Some Kind of History [Memory, PM to Join]

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Late Evening, 28th Yaris, 2711
Hama’s Hands, The Stacks

Niccolette took the cigar holder from Jean with a bright glint in her eyes, admiring it. She had held Uzoji’s, of course; she had tried his cigars, before, and he had shown her how to smoke it without inhaling. He had not teased her when she had coughed, the first time, at the painful ache of the smoke in her lungs.

Jean put the cigar into the holder for her, and Niccolette brought it up to her lips, settling it between them. It was a quiet street, this one where they had found themselves, and yet there was a magnificent rush to it – holding a cigar holder between her lips outside, where anyone might see! Holding a cigar of her own. Niccolette inhaled just enough to light the cigar when Jean held the match to it, careful not to inhale the smoke into her lungs.

She turned the end towards herself, glancing up at Jean, and blew on it gently, as she had seen Uzoji do, until the flames seemed evenly distributed. Niccolette settled the other end back into her mouth, tasting it better this time. It was faintly sweet, strong – there was a hint of something dark and fruity to it.

It was wonderful.

Niccolette eased the holder from her mouth and giggled, feeling the rush of the tobacco through her, mingling pleasantly (dangerously so) with the cigarette she’d already smoked and the drinks they had downed inside. She glanced around, almost shyly, and took another drag from the cigar. Hers; her own cigar.

Niccolette followed Jean through the narrow winding streets of the Rose, past any places she might have known, into dark corners that, in her years of exploration, she had never even known existed. They were off the beaten path now, off the places where Brunnhold students drunkenly lurched, fumbling about in an attempt to discover themselves. Niccolette had to focus rather hard to keep her footing, and more than once she stumbled slightly and had to catch herself.

But none of it dimmed her enthusiasm, not in the least, and Niccolette grinned back at Jean, no less excited now than she had been before, her heart pounding in her chest and throat. She watched Jean knock on the door, and followed him into the yard, into the building beyond.

Niccolette giggled again at Jean’s welcome, bowing back. She did not know what to make of the crowd, at first – there were so few galdori – but she bowed back to the gentleman who approached them, her head spinning a little, and smiled politely through the introductions. She did not hide the cigar; she would not hide it. She kept her holder firmly in hand, and if she did not take a drag on it as they spoke to the galdor, neither did she put it away, or attempt to return it to Jean.

Niccolette followed Genevieve through the curtains, admiring the woman with her black hair and blood red dress – impressive, for all that she was a human – and found her way into the crowd. She did not dampen her field; perhaps she was too drunk for such measures. It hummed bright and vibrant in the air around them both, and throbbed with the pulsing energy of this place, of the tension of the bloodlust in the air around them.

Niccolette did not seem to mind the press of bodies around her. She was not terribly small for a galdor, the Bastian about average height for one of her countrymen and even in Anaxas, but within a crowd of humans and wicks she was dwarfed, and slight besides. She did not yield; if the rough physicality of the men around her intimidated her, she gave no sign of it, and if she stumbled to the side, buffeted by the fierce energy of it all, it was with evident glee. All the same, she found herself pressed close to Jean.

The first two fight was between two humans, big, muscle-bound things. One had short-cropped blonde hair, the sun-tanned skin of an Anaxi, even over his bare, muscular chest. His fists were wrapped in slightly yellowed cloth, covering his knuckles. The second was Mugrobi, a scant inch or two shorter than the Anaxi, with a narrower frame, light brown skin, with a shaved head. Both men gleamed in the lamplight, circling one another on the sandy ground.

There was a loud bang, a stick striking a gong, and the two men rushed once more. They hit; they wrestled. Nothing was off limits; the crowd erupted into wild cheers as the Mugrobi slammed his knee between the Anaxi’s legs, striking him solidly. They parted – clashed, came together again. The Anaxi slammed his fist into the Mugrobi’s face, sending blood and what looked like a tooth flying through the air, absorbed into the soft sand which had seen so much of the same.

Niccolette was cheering with the crowd, her whole body taut and humming with the excitement of it all. There was no concern on her face, no distaste, only a vibrancy to match her field still, a wildness that she could no longer contain. She shrieked aloud when the Anaxi got behind the Mugrobi, trying to wrap his arm around the other man’s neck, and yelled her enthusiasm when the Mugrobi ducked his chin and bit down, hard, leaving a bloody crescent when the other man pulled away.

