HoH season 18. Source: valucre.net static Gaia dump.
"No," said Clash. "I just want to fight because you have got some serious skill!" Clash bared his teeth at Vahn, showing the other fighter his fangs. He took two small steps back-ward on his right foot. Then, he swung his sword at Vahn's right arm, attempting to hack it off at the shoulder. Also, he prepared his right foot to check a kick in case Vahn threw one at him using his left foot.
*Preparations: One (Kick Check)
D's head snapped back when Clash moved forward, his movements caught as she was looking between the men. Her mouth hung open as if she wanted to say something, but... Clash was just going forward. Clash had already interrupted Vahn when he was about to ask Twitch for more information, which was proof enough that Clash wasn't interested in talking.
Vahn's vocal jab waspretty funny, though.
D' looked from left to right, grimacing as she at least made sure that foot and road traffic would halt if this was about to turn into a street fight. She caught Bubbles lifting a finger, undoubtedly to ask if security should be called, and Twitch simply shook her head.
"No," she sighed. "Don't worry about trying to stop them. Just... make sure pedestrians don't get too close, I guess. And get ready to assess road damages, so we can get it fixed ASAP."
"That's a flimsy way of sayin' you ain't got a clue!" He grinned fiercely even as the fighter flashed his teeth. At the same moment, his right hand went up towards his own face, the back of his hand wiping away the flow of blood from his left nostril- again another haze of heat shimmering just barely in the air there with that motion.
Two things happened in the next moment- as the fighter created distance between himself and Vahn, the latter was already stepping in to negate at least half that distance by leading in with his left foot first. It was a blink and you miss the moment as it almost seemed as if he slid forward. As this was happening his right hand was already raising up and out- even as his right forearm seemingly exploded into action, a haze of blackened heat and the sound of metal on metal would shriek out.
The fighter's sword swing would have met the back of Vahn's right forearm, a dull, almost blackened to ash metal gauntlet holding the blade at bay. "There's somethin' else!" His right eye narrowed just slightly, even as he now brought his right foot forward and with it pushing his body further towards the fighter. His right forearm travelled the length of the blade, forcing his opponent to be off balance as much as possible unless he dropped the sword.
There would be no left kick from Vahn, as he was intent on exploiting the already weakened stance of his opponent, closing the distance and getting close enough to send his left fist towards his opponent's abdomen. Knuckles whitened even as he built up the heat generated and would send it expelling outwards in a single focused point, exactly an inch away from actually striking. The one inch styled punch, Breath of the Ruler, would currently carry with it enough force to send a fully loaded dumpster skidding backwards several feet.
Getting drunk was not solely a human concept, given that Gaia was a melting grounds for creatures both mundane and abominable this wasn't so much a revelation as it was a statement. Creatures on the high and low end of the sentience spectrum enjoyed poisoning themselves slowly to achieve an altered world view and the kinds of types of alcohol had changed drastically to include a much wider variety of palates. Plant based organisms, for example, could in some species become drunk drinking fertilizers mixed with regular water and in other cases just plain old salt water.
Cypher, on the other hand, enjoyed not being a "savage". The Arian, one of only 3 he was aware of on the plane, enjoyed wine more than anything else and lately had taken to drinking it to the exclusion of all else. This was in evidence from the multiple uncorked bottles arrayed on the small circular table infront of him, each one now bone dry but for the current beverage infront of him. This bottle was filled with a clear "white" wine he had been assured came from some far off land that justified the somewhat inflated price he had paid for it but the aelf cared less about the money than he did about attempting to kill brain cells. He lounged, or slumped, in his seat with his right arm outstretched and hand resting gently on the bottle. The setting summer sun gleamed off both the bottle and the ring he wore, aswell as off his glazed emerald eyes.
