Spring Festival/Solo Tournament/506-05-20 Tourney Semi-Final - Solphin v. Niamh
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| Semi-Final - Solphin v. Niamh | |
|---|---|
| RL Date | 20 Nov 2008 |
| Players | Solphin Acaran, Niamh Cavanagh |
| Location | Coliseum |
| Crossroads Time and Weather | |
| IC Date | 20 May 506 |
| Season | Spring |
Main Competition Field - Coliseum
The Coliseum is truly an impressive structure. Built on the ruins of the Coliseum that existed during the Time of Chaos, it is obvious just by looking at it where the old structure stops and the new begins. Techniques never known by human engineers created the foundation of the immense structure, solid stone seeming to have risen up from the earth to take the shape of an elongated oval. No mortar holds the bottom of this bowl-like arena together - it seems to have been dug from one single massive stone, and is as smooth to the touch as marble. Taupe in color, the stone seems more like hardened sand than actual rock, though its strength is verified by the fact that it has existed for five hundred years.
On top of the ancient structure is one of newer design, that is nonetheless several hundred years old. The bowl rises an impressive one hundred feet, the inner walls lined with rows of wooden bleachers that are stacked one upon the other, each one rising higher than the one below. The main tournament field is packed dirt, raked into concentric circles before and after every tournament or event. The Imperial Box is situated at the far end of the field, raised on a dais and covered with a blue and gold tarpaulin for shade. Scattered around the inside of the bowl are smaller boxes where vendors sell refreshments and, at tournaments, the favors of the participants.
Unlike Niamh's other days, today is a dry day. The arbiter has out his card to make marks on as he decides to pace the field, waiting on the two combatants.
The sky gets darker as the evening continues.
Solphin eventually comes from the prep room, she's changed her skirts in for pants once more, looking like the scamp she claims to be as she tugs on that cloth about her head, tucking the tail of the cloth inside for less to grip. All smiles and jaunty steps as she saunters over the field, hands in her pockets as her gaze sweeps over the stands. A note of surprise as she notes more folks than she expected, smile brightening. "Well, I'll be damned..." laughing a touch, she raises a hand upward and waves.
The lack of rainfall doesn't seem to hamper the girl who represents the gold side of the imperial arms, suitable given that she hasn't a duchy otherwise to show off for. Her arrival onto the field is fairly straightforward, and she lacks the cloak that kept her dry before. Niamh would probably swelter under that given the hot, calm evening dawning over the last of the semi-final events. Head lifted to the sky, she chuckles. "Here I was beginning to think the rain was going to anoint every match! I must confess I'm disappointed. Someone might even think it was spring." She grins impishly at the judge and then starts rolling her shoulders, gracefully working out the potential knots. The people in the stands too receive a wave from her, one particoloured woman apparently causing her no little delight. "It seems no matter how it goes, she's bound to end up cheering for the right side!"
"Niamh, Solphin, good of you to make it." The Arbiter greets the two, studying them both. "The match is seven rounds. At the end, the winner will be declared. No killing blows, warnings for drawing blood. Draw it twice, you're out of the match. No going for the kidlet making parts, either. Any questions?"
Solphin catches sight of Mya as well, just as Niamh points her out, her grin expanding all the more as she turns to the adventurer and nods "No kidding. She's got the right idea!" laughing as she swaggers herself over to the Arbiter for the run down. Punctuating with a nod. "Sounds about right. Seven instead of the five, heh, should be interesting." turning that smile to Niamh with a deep inhale, she's already shifting from side to side. That anxious energy hovering around the nearly constantly moving little creature. Motions that eventually turn into deep stretching motions, keeping herself warmed and ready.
