about that." He said, hinting of a potential answer to this woman's implication. The swordsman then gave a slight pause to let her think of whatever she wishes from his response, while he put his weapons away from view. "Ah! But where are my manners? My name is...Snow. It's a name that people have come accustomed to calling me. And you are..?"

The swordsman gave a thoughtful look, reading more motive from the woman in front of him. It seemed that she enjoys thrills and excitement - the type that is not hesitant to take what she wants. But what does she want from him, who was merely taking some time to enjoy the late night? Only two things popped into his mind that struck him as potential answers.

One - she wants something from him, like a hunter looking for prey. Two - she's frustrated, and is looking for some form of entertainment to enjoy. Somehow, to the swordsman's perspective, it felt as if both potential answers make up part of her motive. "Hmm..." He leaned forward, propping an arm onto the table as he rested his cheek against the hand, staring back into her eyes with an amused look of interest.

"So.. my nightmare, do you have what it takes?"

The swordsman gave her question a brief ponder. It's most likely that he's not going to be able to maneuver himself out of this easily, and he's not interested to pay a price which the future is uncertain if he plays along in this little game of cat and mouse. The mere question she asked screamed danger in and of itself, and the swordsman could tell that the answer he gives will determine how this event would unfold.

Playing on a game of cat and mouse...

While he continues to express a form of interest in what she's potentially offering... the question now becomes whether he'll have to bite the bullet when the time comes. Would it be worth it?

.. ....

Ah well. He'd been in situations that were far more worse than what he's in right now. If the woman had set a trap for him, then he should set it off, seeing just how far she's willing to take it. Tilting his head a bit and letting his cheek rest deeper into his left palm, the swordsman gave a coy smile back to the woman.

"Let's see what you've got."

A strange alluring tug engulfed over his senses, and the swordsman felt what seems to be like silk being placed lightly over his body - perhaps an effect of her hypnosis taking root into his mind. It was a feeling that felt strangely familiar - almost a type of sensation that echoed deep into the swordsman's own roots, back and back... An instinctive feeling. A calling.

The swordsman moved back a bit, leaning back against the chair comfortably while his eyes remain focused on the woman in front of him. He pursed his lips lightly, his mouth parting open as if considering the woman's request. It was just a few drinks after all, nothing of harm which may come from it. Nothing that seems out of the ordinary... "I don't see why not?" He exclaimed, feeling a gentle press against the side of his leg. Whether that was simply an innocent brush or an invitation that hinted of some ulterior purpose, the swordsman could tell that she's doing something to lead his action towards drinking.

He brushed back with his leg, letting it press against the innard side of hers briefly. As if toying back with her flirtatious attitude, the swordsman's face remained amused while he played along for now, giving the woman some leeway in assuming that she was succeeding in her ploy.

Whatever the case, the hypnosis seems to be working, the swordsman starting to be affected by her suggestions and voice. But was it really working? The swordsman didn't give off any other clues that may hint otherwise. Yet somehow...

"What kind of drink do you have in mind?" He mentioned, reaching forward to grab his non-alcoholic cocktail to take a sip on.

Just Naota Wrote:

> "You heard me. Giant. Hungry. Demon. Babies." The cyberpunk replied nonchalantly, finishing off his glass of Guinness. He studied Sokoya's pet, Mormon Jesus, through the lenses of his thick-rimmed glasses. Ed didn't have much experience with blobs or slimes or whatever; but they were definitely strange enough to catch and maintain his attention. Being distracted didn't stop him from conversating though. > > "At least that's what I heard went down." Again, nonchalant. Edward shrugged his shoulders as if it didn't matter too much, tossing a random metallic object from the bartop gently in the vague direction of Mormon Jesus. Not many things surprised him on Gaia Primus anymore. It wouldn't have made a bit of difference if Roen had summoned Mecha from the 8th dimension. The end result was the same. A bunch of semi-innocent, innocent, and not-so innocent islanders were murdered. The cyborg frowned. It would be a lie if Ed said he was outraged. He clearly wasn't. Displeased with the Darkened Devil, however, was an entirely different story. > > "Don't you think it's a bit cruel too?" The punk said somberly, staring down at his sneakers for a few moments before looking up at Sokoya. Ed tried a grin. It looked weak. "I think so."

The compassion that came from the cyborg surprised Sokoya. Silently, she had studied his response to her latest comment. Doing so because she secretly thought that he was doing the same. Her conclusion was one that hadn't matched up with her previous impressions of the man.