To the outsider, he was relatively unremarkable perhaps. Grey skin over a lightly muscled frame, not thin enough to be considered gaunt but not muscled enough to be mistaken for someone dedicated to crossfit. He wore black slacks, a white shirt and black vest, an ensemble designed to make him look something like a waiter, with his copper hair pulled back into a ponytail at the rear and left messy ontop. Perhaps he instead more resembled a better class of poet given the bottles but appearance mattered only slightly more than getting drunk and these days Cypher had a hard enough time finding the energy to wake up let alone change his clothing styles. The few other patrons of the outer bar area didn't seem to care about him or anyone else besides their partners, in the case of the young couple over closer to the 2nd floor balcony, or their own private inner worlds.
The aelf himself was aware of the other patrons but his mind was alternating between his own depression and the mechanical functions necessary to grip the bottle he was only lightly touching. There was no need for a glass.
As Vahn threw a variation of a one-inch punch at his abdomen, Clash merely rolled his right arm in to-ward his belly, using his black plate armor to block. He got thrown back-ward seven feet, weathering the attack with a sharp exhale. Squaring his stance, he put his hands up, switching to an under-handed grip with his sword. Making a fist with it, he thrust his left hand out, running at Vahn with care-fully measured steps. When he got close enough, he pulled his left hand back, slicing up-ward at Vahn's neck with his sword in an attempt to lop the other fighter's head off.
Watching the fighter get sent backwards, he took note of the last minute damage mitigation. If Vahn used the technique again, he would be sure to account for a similar block. "..." His bodily temperature began building slowly back up again- having already expelled the generated heat hastily with his last action.
It was another reason for the style of clothing he wore- not only would normal clothing simply burn up with the use of his techniques but the amount of ambient heat he generated as a result of the fire in his blood was just a tad bit discomforting if fully dressed.
In the time it took the fighter to recover and start making his way back towards Vahn, the Murmillion had already shot forward. Pushing off his the front of his right foot, with his left foot even on the ground, he once again exhibited that sliding motion, as if his friction had no say in his advancement. A haze of heat left a trail in his wake before his right heel planted and arrested any further motion forward- shooting him into close proximity with the fighter once more and negating the advantage of the range that his sword would otherwise afford.
If executed properly- Vahn would have reached the fighter while he was sprinting forward, left hand out still, and it would be a simple matter of grasping hold of the blade itself with his right hand- the metal talons on the gauntlet issuing a squeal of protest. This would put him directly in front of the fighter, further destroying the use of the sword as he would force it to stay in place between the two of them.
Locking his eye with the man, his left hand in the same instance as his right grabbing the sword, would have reached in between them and grabbed hold of the strap on his chest that connected his odd sheathe to his back. "Httt--!" With a sharp exhale, he would have then pushed off his right foot, twisting and aiming to spin about twice rapidly, thanks to the frictionless grip of his left greave. The intent was to send the fighter flying to the left, possibly sans sword if he could maintain the grip with his gauntleted hand.
Thrown sharply to the left by Vahn, Clash landed on the gourd on his back like a turtle. Sitting up, he got to his feet with-out the use of his hands. Placing his hands to-get-her, he formed a chi meld using his qi. When he pulled his hands a-part, a yellow, oblong ki ball a-bout the size of a basket-ball fired off at Vahn, primed to detonate on impact.
Tap tap tap
The report of leather soles on concrete would have a hard time being heard over the clashing fighters in the street.
The bearers of clipboard and cellphone would likewise have a hard time focusing on the black clad man in their midst, as if the mind had difficulty registering his presence. Twitch herself, however, would easily notice as he cleared his throat, standing slightly to the left of her. Her felid ears were met by a warm Scottish accent carried on a voice that betrayed a depth of years.
"Excuse me miss, I could'nae help but hear ye mention the Heaven or Hell tournament, and ye have the bearing of someone involved in the logistics. If I could ask ye a moment a' yer time, I represent an interest in the... festivities."