"Seven rounds? Lovely, then." Niamh inclines her head towards the judge, the few chestnut locks of her hair not bound up by her braid dancing around her fey-shaped face. "No killing blows, no cutting. I made sure to guard the edge of the swords enough so they don't bite. This is good, clean sport, not murder." She rests her hands on her hips and gives Solphin a bright grin that displays her teeth and lights up her moon-pale eyes, sending crinkles to their corners. "And we are supposed to be the civilized ones. Luck and fortune smile on me, and keep us both hale," the explorer adds, bounding back several steps and rising onto the toes of her feet, an effect amplifying her balance by the generous soles of her boots. She drops into a rakish bow to her fellow competitor, arms flourishing to the sides. As soon as she's straightened back up, she pivots and addresses the crowd in the same fashion.
"Very well, then. Good fortune to you both." the Arbiter states. "When you are ready, begin!"
From Observation Stands,In the front row, Raynn cheers... for no one in particular. "Go for the /clothes/!" He yells as he raises his left hand in the air, forgetting that he was holding a bottle and the alcohol pours all over him.
Solphin chuckles lightly under her breath as she watches Niamh give off that rakish bow. Grinning, Solphin's eyes pour out that inborn warmth and amusement, dropping from the waist to give her own poppycock kind of bow, fingertips brushing the ground as she straightens up and swaggers to her point. "Zorn!" she whistles shrilly and out comes that bofferized staff as her guard tosses it her way. This time, not too short as Solphin snatches it out of midair, spinning about with that motion and crouching low, the 'weapon' poised behind her back. Jovial and happy as a kid in a candy store, she shouts across the way "Ready?"
Metal sings in answer, the warbling wail of steel pulled from the sheath and joined by another undulant blade of peculiar design, its curve like nothing used among the duchies. Together with the attire Niamh wears, it bespeaks her adopted origins beyond the waves that lap against imperial shores, every piece of her garments telling a story that wanders across the near and fabled realms of Ikol. Both swords are brandished and she retreats back to fall into a defensive stance, her center of gravity lower to the ground as she carries the blades in a loose cross.
[ROLL] Solphin rolls 1d20: 13 Modified: 15
[ROLL] Niamh rolls 1d20: 20
A spark of elation turns dark as Solphin watches those unfamiliar weapons call out from across the way. "Fan/tastic/." the scamp whispers under her breath. A quick assessing look over, Solphin takes first aggressive without a problem, kicking up some of the raked dirt in the structure as she books it hard toward the adventurer. Keeping herself low, her speed picking up and up, it might seem as if she's ready to start the match with a tackling motion, no holds barred. A shift of weight, a slight deviation in course and her legs lock up into a controlled slide meant to sweep right past the woman. That staff braced by both hands in some peculiar untrained motion in an attempt to take out one of her knees.
She waits, for all that the anticipation might compel her to strike out a moment too soon and open herself up. If neither of the pair has the masterful training of guardsmen or Legionnaires, they probably have something else to admire: improvisation perhaps. In Niamh's case, she has a burst of sudden alacrity answering her opponent's approach with the longer weapon. Her response to the sweeping motion owes more to intuition than any recognizable school's favoured forms at play. The girl moves in towards the approach, anticipating the angle of the motion meant to knock her off her feet and moving just ahead of it. Left blade used to parry where necessary, she strikes out with the right in a quick flash of steel under starlight, the blunted edge meaning to strike towards Solphin's exposed chest by the shoulder.
Watching the two fighters intently, the Arbiter notices that near miss, but the connection that follows shortly afterwards and announces. "Point, Cavanagh. One to nil."
[ROLL] Solphin rolls 1d20: 9 Modified: 11
[ROLL] Niamh rolls 1d20: 7
Solphin cringes as that blunted edge makes connection against her chest, reaching down to touch the muscle and bone near her shoulder. "Nice!" she congratulates with a grimace. Already at that low gravity, Niamh's weapon striking true to slow her decent. Halfway past, watching the adventurer of lore make her dance around carefully, the judging blow leveled and won to the opposing team, at the closer proximity, Solphin shrugs away the blunted blade with one end of her staff. Hoping to tug Niamh off balance enough, or guide her in that direction to sidestep and lay in quick with an opposing motion, the flat of the other end across the woman's back.