Here was a hired thug, nothing more than a punk with a gun and a desire to mess with people and earn some cash while doing it. That was what Sokoya had originally guessed him to be, based on what little she knew of him. But here, Edward showed concern for people he didn't know. Bitterness towards the evil acts of mindless slaughter. Sure, he played it off to some key, but his acting wasn't all that great. Perhaps he could read the look of confusion upon Sokoya's doll like face.

"Do I think it's cruel?" She would reply incredulously. "There is little in this world that isn't tainted with some level of cruelty. Evil....ty. Unless you plan to do something about it, suck it up," she'd finally reply. Her response wasn't heartfelt, though. As if the Bone Warrior was forcing herself to say it. To convince herself.

The swordsman seemed to sway a bit under the woman's suggestion, bringing the cup to his lips and swirling the cocktail around idly in his hand. Getting a whiff of light lemon and mango mixed into his drink, he looked like he was considering what she was saying, his eyes maintaing its gaze back at the female for another while longer. By this time, he could definitely feel the alluring effect of some induced appeal working its way around his senses, hampering it and dulling it from critical reasoning... The sluggish response of his joints that made it more difficult to respond with. The natural impulse to agree with what she was suggesting. Those red irises of hers that seemed to bore down into his own, making him hesitant to break his gaze away from.

No wonder it felt so familiar. It was something that he knew a long, long time ago...

The swordsman smiled, lifting his cocktail up further to let the cold fluid flow into his mouth. Placing the cup down after taking a sip, he then made a light gesture with the cup at the woman, parting his lips to speak.

"You know...I prefer non-alcoholic cocktails. It allows me to savor the taste more...instead of using my throat to drink."

Something is off. The hypnosis doesn't seem to be working correctly. Is it because the swordsman has some innate ability to nullify hypnosis, or is it something far more subtle...which has yet to surface?

"But vodka works. Ice cold, with a hint of sweet lemon to bring out the taste perhaps..?"

The swordsman broke eye contact with the woman, giving a drinking gesture at a nearby waiter currently in duty to catch his attention. With the waiter coming forward to take in some new orders, the swordsman gave the instructions quietly before watching him depart to bring one drink to be placed on the table. And with it, the swordsman placed a finger lightly against the glass cup of the liquor before sliding it towards the woman.

"After you."

The swordsman observed her confident attitude, a coy smile still resting on his face. The woman seems experienced in drinking strong liquor, and the fact that she's moving the topic towards this reveals much of her intentions. What it was exactly, however, remains to be seen. He finished his cocktail, swinging down the rest of its content into his mouth. The cup was then placed back on the table with a light tap, the swordsman moistening his lips to savor a bit more of that fruity flavor. "Does it matter? If I'm enjoying it, then that's all I need as a reason, no?"

He paused a bit, waving the waiter over once more before spreading his hand open, signalling the waiter to bring five bottles of said liquor.

"But that would be rude of me, won't it?" He continued on, returning his focus back to the woman as the waiter then came back to first clear the table of the plates and the drinks -- -- before placing the five bottles down on one side of the table, along with two cups for them to use later on.

"Here." The swordsman reached for the bottle closest to him, popping it open and pouring the content down into both cups. Returning it to place, he then clenched his hand into a fist, positioning it over one of the cups before slackening it, an ice cube materializing within his palm and dropping into the drink with a light ringing tune. He repeated the process for the other cup as well.

"I'm sure you won't deny a man his drinking partner, yes?" He then queried, his hand moving down to grab one of the drinks and swirl the cup around lazily, letting it cool down to make it more...refreshing when he drinks it.

*GTB Hotel, Yasuo's Suite*

A man of good taste knows when it is time to rest, and when it is time to train. With the way his hand had been treated down in the infirmary, he could do handstands and backflips on its for all he cared now. Instead, Yasuo took the time to finally lay back and relax for the first time in nearly two years. He had popped open a soda, as to cleanse him from the small drinking habit he had developed. He had also ordered some nice lobster tail and the most expensive bottle of non-alcoholic bubbly something or other - blowing his HoH money like it didn't mean a thing to him.

But then, just as he was about to take his first bite into the meat of the tail...

*RING RING! RING RING! RING RING!*

...the room's phone went off.

"-sigh- Dammit."