It was a short, brutal fight; they often were. The two man collided, again and again, testing the limits of their own endurance; testing each other’s limits. Blood splattered against the once-white wrapping on their fists; it spilled out onto the floor of the arena, sopped up by the sand; the crisp, metallic scent of it poured into the air, mixed with alcohol and the rich smell of tobacco, a strange, nauseating, exhilarating combination.

Niccolette shrieked louder when the Mugrobi won at last; when he hit the Anaxi so hard, squarely on the chin, that the other man crumpled and did not rise. She was laughing, excitedly, her whole body thrumming, and she turned bright-eyed to Jean, glowing. “I like him!” She said, enthusiastically. “He reminds me of Uzoji,” it did not occur to Niccolette that the name would be unfamiliar to Jean; in that moment, high on alcohol and the fight alike, it did not occur to Niccolette that anyone in the world might not know Uzoji. She turned back to the stage, cheering again.

[Genevieve De Silver]

Late Evening, 28th Yaris 2711

As the two fighters entered Genevieve cast an eye over them, with a few subtle movements of her hand and muttered words she shapes the mona and sent it towards them. However the spell fizzled.

'To hell with it!'

Genevieve thought as she flagged down a passing tough and said quietly.

“A King on the Mugrobi.”

The tough raised an eyebrow but nodded as she handed him a coin, a number of other people in the crowd where placing bets as well and then the fight began.

Genevieve's blood fizzed in her veins as she watched her grin spread wide over her face. She could feel Niccolette pressed close to her, she could feel her excitement and it matched her own and that of the crowd.

She bayed and howled along with the rest of them, this rush this thrill, there wasn’t anything in her life that matched this.

Her head span with the mix of the smell of blood, cigar smoke and alcohol.

When the Murgrobi finally won and the other man hit the sand Genevieve lept and howl as if it was her who had struck the blow.

She turned to Niccolette a wild grin still on her face, at the mention of Uzoji she raised an eyebrow, not a name she knew. Before she could ask the same tough came back with a leather pouch that jiggled with coin.

“Your winnings De Silver.”

Genevive took the pouch with a grin and a nod of thanks before turning to Niccolette, a drink before the next fight? She led them over to the makeshift bar up on the stage.

“Two tankards of Clever fellow and two shots of Gioran whiskey my good man!”


Another pair of fighters entered.

One was wick, his body was all wiry muscles, on his head he wore a red bandanna and his arms were tattooed with swirls, he wore black trousers and work boots.
The other was a tall woman long white blond hair in a long plait down her back and the pale skin and strong angular features of a Giorian, she wore buckskin breeches and a tight grey vest, her feet were bare.

A hush fell over the crowd, the woman was beautiful in a hard savage sort of way.

Genevieve's mouth went dry and her breath caught, she couldn’t take her eyes from the fighter. The way she moved had a fluid grace, like a large hunting cat.

Without pauses of using her mona Genevieve slammed the pouch of her winnings on the bar and not taking her eyes from the Giorian and said to the bartender.


"All of it, on her."

Then the fight started, the wick was quick off the mark and skilled. Hard fists swung, but none connected, the Giorian moved swiftly. Blocking and deflecting, suddenly she was behind the wick and she kicked out at his knee and it folded under him. He rolled away but her knee caught him glancing blow the side of his head. He came up sand falling off him and that was when she went on the attack, her fists and feet almost a blur and the wick only blocked or avoided half.
His face bloody from a cut above his right eye and his nose.

The crowd cheered and Genevieve's voice was one of the loudest.

The Gioran landed a punch to the wicks chest and he staggered back panting and then her foot smashed into the side of his face and blood and teeth flew from his mouth and he hit the sand like a puppet with the strings cut.

Genevieve yelled herself horse, she dropped the shot glass of whiskey into her tankard and downed half in one long swallow. Gasping she said to Niccolette, eyes alight.


“Now that’s a clocking fighter!”

As the victor climbed from the pit she paused and looked towards the bar and their eyes met, Genevieve had to brace herself against the bar briefly as her knees seemed to give way. She hope Niccolette hand't noticed.