The wind dies down and the air becomes calm.
The jerky motion isn't terribly elegant, but fighting with two weapons of any length requires a certain rhythm and mobility. Niamh drops backwards to alter her circuit and get out from the staff's ability to hinder her gait, pulling in the sword to keep from being too fatally overextended. But Solphin succeeds in dragging her sidelong, not wholly off-balanced but more than enough to take advantage of the opening sought. The staff falls over her shoulder, a speedy parry not enough to do much. The smack produces a stifled choke of sound fairly audible to any, the girl's boots sliding through the rough grit carpeting the floor of the forum. The leather she wears helps at least to buffer the blow, but it's a very decided one nonetheless. Her low posture, too, helps here in keeping her from sprawling out as she disengages at once and defensively raises the swords, putting distance between them both.
As the staff smacks into Niamh's back, the Arbiter announces, "Point, Acaran, one all."
[ROLL] Solphin rolls 1d20: 7 Modified: 9
[ROLL] Niamh rolls 1d20: 1
From Observation Stands, someone starts ringing a loud cowbell. Probably that mutt mage of Solphin's.
I got a fever. And the only perscription. Is more cowbell, baby.
With that said, Solphin's point grants her a smile, stature lifting upward as she gives off some of that inborn un-grace she's so keen on. Maybe it's that cowbell from somewhere up in the stands, or the disturbance in the force she felt due to an unexpected soul in the stands, but as the Adventurer takes another defensive stance, the Lady scamp drops her brows, recalling precisely what happened last time she allowed Niamh to ready herself. It wasn't graceful. It wasn't pretty. But with another two, three, four in quick pacing, Solphin rushes toward her, hoping to upset that defensive posture just enough. Staff weilded in both hands, coming head on, her motions are a quick jerking push /into/ those blades and /down/ upon her hands. Hoping to weild enough force and crowd enough to disarm one, perhaps wound a wrist, a hand. It sure as hell wasn't well thought out, but she couldn't risk letting that guard go up again without disturbing it.
From Observation Stands, a masculine voice shouts, "Go for her sash! Her sash!!! I mean, shins, go for the shins!"
Cowbells or not, Niamh pivots rapidly to intercept and kicks up a spray of sand that is meant to either obscure her presence, or more likely, signals that the ground really wasn't as dry as it looked. Grit scatters in a shower briefly silhouetting her to at least part of the crowd as she scrambles back again, but alas; so much for that when Solphin's in pursuit! She mirrors the angle of approach and left with the choice of further retreat or engaging, there comes a point when a decision is made. She engages: not the right choice, dear explorer. Something to be altered in the next book, to be sure. A broken wrist isn't in the cards as she thrusts the swords up, protesting the imbalance until her physical strength proves simply inefficient for the task. Hands slide against the hilt and she strikes at an angle against the unyielding staff, probably considering kicking it away if she could be assured that would actually work. "Purple-teated shaggy wildebeests," she mutters in a harsh cacophony of foreign language, flinging the sword aside to break the downward crush. Force suddenly gone, hopefully the staff will hit the ground after it's already marked her for a point. "It's not a half bad suggestion! Perhaps I ought to take it!"
The waxing gibbous moon Diuturnal rises over the eastern horizon.
As the sword flies away, the Arbiter has to duck to keep from being boffered himself. "Point, Acaran. One to two."
[ROLL] Solphin rolls 1d20: 18 Modified: 20
[ROLL] Niamh rolls 1d20: 2
From Observation Stands, From the stands, that rhythmic language of the gypsies calls out, echoing across the crowd.
From Observation Stands,"Hey! You! The one... well, both of you! Here, have a drink or two!" Raynn shouts out to the contestants before lowering two bottles of brown colored liquor at the edge of the arena.