Yasuo answered the phone, "Hello?" A messenger relayed the information. "What... I- are you serious? Really?! Oh man! That's amazing! Thank you!" Just before Yasuo was about to hang up with that grinning idiots smile, he was also relayed his opponents information and arena setting. The excitement dulled and was replaced with a slight bit of disappointment. He STILL wasn't going to be able to have his lobster tail.

With a sigh, the phone was hung up and the shinobi was getting ready for a fight once again. He changed into his Stone Gray attire, grabbed his sword, kunai and shuriken this time, and left behind his gourd. This fight had already given him all of the ammunition in the world...

"Your hand in marriage.." Edward chuckled, bobbing his head to the rhythm of his laughter. He placed his glass of Guinness on the bar after gulping down more than half of it's contents. The cyborg wasn't drunk yet, but the possibility wasn't too far off. He was on his fourth pint. Something would have to give eventually. He shook his head and let the cat out of the bag. "Truthfully, I'm here in the capacity as a recruiter. Normally, I wouldn't ask people that have tried to kill me, but it looks like I've got no choice. That and I'm definitely not the most popular guy in Du'rem either. Can't really go 'round recruiting. I'm getting together a little crew. Myself and a few others at most. So, how about it, boss? You in?"

For some reason, Rhoslyn was around the bar, sitting in a way that seemed to strongly indicate that he was looking for shady figures to whisper things to of an illegal nature. Maybe it was the corner table in the shadows, or his feet kicked up on the table, or the device that looked more or less like a tape recorder next to a gun without the safety engaged, but whatever it was, it seemed the fey had business with anyone who enjoyed nothing more than breaking laws.

Faustina threw the doors open to the lobby of the hotel, soaking wet, the smell of the ocean emanating from her entire body. Her face was flustered, her face frozen somewhere between panic, distress, and utter helplessness. She didn't stop once she entered the lobby--instead, she kept running and running, intent on her target.

The Masked was following close behind, The Red drawn and slithering dangerously about the two of them as a warning to any who might try to impede their retreat. They had been more or less left alone between here and the sunny shore housing the Round 2 fights, but The Masked never discounted the possibility that someone would burst out to stop them at any moment, if only to see why they were running (or why, for that matter, The Red was drawn in the first place). Her black-gloved right hand clutched the hilt of the crimson, contorting was-katana, her ruby eyes gleaming wildly through her elegant black masque, her body-tight clothes and sheathed black katana dripping with the same saltwater as The Little Master. Her eyes flickered to note The Little Master's trajectory, and then ahead of them, and she answered before the question was ever asked, "The Stairs, Little Master!"

Faustina nodded, swallowed, and continued running, heading for the door to the stairs. Assuming no one tried to stop the pair, she threw the door open and didn't even stop there, not risking the time it took to hesitate at just how many flights the two had to scale.

Thankfully, The crafty Masked was close behind, The Red already prepared. Slipping in after The Little Master, The Masked lifted her right hand even as her left arm threw out to wrap around the young woman that was The Master's daughter, a grin set sturdily on her face. "The Masked has this!" she declared.

Faustina had time only to furrow her brow before she suddenly found the two of them shooting high up through the air, clear through the middle of the stairs that circled around them along the edges of the walls. It was all she could do to cling to Daria in sheer terror at the sudden ascension, though she was admittedly thankful for the bizarre qualities of her other-worldly blade.

Only a few brief moments later, The Red released the stair rail it had clutched, dropping its cargo off safely on the proper floor and leaving The Masked and The Little Master to burst through the door and into the hall. The Masked looked quickly left and right, confirming that it was empty, and then waved The Little Master on, ordering urgently, "Go on, Little Master! The Masked will guard the hall and alert The Bodyguard while The Little Master packs her belongings!"

Faustina obeyed, hurrying past Daria and down the hall towards their rooms, but along the way couldn't help but ask, "We're leaving?! What about Dad???"

The Masked's voice was somewhat crestfallen as she answered, hastily following her, "The Masked is sorry, but The Masked must return The Little Master to The Safe Place..."

