Chronicles of The Omniverse Archived Lutetia City: Valentine Park

Tiko

Tiko

Draconic Administrator/Mentor
Administrator
Mentor
Nexus GM
as written by Ronin

It was a cool October morning when the crews came into the largest park in Lutetia and set up their fences. They labored for three days. Pedestrians looked in from the streets and talked excitedly among one another, while children meshed their fingers into the chainlink of the fence, dreaming of the week to come, of the great festival that was about to begin. The harvest season had come, and the aurellae with it.

Flags were draped from wire poles. Wooden barriers formed the outlines of arenas and sparring cages, flanked by bleachers and benches. Big top tents jutted into the sky, wires strung with bulbs connecting their tips in a spiderweb of light. Stages rose from the dirt for musicians and bands, galleries for marksmen, sand pits for athletes. Merchants and chefs brought little slices of their business into the park in booths and miniaturized restaurants. Those that couldn't afford a spot in the parkway set up their food trucks on the curb just outside the festivities. There was a Ferris wheel. A carousel. Art galleries. A petting a zoo. In seemingly no time at all, the park was transformed into the staging grounds for one of the biggest Lutetian festivals of the year.

Without ceremony, it started; the fences came down and people streamed in from all over the city. By mid-afternoon, the cacophony of hammers and saws had become a medley of music, laughter and chatter, interrupted only by the occasional thundercrack of a firearm or the sharp chimes of clashing steel. People walked the park freely, buying food and drink, observing one of the many tourneys and competitions, dancing, talking and making general merry. Police and paladin alike patrolled the festival, ensuring nothing got too out of hand, though the heavy drinking usually didn't start until the evening. The afternoon was the time for tourneys and sport.

It would continue like this for a week and half - opening at nine in the morning, closing at midnight - until the great celebration of the final day that bid farewell to the harvest season and welcomed the winter.
 
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as written by Krysis

Celeste was contemplating the comparative joys of a funnel cake and having a little spending money when she heard the familiar, creaking footsteps off to her right. The look of surprised joy on the young brunette's face might have shocked anyone else. After all, her classmates were used to her looking dour, or worried, or focused, but very rarely happy.

Papa Hogan's twinkling hazel eyes almost vanished in the folds of his smile as he held out his hands towards his teenage daughter. He was looking good, very clean and in better shape than many men his age. His jeans already had creases and worn spots where the straps for his leg brace fit on the outside of his clothes, and his leather jacket was probably a bit heavy for the warmish autumn day.

Celeste, of course, laughed and hurried to her father, stunned that he was there. Plus, well, what they had discussed the last time they had seen each other had obviously not happened, since he was still limping. She was looking nice too, in some red plaid leggings under her tall boots and a pleated green skirt. Her black blouse and a gray jacket kept her from looking too festive, and her long, dark hair was hanging loose as usual. She clasped his hands and then moved to his right to offer her shoulder should he need the support. "Hello, Papa. What are you doing here? It's only the first day!"

He laughed at her surprise and hung his arm over her slender shoulders as he looked at the booth she had been eyeing so longingly. Two bucks... Yeah, he could spare that. Steering them into the short line for the fried pastries, he answered, "Well, my favorite events are both today."

Celeste gave him a careful look, since her father had been Avoiding the boxing and wrestling events for the past three years, since he could no longer participate. She stayed silent as he purchased the sweet and got the clerk to cut it in half for them. As they drifted away to nibble on the snack, she asked, "Are you sure you are up for this?"

Papa Hogan shook his mane of gray hair and gave a sad and distant look. "No, but I'm gonna try it anyway. Spectating is about all I can do these days."

Celeste smiled faintly then nudged his ribs with her elbow, "You can jeer and heckle too, not just watch. One of my friends is in the first bout, I think. I was going to cheer him on and boo the bully he is up against."

"That sounds perfect, daughter. Let's go. You cheer on your friend, and I'll go dark side and support his opponent." Papa Hogan nudged Celeste back with his much larger elbow against her arm.

They were laughing and elbow battling in earnest when the loudspeaker over their heads declared it was time for the boxing event to begin in fifteen minutes.

Celeste immediately disengaged and jogged a few steps in the right direction before looking back at Papa Hogan. She grinned and had no idea that she had powdered sugar on her nose and one cheek.

Papa Hogan felt his heart break just a little. This was something precious and fleeting and some how felt like it would be the last time.
 
as written by Script and Krysis

“And for our next contest...!”

Inarin was seated in the stands overlooking the boxing ring as the announcer began to call out the next match. The young proselyte was wrapped up warmly in a buttoned navy overcoat and a lightweight white scarf. His hands - currently clutching a cardboard cup of hot chocolate - were safely ensconsed in a pair of gloves, and his ears were tucked away beneath a pair of fuzzy white earmuffs. It might have been a little excessive, but it was certainly cosy, and kept the chilly late-autumn air well and truly at bay. If nothing else, it gave him more layers to hide behind - with a little effort in burrowing his chin down he could make half his face disappear entirely behind the scarf.

“...we have two proselytes of the Monastic Order!"

He looked up from contemplating his still-slightly-too-hot drink at that, blinking as he recognised the two boys in the arena (and doing his best not to pay too close attention to their ... attire). It was a good thing that the cold breeze meant that his cheeks were permanently tinted red today.

"Classmates of yours?" Beside him, Aunt Florianne - clad in her long woolen winter coat but otherwise far less thoroughly wrapped up than him - had noted his spike in interest.

Inarin nodded as the announcer went on to name the combatants. "Aaro is one of the guys that I sometimes help with study stuff. A-and one of the ones I went to the cafe with." And the party, was the obvious addition - Florianne was well aware of that occurrence, but he still couldn't mention it without getting flustered at the memories. "Izaic..." he trailed off. "We have some classes together, he... he's sometimes ah... abrasive, b-but, I think he means well."

He rolled his shoulders, becoming more conscious of the weights strapped to his arms. He'd felt more than a little ridiculous putting them on at the start of the day, but he'd told Izaic that he'd wear them... and every little bit had to help, right? Even if it made him feel a little silly. At least nobody could see them.

Celeste and the gray-haired man with her were even less bundled up than Inarin and his aunt. The male limped and leaned on the athletic girl as he turned into the row of seats they intended to sit in, which happened to be just one row in front of her classmate. It was only when she was helping Papa Hogan get his braced leg up on the seat next to him that she saw Inarin and gave a happy smile.

Then the blood drained out of her face as she saw Ms. Florianne Nuvellon, and recognized her as the one that her eldest brother had been very politely pursuing for years.

Papa Hogan gave a confused look at Celeste, then looked over his shoulder at the Nuvellon pair and gave a blank smile as he offered his hand in a friendly manner.

"Umm! Papa, this is Inarin. The boy I mentioned last time? The one that could teach history better than Sister Grunxa?" Celeste offered, then added uncertainly, "And Lady Nuvellon? Junior's... friend?"

Inarin smiled back at Celeste when he noticed her, lifting one hand from his drink to give her a small wave. "H-hey, Celeste, it's good to see you again," he said, extending his hand to shake her father's. "And it's nice to meet you, sir." The stare that Celeste had directed at his aunt hadn't escaped him. His mind whirred in an attempt to figure out why she might have reacted with such shock, but turned up nothing.

Florianne inclined her head politely to both the Hogans. "A pleasure," she replied, taking Papa Hogan's hand after Inarin. Her eyebrow raised at the manner of her introduction. "Junior?" she questioned.

"Robert Hogan. Among family, we just call him Junior." Celeste admitted, blushing slightly. She sat down finally, twisted to continue talking to the pair behind them.