That smattering of dibris that filters up into the air as the women clash and move doesn't distract Solphin's rushing force. Her eyes narrow to fend from it, but as one of those blades go flung away and that curse about multitonal mammary glands on furry creatures is born, Solphins approach doesn't relent. "Are they filled with caramel?" The gypsy woman jests with a lopsided grin as her steps dance her toward one side, holding strong to that staff with a white knucked grip to keep hold on. Keep it simple, stupid. One blade gone, Solphin's back in a more familiar realm as she advances, forcing Niamh to stay on the defensive. After a series of head on attacks, with a flair of her staff about in a circular manner, she remains braced forward, drawing one end up in the opposite under her arm. The sound of raked gravel disrupted as the other end sweeps about the ground, aiming to sweep the woman's legs out from under her.
The opportunity for alcohol is a very bad thing. Doubly bad when normally it would be something Niamh would pounce on at the earliest opportunity. When things are going terribly wrong in the competition for her, at least at this rate, she probably might lack the normal appreciation for it. Really, she /would./ Instead, she utters a sharp laugh and dances away from the Draughtian, head tilted slightly as an initial pass sees her spinning back, weaving steel with her right hand to make approaching her a bit less appealing than it would've been before. Agility isn't helping get her too much closer to the sword she discarded, not when she is kept to parrying back, and hunting for an elusive opening. Will she find it before Solphin finds hers? Alas so: the clean strike is going to get her in the legs, but on the other hand, the explorer is fairly acrobatic by trade and by sheer resilience. She dives with the blow; it's still going to knock some of the wind from her, but not all. A streak of darkness, she tucks into a roll to at least mitigate the strength behind it, popping up and rubbing her face. "Thank the Lady it's not raining!"
Glancing towards the bottles for a moment, the Arbiter shoots Raynn a glare, his attention quickly back on the match. "...point, Acaran, one to three."
From Observation Stands, "Caramel? No, malted barley aged twenty years, yes. Does that work for you?" Raynn replies. "Just remember to toss it back to me after you take a swig or two. That stuff's expensive!" Raynn's eyes widen before he hastily adds. "But if you two want to wrestle naked, go ahead take the entire bottle. The /entire/ bottle!"
"Hold that stick!" Niamh cries, finally letting the spirit of the festival overcome her sanity. "We cannot pass up a twenty year old brew!" If it means throwing the match, so be it, but the girl bursts towards the wall with renewed vigour, bounding towards Raynn. "Time out!"
Solphin grins with some clear appreciation as Niamh rolls with the blow rather than fighting it, popping up the next moment. "Would've made that a slippery slope, for sure!" agreeing with that note on rain as she holds her poise from that staff, arm coiled protectively over her chest in a precision snap. Her feet continue to circle and adjust as Niamh comes about again, laughing low in her throat as that growingly familiar voice shouts down from the stands again, offering the blissful embrace of the bottle. The scamp shouts back, her eyes never leaving Niamh's "Someone get that man's number, I obviously need to become good friends with him!" looking back to the adventurer, she shrugged at the suggestion, still on alerted mode. "A whole bottle for the low low cost of pride and conservative virtue." a corner of her mouth lifts. She does not strike.
As Niamh cuts the battle, she laughs and jams one end of her staff into the ground and leans on it, hand on her hip and beaming. "Fan/tastic/!" her eyes shining as she watches, and starts to saunter that way.
"...time." the Arbiter announces, apparently confused as the two women decide to take an alky break in the middle of the match.
From Observation Stands, "Phinn!" Andre yells out, "Are you not going to share with your gypsy brethren?" He laughs, leaning over the railing, "I thought you cared for me!"
From Observation Stands, Raynn laughs as Niamh approaches him. "You know, I'd settle for just underwear, how about that? Go ahead, take the bottle," Raynn grins.