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Late Evening, 28th Yaris, 2711
Wrath's Palace, The Stacks

Niccolette nodded, her throat hoarse from screaming; she followed Jean to the bar without hesitation. She still held his cigar holder, and she took a drag from it as they stood, her head spinning from the excitement. The heat of the place rose all around them, and Niccolette felt too hot in the confines of her turquoise dress; she wished, for a long moment, that she might have the freedom of a shirt and pants, rather than all the heavy layers of petticoats and skirts that sometimes felt as if they weighed her down.

They were out of the crowd now, and Niccolette was almost disappointed; there had been something about the crush of it, a wonderful, violent energy snapping through the air that had felt as if it set her aflame. She could not think of any of her worries in the midst of it all, even if she could not feel them, these humans pressed close to her invisible to the mona. For a moment she pitied them, but then they were gone from her mind, washed away like her troubles.

Niccolette turned to Jean and grinned when he bet again. “I shall bet also,” she announced, and slapped a shill down onto the counter. “On her.”

Niccolette watched the fight with wide eyes. From above, from the edge rather than the midst of the crowd, she could see more clearly; she could focus on something other than the pure, bright, savage energy of it. She could see the snap of the wick’s knee, the sharp fold of it beneath him. Not broken, Niccolette thought, cocking her head to the side. She cheered when the woman bloodied his nose, her voice rasping and rising sharply.

She had never seen anything like this, Niccolette thought, delightedly. It was wild, unrestrained; there were no rules, nothing but brutal strength and savagery. When there was blood, there was blood; no apologies to be made, no politenesses that had to be honored, no rules. Of course such a thing would be made by humans; it was no surprise to the Bastian galdor, but for a moment she was a little sorry for it.

But the fight kept going, and the energy of it swept her away once more; there was no time for such thoughts, no time for anything but the buzz of alcohol in her veins, the sweet tobacco in her mouth, the fizz of the fight in her head. Her field pulsed, the mona buzzing around her in a frenzy of excitement, mingling casually with Jean’s field – not a purposeful caprising like before, but a relaxed almost-intimacy, the sort shared with a friend.

“Yes!” Niccolette shrieked her delight when the woman’s foot smashed into the wick’s face, shattering his zygomatic bone; even from here, she could see how his face crumpled beneath her foot, the distorted motion of the bones beneath the skin.

“Striping brilliant,” Niccolette agreed, happily. She laughed, and echoed Jean’s own motions; she dropped the shot glass into the tankard, watching it fizz, and took a long drink, although she did not do quite so well as the Gioran, managing more like a fourth before she coughed and had to slam it down. It was with watering eyes that she saw Jean sag slightly against the bar. Niccolette could have sworn she saw a blush rise on his pale cheeks, and she snapped her gaze to the pit, watching the woman climb out.

Niccolette giggled. “Oh!” She said, smirking, looking at Jean with a new light in her eyes. “She is only a human but – ” Niccolette giggled a little more. “I suppose she is magnificent,” the Bastian conceded, and giggled again. Niccolette picked up her tankard again and took another sip. “This is what you like?” She asked, curiously, far too drunk for decorum, her eyes sharp, brown tinged with green, in the dim light.

The Bastian shoved her hair back off her sweaty forehead, her gaze sweeping back to the Gioran fighter, then returning to Jean once more. Her grin widened; there was nothing cruel in her amusement, only genuine pleasure for a friend. If she teased, it was clearly meant well; Jean would be able to hear it in her words, to feel it in the friendly humming of the living mona in the range of her field.

[Genevieve De Silver]

Late Evening, 28th Yaris, 2711

As the fighter left Genevieve could not take her eyes from her, the way her muscles moved and the sweat on pale shone in the torch light.

"Hm? Yes, she is indeed magnificent.”

Genevive’s voice was a breathy rasp and she could feel the heat of blush on her face, she took up her tankard and took another long drink. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and grinned at Niccolette.

“This is what I like when I’m down here."

She stuck the cigar back between her teeth and took a long drag, and exhaled smoke through her nose ass she glanced back towards where the Gaorian had gone. Wondered briefly about going after her and sighed as she dismissed the thought, some things were, alas not possible.