"It's because I was foolish enough to name him after myself, out of pride." the elder Robert Hogan admitted as he gave a self deprecating smile. "That's why everyone calls me 'Papa'. Even my contemporaries." which might have seemed a rather large word to be coming out of that rough and grim seeming face, mostly obscured by a snowy beard as it was.

Florianne's eyebrow rose a step higher upon the revelation of Junior's identity. "Ah," she remarked. "Yes. I believe we have met. A ... determined boy." The woman's tone oozed disapproval, bordering on disdain.

"Oh, they're starting!" Inarin noted as the two proselytes in the ring touched gloves and engaged. It was partly in an attempt to steer the conversation away from what was - going by his Aunt's tone - liable to end badly, and partly a genuine desire to watch the bout. He brought his drink up and took a sip of it as he watched the two exchange blows, wincing lightly every time one of them made contact.

"Which one is which?" Robert Sr asked Celeste, settling more comfortably to watch.

Celeste was distracted as she answered, "Aaro is the smaller one, and our friend. Izaic is the taller one, and he is just awful to Inarin and... well, all the students. He's too clever a bully to be caught at it and-- COME ON, AARO, KNOCK HIS LIGHTS OUT!"

The older man laughed at his teenager's passion, grinning at her and glancing back at Inarin to see how the younger boy was reacting.

Inarin silently thanked the cold weather for masking his flush when Celeste mentioned Izaic's bullying. "H-he's not all bad," he noted quietly, "just ..." he trailed off, shrugging and shaking his head. He still didn't really understand Izaic's way of acting, for all that he was a little more aware of what was going on beneath his projected persona now.

Despite his quiet protest, he couldn't help but snicker quietly into his drink when Celeste yelled her encouragement to their friend.

Celeste bounced in her seat, swaying and wincing as if she were fighting alongside of Aaro. Then she gave a startled squawk and almost fell out of her chair.

That was because Papa decided to bellow, "BEAT HIM TO A PULP, IZAIC!" with volume that drowned out Celester's shouting and made people in the seats around them turn and stare at the grinning old man.

Though briefly just as startled as the other onlookers in the seats around them, Inarin found his snicker evolving into a fully fledged burst of laughter as Celeste's father outdid her yelling in all respects.

Beside him, Florianne turned to look at him with a warm smile. She silently thanked Aurelion for persuading him to come out today. Laughter had been in short supply in her home over the last week.
 
as written by Ronin and Emperor Jester

In the arena...

Aaro came to the center of the ring and removed his mouthpiece. He was shirtless and in sweatpants, his muscles slightly chilled with the autumn breeze. No matter. He would warm up soon enough. Though Aaro had never been on bad terms with Izaic, he was quite aware of the older proselyte’s reputation. He was a fighter through and through.

“Good luck,” he extended one of his gloves.

Izaic has his hair tied back into a tight, braided rat tail, a skin tight, sleeveless mesh shirt, the kind designed for intense workouts stuck to his chest with sweat, despite the cold air. Apparently, he’d done some warming up for this. Under his gloves, it was obvious his hands and lower arms were wrapped, and so were the ankles he was bouncing on.

A quick, light jab to Aaro’s extended hand, before switching up into a southpaw stance. Ready.

Aaro went to his corner. The bell dinged, the first round began and the fighters came together.

Aaro had his left foot forward, right foot back with his heel off the ground. His hands were up by his face, elbows tucked in, chin down. Standard fighting stance taught by the Order. Effective and simple.

He lashed out with two quick left jabs for Izaic’s nose - easily countered, but also easily given without exposing Aaro too much. He was testing his opponent’s perimeter, seeing how he prefered to block, which foot he favored, if he was primarily aggressive or defensive, etc. Learn about your opponent. If the academy had taught him anything, it was that fighting - any kind of fighting - was as much a mental game as it was physical.

Izaic would watch Aaro carefully. His opponent was not to be underestimated. He’d seen him at work before, in the sparring heavy classes. He was skilled. Not that he much cared or considered it enough to take the younger male as a real threat. Still. An obstacle was an obstacle.

When they finally re-met in the center, Aaro’s stance only continued to amuse him, but he had to give him credit. It was solid, and didn’t leave a lot of opens. However, Izaic had decided on southpaw for a reason. He had a plan.

The first two strikes came. The first would be dodged, stepping quickly to the left, and then forward, only slightly. The second he’d catch on the outside of his right glove, pushing it to the side, before exploding into action, swinging his body quickly in a right stepping arc, attempting to turn around to Aaro’s side, ending the arc with a left fist that was quickly gaining the momentum of Izaic’s entire body behind it, aimed at his opponent’s lower jaw.

Aaro was briefly thrown off balance as Izaic not only caught his second jab, but actually managed to throw his own energy into the movement and push it to the side. That was impressive. Fortunately, his opponent opted to try and get his exposed side rather than rush in. Though Aaro didn’t have time to square up, he was able to bring his hands back to his face in time to catch the strike.

The moment Izaic’s glove hit his fist, he rocketed forward with his free hand, throwing a solid straight punch for his chin.

Izaic would tsk internally when his blow would be parried, and Aaro’s speed caught him off guard. No time to bring his own gloves up, or dodge effectively. Only one choice. He’d catch the blow on his forehead, meeting it with as much of his own force as possible, and as he staggered back from his seemingly self-inflicted wound, a wicked left handed uppercut would fly upward, undisciplined but carrying a deceptively large amount of force behind it.

Aaro swept in - ready to capitalize on his advantage - only to grunt as Izaic’s sloppy uppercut caught him upside the jaw. He grunted, staggering back a few steps and trying to find his balance. His opponent had played up his injury well. Aaro had completely exposed himself in his lunge.

Taking a breath, the proselyte ignored the throbbing pain in his mandible and steadied himself. He didn’t charge forward, opting instead to begin circling his opponent, letting Izaic make the next strike.

He’d follow the younger boy’s circle, watching his feet, watching his stance. The blow hadn’t been solid, but it had done what he’d intended it to do: make some distance. Izaic favored explosive bursts of offense tempered with a strong, rigid defense.

Once he was sure he saw an opening, something going against the pattern, even if it had been faked, he’d move in, feinting a haymaker with his left fist, before stopping his swing to snap a right jab forward, aiming for the bridge of the nose.

Aaro was on the defensive now, his eyes fixed at the point just above Izaic’s chest. His feint worked partially. Aaro brought his opposite hand up to his ear, expecting to block the hook. Fortunately, he could defend the snap to his nose with his free hand just as easily. Their gloves smacked together. As the blow landed, Aaro would step forward with his left foot, attempting to get under Izaic’s guard and land a vicious body punch to his ribs.

Izaic was caught off guard pretty quickly, and was slow to react. The body blow hurt more than he’d care to admit, and the grunt made him almost spit out his mouthpiece. He’d quickly wrap an arm around the back of Aaro’s neck, pulling him down to meet yet another uppercut. He was confident he could win an all-out punch-out, and if the uppercut landed, he’d try to follow the opening with a series of quick, explosive jabs to the stomach and abdomen.

Grappling in gloves was, fortunately for Aaro, very difficult. The proselyte managed to slip out of Izaic’s grasp just as his second uppercut came rocketing upwards. Holy shit. That one would have knocked him out no-question.

Still, he wasn’t out of danger. He was inside Izaic’s close-quarter weapon range, a place that he certainly didn’t want to be. In terms of raw strength, Izaic had him beat. He needed distance. He began backpedaling, attempting to put space between himself at his opponent, offering no punches as he retreated.

He wasn’t a fool. Izaic would follow up each back step with a new attack. A hook, a haymaker, two quick jabs all aimed at the temple or jaw, and full body gut blow from his left fist as a quick, potential combo finisher. The attacks were quick, focusing more on the power behind them than the technique itself, hoping his speed and the lack of distance would be enough to close the gap.

