Death Game Season 2 -- Staging: Recreation Level
- Thread starter The Man in Red
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The moment Sari stepped out of the elevator, he found himself in heaven. The massive, sprawling floor was divided up into wonderful smelling eateries, entertainment venues and retail centers, each tempting him closer towards them with their flashy lights and appealing displays. It had been a very long time since he'd gotten to actually spend time wandering around for leisure.
Maybe willingly signing up for this big scary Death Game was worth having his body awkwardly altered and his life possibly forfeit at the hands of whatever wild, bloodthirsty and numbers hungry nonsense the crowd wanted to witness. Even just a little bit. At least, he figured, it got him off the ship and away from everyone for a little while- not that he didn't cherish his friends back home... It was just challenging to live with everyone and their individual dramas at times, especially when he mainly craved peace, training, and total mastery of all things delightfully fun. As he perused the stands and shops, his mind couldn't help but wander idly into and out of vague daydreams.
By this point, he'd wandered into a pizza place purely on the guidance of his meek, now 'human-level' sense of smell. He got himself a couple of giant slices of the all time, uncontested golden standard: pepperoni and cheese. You could judge an entire pizza place based on how good their pepperoni and cheese was when it was served fresh, and as far as he was concerned, the cheesier and greasier, all the better. Sari munched down on the savory pie with a cheeky gusto, though he did manage to maintain a modicum of decency while he devoured his meal like a hungry dog.
He polished his unhealthy nourishment off with nice tall bottle of frosty beer, and gave a long, contented sigh. It was nice to go out all by himself sometimes, without having to worry about Asmo thinking he was ogling down some lady across the food court.
Not that he was always innocent of all accusations, but her reactions were rarely proportional. After all, he was only looking, and it wasn't like he was going around whistling at anything that moved or being a creep about it. Gods above forbid, he'd never dream of hassling anyone, especially when already on a date. Besides, Sari knew she did the exactly same thing when they where out, even if she was stubbornly unable to admit to it. The azure haired man honestly found the entire situation to be amusing... He rested his chin in his palm and leaned forward on the high table he was seated at.
He couldn't help but wonder if they were ever gonna stop running, or if his flame would ever come around to settling. He smiled, exhaling in a single silent chuckle as he recalled his god-child's adorable giggles. Her little laughs and smiles always made him feel all soft and sweet. The black ops assassin paused for a moment, resting one hand on his hip and the other on his navy blue bearded chin as he contemplated for a moment; tapping his toe on the foot of the table. He spun in his chair, turning to face the cashier.
The arcade could wait until later.
"Hey, do you happen to know which gift shops are the closest and the most interesting around here?"
Maybe willingly signing up for this big scary Death Game was worth having his body awkwardly altered and his life possibly forfeit at the hands of whatever wild, bloodthirsty and numbers hungry nonsense the crowd wanted to witness. Even just a little bit. At least, he figured, it got him off the ship and away from everyone for a little while- not that he didn't cherish his friends back home... It was just challenging to live with everyone and their individual dramas at times, especially when he mainly craved peace, training, and total mastery of all things delightfully fun. As he perused the stands and shops, his mind couldn't help but wander idly into and out of vague daydreams.
By this point, he'd wandered into a pizza place purely on the guidance of his meek, now 'human-level' sense of smell. He got himself a couple of giant slices of the all time, uncontested golden standard: pepperoni and cheese. You could judge an entire pizza place based on how good their pepperoni and cheese was when it was served fresh, and as far as he was concerned, the cheesier and greasier, all the better. Sari munched down on the savory pie with a cheeky gusto, though he did manage to maintain a modicum of decency while he devoured his meal like a hungry dog.
He polished his unhealthy nourishment off with nice tall bottle of frosty beer, and gave a long, contented sigh. It was nice to go out all by himself sometimes, without having to worry about Asmo thinking he was ogling down some lady across the food court.
Not that he was always innocent of all accusations, but her reactions were rarely proportional. After all, he was only looking, and it wasn't like he was going around whistling at anything that moved or being a creep about it. Gods above forbid, he'd never dream of hassling anyone, especially when already on a date. Besides, Sari knew she did the exactly same thing when they where out, even if she was stubbornly unable to admit to it. The azure haired man honestly found the entire situation to be amusing... He rested his chin in his palm and leaned forward on the high table he was seated at.
He couldn't help but wonder if they were ever gonna stop running, or if his flame would ever come around to settling. He smiled, exhaling in a single silent chuckle as he recalled his god-child's adorable giggles. Her little laughs and smiles always made him feel all soft and sweet. The black ops assassin paused for a moment, resting one hand on his hip and the other on his navy blue bearded chin as he contemplated for a moment; tapping his toe on the foot of the table. He spun in his chair, turning to face the cashier.
The arcade could wait until later.
"Hey, do you happen to know which gift shops are the closest and the most interesting around here?"