She would find, should she turn to face him, a gentleman, likely in his late forties to early fifties, clad in a well tailored suit ensemble; jacket, vest, slacks, pristine oxfords, tie, overcoat, and gloves, all an almost light absorbing pitch black save the crisp white shirt and silver buttons, to include a tie clip. Her reflection would stare back at her from a set of tasteful sunglasses, and his posture was relaxed yet reserved, hands clasped in front of him, holding the handle of a slim briefcase that did not waver from the color palette of his outfit. He was easily six feet tall and built with a solidity to match the heritage his accent implied. A small smile tweaked the mustache of a regal and well trimmed full beard, which was matched by a similarly groomed full head of blonde hair, streaked through with silver.
"If I am not mistaken and ye can provide a few answers, I would be much obliged if ye would provide them to a few questions." He bowed his head slightly, "In the case that I am mistaken, however, might ye point me in the direction a' someone who can?"
The calm manner of address was made somewhat uncanny by the screeching steel, hissing haze of heat, and ethereal sighs and crackles of ki energy in the background.
Unchecked Twitch Wrote:
Despite appearing so, the two ladies weren't quite human and possessed sharper senses than the norm, as well as less-than-mundane abilities to track people. As such, someone who was self-professed to be hard to perceive would give them some sort of alarm-- not enough to worry them, but simply to note that someone was there, and they'd have to fine-tune their senses to perceive him. With D' turning her head to the gentleman as if she wasn't surprised at all, they didn't see a reason to step up. Their boss was a big girl.
Their boss was, in short, a catgirl-- not that she much appreciated the colloquial. She was tan of skin, a few inches short of 6', with a feathery hairstyle reminiscent of stereotypical wild people... though of course, as she had a reputation to maintain, it was at least somewhat tamed and all made to flow down to the middle of her back, with two purple bangs framing her face. The same pale purple colored her eyes, typically slit, and her shades rested behind a black, feline nose. Beneath her left eye was a triangular mark that reached her cheek, apparently a tattoo, and above them were L-shaped brows that could help give her a slight resting b***h face, though her expression was switching from reluctant surrender to curiosity. He surely already noted her sharp dress of pinstripes, which is why he correctly assumed she was someone who knew something about something.
"An interest?" Eh-hin-trest. Her own accent was slight, heard in that she sometimes put more syllables in a word than existed, though she spoke it as quickly as if the addition wasn't there.
"Monetary, or physical? Did you and a company you represent want to help with sponsorship or the back-end... or were you looking to compete?"
Redgent Wrote:
A Hawaiian shirt, cheep baggy shorts with a loose buckle and flip flops, accompanied by slouched shoulders under the weight of what looked like a keg but was made of some kind of brass instead of aluminum. It may have been just some random old man that was fickle and liked to bring his own drinks into hotels... if he hadn't been a slime. Dark skin that seemed to absorb light and a pair of luminous silver eyes poorly hidden by sunglasses, V made his way through the foyer and into the hotel proper. The other one had made it known it was watching fights so this one would have to make due building social connections, intermingling with the team, all while not being able to speak. V didn't really mind that much, he was used to communicating through gestures and emotional displays but others might find it off putting.
Removing a photo from his pocket, V stared at it for a little bit, trying to make sure he got the right person. It was an older photo and a person could change a lot in that time. Still when he showed the photo to a receptionist they pointed him towards the bar. Lumbering along his merry way, it took V a few quick passes around the bar to find who he was looking for. He was reasonably distracted by what was going on outside but right now that didn't matter much. The aelf he was looking for seemed to be nursing a bottle and while V knew only a little about his past he could sympathise with wanting to forget everything. Lumbering over to the being, V uncerimniously dropped the bronze keg onto the floor.
THUNK
The sound of the keg hitting the ground was deep and disturbingly slow. Whatever was inside of the keg moved slower than normal consumable liquids. Without gestures or words, V took a seat beside the aelf and started to examine bottles. A few the slime would nod knowingly at, placing them respectfully in a line to his left, the others would get unceremoniously tossed behind him in random directions, as if their mere existence was insulting to the slime. Once settled in, the Hawaiian slime would pull out a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and set the ball on the table before looking over to whom he thought was Cypher.