Already backstepping, Aaro didn’t have a lot of mobility to counter Izaic’s onslaught. The hook was blocked, the haymaker was ducked under, but the jabs caught his head and the gut strike sent him doubling over.

“Ughhnn!” Aaro grunted, countering with a wild, nearly-blind uppercut. He only hoped that Izaic was pressing his advantage a bit too close to his perimeter.

The uppercut connected to his jaw, enough to clip it, but also enough to slam his joints together painfully, a loud grunt escaping his lips, stumbling back just a step. The gap may prove big enough for Aaro to continue his counter, but Izaic hoped otherwise, leading back into the melee with a full power, downward smash, aimed at the collarbone.

The punch to his midsection had been too powerful - Aaro was still reeling from the pain, unable to catch his breath. As the strike to his collarbone came down, he was powerless to defend against it.

The strike sent the proselyte tumbling to the mats. He landed on his back.

“Hold!” the referee stepped in immediately, blocking Izaic from continuing the fight. He knelt beside Aaro and began counting. “One… two…”

But Aaro was shaking his head, a light smile splayed over his lips. He tested his arm, wincing at the pain that shot up his collarbone into his shoulder. Sprained. Not broken, but nothing he could fight with. He was out of this fight. His glove came down to the mat and he tapped twice.

“Tapout!” the referee shouted. “Winner by submission, Izaic Swigelf!”

A chorus of cheers from the audience. Aaro remained on the ground, catching his breath.

Izaic would narrow his eyes toward’s Aaro, spitting out his mouthpiece as he kneeled close to the mat, his voice loud enough, but just barely, to be heard over the crowd. “Good fight. Next time you won’t get those hits in on me. Thanks for the practice.”

His tone was pure condescension, though to the brute’s credit, he’d help his opponent to his feet before moving to his own corner, climbing out of the ring with ease, though he immediately began to rub and flex his jaw once he’d gotten his gloves off.

Aaro accepted the rise with his good hand, his grin only widening at Izaic’s taunting. Ah well. He expected as much. All in all, Aaro was happy for the fight he’d given the larger, more experienced proselyte. Like most other students competing in the aurellae, winning wasn’t as important as putting on a good performance. The masters were watching. You didn’t have to take first prize to demonstrate your potential.

“Good fight.” He went back to his corner, rolling his shoulder forward, as attendants came in and prepared for the next round.
 
as written by Script, Krysis, Emperor Jester and Ronin

Celeste had to be restrained to her seat by Papa Hogan's heavy hand, almost bouncing out of it as she sympathetically 'fought' along side Aaro. She gave a wail of despair when he was knocked down, but then gasped in concern when he tapped out instead of waiting for the count down.

Inarin cringed as the last couple of blows landed on Aaro - they'd looked like they'd hurt. A lot. He was relieved when Aaro tapped out - in no small part due to the fact that he doubted that Izaic would have shown him any mercy if he'd tried to continue the fight.

Papa Hogan was concerned as well, but more because he didn't like that the taller boy had apparently won through sheer power and not skill. It was, in his view, a shameful display of skill falling before arrogance. "It's alright, daughter mine. He isn't too badly hurt. Why don't you and young Mr. Inarin go down and see this Aaro boy, hmmm?"

At this suggestion, Inarin glanced across to Celeste to gauge her reaction before he said anything.

Celeste looked back at Inarin to gauge his reaction too, but then she smiled and shrugged, "I'm sure Aaro would appreciate that. And even though Izaic is himself, we Should congradulate the winner, right? He is our classmate, technically."

Papa Hogan gave an approving nod, glad that one of his younger children understood the concept of fair play at least. He seemed content to stay where he was though, since his foot would make him slow on the steps and the teens would be probably with their friend before he could get out of the aisle. And he wanted to see the next match too, even though Celeste didn't seem to be aware of it at all.

Inarin nodded, smiling. "Yeah, let's go down," he agreed, rising from his seat.

"I'll see you back here, then," Florianne said, "or if you end up going elsewhere, just send me a text to let me know."

"Okay!" Inarin nodded to his aunt, before starting down the steps towards the ring. As he and Celeste were working their way over, he glanced across at the slightly older girl. "Ah... Celeste?"

She gave Inarin a curious look, offering a hand to help steady the slight-figured boy, "Yes?"

"I- I just wanted to say thank you. F- for the flowers. It was... it was really nice to know you guys were thinking of me." Inarin's words were slightly muffled by his scarf as he looked down at his feet.

Celeste blushed, hiding behind her hair as she muttered, "Wasn't just me, but you're welcome. It's good to have you back, In. We need you, you know. This Caeruleum isn't acting rationally, and I am lost trying to figure out his next move."

She looked at Inarin then, a little moisture gathered around her eyes, "I should have guessed he'd go after our families. It's my fault for not being smart enough. I failed you and I can never-- There isn't any way to fix it."

Inarin looked up at Celeste, startled. "I- It's not your fault, Celeste. You didn't fail me, that's- you shouldn't think that." His voice held a surprising amount of conviction, by contrast to his previous mumbling. "We... didn't know. It's... it's not anyone's fault."

The conviction had faded by the time he spoke those last few words. He knew he had to try and believe it, but... It was hard.

Celeste gave a hard smile as she steered them towards Izaic's area, wanting to get the congradulating of the bully over with quickly. She also suspected that Aaro would be clingy, so leaving the loosing party would be harder than getting away from the winner. "Don't kid yourself, In. It wasn't an act of nature or fate, or God. The Caer is most to blame, but others failed to stop it. We can't change things or improve if we don't accept our mistakes, right?"

"I... I knew that you and I, Aaro, Jimmy and Rei had all met that creature. Malcolm, at the rave. Just didn't occur to me that our families would be his target instead of ourselves. My family doesn't take the warning seriously, and I haven't had a chance to talk to Jimmy or Aaro about it yet." She had a dark look as she added, "Apparently, I am an alarmist."

Inarin's eyes returned to the floor as Celeste spoke. He hadn't a clue how to reply with anything that didn't ring empty in his head, and so he just quietly nodded as they drew closer to where Izaic had left the ring.

Izaic would be nearby, easily visible in the crowd. He'd still be rubbing the side of his head. Apparently the blow had done more than the larger male had let on. Aside from his gloves, which were now strung together and slung over his shoulders along with a towel, he still looked as he had in the ring.

He didn't seem to notice them approaching, focusing on his injury and the constantly depleting water bottle in his hands. Izaic had put all of himself into the fight. The same as every fight. Holding back was impossible, but he couldn't help noticing the looks he was being given. Some were even saying that his blow to the collarbone had been dirty, or uncalled for. Let them talk. Still took the 'W'.

Celeste tugged Inarin after her, through the crowd, though she had only a cool smile for Izaic. Stopping nearby, she glanced at the smaller boy to make sure he was okay, and ran one hand over her cold cheek to make sure her emotional outburst earlier hadn't left more evidence than the weather could account for. The words tasted rancid in her mouth, but she made herself say, "Congratulations on your win, Izaic."

By the time the pair had reached Izaic, Inarin had practically disappeared behind his scarf. Despite the moment of kindness that the older boy had shown him the previous week, he still couldn't help but shrink nervously away from the prospect of interacting with him. And so after Celeste spoke, all Inarin produced was a nod paired with a muffled hum of agreement, barely maintaining eye contact with Izaic for longer than a second before meekly averting his gaze.

"Nice of you to say so. I thought I did well enough. The cheers seemed to be on my side anyway, once I'd gotten gotten Aaro onto the mat." Inarin. Izaic wantedto ask him how he was doing. Ask him if he needed anything. Instead, the only thing that found its way to his tongue was "How are those weights treating you? You wearing them, or did you decide they weren't worth it?"