Last edited:
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Shallan had only managed to finish one and a half warm-up sketches before the growling of her stomach became too much to ignore. Now she stepped onto the recreation floor with a mild feeling of childishness. She hadn’t avoided doing what Ms. Terrace had suggested out of pettiness. It had made sense to explore this facility at her own pace. Now she was, at her own pace, going to get a meal and a change of clothes.
She was still wandering the level with wide-eyed glee an hour later. It turned out to be a very fortunate thing that the vendors didn’t require payment of the contestants of the Death Game. Veil liked to think she was adept enough to barter properly now, but Shallan had embarrassed herself more than once by not knowing the proper price for things, even back on Roshar. The food had been strange, knowing what to order had been a bit of an ordeal since the Crossroads didn’t seem to adhere to the Vorin traditions at all. Shallan was glad that she’d learned to ignore when other women did not have their safehands covered, or she’d likely have given herself a headache from blushing too often at this point.
As it was, the clothier needed some time to adjust her new outfit to account for the proper havah sleeving, so Shallan was taking the opportunity to see all the sights and the sounds and smells the so-called recreation level had to offer. Was this what it was like to be a world-hopper? She was starting to see the reason Wit would do it. Even if it was potentially about to kill her. She was certain Pattern would have been beside himself with curiosity, just like she was, but he had not stirred since their arrival via the teleportation.
She should probably be concerned about that. He hadn’t been well since their arrival in the desert, honestly. Should she try to find help for him? She hadn’t seen a single spren in the Crossroads, would anyone even understand how to help him? Some of the staff here had recognized her enough to use Rosharin titles, maybe they could help? Did she trust them though? They had all but kidnapped her for this event of theirs. She groaned, rubbing the palms of her hands into her eyes.
Pattern, are you alright? She questioned hesitantly.
I… will be…? I think…? Came his somewhat bewildered and wavering reply. Storms. He likely didn’t know any more than she did.
Sorry, I’ll let you rest.
Spren do not tire in the traditional sense, Shallan. We are manifested concepts…
Just… let me know if you need anything, alright?
Pattern buzzed an assent, then subsided into what Shallan would swear seemed a whole storming lot like resting. At this point she was better not bothering him further.
Barely paying attention, Shallan wandered into one of the open-air stores that lined the streets. It proved to be a wonderful distraction for her, full of the strangest objects that she could possibly have imagined. She was hard pressed to imagine what half of them were used for, but they were fascinating nonetheless. She took more than one image to sketch later. And speaking of things worth imaging! Shallan eyed the seven foot, blue-haired man as he waited in line to checkout. He had a very easy posture, but it was poised all the same, with a certain grace to it she would not have expected in such an incredibly tall person. He was someone very in tune with his own movements, she decided. With a start she realized that he had noticed her staring at him. Shallan could feel herself blushing as he smiled at her.
“Hello there, little Miss! Something I can help with?”
“Er..” Shallan desperately sought an out, finding it in the strange plush item in his hand. It looked like a pillow, but had been worked into the shape of some strange animal for some reason.
“..Ehm, Yes! What is that creature?” He glanced down at the item she was pointing to, then back up with a look of good-natured bafflement.
“...A stuffed bear?”
“It’s barely a creature, I’ll give it that…”
“Ahah! You are too young to betray your childhood so!” He laughed with a genuine smile, and Shallan’s momentary anxiety at being caught staring subsided. She tidied her posture, over-enunciating her response with a practiced sarcasm.
“My tutors would not have approved of me still believing in imaginary creatures at this point, sir.”
“How strict! Your upbringing must have been grizzly!”
Dropping her posture a bit just as readily, Shallan squinted at the man’s wide grin.
“...I know that tone. That was a pun, wasn’t it?”
“A type of bear, yes.”
“You mean there’s more than one of these misbegotten creatures?”
“Several, as a matter of fact.”
“Well good. At least it can have some company in its neglect. Almighty preserve the wretched creature.”
“The poor thing!” The man said, covering the ears of the stuffed bear with an affronted look, “You’ll have it up in stitches talking like that!”
“What does it do?”
“The stuffed animal? Generally one is supposed to find it cute, I believe.”
“It looks like a baby chicken. You can’t be serious that a real creature looks like that. The fur would be murder in a highstorm!”
“All the best animals are fuzzy.” The man stated confidently.
“Really? You may be in need of a new pair of spectacles then.”
“Mm, but then I might not find them to be as cute as I do now.”
“Reality can be cruel,” Shallan sighed dramatically, “You’ll just have to grin and bear it I’m afraid.”
“Oh I can bear with it if I must, but you’re the one out of touch with reality if you are claiming these beady little eyes aren’t adorable.”
“No, no, you have it wrong.” Shallan shook her head, “The eyes are windows to the soul, not doors.”
“All windows are doors if you’re thinking carefully enough.”
“All walls are doors too if you’re chull-headed enough, that’s no excuse!”
“Now, now,” The man wagged a finger admonishingly, “We’re straying from the topic at hand.”
“Getting nervous are we?” Shallan grinned.
“Well, bare feet do become cold quickly…” He grinned right back.
“Don’t run! We're just getting to the soul-baring part of the debate!”