From Observation Stands, Leaning over the railing, Tobias leans close to Solphin. "...you hanging in there, dearheart?" he asks, grinning loopily at her. "I've already seen everything, so if you want to share with the world, do feel free to make them jealous." he teases.
Oh precious, precious bottle! You will be all Niamh's, and to heck with the rest of the competition. She reaches up for the bottle from Raynn, spinning around to pour the first drops on the ground in a libation and offering both. "Unfortunately unlikely to work. I think she's gone and hitched her name to someone else's. Too bad for you, though maybe you can swing something when no one's looking." She raises the bottle to Solphin first, "Help yourself."
Solphin shouts back. "I buy you booze all the time, Brother. Much love in the form of liquid grains and rotten bottled fruit." laughing under her breath as she takes up with Niamh, looking up to Raynn with a brow quirked and pleased looking smile. She just drops a wink to Tobias in reply. "No worries, eh?" The introduction of the bottle rises a quicker grin. In humor and elation. "Please. My name is Lady Mud, how may I be of service?" she chuckled loosely and looked to the bottle. "Truly? To you then." accepting of it just as she was of that pause, she draws deep and passes back. A muttered word in that familiarly unfamiliar language might be taken as a blessing or something akin to 'to your health'.
From Observation Stands, Raynn raises his own bottle, with the little liquor left after the spill earlier, and takes a gulp also.
From Observation Stands, Andre rests his head on the railing returning a bit of that language in the same toast as he downs a bit of his flask, watching the women.
From Observation Stands, From his little corner, Fenton's voice resonates clearly to the field. "Junior! Stop acting like a damn fool and get on with it." Eyes boring holes into the back of his daughter's head. Obviously not taking as much joy in this display as the others.
The bottle is captured and set to Niamh's lips, the burning liquid imbibed with the ease of someone who has spent at least a /few/ nights in the Isle of Ale, though certainly not like a Fielder born and bred. Phineas needn't worry about a challenger for his ample drinking skills quite yet. She lowers the flask and glances into it, then replies, "I should make sure this is returned to our good patron. Master Arbiter, are you going to have any?" The bottle is waved his way as she wanders towards her sword lying near the wall, not that far away, and picks it up, setting it in its scabbard deliberately. A grin thrown over her shoulder towards the scamp might not be seen by anyone else. The other blade joins its mate, and then she calls, "Eh! You who wanted the sash off, come get this!"
The arbiter /ahems/. "Lady Acaran, Miss Cavanagh, if you two do not mind.." he points out. "Unless one of you wishes to forfeit."
From Observation Stands, Raynn's eyes widen before he finishes chugging the bottle, claps his hands, and grabs Niamh's sash, or grabs Niamh by the sash. The Fielder is evidently tipsy and tackles Niamh with an awkward fall.
Solphin pales. That is, if the little sunkissed androgyne can go pale, she certainly looks the part at this point. The snappish voice from the stands gets a slow turn of her head, eyes wide. "Fenton?" Fates hold her, what a time for that as her eyes settle on the black hole in a sea of color coded people. "You..." she points a finger almost threateningly. "Grrr, You have very bad timing, old man!" turning around with a vicious air, like a child chided unfairly 'I never get to do what /I/ want to do!!!!' is nearly on her lips as she turns back to Niamh and then toward the Arbiter. "You have bad timing as well." Though this time it's said with a small chuckle, just now seeing how ridiculous this match has become. That white hot smile, infectiously bright turns back on Niamh again, rolling a shoulder backward. 'what now?'. Only to find the Lord from Brewer's Crossing toppling over the baracade and falling like a pile of bricks. Her reaction? A peel of laughter a mile long, leaning forward to brace on her staff as she laughs.