The one eye bartender placed two bags of coins on the bar beside Genevieve and Niccolette.

A scarred thug entered from a side door and whispered to the bartender when then pours them two more tankards of ale and two shots of whiskey.

"These are on the house, also the Lady would like to see you."

He pointed up to one of the boxes on the wall where in times past the well to do would have watched performances.

Geneive’s mind reeled, she picked up the shot glass and downed it and picked up the tankard and looked to Nicollette.

"Well, we better go say hello."

They made their way up to the box.

The box was lit by a single red shaded lamp and there were three red velvet chairs, old and worn, the whole box was filled faded grandeur. In one of the seats sat Lady Wrath a bottle of Long Haul and an ashtray sat on a table next to her seat, as they entered she took a long stemmed clay pipe from her mouth and said.

"Good evening Mr De Silver, a pleasure to see you again."

Closer they could see her tattoos clearer, chains and ropes in indigo ink dotted with anchors and grinning skulls. They seemed to shift like snakes in the dim light. The human spoke with a confident ease, mistress of her strength and domain.

"You’re certainly a skilled gambler. You’ve quiet the eye."

She put the pipe back in her mouth and look at Niccolette, a scarred eyebrow went up.

“An’ who is this?”

Genevieve suddenly felt suddenly more sober and said, voice even.

"It is my pleasure to introduce Miss Villamarzana.”

“Well, welcome Miss Villamarzana to my Palace. I thought I might invite the two of you to watch tonights finally from here. I think it will prove to be entertaining.”

She indicated the two empty chairs with a languid gesture as she drank dark red wine from a goblet.

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Late Evening, 28th Yaris, 2711
Wrath's Palace, The Stacks

Niccolette began to giggle again, shaking her head a little at Jean’s admission, with all the pleasant, superficial disapproval of an all-knowing nineteen-year-old student. She thought, cheerfully, that that rather explained why Jean had been so very uninterested in her. But, then, Niccolette supposed there were weirder things to like than humans, after all. At least, there must be. She could not imagine it herself, of course – nor a wick! How dreadful – but, upon more than a slightly drunk reflection, she supposed she ought not to hold it against Jean.

Niccolette took another sip from her tankard, her head spinning pleasantly. She wondered if Jean would go after the woman; she supposed she could find her way home all right. She took another drag from the cigarette, the world warm and soft at the edges, tinged with wonder and excitement, and only the faintest glimmer of how badly she missed Uzoji. He would like this, Niccolette thought. Would he like her to be here? She felt something half-stutter in her chest, and took another sip from her tankard, wishing she felt more sure.

The plink of coins on the bar was a welcome distraction, and Niccolette scooped her winnings up with a grin. She tracked the scarred human who walked over with bright, wide eyes, admiring the range of them, curious about where each scar had come from. “We have not yet – ” Niccolettte blinked at the second tankard, her first still half-full. Her eyes went a little wide, and Jean’s downing of the shot was not quite reassuring. Niccolette giggled. She had, of course, felt Jean’s etheric field when he had cast earlier; she thought it would be rather delightful to be chased out of an underground fighting ring for cheating the house. The concept of danger, true danger, did not occur to her; Niccolette could not quite conceive of it.

“Yes, I suppose so!” The Bastian dropped her second shot glass into the tankard, vaguely aware that another shot now might yet rob her of the ability to walk, picked the tankard up with only a little sloshed over the edge onto the bar, and followed cheerfully after Jean, taking her cues from the older galdor.

Niccolette admired Lady Wrath’s tattoos with slightly wide eyes, tilting her head slightly to the side to see them shift. She was not in the least shy about studying the human woman, and she glanced to Jean with a smile when he introduced them, noticing his polite tone. Had he…? Surely not. Niccolette almost giggled, and caught herself.

“Well,” Niccolette said, looking back at Lady Wrath. She shrugged, pushed her hair back off her face with her hand, and grinned. Rather strange, Niccolette thought, to be so polite to a human! But she had already learned that some of them were quite amusing; her time at the hospital had taught it to her well. It was a bit like talking to a child, perhaps; one did not really need to observe all the proper forms, but it did not precisely hurt.