The young girl paused in alarm at the door to their rooms, her throat choking at the news, knowing full well what Daria meant by "The Safe Place"--after all, it was seeming more and more that there was really only one place left for her that was really safe anymore. Still, she remained silent, biting her tongue as she pushed through the door and set to work preparing for their escape.

arrow Krausse's hotel room

Plates were stacked on top of plates that were stacked on top of platters, covered in crumbs and grease and all manner of toppings that had escaped Krausse's merciless maw as he had struck the food like a ravenous lion and consumed everything his hands found grip upon. Hotel staff came and went for nearly an hour, bringing food as Krausse yelled 'more!' during the rare gasps of breath he took between consuming enough food to several families. Some found themselves paralyzed by morbid fascination in watching the man eat, his hands shoveling in food one at a time, never putting so much in his mouth that he couldn't swallow it or that it would fall out, but never was his mouth empty. Only did glares from Krausse keep them in constant motion.

Then the last servant arrived as Krausse licked the final chicken bone clean before tossing it halfheartedly onto the platter it came on.

"Did you call them like I requested?" Krausse asked as he wiped the grease and bits of food from his lips with a napkin. Much of his strength had returned, and the observant would notice that his skin color was nearly back to normal. It would take his body a full day to process all of the protein chains and nutrients he had just consumed and use them to repair the damage that the trident had done, however; in other words, he was far from completely well.

"Yes, sir. They said your clothing would be ready in a few hours," the hotel staff member responded, nervous and twitchy around such a violent man. Like most of the staff that dealt with the public, he was young and good-looking; after all, business was as much about the image as it was the product.

Krausse nodded, and reached over to the nightstand to pluck his wallet off of it. One, two... twelve hundred dollar bills exchanged between his hand and the kid's, whose eyebrows jumped up in ways that made his facial muscles seem like rubber. The boy looked up from the money and to Krausse, who said, "Split that between yourself, the staff members who brought the food to me, and the chefs who fixed it. I apologize for my earlier rudeness, but I was dying."

The boy began to walk out of the room and clutched the massive amount of money as if he were fearful it would be taken from him somehow. Krausse had no fear that he would split it between his friends, though. People tended to follow through with what he asked of them.

Krausse began to take off his wet, ruined, incredibly expensive clothing. It was time for a shower.

This time when Krausse went downstairs, he was dry and fully clothed, albeit not as classy as usual. A Ralph Lauren purple v-neck tight enough to show off his taut, muscular form, dark designer jeans with a black leather belt, and black Gucci shoes; all in all, his 'casual' outfit probably cost more than some people's cars. That was Krausse, though. His long life of war and near-death experiences had taught him to enjoy the life he could manage to keep as a high roller and spare no expenses, nor forgo any hedonistic pleasures... as long as they didn't kill him. Being the CEO of dataDyne back in the day had made him a rich, loved and hated man, and he still ran guns occasionally when he felt like changing the tides of war.

Although Krausse initially intended to apologize to the receptionist for his earlier rudeness, he soon found himself gravitating towards the man with the gun. His step wasn't as spry as it could be, like he wasn't strong enough to where the weight of his body didn't hold him down, but he could still take a bunch of drunk punks if necessary.

A rough, forceful hand would land on Brian's gun, hard enough to smack it out of his hand and forcefully down on the bar counter.

"I think you should leave now," Krausse's voice came directly into Brian's ear, sounding as a hot, angry whisper that promised torture and death without compromise or mercy. Krausse's face was directly next to Brian's, and the way that his other hand fell on Brian's opposite shoulder said Carolyn should not freak out and turn that Dragunov rifle at Krausse.

Cold, bottomless violet eyes without mercy regarded Carolyn's, boring deep. Krausse was no psychic, but the look in Carolyn's eye, the expression on her face, the way she held the gun; without a doubt, she was a human with a dark past of violence and disregard for the sanctity of human life. Was Krausse a better man for judging her as such? No; in fact, he was a hypocrite, his past so jaded and bloody that even Stalin would have to bow to the atrocities against life Krausse had committed. When it came to battle, though, Krausse couldn't help but become the murderer, everything inside of him crying out for him to kill, to draw his blade across the throat of his enemy, to watch the life flow from the corpses of fools who dared to forget he was the embodiment of death. There was an important difference between himself and Carolyn, though: he felt remorse. He woke up at nights covered in cold sweat and tried for hours to wash the blood off of his hands he knew was there, but he could never see. He knew that he was a horrible person and believed that no act could ever redeem him, as he was too lost in his own self-hatred to even try beyond the occasional small act of kindness.