“Debate? I am merely defending this poor creature from your unbearable tyranny!”
“Tyranny? I would cry too if I had a snout like that!”
“I take it you aren’t too fond of mirrors then?” He smirked faintly. Shallan laughed.
“Being too fond of mirrors is against my Devotion, yes, not to mention my self-esteem. We’re barely keeping on topic at this point though.”
“Damn, I’m running low on material… Might have to nip it in the tail?”
Shallan snorted, “Well it seems that you blew through your jokes like all that hair!”
“A jab at my personal appearance?” The man put a hand to his chest, theatrically recoiling, “I would be appalled, but I’m afraid I only have a hand. The stuffed bear will have to do it for me!”
“So it has to bear your burdens too? Is that why it’s named that?”
“Ah ah, we’ve already used that one! No repetitions, They’re against the rules!”
“And yet you insist on claiming that fuzz-addled creature is cute.”
“Soleos as my witness, I seldom lie.”
“I do it quite often,” Shallan shrugged, “But only when I’m feeling particularly drowsy.”
“Mmm, something about catnaps… Damn… Hi-bear-nation?” The man mused.
“What’s that?” Shallan tilted her head, playful grin evaporating into pure curiosity
“Hmm? Hibernation. It’s when a creature hides in a cave during the winter m-”
There was a determined clearing of the throat by the cashier, who held up his scanning tool for the items in Sari’s hands. Despite the grin plastered on his mask, his body language made it abundantly clear he was quite ready for them to move on.
She was still wandering the level with wide-eyed glee an hour later. It turned out to be a very fortunate thing that the vendors didn’t require payment of the contestants of the Death Game. Veil liked to think she was adept enough to barter properly now, but Shallan had embarrassed herself more than once by not knowing the proper price for things, even back on Roshar. The food had been strange, knowing what to order had been a bit of an ordeal since the Crossroads didn’t seem to adhere to the Vorin traditions at all. Shallan was glad that she’d learned to ignore when other women did not have their safehands covered, or she’d likely have given herself a headache from blushing too often at this point.
As it was, the clothier needed some time to adjust her new outfit to account for the proper havah sleeving, so Shallan was taking the opportunity to see all the sights and the sounds and smells the so-called recreation level had to offer. Was this what it was like to be a world-hopper? She was starting to see the reason Wit would do it. Even if it was potentially about to kill her. She was certain Pattern would have been beside himself with curiosity, just like she was, but he had not stirred since their arrival via the teleportation.
She should probably be concerned about that. He hadn’t been well since their arrival in the desert, honestly. Should she try to find help for him? She hadn’t seen a single spren in the Crossroads, would anyone even understand how to help him? Some of the staff here had recognized her enough to use Rosharin titles, maybe they could help? Did she trust them though? They had all but kidnapped her for this event of theirs. She groaned, rubbing the palms of her hands into her eyes.
Pattern, are you alright? She questioned hesitantly.
I… will be…? I think…? Came his somewhat bewildered and wavering reply. Storms. He likely didn’t know any more than she did.
Sorry, I’ll let you rest.
Spren do not tire in the traditional sense, Shallan. We are manifested concepts…
Just… let me know if you need anything, alright?
Pattern buzzed an assent, then subsided into what Shallan would swear seemed a whole storming lot like resting. At this point she was better not bothering him further.
Barely paying attention, Shallan wandered into one of the open-air stores that lined the streets. It proved to be a wonderful distraction for her, full of the strangest objects that she could possibly have imagined. She was hard pressed to imagine what half of them were used for, but they were fascinating nonetheless. She took more than one image to sketch later. And speaking of things worth imaging! Shallan eyed the seven foot, blue-haired man as he waited in line to checkout. He had a very easy posture, but it was poised all the same, with a certain grace to it she would not have expected in such an incredibly tall person. He was someone very in tune with his own movements, she decided. With a start she realized that he had noticed her staring at him. Shallan could feel herself blushing as he smiled at her.
“Hello there, little Miss! Something I can help with?”
“Er..” Shallan desperately sought an out, finding it in the strange plush item in his hand. It looked like a pillow, but had been worked into the shape of some strange animal for some reason.
“..Ehm, Yes! What is that creature?” He glanced down at the item she was pointing to, then back up with a look of good-natured bafflement.
“...A stuffed bear?”
“It’s barely a creature, I’ll give it that…”
“Ahah! You are too young to betray your childhood so!” He laughed with a genuine smile, and Shallan’s momentary anxiety at being caught staring subsided. She tidied her posture, over-enunciating her response with a practiced sarcasm.
“My tutors would not have approved of me still believing in imaginary creatures at this point, sir.”
“How strict! Your upbringing must have been grizzly!”
Dropping her posture a bit just as readily, Shallan squinted at the man’s wide grin.
“...I know that tone. That was a pun, wasn’t it?”
“A type of bear, yes.”
“You mean there’s more than one of these misbegotten creatures?”
“Several, as a matter of fact.”