It's raining men! Fine, one man, but maybe it will start a trend. The brunette is in the process of tilting her head up with the gifted drink outstretched about the time he grossly overmeasures the distance to a very stable, stationary target lifted to exactly where he could reach it mostly without peril. And suddenly a shadow is descending on her at a very rapid rate from a very short distance. Cover your ears, children, at least if you happen to be Aquilarcan for what skitters off the adventurer's lips is not fit for repetition, but rolls so effectively in her singular lilt that they probably want to sing it impishly to their parents all week long. What can she do? Open her arms and hope to catch, even as deadweight buckles her flat into the dirt. Raynn 1, Niamh 0. Or could it be Niamh 1, Raynn 1? Just in case anyone was forgetting about that bottle, well, now the lord of Brewer's Crossing is wearing his generous gift as it's dumped down the back of his shirt unceremoniously from the tangle of limbs and bubbling laughter that marks their communal failure to stand.
As the guards from Emerald Hollow come down, they are joined by a few guards from the city to escort the Lord out of the stadium. "Bloody idiot, try to score with her after the fight, moron." Lord or no, they're working on getting him out of there. The Arbiter sighs, rubbing his forehead.
From Observation Stands, Andre chuckles, lifting his drink as he yells down from the stands, "Phinn! We have a new drinking partner! Never can have enough good ones, yes?"
More like Arena 1 Raynn 0. As Raynn manages to get his balance back, he finds himself greeted by guards. "Alright, alright. I'll get out of the arena. Here have whatever's left," he picks up one bottle nearby that has nay a trickle of alcohol left and offers it to the guards before turning to Niamh. "Unless the beautiful lady wants to join me?" Raynn winks at Niamh.
Solphin continues to lean on her staff and laugh. And laugh. And as Raynn is escorted away, his gift dripping down his back and likely soaking the seat of his pants, she laughs some more, unable to hold breath in her lungs at any productive level at this point. Gasping with a hoarse inward shriek, the gypsy scamp's eyes water, rubbing the tears away with the back of her hand as she offers the same one to the fallen Niamh. "That..heheh...that was highly entertaining. Sublimely so." speaking still between dwindling chuckles. Her eyes drifts to Raynn again as he's taken away, and still trying to win the adventurer's favor.
The arena is the real champion of the spring festival, and it knows, smug in its solicitous acceptance as it has ventured through all the years. Arm slung around Raynn's shoulder, Niamh looks back at the arbiter and shakes her head. "Twenty year vintage, Master. Try it next time, you might end up having fun! Think, he's covered in spirits and cannot be taken anywhere but the baths." Winking, she accepts the tear-stained hand and half-bows over it... which means she's pulling Raynn with her unless he shakes her off or the guards knock her over for that last point. "Absolutely! We have marked an excellent night in grand fashion and everyone wins!" she exclaims before scampering after the man on the move and leaving the arena with him.
The Arbiter sighs. "...Cavanagh forfeits. Match, Acaran."
"....Arbiter needs ale!" crows the adventurer.
From Observation Stands, a feminine voice shouts, "Alright, Solphin! That's how to win a match! Distract them with whiskey and men!"
"Agreed!" Chimes in the Lady, finding herself with another, perhaps expected or unexpected win, a few dusty streaks down her cheeks from the dirt and laughing tears, still clinging to her staff and looking to the Arbiter with a smile. Bending at the waist, the androgyne casts him a bow. "Thank you, Master Arbiter. Remind me to send you something nice for the holidays." a jaunty grin playing on her face. Turning up to the stands, she points straight at Mya and winks. "Like any fighter will tell you. Observe and strike, Inker!" she laughs and sways, looking...lost for a moment as she stands in the field. "Huh..."
Bella makes her way down to the field, where her guards are still stationed after the other man left. She smiles warmly at Solphin, and waves her blue scarf. "That's the most unusual way I've seen of winning a match ever, Solphin!" she says.
Solphin inhales deeply. Looking up into the stands as people start to shift. Her attention locks on her father for a moment, grimacing with a guttering groan then filter toward Andre, gesturing and rambling off a few words now that the match is over. A smile passed on toward her husband to be and a wave toward Matthew as well as he heads off. Flipping her staff around hand over hand over hand a couple times, it whirrs and stops as she taps it to the ground, grinning and walking to meet Bella. "Bella!" A dusty hand going out. "I was so /surprised/ to see you up there! Ah!"