Now, though, Krausse was calm, collected. Carolyn was drunk and human, far slower than Krausse, even when he was injured as he was. His bones ached and his side felt as if the stitches were ripping all over again, but as soon as Carolyn thumbed the safety off of her rifle, Krausse's hand grasped Brian's pistol and swung it in Carolyn's direction. The feel of the gun in his hand, the cold metal against his palm, the smell of the gunpowder - it made him feel alive, made his blood sing, made the aches and hurts as if they were never there. He was Saint Peter and Carolyn stood at the Gates of Judgement, and the hollow point bullet that Krausse fired into Carolyn's hand, the bullet that would render the appendage completely useless, was him denying her Passage as she stumbled back drunkenly to give her room to aim.

"You do not backtalk me, you insignificant worm fucks!" Krausse shouted at the top of his lungs, his voice carrying all the weight of a judge.

(you didn't respond to Carolyn getting shot, so i hope you don't mind if i take some creative liberty)

The screaming was louder than the gunshot, which itself had echoed through the suddenly silent bar like the crack of thunder. It was the kind of screaming you heard when someone was truly in pain and mixed with anger and hatred and betrayal - the kind of scream you hear when someone gets shot, and is too drunk to care about their dignity. Some of the bar patrons began to look at little nauseous at the sight of Carolyn writhing on the floor, clutching her ruined gun hand, the Dragunov lying next to her. Brian was frozen in his spot, thinking about how Krausse's arm was there one moment, then shooting his wife the next. Terror kept him frozen, for he knew that the look he saw in Krausse's eye was that of a man who had taken more life than him and his wife had ever seen and would not hesitate to take two more. Kill first, pity later.

Krausse kicked the rifle away from Carolyn, now standing over her like the shadow of death. He kept the gun trained steadily on her, able to pull the trigger fast enough to unload the entire weapon into her before she could even move from her spot.

Those violet eyes that had so coldly judged Carolyn now bored into Brian as Krausse swung his head around to face the man. For the briefest moment, he wished he had another gun to point at Brian, but even with the large assault rifle Krausse knew that the former contender was no threat to anyone except what Krausse surmised as his two blood relatives.

"You were watching me fight Vrael," Krausse said simply, his tone carefully neutral. "You were his opponent the first round."

After a second, Krausse laughed, realizing that was a stupid thing to say aloud. What the hell did that have to do with anything?

"Are you gonna take care of these two?" Krausse asked, noting the bartender had come out of the back with a phone in hand. From the looks of it, the man hadn't called the GPD. Yet.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Krausse looked confused. "Are you fucking high? You know what, I don't fucking care. I don't have time to deal with this."

Krausse threw Brian's into Carolyn's head to stun her as she tried to reach for her rifle. He walked away while Thurgood went into a drug-induced haze.

(bad mood. i don't wanna freeze your storyline.)

Tap, tap, tap.

As a receptionist at such a posh hotel where the strongest and quirkiest denizens of the land gathered to fight it out, Jilian May figured that her job would be more interesting. In the process of filling out her application, Jilian had mentally inserted "explosions, ninjas, really hot guys that want to sleep with you" under her job description. While hot guys she had met aplenty - including the one that had scarred her young, somewhat innocent college kid mind by puking up blood on her desk and then yelling at her - none of them had offered to sleep with her or even looked remotely interested. Then a realization hit her.

Oh, dear god, what if they were all gay?

That's it!

Every single hot guy in the GTB was gay.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Jilian screamed and slammed her fists down on her desk.

A pause.

"But I didn't even say anything yet," Krausse said, his voice smooth and melodic, hypnotic in the way of a catchy song with a sensual hook. A look of wry amusement crossed his eerily handsome face, a welcome replacement to the intensity and desperation that had been there the first time the receptionist met him.

She did not immediately swoon like most women, though. Jilian's eyes instead dropped to where the blood had been only hours ago, coating her desk in a metallic, sickening stench that would haunt her nightmares for years. That would only be second to the look in Krausse's eyes, though. The pure animal intentions that were pure natural survival instinct, like a primordial human, had been so vivid in the bottomless violet of Krausse's eyes. It had run Jilian's blood as cold as the Arctic, for she knew that look in Krausse's eyes said I will kill you if you get in my way.

"Ah-uhm," Jilian said. She wasn't as terrified, but she wasn't stupid enough to think that a wolf in a sheep's skin was a sheep. "Can... can I help you, Mr. Kreugar?"

Krausse leaned over the desk and pushed up Jilian's head by her chin, forcing her green eyes into his violet. The bottomless quality remained, but everyone who looked into Krausse's eyes say what he wanted them to see, and what Jilian saw was this: the warmth of a fireplace, comforting like the hug of someone dear, and innocent like the old times always were played out to be. For a second, she felt limp in Krausse's hand, which she wanted to grab and rub along her face like a lover's, but then Krausse let go.

