A Tournament, Never Seen

Brass horns and drums, that grand sound of gladitorial beginnings.

The members of the covenant raised their heads. In perfect sync, half erupt in song. Four beats later, the half containing Luz begin the song for the second time. The staggered vocals should, by all accounts, be jarring, but the round instead rings true. The higher voices which began it ring like bells, while the lower repeat their words as if the coliseum was echoing them back.

The muses will be busy in these times, either participating in the team battles or offering their services as healers and givers of boon to those who've signed on for the fights of the day. Instead, the covenant grants its choir, and the horns and drums are played by hired hand. Music is a powerful symbol, and the traditions of Antiqua would not let any event go without it. Much less a grand tournament.

The choir's song ends in two parts, each group going silent for four beats in a final call-and-response. As they finish the last line, the drums ramp up again, and they're quick to leave their stands. Some will mingle with the crowd, others return home, others more go off to man the stands selling overpriced event food to the audience. The nuns do not participate in the combat themselves, standing as protectors whose abilities were for the sake of support and defense.

Luz folds his hands in front of him, politely moving past a few of the seats to reach the vendors. The area was still crowded, as the event hadn't yet started. Everyone was still willing to get up and buy something, without the gladiators to hold their attention. The two women in front of him keep glancing back at him, whispering to one another about how hot his outfit must be and how strange Antiqua's customs truly were. He simply stands idle, smiling when appropriate.

They move on, and he trades shiny coins for shinier cans of soda. A Jericola for himself, and a Khafra Rush for his partner waiting for him in the seats. Sunspot didn't care much about soda, or the many competing brands across the Lopilands, so Luz just bought him the Antiqua brand. It helped keep stink eyes off him from the vendors, too. Jericola may be a less controversial choice than Euphemsi, but Antiqua was a land of pride, after all.

He steps down the stairs near where his seat should be, searching for his row. The amount of color in the crowd was almost uncomfortable, making his head swim as he tried to pick out his companion from the sea. Antiqua constantly held smaller tournaments, but they were usually geared toward hub residents or "home versus away" team matches. This one was something larger, and many residents of other hubs had come just to see it.

Just as pain begins to swell behind one of his eyes, he spots Sunspot with an empty seat beside him. It took a lot in him not to jump for joy, though the greatest motivator was that doing so was sure to encourage the migraine. He slipped past others in his row with polite smiles and excuse-mes, joining the equos he'd come to rely on in the seat next to him. He practically melts into the man's shoulder, pushing his protesting eyeball in to put pressure on it.

The lopilu on his other side looked to be from Seaport. The crowd was prohibited from weaponry of all sorts, so it was often hard to discern what class a particular lopilu may be if they didn't wear anything noteworthy. This one did, the bronze plating and clear Seaport ancestry hinting heavily at proficiency as a steamforge. She looks over at him, raising an eyebrow.

"What're you staring at me for? I thought at least the nuns had the decency to be polite about the whole rivalry."

Luz raises is head to shake it. He suppresses a flinch as the motion reminds him of his migraine. "It's not like that. I was just admiring your outfit: Most steamforge I see are on the battlefield, so I never get a good look."

She seems suspicious for a moment, but it's overtaken by pride. "Of course! Plenty of us who aren't fighting stay home after days of getting gear in tip-top shape. It's a hard earned day of rest. I'm just here to see my brother."

"Is he steamforge too?"

"You bet! I make all his gear for him, and upgrade as I see fit. His spirit and my gear means none of your folk have a chance."

Luz smiles. "We'll see. Or... maybe you will. I may have to leave early."

"Too much for you?"

"A bit," he replies, honest. "I'm getting a migraine."

She whistles. "I bet you would. Your hub is so drab, it must be like seeing a rainbow for the first time."

Luz bows his head. "I don't appreciate the slander, but you're not far off the mark..."

A strong hand rests on his back, and he looks up to see Sunspot. "We can go home if you want."

"I wouldn't say I want..." He's covering an eye with his hand. "It's more about what I need. This won't get any better."

Sunspot stands, guiding Luz up with him. The brass horns begin to blare again, a voice coming up announcing that the games would soon begin. Luz flinches against his side.

"Looks serious," the Seaport lopilu comments.

"It's just a migraine," Luz reassures. "It feels like someone clawed half my skull off, but I won't die."

"Yeesh. Here." She pulls something from her pocket, which Sunspot takes for him. In exchange, the equos passes over their unopened drinks.

She holds up the Khafra Rush. "You sure? And I can't drink this one, it'd be sacrilege."

"Go ahead. I need more than caffeine, and Sunspot isn't really a big fan anyway."

One of the lopilu behind them suddenly speaks up. "Quit it with the fraternizing and go, you're in our way!"

Sunspot hurries himself and Luz out, then. Once they've made their way past the exit and a bit further out from the roaring crowd, Luz is shown the Seaport lopilu's offering. A business card. The two share an amused glance, and Luz slips it into the pocket of his bag.

"So much for enjoying a day at the tournament... Now please help get me home before I collapse from the vertigo."