“Thank you,” Niccolette finished, cheerfully. She sat in one of the faded red velvet chairs, legs crossing at the ankle, setting the tankard down rather heavily at a table on the side; a little more liquid slopped out over the edge of it, splashing against the table. “I quite like your dress,” she told Lady Wrath. “You do prefer Lady Wrath?” The Bastian grinned, taking a drag from Jean’s cigar; it was burning down now, and she was sorry to see it go.

Lady Wrath chuckled, a low, confident sort of sound. “Yes, Ms. Villamarzana,” she said, resting back in her chair. “Are you a gambler, like your friend Mr. De Silver?”

Niccolette glanced over at Jean, then back at Lady Wrath, and giggled. “Yes, I suppose so,” she said, picking up her tankard and taking another sip from it. She set it back down, and licked her lips.

“Excellent,” Lady Wrath said, taking another sip of her red wine. She settled back comfortably in her chair, studying the arena below. “I’d like to see you both bet on this last fight,” Lady Wrath said, casually, setting the goblet back down, and taking another puff on her pipe. “Mr. De Silver, if you would choose your winner?”

Niccolette was abruptly conscious of a tension in the air, some undercurrent emanating from Lady Wrath, and she looked to Jean as well, eyes slightly wide.

In the arena below, the two combatants entered; this was the final match of the evening, and the crowd was roaring their pleasure. A man and a woman again, this time; the man was Anaxi, barrel-chested and broad, with a head of thick dark hair. He grinned, the torchlight glistening off the ropey scars crossing his arms and chest. The woman looked like a wick; she had long dangling dreadlocks, smaller and more wirey than the man, wearing a breastband and men’s breechers. She had no shortage of scars herself, and she grinned as well, just as confidently.

[Genevieve De Silver]

Late Evening, 28th Yaris, 2711

Genevieve did not know if she should laugh or scream, it was clear that Niccolette did not know just how a precarious position the two of them were in. Galdori or not Lady Wrath ruled her, and had at least a dozen armed cut throats in ear shot.

That and you didn't get to her age as a pit fighter without being a force to be reckoned with in your own right.

In the end she laughed and took a long swig from her tankard, this was thrilling after all.

The laugh faded at Lady Wrath's words, Niccolette's face echoed her own concern. She put her tankard down and looked towards the pit, she doubted she could use her magic without the Lady noticing.

Genevieve licked her lips with a dry tongue, she could taste the tension in the air. Then a grin pulled at her face, after all, wasn't this why she came to this place? The feeling of danger, the closeness to violence and death, the thrill of it?

The sheer bloody joy of it.

Genevieve looked at the fighters, both bristling with savage confidence, both at the top of their game. The witch would have the man beat on speed, but the man looked strong, though as well.
She narrowed her eyes, studying his stance, something odd.
Then she had it, the lowness of it, the arms out hands extended, he was a grappler! A rare breed in Anaxas, he would go for holds, crush the life from his foe, or cripple a limb.

“The witch looks fast, but my money is on the Anaxian, where did you find him?”

Lady Wrath gave a slight grin.

“Caught your eye has he Mr De Silver? He spent a lot of time in Hesse, prospecting for gold”

Genevive nodded, Hesse that made sense.

“Aye, everything I’ve won tonight on him.”

She looked at Niccolette and gave a grin of her own.

Then the fight began in earnest.

The witch lashed out with a swift kick aimed at the man’s groin, quicker than his size would seem possible he caught her foot in one large hand and pulled, turning as he did. Her back hit the sandy bottom of the pit hard, but she rolled away and sprang up.

The two fighters circled each other, the witch was wary now, the man’s grin still in place, the man made as if to grab her around the waist, but when she dodged back her head came forward. He grabbed her by the dreadlocks and slammed her face down into his rising knee.

Without letting go he wrapped a forearm around her throat a grabbed the waistband of her breaches, lifted her up and slammed her face first into the pit floor. She lay there winded and he picked her up again and took her in a bear hug and started to crush the life from her.

The crowd were cheering themselves horse, but Genevieve watched breathless, she knew the fight was far from done.