“Well good. At least it can have some company in its neglect. Almighty preserve the wretched creature.”
“The poor thing!” The man said, covering the ears of the stuffed bear with an affronted look, “You’ll have it up in stitches talking like that!”
“What does it do?”
“The stuffed animal? Generally one is supposed to find it cute, I believe.”
“It looks like a baby chicken. You can’t be serious that a real creature looks like that. The fur would be murder in a highstorm!”
“All the best animals are fuzzy.” The man stated confidently.
“Really? You may be in need of a new pair of spectacles then.”
“Mm, but then I might not find them to be as cute as I do now.”
“Reality can be cruel,” Shallan sighed dramatically, “You’ll just have to grin and bear it I’m afraid.”
“Oh I can bear with it if I must, but you’re the one out of touch with reality if you are claiming these beady little eyes aren’t adorable.”
“No, no, you have it wrong.” Shallan shook her head, “The eyes are windows to the soul, not doors.”
“All windows are doors if you’re thinking carefully enough.”
“All walls are doors too if you’re chull-headed enough, that’s no excuse!”
“Now, now,” The man wagged a finger admonishingly, “We’re straying from the topic at hand.”
“Getting nervous are we?” Shallan grinned.
“Well, bare feet do become cold quickly…” He grinned right back.
“Don’t run! We're just getting to the soul-baring part of the debate!”
“Debate? I am merely defending this poor creature from your unbearable tyranny!”
“Tyranny? I would cry too if I had a snout like that!”
“I take it you aren’t too fond of mirrors then?” He smirked faintly. Shallan laughed.
“Being too fond of mirrors is against my Devotion, yes, not to mention my self-esteem. We’re barely keeping on topic at this point though.”
“Damn, I’m running low on material… Might have to nip it in the tail?”
Shallan snorted, “Well it seems that you blew through your jokes like all that hair!”
“A jab at my personal appearance?” The man put a hand to his chest, theatrically recoiling, “I would be appalled, but I’m afraid I only have a hand. The stuffed bear will have to do it for me!”
“So it has to bear your burdens too? Is that why it’s named that?”
“Ah ah, we’ve already used that one! No repetitions, They’re against the rules!”
“And yet you insist on claiming that fuzz-addled creature is cute.”
“Soleos as my witness, I seldom lie.”
“I do it quite often,” Shallan shrugged, “But only when I’m feeling particularly drowsy.”
“Mmm, something about catnaps… Damn… Hi-bear-nation?” The man mused.
“What’s that?” Shallan tilted her head, playful grin evaporating into pure curiosity
“Hmm? Hibernation. It’s when a creature hides in a cave during the winter m-”
There was a determined clearing of the throat by the cashier, who held up his scanning tool for the items in Sari’s hands. Despite the grin plastered on his mask, his body language made it abundantly clear he was quite ready for them to move on.
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Sand Hawk patiently waited in the elevator, watching the floor number slowly tick upwards.
“Next floor: the recreation level.” A calm voice announced, causing the bandit to perk up. Truth be told, he had no idea where he had been intending to go, but that sounded like a pretty good destination. All he had to do now was use his invincible technique, Sand Veil(!), and he would slip away without anyone in the elevator being any the wiser. He chuckled eagerly to himself, waiting for… nothing, apparently.
The rogue frowned, scratching his neck anxiously. Truth be told, he didn’t really know how Sand Veil worked at the best of times. He just kind of did it and then he was hidden in a pile of sand in a spot that he really shouldn’t be. Now, though, he was just standing there like an idiot. He knew that he shouldn’t have eaten those dinner mints. That said, maybe the effects wouldn’t have been quite as pronounced if he hadn’t eaten the entire bowl…
Shamefully, the bandit cleared his throat as the doors opened, nodding to the still-irritated bystanders that he had trapped in his prank.
“This is, uh, this is my floor!” He coughed, awkwardly pushing through the crowd and stepping out of the elevator sheepishly. Freed from the torturous social situation of his own making, Sand Hawk glanced around the recreation area, contemplating what to do first. His question was answered quickly, however, as his gaze fell upon a gift shop. Now what kind of World’s Best Uncle would he be if he didn’t bring home gifts?!
Giving the cashier an apologetic smile, Sari began to move to pay before freezing as the display case behind the man swung open and the cloaked figure of Sand Hawk stepped out from within, shoulders slumped with disappointment at the lack of satisfactory gifts inside. In an instant, however, his demeanor changed as he noticed the crowd before him.
“Hello there friends, I see that you are experienced present-ers yourselves, I would greatly appreciate if you could advise me on buying gifts for my niblings!” Sand Hawk boomed to the confused audience before him.
“Your what?”
“Niblings, the gender neutral term for nieces and nephews!” The bandit replied casually, stepping onto the horrified cashier’s counter and then onto the floor like a pair of oversized steps. The pair before Sand Hawk were in various levels of confusion at his antics, but Sari at least gave a nod of approval to his noble quest.
“Well, what do they like?” The Andromedan asked. “Are they fans of bursting out of display cases too?”
