Craven Match

The Colosseum, Front Entrance, Early Afternoon

Within the large archways that denote the entrance and exit to the entertainment area, several spectators are coming to and fro between matches. There's a group gathered near a wall of posters that display various teams. Several reporters from the Tribune are throwing a wall of questions at a far too cocky looking gladiator, covered in dirt and sweat, boasting about their prowess.

However, across the way and further up the entrance, shielded from the attention being on an apparent victor, is a duo by themselves. An oruch woman that is covered in armor that is in disrepair and dented to the point its stuck, as well as a spitting image of one of the coaches on the posters nearby. Aryia, the heavily scarred mul'neissa woman that apparently the coach for a team called The Crucible, shakes her head and thrusts an arm out to block the Oruch from stomping towards the crowd.

"What?! This is craven!" she seethes at the far shorter elf.

It's a little difficult to see Aryia's hand signs through the crowd.

The fighter pulls their busted helmet off, tusks aiding to a the snarl on her face. "I grow tired of being humiliated time an' time again. If we do somethin' /now/, we'll show that we aren't to be fucked around with!"

The mute scowls, her gesturing more firmly. "An enemy is weakest when they think they won. <Handspeech/Tongues>

"Exactly!" The fighter starts to shove past the coach, but is abruptly pulled back despite the size difference and is tossed with a clang to the wall.

"Tresh'kin! We /will/ not stoop to their level. If you even do as much as lay a fucking finger on that cheating bitch I will crack your skull so hard you'll see my fist in your dreams for the rest of your life? Do I make myself clear?" <Handspeech>

Tresh'kin growls, clenching her fists.

Seems like there is a disagreement.

Bryn is one of those spectators moving through the arches. In her case, she is coming to, rather than moving fro, and the numerous colorful posters catch her eye even if she may have spied some of them before. The sweaty, dirty victor with the gathering around them grabs her attention immediately after. Seems Bryn missed a recent, maybe important, match? Well, damn. Hopefully there will be more today?

Then there is the loud clang from the other side of the arena. Maybe there's already a new match going? That is Bryn's first thought. It doesn't take much to hold her attention after that when she notices the armored oruch that is the clanger... or clangee?

Bryn starts heading that way, and the last thing she finally catches sight of is the (compartively) small mul and the tail end of her hand gestures. Having just seen her face on the posters, she realizes she isn't a contender.

"This is my honor on the line--" Thresh'kin growls, throwing a hand across the way.

Only for Aryia to shake her head. "There is no loss of honor in losing a rigged match. <Handspeech/Tongues>

"Everyone saw me lose fairly! They do not know it was rigged-"

"The only person that matters to is yourself-" <Handspeech/Tongues>

"Why are you so fucking stubborn?!" Tresh half yells down at the mul'neissa.

"Because I am your wall from making a mistake." <Handspeech/Tongues>

A flash of anger goes across the Oruch's face, a brisk fist being raised. And then rockets down to slam against the coach's face. Aryia doesn't stagger, doesn't even budge. She just stares up at Tresh'kin with a blank expression, despite the fact a small drip of red trickles off her cheek.

Tresh seems to very quickly realize her mistake. The mute raises a single hand. "Go home and cool off. We'll talk later." <Handspeech/Tongues>

Tresh waffles slightly, throat bobbing, before nodding once and stomping out the back entrance.

Aryia takes a deep breath In. And slowly exhales Out.

Bryn can't imagine this is going to end well as she watches the two. Wisdom, honor, and all else aside, an angry oruch is... well, an angry oruch. It looks like its going to go worse quickly when the fist is raised and then comes crashing down to-wait, what? Bryn blinks. Well, that's new.

The rest of her reaction is held a few beats longer; just long enough to allow Tresh to stomp out. That's the limit of Bryn's control and she bellows out brief laughter. "Not what I 'spected to see here quite like that, but..."

Aryia takes another moment to herself, cycling another breath. A long ear twitches at the laughter, her swiveling to turn towards the other Oruch nearby. "And what is it that you were expecting to see?" she asks with her hands, briefly touching where the scrape on her cheek was before wiping it clean with a sleeve. "At least it was you who witnessed such a thing rather than, say, the press." She throws a hand across the way towards the gaggle of reporters. A huff of air is shot out of her nose. "The sheer desire I feel to find the coach of that team and bash their face against the wall is testing my patience." <Handspeech/Tongues>

"Fightin, o' course," Bryn gives a tusked grin. "Just... out there." She thumbs to the open field. She then turns to look at the press and back. "Guessin this ain't somethin you want them seein? Don' worry. If the others were cheatin and they didn't see that, maybe they've got worse eyes than me."