Celeste grimaced, remembering how her father had deafened everyone within three rows when he cheered for Izaic. That had been well before mat-time. She almost retorted before something stopped her and she glanced from Izaic to Inarin and back again, ready to defend or protect the smaller male if needed. Her natural reaction was not needed though and her expression was bemusement as she stepped out of the way to just listen to the pair. Was the bully being... nice? Kinda?

"I- I am," Inarin replied hastily, looking up from his contemplation of the bottom of his empty cup, "Th-they're fine, I think?" In truth, he had no idea whether the weights were helping. They were noticeable, certainly. But did that mean they were working? He supposed they were only supposed to be a part of the process. Whatever that process turned out to be.

"Good. Glad to see you didn't go back on your word. It may not seem like it now, but those are part of conditioning. Your body will get used to them over time, and then, without you noticing, your preak will slowly get higher, as will your physical durability." A scrath to his scruffy chin as he'd continue, his eyes darting back and forth between the two. "Heard you cheering for Aaro. Your voice is very distinct, Celeste. He got me good a few times, but...as you saw."

He'd jerk his thumb over his shoulder before leering back, a devilish grin on his chiseled features. "It'll be like that with you on the sparring tourney later in the week. Hope you're ready." His tone was almost cheerful, playful. Now that he was in some sort of battleground, as jolly and as "for fun" as it could get, it seemed like Izaic was dropping a bunch of his barriers.

"I have a new toy that I am just as eager to try out on you. Hope you're ready to taste the mat yourself." Celeste answered, finding a puzzled smile creeping up on her features. She shifted her weight uncomfortablly then, finding that she was actually excited at the idea of being able to use her full potential on a fellow proselyte. Usually she found herself holding back, at least a little, in an effort not to actually injure the people she sparred with. With Izaic... she would feel no such restraint.

She folded her arms over her breasts quickly and gave a cough as she turned her attention on Inarin. "Weights?"

Inarin flushed. "Ah... yeah, Iza lent me some... some weights to wear, to help me... to help build up strength." He looked up at Celeste over the top of his cup, unsure what to expect of her reaction.

"Oh." Celeste gave another puzzled smile before something clicked in her head and the smile became stunned as she looked back and forth between the two males. Well. That put a different complexion on things. She squirmed in place again and coughed before saying, in a slightly slightly hoarse voice, "Well, I'm sure that is helping. Umm. If you two will excuse me, I'll go find out how Aaro is doing?"

She'd hesitate before going though, not sure if Inarin Wanted to have a private conversation with Izaic.

"Oh! I'll..." Inarin hesitated, glancing from Celeste across to Izaic uncertainly. "I- I guess I'll see you around, Iza?" The younger proselyte wasn't quite sure what to expect if he stayed behind, but didn't imagine that Izaic would particularly appreciate him lingering without cause. He'd only agreed to help him train, after all, so Inarin was still a little wary of the older boy's attitude returning to its norm outside of that context.

"Works for me. If I see you slacking off, or without the weights on now though, I'm going to put you through a wall. Got it?" It wasn't so much a threat as it was a joke, but Izaic's humor, being as dry as it was, made it hard to tell the difference. "And yeah, go on. I'll see you around the grounds. Hope you come out to the wrestling tourney." The much larger male would cross his arms before turning his back, an over the shoulder finger wave indicating he was heading out himself.

Celeste would link her arm with Inarin's as soon as they were out of earshot of the large male, leaning in to whisper against his fuzzy earmuff, "When did This happen? Izaic became Iza and you are letting him coach you? Inarin, I'm so happy for you!"

Inarin's cheeks grew hot. "I- I don't know, exactly..." he mumbled, "but on the day ... last wednesday, after ... I found out what had happened, and I was getting things from my room, I ran into him in the corridor. And ... well, he was kind to me. And I- I dunno why he offered to train me, but ... he did, and I'm still not sure if he thinks any better of me, but... it's a start?" He shrugged, shaking his head. There'd been other confusing elements to the exchange, but he wasn't about to mention that.

"Wow. Who would have thought it? Inarin, Izaic Likes you. He gave you something. Something other than bruises, that is." Celeste pointed out grinning a bit and hugging Inarin's arm tightly as they strolled towards where Aaro had ended up after the fight.

"I dunno if I'd go that far..." Inarin shrugged again, before smiling faintly, "but hey... tolerates is a step up, right?" he laughed nervously.

Aaro by then had left the ring. His shirt was back on and he rubbed the sweat off the back of his head with a towel. He was rolling his other shoulder forward, wincing a bit. Bruises were already forming on his jaw.

"Welp. That could have gone better." He grinned at Celeste and Inarin. "Good fight, though. I knicked him a few times." A jolt of pain went up his arm. "Got me pretty good himself, though. Hope this won't keep me from competing in some of the other tourneys..."

Celeste finally let go of Inarin and stepped towards Aaro, letting the younger male's assessment stand for the moment. She'd lay one warm hand on Aaro's less injured shoulder as she looked at his back, to keep him from turning to follow her. "Yeah, but it looks like you are going to need a hot shower before you stiffen up in this cold air. I can't believe they counted Izaic in the younger tournament like this. He's clearly an adult."

"Y-you should probably find an ice pack, or something, before you shower. F-for your shoulder, I mean," Inarin noted from behind his scarf. "It'll make it hurt less."

"I'll ice it till I get it looked at," Aaro nodded, "and don't worry about it Celeste. He's only a few years older. Doesn't have THAT much of a lead on me." He grinned. "I heard you heckling, though. I appreciate the support, but I think your dad has you beat in a yelling contest."

He straightened himself up. "You guys gonna watch the other fights? I'm gonna get somethign to eat at one of the stands. You can join me if you're hungry." He stuffed his tongue in his cheek. "Hey... have you guys seen Jimmy by chance? I've been meaning to talk to him one on one. Haven't since..." He cleared his throat. "...ah. Y'know. The rave."

After Rei had gone off with a stranger, Aurelion had told the masters of their adventure a couple weeks ago. While no one had gotten in any serious trouble (except Rei, who was in the custody of the Inquisition) they had all been punished one way or another. For Aaro, who already had a high demerit count, it had been a bit harsher. He was on the festival clean-up duty that very night, in fact.

"I've seen him in class, of course," Aaro continued, "but we haven't really talked about things. Been meaning to catch up with him."

"He vanished the day after and I heard later, from another source, Jimmy went off to visit those twins. The ones we met at the rave." At the mention of the twins, Inarin immediately burrowed further into his scarf with embarrassment. "Since then, I haven't been able to catch him alone either." Celeste frowned in thought, absently rubbing Aaro's shoulder in an effort to help him not get too sore to compete later.

"I... I talked to him in the library on the day after," Inarin chimed in hesitantly. "H-he seemed okay. We didn't ... talk for that long, but as far as I could tell he was alright."

"I put this in my report, but it didn't get shared yet. Malcolm, the guy in white? He... I think he is claiming to be a Caeruleum vampire. He is the one that killed those proselytes in the Square. After what happened to Inarin's family-- Aaro, do you have any family in the city?" She gave him a worried look then, nervous about sharing details of an investigation that was technically still on-going.

"Woah. Woahwoahwoah." Aaro gave Celeste a look halfway between confused and suspicious. His friend had just told him that the nice man they'd met at a rave two weeks ago was related to the boogeyman. "Caeruleum? Are you serious, Cel? There's got to be some kind of mistake." Rumors had been floating about concerning Nox and his identity, but the church was, ultimately, the only organization that had intimate knowledge of the killings. Most proselytes had just thought the murders to be a horrible act committed by a nefarious monster. A werewolf, probably. Many in the academy had attended the funerals.