Giving a small head nod, V beat his chest twice with a closed fist then made a peace symbol with his hand, trying to introduce himself as V. As long as the man didn't get up and walk away V would start filling some of the empty bottles with some kind of fluid from the keg. Whatever vile concoction was in the bronze keg, it looked unfit for consumption of anything that had a liver. V was quite please with it though and set one bottle of it down near Cypher before filling a second for himself.
Eternal Dirge Wrote:
Act 1: They call me John Wick
Izette quickly stared from across the street of the Crimson Hawk with her left hand in her pockets of her bomber jacket as a cigarette hung from her lips. Her right hand held onto a six pack of questionable beer, not to mention that 2 of them were already gone from her walk over. She was alone for once as she had some business to take care of. What this meant was entirely up in the air as she had been unemployed for years. She couldn’t keep a job to save her life anyway, she tried working at Taco Gato, but they weren’t willing to just give her free tacos. So that was a joke.
Oddly enough, Izette was not her usual exuberant self.
Normally she would have already kicked down the door and made her entrance. Instead she was quite as she stared at the door. It had been years since she had made her entrance to the Hawk. In fact, it was right after she had miraculously been cured of cancer that the punker left the Hawk…but more importantly the Heaven or Hell scene.
Bzzzt.
Izette could feel her phone buzz in the front pocket of her jacket. However, despite what was going on there, she felt nothing. The punker was numb. With a long inhale of her cigarette, the punker reached up with her left hand and exhaled quickly. At one point, her hand was covered in scars and ink from her elaborate tribal tattoo on her arm. But now it was gone. Having a new body had it’s perks, although it was expensive as hell to see Ember replace the holes. However, she was getting there. The first piece had finally been done when she had decided to team up with her new tournament teammates. On her forearm, instead of elaborate zebra stripes was a simple feather. Ember made fun of her picking something so simple, but she knew that there was meaning.
With the last drag of her smoke, the punker tossed the cylinder aside and took another deep breath in. Today was the day.
Walking across the street, the punker caused various cars and trucks to stop in their tracks and lay on their horns in rage. She didn’t care that she was jaywalking, in fact, she even flipped the bird towards them as she made her way through traffic. And naturally, she arrived on the other side unscathed.
The woman was on a mission.
Reaching the revolving doors, the punker did the unthinkable. She walked through them like a decent human being. She wasn’t in the mood to take on one of her greatest nemesis. That was for another day. Turning, the punker made her way over to the front counter where the clerk smiled with delight as the woman made her way up.
“Hello, welcome to the Crimson Hawk! Can we interest you in a room today?” The little practically bounced with delight as she spoke causing Izzy’s face to almost cringe. The woman was ungodly chipper and she had no idea.
“Yeah, I would like to rent room 589” Izette scratched her cheek slightly as she spoke and began to look around the hotel. There were a couple of the staff members who whispered to one another as the one-eyed woman took notice of everyone. However, the blonde on the other hand didn’t seem to really notice seeing as she was working and happily typing away with a hum as she filled in the punker’s request.
“Oh yes, I do have that suite available. For how long?” The woman finally turned and made eye contact with the punker. At first, she jarred straight up to see that zombified looking punker. Sure, she may have managed to put her make up on. However, the punker looked exhausted.
“Just for tonight. I have a hot date you know.” This was the first time the punker smiled and offered the woman a wink with her left blue eye. Nervously, the woman nodded as it wasn’t normal for her to get her type here.
“No…no problem. Who can I put the name under?”
“Zandra Ryke. Call me Zandy though. Wouldn’t want people to think I am so formal” Izette didn’t even miss a beat when she mentioned the false name, she only smiled more to try and be convincing. Sure, she could have shapeshifted, but where was the fun in that?
“Perfect, Miss Ryke. Your total today will be $545”
“Awesome, that will be credit.” With the flick of her freehand the punker revealed the small plastic card between her cards. The glittering letters of Zandra’s name glittered in the light as though it were a beacon of hope. Almost instantly the woman took it from the punker and did not bother to check for ID. A small grin left Izzy’s lips as it was clearly this woman’s first day and maybe should have asked for an ID.