“You wouldn’t believe how long I’ve been trying to get them to give it a shot!” Sand Hawk sighed, shaking his head sadly. The two strangers gave each other a look before turning back to the bandit, waiting on an elaboration.
“Well, the youngest is a real bookworm, though I’m not sure how much he’ll like the Red Guy’s biography, the middle one loves cute things, though she hates when people take notice of that, and the oldest…” Sand Hawk trailed off, reaching under his muffler to scratch his chin. “Well, let’s just say that unless they’re selling WMDs, she won’t be too enthused!”
“Your middle niece has some good taste.” Sari smirked, raising the bear to Shallan. “Some people just can’t bear the idea of a plush animal.”
The young woman scoffed playfully as Sand Hawk laughed enthusiastically. He didn’t get the joke, but it certainly felt funny!
“I like your style, friends, you may call me The Great Sand Hawk!” The bandit announced, raising his arms triumphantly in the direction of his new acquaintances, careful not to get any sand on the bear.
“And you can call me the normal Sari.” The Andromedan replied, a smile tugging the edges of his mouth as he watched the rogue’s antics.
“Shallan.” The girl responded. “Though I think the Greatest thing here is the trouble you’re causing that poor man behind you...”
“Next floor: the recreation level.” A calm voice announced, causing the bandit to perk up. Truth be told, he had no idea where he had been intending to go, but that sounded like a pretty good destination. All he had to do now was use his invincible technique, Sand Veil(!), and he would slip away without anyone in the elevator being any the wiser. He chuckled eagerly to himself, waiting for… nothing, apparently.
The rogue frowned, scratching his neck anxiously. Truth be told, he didn’t really know how Sand Veil worked at the best of times. He just kind of did it and then he was hidden in a pile of sand in a spot that he really shouldn’t be. Now, though, he was just standing there like an idiot. He knew that he shouldn’t have eaten those dinner mints. That said, maybe the effects wouldn’t have been quite as pronounced if he hadn’t eaten the entire bowl…
Shamefully, the bandit cleared his throat as the doors opened, nodding to the still-irritated bystanders that he had trapped in his prank.
“This is, uh, this is my floor!” He coughed, awkwardly pushing through the crowd and stepping out of the elevator sheepishly. Freed from the torturous social situation of his own making, Sand Hawk glanced around the recreation area, contemplating what to do first. His question was answered quickly, however, as his gaze fell upon a gift shop. Now what kind of World’s Best Uncle would he be if he didn’t bring home gifts?!
——
Giving the cashier an apologetic smile, Sari began to move to pay before freezing as the display case behind the man swung open and the cloaked figure of Sand Hawk stepped out from within, shoulders slumped with disappointment at the lack of satisfactory gifts inside. In an instant, however, his demeanor changed as he noticed the crowd before him.
“Hello there friends, I see that you are experienced present-ers yourselves, I would greatly appreciate if you could advise me on buying gifts for my niblings!” Sand Hawk boomed to the confused audience before him.
“Your what?”
“Niblings, the gender neutral term for nieces and nephews!” The bandit replied casually, stepping onto the horrified cashier’s counter and then onto the floor like a pair of oversized steps. The pair before Sand Hawk were in various levels of confusion at his antics, but Sari at least gave a nod of approval to his noble quest.
“Well, what do they like?” The Andromedan asked. “Are they fans of bursting out of display cases too?”
“You wouldn’t believe how long I’ve been trying to get them to give it a shot!” Sand Hawk sighed, shaking his head sadly. The two strangers gave each other a look before turning back to the bandit, waiting on an elaboration.
“Well, the youngest is a real bookworm, though I’m not sure how much he’ll like the Red Guy’s biography, the middle one loves cute things, though she hates when people take notice of that, and the oldest…” Sand Hawk trailed off, reaching under his muffler to scratch his chin. “Well, let’s just say that unless they’re selling WMDs, she won’t be too enthused!”
“Your middle niece has some good taste.” Sari smirked, raising the bear to Shallan. “Some people just can’t bear the idea of a plush animal.”
The young woman scoffed playfully as Sand Hawk laughed enthusiastically. He didn’t get the joke, but it certainly felt funny!
“I like your style, friends, you may call me The Great Sand Hawk!” The bandit announced, raising his arms triumphantly in the direction of his new acquaintances, careful not to get any sand on the bear.
“And you can call me the normal Sari.” The Andromedan replied, a smile tugging the edges of his mouth as he watched the rogue’s antics.
“Shallan.” The girl responded. “Though I think the Greatest thing here is the trouble you’re causing that poor man behind you...”
Amalia sat hugging her knees in a wrought-iron chair at some brightly colored cafe. For the most part her tears had dried up, and all that remained was just her exhausted stare. In front of her was a barely touched plate of food. It smelled fantastic, but the knots in her stomach were still slowly working themselves out. Around her Death Game employees went about their duties, clearing tables and picking up discarded napkins. How many of them were there willingly? Were any of them? What about the woman in yellow, she, after all, seemed incredibly powerful. Amalia took a sip of her soda. Why was she even chosen? It wasn’t as if she was some big hero from Nausicaa, nor were her powers anything remarkable.