He shifted a bit uncomfortably at the mention of what happened to Inarin's family. He hadn't seen his friend since ... well, since before nearly all of his immediate family had been murdered in their home. He'd been wondering how to broach the subject to see if Inarin was alright, but decided against pursuing it now. Not the right time.

"Alright. Well. Geez." He ran a hand through his hair. "No, I don't have any family I know of. Besides the Order, of course. I just..." He breathed deeply. "Look, I'm gonna go get a sweetroll. This is a lot to digest, and I always digest things better when I'm actually digesting something."

"It's not a mistake," Inarin said quietly. "Leon ... t-told me what some of our staff said. The... the thing that... That..." He trailed off, clenching his gloved fists. "He introduced himself as Malcolm. Malcolm Sucraix."

Celeste narrowed her eyes anrgily at Aaro when he not only openly doubted her word, but called her 'Cel' again. She remembered quite clearly telling him not to before. Though the circumstances of that telling made her cheeks heat with remembering it and so he didn't get punched in his exposed ribs for the liberty this time. Aaro would be suffering enough as it was.

"The funnel cakes are pretty good this year. Last year they were too soggy." She offered, willing to let the auburn haired boy get away with his transgressions. And changing the subject would likely be easier on Inarin too.

Malcolm Sucraix. Aaro would remember the name, for what good it was worth. If he was truly the culprit behind the Square murders and the Nuvellon massacre, then he needed to be stopped.

"Leon's on the job..." Aaro said almost to himself, "...yeah." His face brightened. "Leon's on it. He's one of the best knights in the Order. This whole thing will wrap up in no time."

He looked at Celeste, a hungry gleam in his eye at the mention of the cakes. "Soggy or no, with the whip and the side of cream... Ugnn." He rubbed his hands together. "I'm going. You guys coming or you watching?"

Inarin allowed the subject to change away without further comment, trying to ignore the knot of worry in his stomach. Aaro was right. Leon would ... Leon would be fine, at any rate. He took a deep breath, turning his attention back to the conversation. "I- yeah! I'll go with you. I should probably get s-something to eat, anyway."

"I need to go back to my father. Shall I let your Aunt know where you went, Inarin? If she is still in the stands?" Celeste offered, stepping back from the other two and giving them a helpful smile.

"Y-yeah, thanks, Celeste. I'll probably see you later." Inarin smiled to her, before turning back to Aaro.

"Come on In," Aaro swiped his jacket off a nearby chair, "there's hot sweetrolls with our names on them!" He pointed forward. "To glory!"
 
as written by glmstr

A few minutes passed, and the next round was just starting, most of those watching the fight were now either in their seats or were making their way to them now.

“In this corner,” the referee made a grandiose sweeping gesture to the northern corner of the ring. Standing there was a bald man with an incredibly thick reddish beard, which became a braid after jutting from his chin. He was somewhat heavyset but quite tall, likely weighing around 200-250 pounds.
“Hailing from Iveria, Albert Nicolas Bertrand!” The crowd cheered, and the man bellowed out a war cry of sorts which only made the audience cheer louder.

“And in this corner,” the referee swooped around the ring to the southern corner. Before him stood a tall and lean-built man, appearing much older than his opponent. His wiry black-and-gray hair extended just past his jaw, which sported a straw-like squarish goatee. He was dressed in slacks and a white button-down shirt, with a dark blue vest over it.
“Born and raised here in Lutetia City, Lucas Francis Lacroix!”
The audience cheered once more, Lucas smiled and waved back, and gave a thumbs-up to two people in the audience, a bluish-haired fair-skinned woman and a similar looking teenager, who waved back to him.

The two boxers stepped forward and shook hands.
“Here with your family?” Lucas offered a polite smile. The grin spread to Albert’s face, and the large man pointed to another part in the stands.
“Aye, my wife and daughter are here too.” His voice was low but jolly.
“Wonderful,” Lucas glanced to them, then back to his opponent, “We can all go out for lunch after this is over, what do you say?”
“I'll have to ask the wife, but I think she’d be okay with it,” he let out a hearty laugh and clapped Lacroix’s shoulder.
“Good luck,”
“As to you.”

The two boxers stepped backwards and put on their gloves, and a bell was rung: the first round had begun.

Both boxers stepped forward, and for nearly a minute they exchanged cautious jabs, prodding for weaknesses and looking for an opening in their guard.
Then, without warning, a left hook from Bertrand. Lacroix knew he wasn't quick enough to dodge it, so he threw a cross towards his chin. Flinching from the blow to the abdomen caused the punch to land slightly off target, but the glancing blow gave him room to breathe and get his composure.

The rest of the first round was rather uneventful, neither fighter wanted to risk a knockout this early.

Ding ding!
The fighters backed away into their corners and sat on wooden stools. Sweat was mopped from their faces with towels and bitters of water were given by volunteers, which both Lacroix and Bertrand readily drank.

A few more moments to rest, and the bell was rung again, time for the second round.

With a little less pressure to not get knocked out, their moves became more bold. Lacroix managed to duck under another left hook and land a multiple solid jabs. Bertrand managed a cross that struck squarely into Lucas’ jaw, which had him stumbling for a few seconds before he reared up to keep fighting. Lucas lands a jab and a vicious hook to Albert’s stomach.
The two exchange much more energetic blows for the rest of the round, and the two once again backed into their corners for a rest.

The all-too-familiar bell rang twice again, starting the third round.

Lucas jumped to his feet with newfound motivation,this was his time to strike with the momentum from last round.

Once again, the two boxers exchanged blows, similarly to last round.

But suddenly, Bertrand threw another slow hook, and Lacroix took his opening. Jab, hook, jab, jab, cross, jab, another cross, finished with an explosive uppercut that sent Bertrand backwards several steps.

My time is now.
Lacroix, with a running start, threw one last haymaker, which found its home in Albert’s head, sending him to the ground like a ton of bricks.

The referee leapt onto the stage and knelt beside Bertrand, quickly checking on him. Breathing? Check. Pulse? Check. Conscious? the ref gave a few gentle slaps to Albert’s cheeks, with next to no response. Hardly.

The referee stood up and grabbed Lucas’ wrist, lifting his gloved hand into the air. The crowd went wild, and the victorious boxer -for this round at least- stepped out of the ring and went back to join his waiting family.

Albert came to shortly, and he was helped out of the ring and he shambled back to his wife and daughter with a goofy grin on his face.
“Mr Lacroix wants us to have lunch with him and his family. Can we go?”

She gave him an incredulous look, but with a sigh and a laugh, "Yes, I guess we can."
 
as written by Krysis

Celeste was making her way to her seat while the first round between Mr. Bertrand and Mr. Lacroix was going on. Her progress was slow at first as she kept pausing to look. Then the bell rang and she jogged the rest of the way. Papa Hogan had acquired a box of popcorn and offered the half-full container to share with his daughter as she plopped back into the seat next to him.

Celeste accepted the box of popcorn, though she would take a moment to let Lady Nuvellon know that Inarin was with a friend getting a snack.

Papa Hogan pointed at the ring and spoke more quietly to Celeste, "These two know what they are doing. Pretty evenly matched. This is a pairing worth watching. See how they feel each other out? I bet they have fought before and this is to see if the other has learned something new in the meantime."

Celeste smiled at Papa Hogan explaining the same things she learned almost every day in the school. Then she shrugged, "Mr. Lacroix will really put on a show tomorrow, but I guess boxing is kinda like fencing in the sense of control and focus."