Bella gives Solphin a hug. "Hey, I couldn't miss the match of a lifetime!" she says. She leans over and whispers something to her friend.
Solphin grins as she watches the wash of folks come down from the stands, her father apparently choosing to remain there for whatever the reason. She's not complaining. First meeting Bella, her eyes glowing and hands, well, hand out, she returns that hug fiercely with a squeeze. "Ah, it's so great to see you! I'm sorry, I'm all sweaty and gross, I'm sure." laughing lightheartedly. There is a moment of quiet for that whisper, the corners of her mouth inching upward, into a sincere smile as her eyes meet Bella's. She nods. "Thank you." squeezing her hand before the rest come up.
Setting foot on the tournament floor, Tobias frowns. The grounds here always feel funny to him as he comes over to her. "..hey. Good match. Next time don't be so ambitious on that first blow." he winks.
Andre walks up ruffling Solphin's hair. He has a teasing tone to his voice as he shares a few personal words with her before nodding, "Hah, We need to practice mor, Phinn. One more to go, then maybe I will let you fight me. You might have earned the right." He winks, pulling her into a tight hug.
Bella smiles softly at Solphin. "You're welcome, sweety. I'll let the others get to say their congratulations. Have a wonderful evening," she says. She then turns to her guards, giving them a nod. They fall in place beside her and she makes her way out of the coliseum.
Solphin looks over as her brother and betrothed come down next, chuckling low in her throat as Tobias chides her for that first strike. "Hey, but I learned from it, yeah?" pointing out with a grin and wink as she turns onto Andre then, eyes closing lopsidedly one after another as she shoves her brother and replies in a laugh. "Yeah yeah, earned the right, you're just afraid I'll beat you." returning that fierce hug and clapping his back hard with one hand.
Coming out from that hug, she waves to Bella as she leaves. "If I were a man, Phaeton would be hard pressed to keep that one by his side." she jokes and sighs, looking up toward the stands, her smile faulters a little. "You, ehm...met Fenton?" her eyes vibrate between the two men.
"Not properly." Tobias says, looking to Solphin, and smirks at her. "Then I should be glad that you are a woman then." he teases her.
Andre rolls his shoulders, nodding to Solphins words. He folds his arms and look back towards the stands, "Yes, he's a pain. I had a fun talk with him, though." He rolls his hand, "He called me a simple gypsy, I called him a Crotchety old man... I think we are starting to feel each other out."
Mya stands off to the side, taking a swig of her flask as Solphin gets mobbed with people. She's in no hurry, it seems.
Solphin raises her brows upward as she looks toward Andre "HAH!" a grin coming quick. "Yeah, that's about as high a praise as you'll get. Soon, you two will be exchanging death threats and recipees." gripping her brother's shoulder and changing her gaze toward Tobias. "There usually isn't a proper way to meet Fenton. He simply...is." she snickers and takes a step to the side, whistling shrilly. "Zorn!" tossing her staff to her man, who catches it deftly and becomes pack mule #1. With that step to the side, she notes Mya and grins to the voluptuous inker. "Piercer! I thought I heard ya up there. I know you've met Andre but Tab," turning toward Tobias. "have you met the piercer woman? I declared her fan-fucking-tastic at the fortune telling bit." chuckling low in her throat.
Mya can't help but smirk a little as Solphin asks Tobias if they have met. "We've run into each other once or twice," she says, "Congratulations, Tobias. You finally going to settle down with someone who can put up with your shit." She gives him a playful wink, then turns to Solphin again. "Great fucking match, m'Lady," she says, giving an exaggerated bow. "Here, brought you somethin', in case you won." She reaches into a pocket, and pulls out a small box, offering it to Solphin.