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Late Evening, 28th Yaris, 2711
Wrath's Palace, The Stacks

Niccolette felt breathless; she watched Jean, curiously, as he made his choice, looking back at the ring and the fighters. She did not know what spending time in Hesse had to do with it – gold? The man looked as if he had not held gold in all his life, except perhaps to pass to some overseer.

“And you?” Lady Wrath asked the younger galdor, smiling faintly. “Will you trust Mr. De Silver’s judgment?”

Niccolette nodded, cheerfully, and fished the little bag of coins from her purse, setting it down on the table. Without much consideration, yet again, she put her faith in Jean. “On the Anaxi for me as well,” she said, leaning back into the chair and taking another sip from her tankard. She took a last drag on the sweet cigar, and set the smoldering stub down in an an ashtray next to the chair.

“Very well,” Lady Wrath said, smiling. “We shall see,” she glanced back down at the pit, settling comfortably into her chair. In the distant, dim torchlight, she seemed to glow, savage and bloody, against the faded red armchair.

Niccolette’s eyes went wide as she watched the two fight. She leaned forward, one hand gripping the arm of the chair tightly, and gasped aloud as the human slammed the witch’s face into his knee, a broad grin spreading over her face, and held her breath as the human lifted her off the ground, crushing her.

There was a flurry of movement; the witch was dangling off the ground. The human was squeezing her, tight, the heavy muscles on his arms bulging, but she did not yield. The witch flung her head back; the human lifted his chin, catching the blow there rather than against the more sensitive bones of the nose, and the crack she made was audible through the arena, capped with loud gasps and cheers from the audience.

The witch kept struggling; she shifted in the man’s arms, and began to slam her fists back against him, digging into sensitive bits of his chest, pinching and pulling. She shifted against him, and dropped, going lower – and one hand found the spot between his legs, squeezing hard enough that the muscles in her bare arm bulged.

The human let go with a roar, shoving her forward, and the two circled one another again, the witch breathing hard.

Niccolette giggled, her pulse racing in her chest.

The two clashed again; the human was fast, faster than he had any right to be with his size, but the witch was still faster, and now she was ready for him. She feigned once – he reached for her – and at the last moment she ducked his grip, staying at the edges of her range and slamming her foot into his knee. There was a gasp from the audience; the human’s knee buckled, but he held, upright, his right leg dragging behind him.

“Perhaps you are not so lucky as you seem, Mr. De Silver,” Lady Wrath said, casually, easing her pipe from her mouth once more. She smiled at the two galdori, easy and confident.

Niccolette glanced at Jean again, but she could hardly drag her attention from the fight for more than a moment, and her eyes went back to the two fighters.

The witch was staying away from the human now; he was all but chasing her around the ring, babying his injured leg, dragging it more and more heavily beside him. Niccolette frowned, leaning forward, studying the injured joint, her lips pursed together.

“Shall we make it more interesting?” Lady Wrath asked, tapping her pipe against the table, and lifting it to her mouth once more. She spoke around the stem, smiling. “Double or nothing.”

“Double,” Niccolette answered before Jean could, suddenly confident. She grinned, broadly, and sat back in her chair, settling comfortably against the back. She raised her eyebrows at Lady Wrath.

Lady Wrath chuckled again. “You are a gambler!”

The witch came in, again and again; she struck blow after blow, hitting the human’s leg again – her elbow caught him across the jaw when he lunged forward to grab her, sending blood and spittle flying into the sand. He grabbed for her again, stumbled – missed – and she slammed her elbow hard into his kidneys. The crowd roared their fierce bloodlust.

The human stumbled forward, did not drop – sagged, turning back, his right leg looking as if it were at the point of crumpling.

Niccolette glanced at Jean, grinned, and winked.

The witch was grinning, sweat flying from her dreadlocks. Her confidence was in every inch of her; she dripped with it, and she moved in again, closer than before, her fists bloody and ready in the torchlight.

It was then that the human made his move. He planted both legs, his seemingly-injured knee suddenly strong enough to hold him, and struck like a snake, both hands fighting purchase on the witch even as she smashed her fist into his face. His nose broke – blood streamed down his face – and he grabbed her, lifting her up over his head again, and slamming her into the floor of the arena a second time.