It was hard to get as excited over the older men though, and the Hogan pair merely clapped politely when Mr. Lacroix won the match.
 
as written by Script

As the morning gave way to the afternoon, the crowds at the Aurellae swelled with an influex of non-Monastery students, flocking to the festival as their school day drew to an end. At the same time, murmurs were beginning to spread of yet another tragedy - this time at a Church in the heart of Luskonios.

Over a dozen dead, the murmurs said. Two dozen. No, three. Torn apart, slaughtered by a demon. No, a vampire-- a werewolf! Several paladins were notably absent from their posts at the festival, drawn away to respond to the massacre. Or had they been caught in it? Preposterous - paladins were the elite. They weren't victims. Well, apart from poor Sir Chaumont the other week, but that had been an exception. Right?

The stories grew more exaggerated with every telling, the details more distorted by ignorance or agenda. Popular consensus was that the culprit was a werewolf (or two, or eight). After all, the vampires were gone, and demons didn't really exist. The Caer symbol found at the Lumiena Square killings? A copycat - scaremongering, probably made up just to terrorise the church and the public.

It was easier to believe that, than accept that those monsters were back.

____

As far as the Castellane twins were concerned, all of that speculation and worrying was far less important than the mockingly cheerful stare of one particularly oversized plush teddy. The bear was seated on a throne of smaller toys at the centre of a claw machine's glass case, looking out at them defiantly.

For the ninth time, the flimsy crane closed around the bear's head, only to slip straight back off as it made a pitiful attempt at lifting it.

Alvére let out a groan of frustration, slumping dramatically against the controls. "This stupid machine! I swear to god, I am this close to kicking the glass in and jamming that shitty claw into that bear's smug little face!"

"...maybe we should just leave it." Beside him, Valére was leaning against the glass, his arms folded.

"And admit defeat? No! I will not let the terrorists win!" Alvére declared.

"The... terrorists?"

"The bear!" Alvére turned and spun Valére around to face the machine, cramming their faces together millimetres away from the glass. "Just look at it! Look at its beady little eyes. Can't you see the malice? It's mocking us!"

"I think you're getting too into this," Valére remarked dryly, delicately extricating himself from his brother's grip and leaning back away from the machine.

Alvére glared at him, huffing. "One more try," he stated, "I will have his head!"

"Whatever you say, Al," Valére smirked.

Another coin clinked into the machine, and Alvére gripped the controls with intense focus. The claw slid slowly into place and began to lower itself down. It stretched around the bear's head, and he hit the 'grab' button. The claw closed, and rose.

The bear rose with it.

Alvére's breath caught in his throat. Beside him, for all his projected indifference, Valére took a sharp breath and stepped closer to the machine, pressing his hands against the glass.

"Come on..." Alvére hissed as the claw trundled towards the prize chute. "Come onnn..."

"You've got it," Valére whispered excitedly. "Can't you make it go any faster?"

"Shhh! I'm focusing!"

"You should let me try! You keep screwing up!"

"Nonono, let me have this!"

The claw was two thirds of the way there when the bear slipped unprompted from its grip and landed back in the pile. It settled fully upright, staring straight into Alvére's face.

A heavy silence hung between the two twins as they stared down at it. The claw reached the chute, opened to release its payload of disappointment, and reset itself blissfully unaffected by the tension in the air.

"... god damn it!" Alvére kicked the base of the machine forcefully, trying to suppress his wince as his toe met the metal. "Ff..."

Valére sighed heavily. "Let's just go, Al. We've been beaten. The bear wins."

Still muttering under his breath, Alvére allowed Val to loop an arm around his and lead him away. As they moved off, a small girl with a pair of braided blonde pigtails stepped up to the machine. Alvére shot her a grumpily sympathetic glance. "I wouldn't bother, kid," he said. "It's rigged. The bear will win."

Ignoring the confused look the little girl gave him, Alvére turned his attention back to his brother.

"Ooh, look, they do sculpted candy floss over there!" Valére said with a grin. "Let's get them to make us something lewd!"

A smirk was beginning to form on Alvére's face, along with plans of how to trick the stall-holder into sculpting something vaguely phallic, when a celebratory chiming sound began to blare behind them followed by a girlish squeal of glee. He turned around, only to see the girl with pigtails happily hugging the elusive bear to her chest. Its shiny black eyes were staring at him over her shoulder.

"What." Alvére took a step back towards the machine, only to be held back by Valére, flailing an arm in the direction of the bear. "How is that even possible? I tried so many times and she got it on the- the first go? Damn it, that bear is mocking me, it knows! It's sentient, I tell you! And it hates meeee. Whyyyy? All I wanted was to free you, you stupid bear! Traitor!"

"Come on, Al..." Valére interjected, smiling apologetically at the confused little girl as he dragged the still ranting Alvére away into the crowd.
 
as written by glmstr

"Now, for our next event of the day!" A new announcer's voice blared over the loudspeakers, the message echoing throughout almost all of Valentine Park, "The wrestling tournament! The first match starts in a few minutes, so make your way to the arena now!"

Inside the fairgrounds' arena, there was a ring that looked very similar to what was used for the boxing event not too long ago, as it was in fact the old one, just hastily cleaned for the next competition.

Off to the side was Lucas Francis Lacroix, drinking a glass of overpriced lemonade from a styrofoam cup with his wife and son. He was no longer sweaty from boxing, and he had changed into shorts and a t-shirt for his upcoming bout.
"Lucas, you just finished a fistfight with a massive Iverian. Are you sure you still want to wrestle?" The bluish-haired woman had a slightly concerned look painted across her face. Her husband was quite athletic, especially for his age, but the risk of spraining or dislocating something was quite real.
"Oh come on Kari, I'll be fine. If I get hurt, I'll just drop out of the fencing competitions," He gave a goofy smile, and then patted Camille on the head. Time before the first match was ticking, so he turned towards the ring and got ready to enter if he was called up.
 
as written by Ronin

"Now, for our next event of the day!" A new announcer's voice blared over the loudspeakers, the message echoing throughout almost all of Valentine Park, "The wrestling tournament! The first match starts in a few minutes, so make your way to the arena now!"

Inside the fairgrounds' arena, there was a ring that looked very similar to what was used for the boxing event not too long ago, as it was in fact the old one, just hastily cleaned for the next competition.

Off to the side was Lucas Francis Lacroix, drinking a glass of overpriced lemonade from a styrofoam cup with his wife and son. He was no longer sweaty from boxing, and he had changed into shorts and a t-shirt for his upcoming bout.
"Lucas, you just finished a fistfight with a massive Iverian. Are you sure you still want to wrestle?" The bluish-haired woman had a slightly concerned look painted across her face. Her husband was quite athletic, especially for his age, but the risk of spraining or dislocating something was quite real.
"Oh come on Kari, I'll be fine. If I get hurt, I'll just drop out of the fencing competitions," He gave a goofy smile, and then patted Camille on the head. Time before the first match was ticking, so he turned towards the ring and got ready to enter if he was called up.
 
as written by glmstr

"Well I'm glad to hear it," Lucas shook the man's hand.
Almost immediately, the older man was quickly eyeing up the knight, noting the change in strategy for how large he was. He was probably also a paladin too, so Lucas was going to need to be quick. Going for his legs came to mind, or otherwise upsetting his balance seemed to be a good ticket to a win, at first glance.

Lacroix smiled back at Robert, and backed into his corner after the handshake.
 
as written by Ronin

The fighters were announced, the bell rang, and the two contestants came together.

Robert was crouched, hands before him, eyes narrowed at his opponent. He circled him cautiously, keeping his center of gravity low, looking for an opening. He had the advantage of reach, weight and strength - remarkable pros, all things considered. Especially for wrestling.