Jilian gasped for air for a second, her heart racing like an intense orgasm had shuddered her body.

"Can you do me a favor and make a copy of Hoshiko's room key?" Krausse said, his grin like that of an incubus. Playing with the hearts of young girls was different from killing, and he never felt disgusted with himself for it; after all, heartbreak by a man who was too pretty for his own good taught the women that were smart enough to learn that the uglier guys would always treat them better.

Jilian complied without speaking, and Krausse took the keycard from her hand, although she ran it across the top of his own and smirked in a way that was sexually playful. Instead of rejection, Krausse winked and walked away.

When Hoshiko returned to her room, she would find a surprise.

Meanwhile on the roof...

There was scraping and occasional muttered curse, but eventually the door leading to the roof clicked open. Lucas opened it, glad that his lock picking skills hadn't gone completely to crap. He put away his lock picking tools and then continued out onto the roof, hauling what remained of the things he had brought with him.

He was dressed far more casually then he had during combat, wearing a light linen shirt, and some cotton breeches. He still kept his boots though. On his belt, there were still two pouches attached to them. He walked further on the roof of the hotel, until he came close to the edge. He then unfolded the folding chair he had carried with him. He sat down and then uncorked the bottle of dark rum, he had stolen from the bar in the ensuing chaos downstairs and took a swig as he looked out into the night and enjoyed the scenery as his thoughts drifted.

He had so far had, possibly and easier time than most,however he was not cocky enough to ever keep far from his mind that soon an actual opponent would come and his abilities would finally be tested.

Until then however...

He opened one of the pouches and pulled out a wood crafted pipe, and then filled it with a dried green leafy substance. The elves he had gotten his supply from had called it buckweed, but around some cultures he had found that it went by a different name, marijuana.

Eh well.... to each there own.

He lit his pipe and inhaled, holding it in for awhile, before blowing a few smoke rings and then blowing out the rest in a billow of aracid and tangy smoke.

He laughed softly and stretched his legs on the roofs edge, it felt good to relax for a bit. He took another swig of the rum.

Mike Tyson knocked on Dietric's door.

"I want my fucking lion back!" Mike Tyson yelled angrily, his words drunkenly slurred as the man had slammed down too many drinks of Vodka-Ear Slushie.

Rhoslyn had watched all of this go down with a cheerful grin on his face. He had not so much as lifted a finger to help, but he was watching the two armed drunks. Perhaps... he could have a use for those two. He grin stretched across his face, the shadow of some multidimensional thing falling across the bar for a second before fading away with Rhoslyn's grin.

Krausse, however... now, he was the man for the job. One of them. Maybe. Getting to his feet, the fey gave a slight wave to the bartender and followed the man, casually observing from a distance with his glamour making him not invisible, just not easy to see. After the man had done his... thing, Rhoslyn proceeded up to the desk and looked at the woman.

"Haaii."

SHINY.

" -and his eyes said it all. I-"

"May I give you a suggestion?"

"...sure, Mr. Vernal."

Rhoslyn extended his hand towards her as he took a deep breath, and as she reached out to take it, he blew hard, sending a bunch of silvery dust to land on her face. She stared at him blankly as she waited for his command. She had given consent, after all.

"Mr. Kreugar was flirting with you, and asked for Miz Hoshiko's room number. Go home, take the day off and have a night with the girls."

"...I can go home early?"

She seemed back to normal now, if not a little excited.

"Yes, yes you can."

She booked, and Rhoslyn started making copies of the fighter's room keys, doing them one by one as if he had every right to do so. He'd just love to see their faces when they came back from their third round to find their entire room upside down, with everything reversed, down to the peep-hole.

For a start.

The fey giggled and went back to his malicious work.

[End of Round Three]

Click~

...

...

Whothefuckputthisshithere.

James promptly punted the cardboard printout across the length of his room, and was about to step inside his room when he caught himself.

There was magic about. That cardboard Erin Carter, he suspected, was only the tip of the iceberg. The magic he felt was powerful... and familiar? James had last felt this sort of presence at the... Black Sand Bar.

"Son of a bitch" he spat, turning about and headed back to the elevator, keen on finding someplace else to rest. The thought crossed his mind whether the other rooms were like this too.

Damn faeries.