Achtus 13, 2718
The Rose Arena | Evening
In amongst the hubbub of those watching from relative comfort, leaning against one of the pillars that supported the floor above, a lithe figure was ostensibly watching for the fight to start. Kit, however, had attention everywhere, despite the direction in which his blue gaze was fixed, and was particularly intrigued to learn that the fetching witch ferrying drinks around, heavy with child, was attached to the fighter whose name he'd been hearing bandied around recently.
The galdor stood out a little in his face and bearing, he always did, but he'd grown used to that, as once wick and human alike realised just how comfortable he was in these surroundings they tended to pay him no mind. His field, as usual, was tucked in around him, close and unassuming.
No guitar in such crowded quarters, but a soft hum played on his lips as he reached for the flask inside his jacket. It wasn't the best rum, but it was better than the suba-swill they dared call ale here, and the warmth as he tilted his head back to let the rich liquor slide down his throat was a small and welcome pleasure.
A happy sigh as he capped the flask once more, sliding it back under the leather of his jacket, and he was back to surveying the fenced ring below, humming again with a smile on his face, a jaunty tune with which he tapped a booted toe in time.
That fighter... rumour had it he was under Hawke's personal eye, for what reason Kit hadn't troubled himself to dig out, but...
...anyone HE takes an interest is probably someone I should keep my own eye on...hang on...
Kit's attention was diverted as a cloud of copper curls, pinned with a blue silk rose, wove through the teeming crowd below, and he strode two quick steps forward to lean on the balustrade, calling out as he did so with a grin.
“Delyth! Ho, Del!”
His musician's voice was pitched just so to cut through the babble that filled the Arena, and the woman's head tipped up, eyes searching for the caller. As her gaze roamed in his direction, Kit raised a hand and beckoned, leaning precariously far over the rail.
“Get up here, witch!” he called fondly. Delyth was an on-again, off-again companion, one of the small circle that, if pressed, Kit might name friends.
...let's see if she's in the mood to put up with me today... he thought to himself, then laughed as she gestured rudely in his direction.
“An lose my spot for this bout? A think not, ersehat,” she yelled back “'Sides, I've paid mah ha'penny and I ent the ging to hop up with you gentlefolk," she finished, tongue between her teeth as she gave him a mocking grin.
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