This time, the witch did not rise; she tried to once, and the human knelt, wrapped his arm around her throat, and pressed his knee to her back. She struggled, once, twice – her body jerked – and she slumped, still, into the sand. The human let go and rose, pumping his fists into the air, and the crowd roared their approval, stomping and cheering, a surge of energy like nothing Niccolette had ever seen rising into the air.

Niccolette laughed, delighted, and sat back in the chair.

“Well,” Lady Wrath said, smiling. “It seems you are a very lucky pair of gamblers after all,” she flicked a spot of ash from the arm of the chair, and rose, the tattoos on her skin shifting and changing beneath the light. She nodded to them both, smiled, winked once at Jean, and made her way from the box. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”

Niccolette stared wide-eye at Jean, and giggled, taking another drink from her tankard to assuage her sore throat. “That,” she said, happily, drunkenness and glee thick in her voice, “was magnificent!”

[Genevieve De Silver]

Late Evening, 28th Yaris, 2711

Niccolettes confidence in Genevieve's judgment made her smile, she just hoped she had picked right.
She watched the fight closely, the two where evenly matched, it was one of the best fights she had seen in a long time. The excitement was intense, her pulse raced and her blood roared in her ears fit to match the roaring of the crowd. The closeness of Lady Wrath lent a cold thrill to it as well, Genevive had know idea what awaited her and her young companion, but she had a feeling that their fate may well be tied to the outcome of this fight.

That was when the that was when the tables seemed to turn, the man was on the back foot, his knee weakend.

Genevive gripped the arms of her chair with white knuckled intensity, teeth gritted. No matter the outcome this feeling, the pure rush of it, this was worth it.

When the Lady offered them double or nothing she was turning to answer when Niccolette beat her to it and she had to laugh. Yes, to hell with it, double or nothing.

The witch was wearing the grappler down, he was fast and strong but she kept out of his reach and kept working that weak knee.

Genevive answered Niccollette’s wink and grin with a raised eyebrow and a grin of her own.

Then the trap was sprung, it had been a ploy! The Anaxi had the witch now and that was and end to it.

Genevive snatched up her tankard drained it and slammed it down on the table with a whoop of victory. She looked over to Niccolette and grinned from ear to ear.

She stood returned Lady Wrath's grin and offered her a deep and courtly bow.

"My thanks your ladyship, it has been a pleasure. As always.”

Once the Lady was gone Genevive leant on the back of her chair, picked up the cigar from the ash tray and took a long drag on it.

“Yes indeed Niccolette my dear friend, that was truly magnificent! Possibly one of the best damn pit fights I’ve seen in awhile.”

Two toughs entered the box each carrying a hefty looking pouch, the larger of the two said.

“Your winnings.”

And handed Genevive and Niccolette a pouch each, as they left the smaller of the two, a weasel faced man, gave the pouches a lingering look.

“Niccolette, I think it is perhaps time for use to go.”


Genevieve glanced in the pouch, it seemed to mostly be full of Concords. She was holding a small fortune, a rather large fortune for people living in this part of the Stacks. She moved to the edge of the box and looked down, the crowd had left, the thrill in her stomach turned cold.

“Niccolette, I rather think we are going to need to make a hasty exit.”


She moved into the corridor and listen to the expectant silence from the auditorium.

“By an alternative route.”

Genevieve closed eyes, called the mona up around her, spun it with her hands. Wove the strands and with a few muttered words she sent it out in different directions. She asked it ‘Show me another way out, a safe one.’

The answers came as on a wind.


“Bells and clocking bloody chimes, three ways out!”

Geneivive had to choose and choose fast; a ladder up, a hole in a wall and deeper and a back staircase. She had no idea where they led, but she was pretty sure they’d be safe.

“This way!”

The back staircase, she led the way, just as the stairs to the auditorium behind them creaked.

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Late Evening, 28th Yaris, 2711
Wrath's Palace, The Stacks

Niccolette settled into the plush red chair, picked up her tankard, and took a long drink. It was not precisely comfortable, this chair, but it was at least stuck to the floor, and the rest of the little balcony seemed to be spinning. Had it always been like that? Niccolette could not remember.