“Erin…” She whispered to herself, “Erin, are you there?”
There was no answer, and for the first time in her life Amalia felt truly isolated. She couldn’t feel a single spirit wriggling its way through her insides. Given different circumstances she would’ve praised the Arbiters for such a gift. But here, without Erin, without anyone she prayed for even the unsavory spirits to return. Just something to keep her mind distracted from the reality of the situation. She wondered what Juno would do once she realized she was gone. She’d probably be worried sick. How many days would Juneberry spend agonizing over her missing friend before she moved on?
“Excuse me,” A bright voice startled Amalia, “Sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you had a moment to answer a question, plus… you seemed like you could use a distraction.”
So deep in thought had she been that Amalia hadn’t even noticed the other woman approach. Amalia wiped the corner of her eye and unfolded her legs to sit properly. She nodded and the woman took a seat across from her. Amalia carefully eyed the newcomer. Her air of confidence made her seem older than she probably was, but Amalia guessed that the stranger was still younger than her. At first glance the most striking aspect was her bright red hair, but that took second place to the pouch-like sleeve she kept her left hand in.
“My name is Shallan,” The woman introduced herself.
“...Amalia,” She answered, discarding the childish notion to give her a fake name.
“Pleasure to meet you, Amalia.”
Amalia didn’t answer. She wanted to, she wanted to say something, but her mind went blank. All she could think was that the woman in yellow was probably quite friendly outside of business hours. She wanted to hug her knees again and say ‘sorry this was a mistake, I forgot you were a stranger’, but that would have been weird so she made a show of picking at her lukewarm food instead. Shallan, undeterred by Amalia’s totally noticeable social anxiety, removed a sketch pad from her satchel and laid it on the table. She turned it around so that it was facing Amalia and nudged it forward.
“I wanted to ask you, what are these?”
Amalia realized the sketch was a portrait of herself sitting at the cafe table. She swallowed hard, her throat catching as it struggled to swallow unchewed broccoli. Despite its rough edges the quick drawing was clearly made by someone who knew what they were doing. This, however, was not what startled her. No, what startled her was what Shallan had sketched beyond just her. In the sketch rough blotches of various shapes and sizes hovered around her head. Representations of the invisible spirits no doubt trying to find a home within Amalia’s body. Not only that, Shallan had drawn Amalia’s eyes as two circles of negative space clearing representing her ability to see the world beneath reality. How? How in the world had this woman seen all of this? Was she a spirit host as well? Amalia closed her eyes, she had been wrong. Yes, the spirits had been weakened by whatever they had done to her, but they weren’t absolutely gone. When Amalia reopened her eyes she could see vague ripples in the air all around them, barely perceptible, but still there.
“You can see them too?” Was all Amalia could think to ask.
Shallan said, “No, not directly anyways, but the last time I drew something like this it meant there was something there.”
“Oh,” Amalia said, looking down at her food, “They’re spirits, I’ve, uh, they’ve been with me since I was a kid… not these ones specifically, but just, like, in general.”
“Then you must have had a lot of friends growing up,” Shallan said, her voice still bright.
“Uhm… kind of, but I grew up in Nausicaa so… well, you know how the City of Hope is with the supernatural and all of that.”
“I… do not.”
At this Amalia perked up. She hadn’t even considered the fact that this woman may not even be from The Crossroads. That would explain the tinge of her accent and that strange hand-cover-thingy. She had always wondered what life was outside of Opealon, and by even further extension outside of The Crossroads itself.
“Well, they don’t like the supernatural…,” Amalia laughed nervously, “I’m not sure why I didn’t just say that.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Shallan said, laughing politely, “So, do you want to go have a look around before this whole thing starts? And you can tell me more about those spirits you have.”
Amalia nodded, “Yeah.”
“Erin…” She whispered to herself, “Erin, are you there?”
There was no answer, and for the first time in her life Amalia felt truly isolated. She couldn’t feel a single spirit wriggling its way through her insides. Given different circumstances she would’ve praised the Arbiters for such a gift. But here, without Erin, without anyone she prayed for even the unsavory spirits to return. Just something to keep her mind distracted from the reality of the situation. She wondered what Juno would do once she realized she was gone. She’d probably be worried sick. How many days would Juneberry spend agonizing over her missing friend before she moved on?
“Excuse me,” A bright voice startled Amalia, “Sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you had a moment to answer a question, plus… you seemed like you could use a distraction.”
So deep in thought had she been that Amalia hadn’t even noticed the other woman approach. Amalia wiped the corner of her eye and unfolded her legs to sit properly. She nodded and the woman took a seat across from her. Amalia carefully eyed the newcomer. Her air of confidence made her seem older than she probably was, but Amalia guessed that the stranger was still younger than her. At first glance the most striking aspect was her bright red hair, but that took second place to the pouch-like sleeve she kept her left hand in.
“My name is Shallan,” The woman introduced herself.