“Alright Miss Ryke, your key is here… just down the hall and your room will be waiting for you”
“Thank you!”
It was too easy.
~~*
Izette forgot how nice hotel rooms smelt when a guest first arrived. It didn’t have the smell of the cigarette smoke, booze, and blood that she often drew into any stay at the Crimson Hawk. Closing the door behind her (cause appearances). The punker leaned against the door and embraced the silence for a moment.
It was nice.
Happy memories flooded her mind as she was reminded of the life that she had once lived. There were laughs over drinks, pranks in swimming pools, and even a fire in the lounge downstairs that she had been banned from every year. But there was also pain and sadness. Especially in this hotel room.
Sliding down against the wooden door the punker finally reached the floor and placed her beer cans on the ground beside her. Opening her jacket the woman revealed the grey rubber duckie shirt that she was sporting and a strange necklace that hung from her neck. There on the end of the chain was a duckbill that was hung from the end. Although it was old, it still looked relatively fresh and new as though it were meant to be attached to a bird. Cracking one of the beers of the heavy plastic, the punker grasped the cool cylinder between her fingers and smiled.
“Happy anniversary, Reggie…” And within the silence the punker took a sip of her drink. The cool beverage ran down her throat as she smiled to remember the good times that they had together.
Act 2: Dance with the God
It must have been hours.
Izette had finished all four of her remaining beers and was now down to her last cigarettes that she had with her and continued to stare and what could only be described as the void of the hotel room. It was a mourning process.
All of it was.
However, the silence quickly broke as a familiar laugh came from the shadows. In the past this would have scared her to no end, she had nightmares about this that caused her to awaken from a cold sleep. But this was her reality and she was ready to ****** whatever st was coming her way.
“Well… isn’t this a pleasant surprise” A slippery male voice filled the room with a boom to quickly reveal what was hidden amongst the shadows. There a tall slender man made himself known. Oddly enough he was wearing a black and red pin stripe suit as though to be there for business. His skin was almost sickly in comparison to most pale people that she had come across. What was worse was the fact that he looked as though he was wearing a rubber mask. He also decided to sport a set of sunglasses to help block out whatever imaginary sun he was trying to protect himself.
“It’s been awhile, Miss Izette.”
“Narly.” The punker finally stood to her feet so that she as able to get close enough to where he was standing.
“Please, I deserve to be called by my actual title….Narlo’gothuli.” At this moment, the man removed his sunglasses as he quickly placed them into his breast pocket of his pinstripe suit. He was old, very old. Each of the lines that accented the edge of his face told him that.
“It’s probably a good thing you decided to come this year, I tend to get awfully lonely when it comes to celebrating our time together…wasnot it not that long ago that you would give me anything to keep on living?”
Izette remained silent as her eyes focused on the man who was now practically bragging. However, the punker only remained perfectly quiet as her fist began to form at her sides. She had been waiting far too long to get scared and run.
“And thanks to your donation, I have been able to expand my horizons. Oh yes, because of you and your bird I have been able to find the strength to carry on… First, a shapeshifter who wanted nothing more than to be rich… and then a werewolf who would stop at nothing to wine over his lady fair….” The Elder god reminisced happily with a gloating sense of happiness to him. And it was all thanks to little punker who started his trend of making deals with people who did not want to be where they were in life.
It was all thanks to her.
“And because of you, I plan to continue my way to the top. Maybe next I can talk to your dear friends to see what t-
[b[POW.
Her fist quickly connected with the jaw of the Elder God’s face and the Elder god stumbled back slightly for a moment. He wasn’t expecting this. Every interaction between the two of them had always been one where he was in control. Afterall, being an Elder God meant that you were above the puny mortals.