He lunged - reaching out for the back of Lucas' knees, attempting to sweep him off balance and force him to the ground.
 
as written by glmstr

Lucas crouched slightly, but not as low as Robert. He needed to use his reflexes and speed for this, as he would never beat Robert in a raw competition of brawn. He was going to need to use as unusual of moves as possible to try to catch him off guard, as he delved through various avant-garde and improvised techniques he has either used or seen throughout his days.

Then, when the knight seemingly dove for his legs, he used his split second of time to jump up over his opponent's arms, folding up his arm and leaning backwards to try to elbow drop onto Robert's back.
 
as written by Ronin

It was an unusual strategy - leaping over the opponent to avoid the lunge. Robert almost wasn't sure how to respond. His body moved instinctively, adjusting almost automatically to the change in strategy. His torso turned as Lucas leaped, twisting so that he was belly-up and looking his rival in the eye. He landed on his back. As Lucas' elbow came down, Robert was ready and waiting. He caught the strike in the center of his chest and attempted to lock his arm, throwing him down onto the mat beside him - effectively slamming him into the ground from the air.
 
as written by glmstr and Ronin

The elbow drop didn't work, Robert was quick enough to react. Lucas had no choice but to fold in his other arm and brace for impact.

He shifted his weight to land at an angle, hoping to at least wrench himself from Robert's grip and roll a foot or two away to get a chance to stand.

____

Successful at bringing Lucas to the mat, Robert was unable to keep his grip on his opponent, and Lacroix slipped away.

Unwilling to let him go, the paladin sprang up to the balls of feet and threw himself at his rival, attempting to pin Lucas to the mat with his body and begin grappling him.
 
as written by Script

Inarin was worried. News of a fresh massacre at St Caron's Church in Luskonios had reached him as it circled around the festival. In the midst of people muttering angrily about werewolves, or whatever other 'likely culprits' they saw fit to preemptively tar with the blame, Inarin thought of the creature that had slain his family.

Another massacre, less than a week later? It had to be him. And Aurelion wasn't here. He was supposed to be here. The fact that he wasn't...

It meant he'd probably gone to St Caron's. That was his duty. To protect humanity from beasts like 'Malcolm'. Inarin had always had complete confidence in his brother's capabilities before now, and had scarcely entertained thoughts of losing him to one of his missions. But now it was different. A Caeruleum was different.

By the time he reached the stands to watch the wrestling events, the first match was already underway. He scarcely spared the participants a glance to identify them as he started up the steps to find his aunt. By comparison to earlier, his demeanour was far more subdued - his arms were hugged to his chest, and his face pale with worry. He wordlessly slid down into the seat beside his aunt, who looked up with a blink of surprise.

"Inarin? What's wrong?"

Was it that obvious? Inarin wondered, managing a slightly bitter laugh. "N-nothing, Auntie," he said, shaking his head. "I'm j-just worrying about Leon."

"Ah." Florianne nodded. "Then there is little I can do, other than to tell you what you already know. Aurelion is an incredibly capable paladin, and I have faith in his ability to take care of himself. And undoubtedly, he is not alone."

Inarin nodded. "Yeah. I know. Still..."

"Still indeed." Florianne placed one hand lightly on his arm. "Worrying is natural. But don't allow it to consume you. There's nothing we can do from here."

Once more, he nodded. Nothing we can do.

That was the case far too often.
 
as written by glmstr and Ronin

The brief moment Lucas had was just enough for him to scramble to his feet. His opponent once again charged at him, but he wasn't going to try the same trick twice.

This time, he slid underneath Robert's body, reaching up and pushing the knight along to throw him face-first into the corner of the ring.

____

Robert was a bit harder pressed to counter this maneuver. Before, Lucas had been the one in motion and thus easier to control. Now, Robert was the one moving and ungrounded. 200 plus pounds of muscle wasn't easily stopped, and the paladin found himself tumbling over his heels towards the corner of the ring. He landed in a shoulder-roll, swiftly pivoting around and looking for his opponent.

____

Lucas didn't stop after his throw, but instead he carried through with the force of the throw to bring himself to his feet, and he charged towards Robert, in an effort to tackle and blindside him as he was getting up.

Lucas decided not to attend any sort of dive or jump for now, as they were not working well for either side.

____

With the shoulder roll and balance recovery, Robert had more than enough time to get eyes on Lucas as he charged forward. Centering himself, the paladin met Lucas' collision just below his chest, his opponent's shoulder ramming into his diaphram. Robert grunted, the wind knocked out of him, but he kept his balance and remembered his training.

As Lucas moved forward, Robert's legs shot backwards out of range of his hands. He wrapped his arms around Lucas' chest, pushing down vertically with his immense size as Lucas shot forward horizontally. If successful, it would end up with Lucas pinned to the floor, Robert on top of him.

____

Jimmy had missed the first part of the Auraella, though not on purpose. Well, might have been slightly on purpose, but it didn’t really matter. He was a little sour that he couldn’t participate in the more physical matches thanks to his elbow that was barely healed up to even do what he wanted. Shaking off that thought, the Proselyte adjusted the backpack on his back and sauntered through the crowd, attempting to find one of his friends as well as the twins.

“Surely they’re here by now, right…?” He mused out loud, his emerald eyes peering through dark strands in an attempt to locate someone familiar.

“Damn, there’s a lot of people here.”

____

Lucas' arms were caught in Robert's grasp, and he quickly found himself plummeting towards the ring. He attempted to wrench himself free from his grip and roll out of the way, but he only turned about halfway when-

Wham!

Lacroix's left shoulder slammed into the ground, and an audible pop! was heard by both contestants, the referee, and others immediately outside the ring. The man yelped briefly in pain and tapped the ring with his right hand, to forfeit.

Camille winced at the sound his father made in the ring, and he was immediately filled with a combination of shock, rage and panic. He almost shouted, but the referee blew a whistle and leapt to the ring to stop the fight.
Robert immediately let go and backed away from Lucas, and the latter slowly stood up with the aid of the ref. His left arm was hanging limp, not visibly broken but it was twisted at an odd angle and Lucas seemed to have no control of it.

Lacroix was quickly escorted out of the ring, and sent to an onsite infirmary with his family.

____

Robert immediately removed himself from the hold as soon as the referee blew his whistle - was stopping even before the official entered the ring. He'd seen the way Lucas' arm had turned. That wasn't good.

As Lucas was led away, Robert was announced the winner of the match. The cheers were moderate, but far from ecstatic. No one liked a victory when someone else had gotten injured. The paladin offered a bow to the crowds, then exited to collect his things. He would visit Lucas later to check up on him.
 
as written by Script and Krysis

The heavyweight wrestling tournament continued on after a short interlude for a referee ruling on Robert and Lucas's match. Time ticked on, and more competitors took to the ring as the competition was whittled away.

Izaic was proving himself once more to be one of the most capable of the monastery's offerings at the festival, and won his first two matches soundly. His third match pit him against the captain of Lutetia City University's wrestling team, a black-haired young man named Edgar Favager, who came close to matching Izaic for both height and bulk.

It was as the two competitors were readying themselves to enter the ring, that trouble arrived at the tournament.

Alvére and Valére Castellane meandered their way through the sparse crowd at the base of the stands, clasping a suspiciously-shaped stick of candy floss between them. The twins wore matching belted pea coats, complete with faux-fur collars and lapels, as well as luxuriously woven scarves that were equally identical. Everything from their heads to their toes practically exuded designer opulence.

They were largely ignoring anyone and everything that wasn't one another or their snack, until Alvére turned to scan the stalls for a seat and his eyes fell on where Inarin and Celeste were seated.

"Iiiinariiin!" The enthusiastic call was loud enough to draw a few glances towards the two - certainly loud enough to be audible from the nearby ring. The twins themselves began to make a swift beeline up towards the group.