“...Amalia,” She answered, discarding the childish notion to give her a fake name.
“Pleasure to meet you, Amalia.”
Amalia didn’t answer. She wanted to, she wanted to say something, but her mind went blank. All she could think was that the woman in yellow was probably quite friendly outside of business hours. She wanted to hug her knees again and say ‘sorry this was a mistake, I forgot you were a stranger’, but that would have been weird so she made a show of picking at her lukewarm food instead. Shallan, undeterred by Amalia’s totally noticeable social anxiety, removed a sketch pad from her satchel and laid it on the table. She turned it around so that it was facing Amalia and nudged it forward.
“I wanted to ask you, what are these?”
Amalia realized the sketch was a portrait of herself sitting at the cafe table. She swallowed hard, her throat catching as it struggled to swallow unchewed broccoli. Despite its rough edges the quick drawing was clearly made by someone who knew what they were doing. This, however, was not what startled her. No, what startled her was what Shallan had sketched beyond just her. In the sketch rough blotches of various shapes and sizes hovered around her head. Representations of the invisible spirits no doubt trying to find a home within Amalia’s body. Not only that, Shallan had drawn Amalia’s eyes as two circles of negative space clearing representing her ability to see the world beneath reality. How? How in the world had this woman seen all of this? Was she a spirit host as well? Amalia closed her eyes, she had been wrong. Yes, the spirits had been weakened by whatever they had done to her, but they weren’t absolutely gone. When Amalia reopened her eyes she could see vague ripples in the air all around them, barely perceptible, but still there.
“You can see them too?” Was all Amalia could think to ask.
Shallan said, “No, not directly anyways, but the last time I drew something like this it meant there was something there.”
“Oh,” Amalia said, looking down at her food, “They’re spirits, I’ve, uh, they’ve been with me since I was a kid… not these ones specifically, but just, like, in general.”
“Then you must have had a lot of friends growing up,” Shallan said, her voice still bright.
“Uhm… kind of, but I grew up in Nausicaa so… well, you know how the City of Hope is with the supernatural and all of that.”
“I… do not.”
At this Amalia perked up. She hadn’t even considered the fact that this woman may not even be from The Crossroads. That would explain the tinge of her accent and that strange hand-cover-thingy. She had always wondered what life was outside of Opealon, and by even further extension outside of The Crossroads itself.
“Well, they don’t like the supernatural…,” Amalia laughed nervously, “I’m not sure why I didn’t just say that.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Shallan said, laughing politely, “So, do you want to go have a look around before this whole thing starts? And you can tell me more about those spirits you have.”
Amalia nodded, “Yeah.”
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Shallan was going to need a shelf for all the questions running through her mind as she led the way through the myriad sights and sounds of the recreation level. She had to prioritize only the most decidedly curious items to ask Amalia to explain. It was a good way for Shallan to get acquainted with the growing bundle of oddities that was the Crossroads, and more importantly, it was a good way to keep Amalia talking as well. She had learned this trick for talking with Wikim when he was hiding in the carriage sometimes and it seemed to be working for her too.
She was almost more curious about her traveling companion than about the variety of strange offerings their questionable benefactors provided them with. She had spirits following her? What did that really mean? Spirits were a very catch-all term for things folks didn’t understand, but Amalia had definitely been connected to something.
“And this is just something that happens to you? You don’t try to do anything?” Shallan asked, walking backwards now to face Amalia. She watched one of the strange screens that was displaying information about the contestants over the woman’s shoulder, unable to keep her attention fully on the person she was talking to with so much going on.
“I don’t. They just seem to… cling to me.” Amalia shrugged with a nonplussed expression. “Ever since I was little.” she added, then sped up her walking a bit, moving around Shallan to lead the way.
Right, that wouldn’t be something that she’d feel comfortable sharing about. Shallan had been significantly older when she had first encountered Pattern, and she had still been worried she was going insane at first. She picked up her own pace a bit to match Amalia’s more determined stride, then asked her a distracting question about electricity. It was weirdly similar to stormlight in some ways, since lightning was the closest thing to its base form. Though the ways that the people of the Crossroads made their electricity still boggled Shallan’s mind.
Those aren’t Spren, right Pattern? She asked him mentally, They certainly weren’t a type of spren I recognized. Could they be from the Spiritual realm? Like you are from the Cognitive one?
There was no response, only the faintest of humming in her mind.
Pattern? She thought again, a twinge more worried this time.
No.. was his shaky reply, I think they are… else… I am… Later…
If there is a later… Veil thought with a grimace.
Shallan stopped midstep, remembering with a sudden and painful acuity just why they were even in this place to begin with. All these wonders, and she wouldn’t get the answers to any of them, because she’d be dead. She didn’t have the training for surviving an extended conflict like this, and there was certainly no guarantee that her radiant powers would be enough to carry her through. She didn’t much like the idea of having to fight either Sari that strange sandhawk man if it came down to it. They were buying gifts for their relatives out here! That’s how storming confident they were in their chances of surviving this so-called Death game. Amalia here was the only one who seemed to have the right level of concern, but that wasn’t necessarily going to make anything any better. Shallan angrily discarded the idea. That kind of thinking wasn’t going to accomplish anything useful.