“LISTEN HERE YOU LITTLE ******. YOU ARE MY PROBLEM. AND TONIGHT IS WHERE MY** PROBLEM ENDS” The punker’s voice was loud and unsettling as she quickly made eye contact with the man in the suit. However, her eye wasn’t her own as the corneas were now as dark as the surroundings that they were in with Iris’s that were as scarlet as blood. This belonged to someone else.
This belonged to an Abyssal lord.
Pushing her foot off the ground, Izette charged towards the man with a blood-curdling scream. Her one arm quickly reached for her belt to flip out a blade as quickly as possible. However, this knife was different then all the ones that she had ever carried for the blade was an obsidian color with a gem in the middle where the gear was. This was Bob, a special blade that was given to her by someone she held very close who had powers that she never thought possible.
Tonight it was her night…
Tonight was the night for revenge.
v-v Wrote:
That was nice of them, bringing him a new drink that wouldn't require so much effort. While the aelf didn't mind the strange keg, he hadn't really seen many that weren't the cheap recyclable aluminum kind, he wasn't entirely sure how he was supposed to drink from it either given the struggle he was having with the wine bottle. Maybe they'd hook a hose up to it? Feed it like an IV directly into his mouth? He'd ask when the waiter got to the table if he could make his mouth operate like it was supposed to.
He wasn't bothered when the waiter thing sat down with him either, the strange 'skin' that absorbed light, the rather flamboyant tourist attire, or the fact that it began to rummage through his spent bottles like it'd find some secret amongst them. What was bothersome was the noise the keg made when it hit the ground, whatever was in there sounded like mostly liquid gelatin and the idea nearly brought his entirely liquid diet back up for a rather unenjoyable encore. Cypher simple sat and stared at the keg while V through bottles off to the sides or behind itself in a display of cavalier littering that would have been amusing if the audience didn't consist of the actual waiters and the other bar patrons.
Slowly, incase he fell out of his seat, Cypher leaned slightly around the table and braced himself with one hand as the world threatened to upend itself and brought fresh wave of nausea, his motion upsetting the still mostly full wine bottle he'd been attempting to lift and sending the pale beverage pouring out onto the table. Some overflowed down onto the concrete, most just flooded the table and coated the very bottoms of the remaining bottles that the slime hadn't discarded. The introduction was missed, as was the refilling of some of the bottles with whatever concoction was in the keg, but only because the aelf was attempting to straighten up again and making something of a show of it.
He swung too fast, too hard, back into an upright position, grey hands grasping the table and sending more bottles to an unceremonious end on the stone floor of the balcony-bar, some shattering and adding to the debris while others bounce and rolled with that unique empty glass sound. For a moment his face had a decidedly greenish palor that overlaid the grey but it was clear there was effort being made not to cover the friendly slime in vomit. The aelf stayed that way for a long moment, eyes closed and mouth tightly shut, until the color began to fade. The eyes, however, did not open before he spoke.
" What....in the world are you?"
His tone was strained but not unfriendly, not the musical tone people associated with elves either but then again he hardly resembled any of the fae that took claim to that species. On Gaia he most closely resembled a half elf, ears only slightly pointy, maybe longer than was average but not by much. His hair was disheveled and somewhat clumped in loose strands but straight for all that and very much copper colored, not red brown as humans would call it but metallic.
Everyone sizing everyone up. Indeed.
To either of the other ladies, placing him opened a metaphorical pit. It was like peeking beneath the water to see the mass of an iceberg, or cracking a door to find it opens to a sheer cliff. He felt staggeringly ancient, and for however unfazed they might be, he was definitely not within competition regulations. Not right now, at least.
The man himself leaned back slightly, extrasensory perceptions of his own... listening? It was the best explanation he'd ever been able to ascribe when asked. He felt the ontological weight of others as a vibration of sorts. A normal human would be fairly quiet and high pitched compared to something like a dragon, which would be louder, brassier, though the exact tones and volumes could be sifted for surprisingly specific details.
The man in black produced a business card from his interior coat pocket and presented it to the felid woman, the lettering resolving itself quickly from an indiscernible mass of shifting type face to the language most familiar to the recipient in bold, block text. The information on the card matched key bits of his following spiel.