She nodded to the human who brought her winnings, and grinned, pleased at the heft of it. “I shall keep this,” Niccolette whispered, thinking of Vienda - thinking of the cost of an airship ticket. She wondered how much it cost to fly to Thul Ka; she wondered what Uzoji would do if she chased him there, if she held tight and refused to yield. Would he welcome her? He loved her, did he not?

So why had he left?

Tears pricked at the edges of Niccolette’s abruptly blurred gaze, and she took another sip from the tankard. Jean’s pronouncement came as rather a surprise, and Niccolette set the tankard down, blinking up at the other galdor.

“Oh,” Niccolette said, not understanding. She sniffled, a bit noisily, and took her little pouch. “Yes, all right.” She did not quite know why, but she followed Jean in this as she had the rest of the night, heaving herself up from the chair. Her stomach protested, vigorously, and Niccolette scowled down at it sternly.

Niccolette took Jean’s cigar holder, tucked it into her clutch, drank a last swallow of her ale, and mustered all her strength to follow after Jean.

The back staircase; the hallway seemed to narrow and close, and if not for Jean’s cast they might have missed it entirely. There was a quiet thump as someone dropped into the room from the ladder up, and then a sharp yell; the door banged open.

“Oh,” Niccolette breathed, abruptly understanding. “Quickly!”

The mona had shown Jean the way, and so he found the seam against the wall that Niccolette would have thought invisible. It was dark inside, black and full of cobwebs, and Niccolette whispered a spell, finding the familiar words she had memorized not so long ago, thinking of Uzoji sitting in the dark. She knew that Jean would feel hazy energy trickling from her to him, an oddly painful tingling in his eyes. Then, all at once, the dark would become light, the depths of the staircase as easy to see in as the daytime. She knew it had worked; Jean’s eyes glowed sharply green in the darkness.

“There,” Niccolette whispered, dizzily. “Mine are a bit - a bit heavy, so you shall -“ she grasped Jean’s shoulder, firmly, and followed him down the staircase.

With his eyes lit like lanterns, Jean would find the exit at the end of the secret back staircase, sealed tight against the world outside, and the slim handle tucked off to the side. One pull would deposit them in a thankfully empty alley, out of the way; his eyes dimmed, his vision returning to normal.

Niccolette giggled, wobbling slightly in the alleyway, a cobweb caught like a strange tilted hat against the side of her head. She brushed at it, stumbled, and nearly fell.

“May we rest here?” Niccolette asked, breathing hard, squinting at a pool of distant lamp light against a distant street. “That light is spinning!” She sagged against a wall, and giggled, looking at Jean with a grin. “We should go back there,” The Bastian said, cheerfully, finger combing the cobwebs from her hair. “I like Lady Wrath likes you.” She began to giggle, then to laugh outside, doubling over and clutching her stomach.

Rolls

See in the dark spell: 4

[Genevieve De Silver]

Late Evening, 28th Yaris, 2711

When they reached the blank wall Genevieve almost panicked, inside at least. However the mona showed as a narrow line and she got it open, about ready to curse a blue streak at the Stygian darkness beyond the door she felt a tingle which briefly burned and stung, but when it past she could see. Later she would thank Niccolette, but first she had to get them out of here.

Finally outside, Genevieve took a great breath of the fetid air in the alley and almost retched. Niccolette's request for a break came just in time, the world had acquired a slightly funny slant and she remembered quiet how drunk she was.

"Go back!?"

She almost squeaked the words, though coughed and was about to say something else when she started to giggle herself and had to lean on a rain barrel.

"You think so? Well maybe I should invite her to dine, or perhaps an evening of dancing?"

Looking at the young galdor laugh just made her laugh all the harder and she held her aching stomach.

Once they finally both got control of themself she straighten her now grubby frock coat, re lit her cigar and offered Niccolette her arm.

"Now Miss Villamarzana, may I escort you back to civilization?"

She squinted drunkenly at their surroundings.

“I’m fairly sure I know the way.”

With a laugh and a grin Genevieve led them up a twisting drunken path back to the well lit more bustling part of the Stacks . They ended up in front of well lit inviting shop with the smell of fresh coffee and sweet smoke. The small sign above the door read in flowing script.

'Blessings of Hulali.'

Genevieve held the door open with a smile.

“After you, I'm not sure about you, but I could certainly do with a coffee."