Casting about for a distraction, Shallan’s eye focused on a booth nearby.
“So it’s like wine-flavored snow?” She asked aloud, staring up at the sign with a mixture of suspicion and intrigue.
“What?” Amalia circled back around with a confused look on her face, “No, that’s just a fruit smoothie.” She was clearly baffled by Shallan’s lack of knowledge, but she wasn’t mocking her for it either, which was telling about a person in Shallan’s experience.
“But that one’s a violet color? What kind of juice would that even be?”
“Berrygananza?” Amalia read the name with a skeptical air, “If I had to guess it’s probably just grape and food dye to get that color.”
“Oh really?” Shallan pondered a moment before walking up and ordering two. After verifying her identity as a contestant, the masked woman handed over two drinks, one a bright blue, the other an orange color. Shallan walked back over with a faint grin.
“Want one? I think these will be just the thing for the upcoming ordeal!”
Amalia frowned at her, “How so?”
Shallan pressed the bright blue smoothie into Amalia’s hands, trying some of the orange one herself.
“Well, I suspect we’ll need everything we can get if we want to survive this thing. But perhaps more importantly, If I’m about to be disemboweled within the next few hours, I can at least make the moment as surreal for them as I will likely find it myself.”
She smiled widely at Amalia. “Can you imagine stabbing someone, and they just start bleeding orange?”
She was almost more curious about her traveling companion than about the variety of strange offerings their questionable benefactors provided them with. She had spirits following her? What did that really mean? Spirits were a very catch-all term for things folks didn’t understand, but Amalia had definitely been connected to something.
“And this is just something that happens to you? You don’t try to do anything?” Shallan asked, walking backwards now to face Amalia. She watched one of the strange screens that was displaying information about the contestants over the woman’s shoulder, unable to keep her attention fully on the person she was talking to with so much going on.
“I don’t. They just seem to… cling to me.” Amalia shrugged with a nonplussed expression. “Ever since I was little.” she added, then sped up her walking a bit, moving around Shallan to lead the way.
Right, that wouldn’t be something that she’d feel comfortable sharing about. Shallan had been significantly older when she had first encountered Pattern, and she had still been worried she was going insane at first. She picked up her own pace a bit to match Amalia’s more determined stride, then asked her a distracting question about electricity. It was weirdly similar to stormlight in some ways, since lightning was the closest thing to its base form. Though the ways that the people of the Crossroads made their electricity still boggled Shallan’s mind.
Those aren’t Spren, right Pattern? She asked him mentally, They certainly weren’t a type of spren I recognized. Could they be from the Spiritual realm? Like you are from the Cognitive one?
There was no response, only the faintest of humming in her mind.
Pattern? She thought again, a twinge more worried this time.
No.. was his shaky reply, I think they are… else… I am… Later…
If there is a later… Veil thought with a grimace.
Shallan stopped midstep, remembering with a sudden and painful acuity just why they were even in this place to begin with. All these wonders, and she wouldn’t get the answers to any of them, because she’d be dead. She didn’t have the training for surviving an extended conflict like this, and there was certainly no guarantee that her radiant powers would be enough to carry her through. She didn’t much like the idea of having to fight either Sari that strange sandhawk man if it came down to it. They were buying gifts for their relatives out here! That’s how storming confident they were in their chances of surviving this so-called Death game. Amalia here was the only one who seemed to have the right level of concern, but that wasn’t necessarily going to make anything any better. Shallan angrily discarded the idea. That kind of thinking wasn’t going to accomplish anything useful.
Casting about for a distraction, Shallan’s eye focused on a booth nearby.
“So it’s like wine-flavored snow?” She asked aloud, staring up at the sign with a mixture of suspicion and intrigue.
“What?” Amalia circled back around with a confused look on her face, “No, that’s just a fruit smoothie.” She was clearly baffled by Shallan’s lack of knowledge, but she wasn’t mocking her for it either, which was telling about a person in Shallan’s experience.
“But that one’s a violet color? What kind of juice would that even be?”
“Berrygananza?” Amalia read the name with a skeptical air, “If I had to guess it’s probably just grape and food dye to get that color.”
“Oh really?” Shallan pondered a moment before walking up and ordering two. After verifying her identity as a contestant, the masked woman handed over two drinks, one a bright blue, the other an orange color. Shallan walked back over with a faint grin.
“Want one? I think these will be just the thing for the upcoming ordeal!”
Amalia frowned at her, “How so?”
Shallan pressed the bright blue smoothie into Amalia’s hands, trying some of the orange one herself.
“Well, I suspect we’ll need everything we can get if we want to survive this thing. But perhaps more importantly, If I’m about to be disemboweled within the next few hours, I can at least make the moment as surreal for them as I will likely find it myself.”
She smiled widely at Amalia. “Can you imagine stabbing someone, and they just start bleeding orange?”
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