"Ian Weir, representing the Monolith Estate. To yer query, I might answer, yes. The current holder a' the Estate has expressed his interest in this event and would like ta get Monolith involved in as many ways as possible. I have been instructed ta find and schedule as many a' these involvements as I am able as the advance liaison."
This was accompanied by various conventional forms of contact on the front. Stretching onto the back of the card was inscribed further contact info, which simply kept providing further info as it was flipped, to include several galactic length postal codes written in microform, a short prayer, and instructions for a not entirely objectionable blood ritual. Flipping it while thinking about bringing back the front of the card would do so.
Unchecked Twitch Wrote:
Earlier that day --- Aekea & Red Ace: Auto & More > Eventually en route to Crimson Hawk - Latent
-CLANK-
”Ah ******** me-”
-CRASH-
”Sonofa-”
Sounds of metal hitting metal or concrete echoed throughout the modest sized garage. Other noises, those of machinery and equipment joined in a loud, grating harmony. Somewhere, underneath all the racket, was the voice of the shop’s current owner and lead.
Her own curses and cries of frustration were all cut off every few minutes as she tinkered away at an older looking pickup truck. Her pickup to be precise.
The damned thing had quit on her for the third time this month and it was beginning to take everything she had not to push it into the river and be done with it. Conveniently, it was a slow day at the shop, so she had the opportunity to take another look at her stupid junker of a vehicle. However, despite everything, the damn thing had seen her through numerous years and plenty of s**t without giving way yet, until recently. For the longest, her family members would continue to badger her, insisting she get a newer and safer vehicle but every time she brushed them off, proudly boasting how it never let her down and she planned to keep it until the day it finally refused to go.
That day, she grimly mused, was inevitably drawing near and was quite possibly upon her.
She pulled her head out from under the truck's hood, wiped her sweat damp forehead with the back of her wrist (swiping more engine oil and dirt across her face in the process) and sighed. After a minute passed and Ryke was able to focus on the world around her, outside the engine, she squinted and looked around curiously. It hadn't occurred to her how quiet the garage had been for the majority of the afternoon. It was Jake’s day off, so she hadn’t expected him to be puttering around with her, but she realized (after a few more minutes no less) that someone else was noticeably absent from his scheduled work day.
”Where the ******** is Connor?”
Ryke laid down the tools she had been working with and looked around, puzzled. The shop was not busy, so his absence was no major infraction, but it was still annoying and strange. Well, no. It wasn’t strange, she was used to him falling off the grid for months at a time and popping up again when she least expected it but he had been around now for a good while and a huge help around the garage.
Whatever. She rolled her eyes and chalked it up to over sleeping, a hangover or a case of bad tacos. How many times had she told him, and Izzy, to stop eating from that stupid taco stand in Durem?!
”DUDE!! ZAN! Oh my god, Zan Zan Za-OW-s**t-ZAN LOOK!”
An overexcited, and possibly over-caffeinated Noah burst into the shop, gripping what appeared to be a flyer with two hands as he stumbled over everything in his path, colliding with machinery and tool chests alike.
”Quit running through my garage! You’re gonna break something, or break your damn neck. What the hell has you all jumpy? I mean, besides the three cups of coffee I saw you suck down since this morning?” She met him halfway, mostly so he wouldn’t continue on his warpath and somewhat out of curiosity.
Noah took a few deep breaths to steady himself and came to a stop in front of his sister but he still clutched the flyer like a greedy child and held it up for her to read as if she were meant to be wowed by the contents presented on the page. He was grinning like an idiot, practically buzzing from the caffeine but also excitement over his find. ”Look!! You have to enter!”
”Enter? Enter what?” she questioned, while scanning the page. It was a flyer, advertising the famed Heaven or Hell tournament. That alone was a surprise. She had thought the tournament was no more? After the Foundation called it quits on hosting the former annual event, some years ago, she assumed that was that. The more she read, the more she understood. It was an event, marking the (since passed) anniversary of the famous team tournament and calling for a reunion of old faces, regular participants from over the years to come together and celebrate.