Aryia makes a soft 'tch' and smirks slightly. "It's why I dragged her over here, since they're all apparently so dogshit at spotting the sundering of my team's equipment." She lightly sighs. "Usual rule is no purposefully breaking other's equipment. But they've been leaning too hard into it as of late."

The mute rubs her face. "Regardless, whatever it may be, I'd rather have my team kick their ass in front of everyone despite the underhanded tactics than go into a back alley and beat the shit out of them." A pause. "/I'd/ drag them into a back alley and beat the shit out of them if I were in their shoes, so I get Tresh'kin's anger. Her punch needs more practice though." <Handspeech/Tongues>

"Huh..." The more detailed explanation has Bryn glancing back again, this time at the 'victor.' "They doin it cause they need to to win? Or they just bein arseholes? Can't do much about arseholes, 'cept break a foot off in 'em. If they're cheatin to win, could do somethin about that."

"You would think that's the case, but, I don't think that's the reason," Aryia taps the side of her head, starting to pace in the shade provided from the stands. "This team came out of no where. I recognize some of the gladiators, but the coach is a mystery. But I /kind of/ recognize how they fight. I'm trying to pin it down."

The 'victor' is a human man, clad in a light leather armor with very little weaponry, save for a short sword. Compared to the incredibly armored Oruch woman, it's a bit of weird matchup. Yet he seems just fine save for the fatigue from the fight. He's currently leading the reporters out of the arena, still blabbing away.

"My current theory- I pissed someone off, and they're trying to undermine me. As for what to do- I'm not sure yet. I'm too new of a coach, don't have clout or pull yet to throw a rulebook just yet." <Handspeech/Tongue>

Bryn looks back to the mul as the man leaves. "Oh. If somebody's gotta grudge on you, that'd be a whole other thing..." Then she rolls her shoulders in a shrug. "You'd be the best one to figure that one out. I was just gonna say if you want to save the gear from 'em, just pick yer battles. Make them all bare-knuckled and bare-assed. Nothin for them to break. Still draw a crowd."

Now that actually draws a laugh from the coach, the breathy, silent thing as she throws her head back. "I fucking wish," Aryia signs. "Unforunately, there aren't that many people that have the balls to accept such a challenge from my team with such terms."

She ponders. "... but maybe its not a bad idea. Call them bitches for not accepting it from an underdog team." <Handspeech/Tongues>

Bryn grins widely. "Be fun watchin 'em squirm. Maybe they fight, maybe not. Be a sight either way, ey?" She then looks to the the walls and turns to follow them around a full turn, toppin git off with another shrug. "Course you know way more 'n me about fightin here. Circles I knew're barely big enough for two." Though that was probably intentional.

Aryia bobs her head, smirking. "For certain. Maybe Thresh'kin would be down for something like that. Get some anger out."

She looks about with Bryn, dipping her chin slightly. "Least these circles are better than the ones I used to be in, that's for certain. You used to get in a lot of showy scraps then?" she inquires. <Handspeech/Tongues>

"Tribe used 'em for training, ceremony, maybe settle some squabbles," Bryn offers up. "Got blooded meself in one maybe a moon ago. Only show for ourselfs, and more show than used ta be. Can't have everybody killin 'emselfs off over stupid."

Aryia quirks a brow, tilting her head to the side. "Just a moon ago? Damn. Just getting started huh?" she notes. "But I get it. Would have preferred to have more show back in my time. Regardless-" the mute waves it off. "Are you just checking this place out? Matches tend to be during the noon for most to see it easier, and training usually happens in the morning. Barring the weather. Swing around during the morning if you're wanting to work up a sweat." <Handpseech/Tongues>

Bryn nods her head. "Ye, jus' checkin the place out. Ain' been here but a week and there's alot to see. I always like a good show," her grin widens around tusks again, "and like workin up a sweat. I'll remember that. Probably be here alot."

"Good. The more folks I have around for training, the better. It keeps the team on their toes when I throw something new at them," Aryia grins. "Now, stick around, another match is in twenty minutes. The best seat is right over there-" she points at a spot in the stands that is off center and next to one of the fighter entrances, "-I'm not in it, but I hear this match is going to be a good one to loosen up the crowd after that. Two Lucht on shoulders with a lance against two gnomes on shoulders with boxing gloves. Don't fucking know how that shit's going to go, but my money is on a tie." <Handspeech/Tongues>

-End Scene-