Well, that was definitely interesting.
Ryke snatched the flyer from her brother, and poured over it again, digging deeper into the fine print. There were some minor details about this year’s event, things that would set it apart from all the years past, it was all very vague but relatively intriguing all the same. Maybe she should enter again after all? Would it be fun to join up for old time sake? ”Huh. Well, I mean. It couldn’t hurt to give it a go, one last time I guess.” She handed it back to Noah who was still smiling like a kid who had just been given candy before supper.
”Really? Cause I think you should. It would be so cool!”
She shrugged it off, though not all together. ”I’ll call Izzy. See what she thinks, if she’s heard about it and if she’d be interested. No promises though.” Noah took that for a definitive yes and cheered excitedly before darting off towards the front office again.
Ignoring him, Ryke slipped her phone out of her back pocket and checked - no new notifications - that wasn’t terribly odd but she had expected several random texts from the punker well before lunch. It was pushing 3pm and all was silent in the world of Izette, or at least she had received no crazy messages from her. She scrolled to Izzy in her quick contacts and hit Send - and within a few seconds there was a dial tone and a ring. And another ring. And another, and another and so it went on for several minutes until the voicemail picked up.
”Hey Iz, it’s me. Just found out about something pretty big. Wanted to get your opinion. Anyway, hope you’re staying out of trouble, call me back when you get this.”
Ryke concluded her voicemail before stealing a glance at her messages. She realized she had sent Izzy some texts last night, and again this morning - one about having her, Melech and Connor all over for shitty horror movies and beer later. The message had gone unanswered, and unread. In fact, all of them had been. Again, she was puzzled, this time by Izzy’s radio silence. She tapped out a quick message to her anyway:
Hey, you hear about HoH coming back? Think we should do it or nah?
Almost immediately, her phone chimed, notifying her of a new message. Expecting it to be the punker, she got excited.
New Activity on card ending in XXXX: Charge of $545 - Crimson Hawk | Latent
’What the ********] she exclaimed, loudly. That was more than a little bit freaky. She had only just found out about the returning tournament, and had not already placed any reservations at the hotel. Was it possible they had her on a recurring plan of some kind? Did they expect her to be participating? Or was it some supernatural sense? No, no that didn’t make any sense. None of those ideas did. She had to call the hotel.
It only took a moment to find the number for the famous Crimson Hawk Hotel in Latent, the port city in southern Gaia. She dialed in and the receptionist picked up almost immediately.
“Hello and thank you for calling the Crimson Hawk, how may I direct your call?”
”Yeah hi, are you already taking reservations for team suites? For the tournament? Heaven or Hell?”
The receptionist chirped back pleasantly, seemingly excited. “Why yes ma’am we are. Would you like to do that now?”
”Uh, well actually I just got a notification that my credit card was charged $545 for I assume a suite. Did anyone check in under the last name Ryke, first name Zandra…”
There was a few ‘uhhuhs and mhms along with the distinct tapping of keys on a keyboard’ before she followed up “Let me seee - oh. Yes ma’am we have a four room suite reserved under that name, card ending in XXXX. Is there some problem?”
Ryke fell silent for a moment as she pondered how the hell that could have happened, considering she hadn’t left the shop all damn day. Her free hand went to her wallet in her left back pocket. Flipping it open, she quickly scanned the contents and rifled through it. Sure enough, her card was missing. ”Son of a bit-”
“Ma’am, is there some kind of problem? Would you like to speak to the hotel manager?”
Then it hit her - like a sack of bricks. Izzy. That woman, she must have found out about the event already and gone ahead to make the reservations. At least, that seemed like the plausible explanation. ”No, no problem. Never mind. Thanks.” She hung up just as the woman was about to continue and put both wallet and phone in her pockets.
Guess she was going to have to make a trip to Latent...
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