Inarin's eyes had widened considerably when he turned to find the source of his name being called. He'd almost forgotten about the twins. Well, not forgotten, but ... the memory had been filed aside to be pointedly ignored. But now they were drawing rapidly closer, and memories of their last encounter came flooding back.

Florianne raised an eyebrow. "More friends of yours?" she asked.

"S...sort of, yeah," he replied, praying that the pair would be less overwhelming outside of a party environment.

By that time, Papa Hogan and Celeste had been joined by a barrel shaped younger male. Remy was muscular, but the roundness of his middle overwhelmed the intended shape of his belly, so he was just one pillar of fat and muscle from hips to shoulders. All this was hidden in a pair of of stained coveralls, with paint and god-knows-what smeared into the heavy demin.

Despite all this, the three of them did look similar to one another as they bellowed at the ring below. Surprisingly, even Celeste was cheering on Izaic, her loyalty to the Monastery outweighing her dislike for the bully. The athletic girl stopped abruptly and turned to look when someone hollered for Inarin though, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Long time no see!" Alvére grinned wickedly as he and Val reached the end of the row of seats that Inarin was seated in. He seemed poised to continue, when Valére squeezed his wrist - an almost imperceptible gesture with their arms already interlocked - and interjected.

"Hey, In," he said, his voice - and smile - much softer. "Do you mind if we join you?"

Having been braced for the worst, Valére's more restrained greeting came as something of a relief. "N-no, it's fine. Ah, i-it's good to see you t-too." Still, there was no helping his stammering. All the consideration in the world wasn't about to put him totally at ease. It didn't help that he'd just noticed the somewhat inappropriate shape of their candy floss.

It seemed that the permission had flipped a switch in the calmer twin, as his smile bloomed into a grin to match his brother's. "Don't worry," he said, "we'll try to be good." The wink that followed seemed to place that statement in considerable doubt.

The pair wove their way around and settled in seats directly behind Inarin, leaning forwards onto the backrest to either side of him.

Celeste gave Papa Hogan's shoulder a squeeze to let him know that she was going to move before she was climbing over the back of her seat to slide into the narrow gap between Inarin and the next group on his aisle. Her look was friendly enough though, as she grinned at the twins, with only the slightest hint of wariness in her eyes.

Yes, they had helped to get the proselytes out of the rave... but they had also been involved in setting it up. And Inarin was stuttering again. More than he did with people he trusted at least. "Hello, boys. Didn't expect to see you in the cheap seats with the rest of us."

"The good seats weren't for sale," Alvére replied with over-egged tone of lamentation. He then paused, considering. "Though we probably could have got them anyway... but then we'd only have had Elisa to sit with."

He pointed a finger off in the direction of a cluster of seats on one of the other stands, where a number of recognisable figures were seated. Several of the Monastery's masters were amongst them, as well as a significant number of the Ecclesiarchy's clergy. Given that the latter were responsible for organising the Aurellae, it was unsurprising. What was perhaps surprising, however, was one of the figures seated amongst them.

Almost unrecognisable in a modest sunday dress, Élisabeth was perched to the right of Archbishop Voclain. She seemed to be paying no attention to the wrestling, instead focusing on the screen of her phone.

"Celeste, right?" Valére asked. "I don't think we talked much, did we?"

"Nobody was doing much talking, really, Val," Alvére smirked. "Our mouths were busy d-"

He was cut off as Florianne loudly cleared her throat, shooting the twins a glare. It was met only with a pair of cheerful smiles. "Hi, Miss Nuvellon!" they spoke in unison, offering her a wave.

"Uh, yeah. And no, we didn't talk much. I was mostly hanging with my older sister." Celeste answered truthfully, giving Forianne a cautious smile. The athletic brunette twisted to mostly face the twins, her knees brushing against Inarin's legs as she tried to give him what comfort she could.

"I did see you boys on the dance floor for a bit though. You had some pretty wicked moves." Celeste added in a very bland and innocent tone, one hand close to Inarin's in case he needed a hand to hold. Something about the twins circling behind Inarin had her in full protective mode, though she couldn't think why.

The twins snickered, exchanging a glance over Inarin's head. "We may have gotten a little carried away," Valére noted, "but I think everyone involved had fun."

"Right, In?" Alvére prompted.

Inarin, having happily allowed himself to fade into the background of the conversation, blinked in momentary alarm at being addressed directly. "Oh, ah... y- yeah, it was... um..." He tried in vain to search for a diplomatic end to that sentence, but coming up short. Val picked up on his hesitation, and cut in.

"New?" he suggested, nudging Inarin's arm gently.

"Y-yeah." Inarin laughed nervously. New was right. Amongst other things.

"I think I'm going to go and get a drink," Florianne said, rising to her feet. "I shan't be long." A moment later, and she had swept away, leaving the teens to talk without concern for an eavesdropping guardian.
 
as written by Script, Krysis and Emperor Jester

Celeste was slightly alarmed at Florianne's departure, though she suspected that her family was making the lady a tad uncomfortable. Papa and Remy continued to shout encouragement, laughing occasionally, but would be no help at all if things got socially awkward behind them. Too. Many. Males. That was the problem.

The brunette's smile was a little strained by then as she was starting to suspect something. Yes, she had seen Inarin with the twins. No, she hadn't seen him with any girls. Yes, she suspected that certain men had more than a casual interest in the fragile looking boy. No, she didn't know which way Inarin leaned. So finally she just asked, "So... Um... Are you two the reason Inarin had his collar up so awkwardly last week?"

"Celeste!" Inarin's voice was practically a squeak it was so high-pitched, his furious blush obvious despite the cold's effects masking it.

Remy's head snapped around when his sister's name was squealed. His dark blue eyes, exactly the same shade as Celeste's, narrowed in suspicion as he took in the three teens gathered around her. It didn't occur to him that she wasn't the object of interest.

Papa Hogan also looked, but was more subtle about it. He just turned and gave a neutral look. He had three daughters after all, and knew better than to try to enforce his thoughts on them.

The twins' smiles only broadened, and Alvére put a finger to his lips coyly. "Guilty," he replied in a sing-song tone, sliding his eyes across to Inarin. "You had your collar up? That's so cute."

"I- B- I- I wasn't-" Inarin stammered, shaking his head furiously. "I w-was drunk! I didn't mean- I'm not-"

"Guilty? Drunk?" Remy rumbled ominously, reaching out one meaty hand to grab Celeste's forearm. "That is no excuse! What have you been doing to my little sister?"

Papa Hogan put a restraining hand on his son's arm without looking. "She's an adult. If she wants to do things with boys, that is not our affair."

Celeste just looked confused and shocked, and then blushed and stammered out an incoherent denial.

"No no no!" Inarin practically choked in his haste to deny the accusation. "Y-you've got it wrong, I-"

"Yeah," Alvére cut in, shooting Remy a confrontational glare, "the only blushing bride here is Inarin." He grinned, leaning across to plant a teasing peck on the boy's cheek.

Inarin's words failed him and he devolved into letting out a vaguely indignant squeal.

Remy blinked a few times, then let go of Celeste's arm as if burnt. The very manly male looked confused as he scrubbed his hand on the front of his overalls and sed at the three boys. "You mean-- Umm. You boys-- Er."

Papa Hogan gave a surprising bark of laughter and patted Remy to turn him to face the ring again. Things were getting interesting down there.

Celeste just bowed her head in humiliation and mutters, "Inarin, can we just die of shame now?"

In the meantime, Izaic and his opponent were already on the ground. The proselyte had been ready to attack the college boy as the two of them scrambled to get leverage on the other, both rising to their feet, determined not to break their grapple. Izaic had him right where he wanted him, ready to dive into a technique of his own.

Then, a shrill squeak. His head would snap around, his eyes narrowing in on Celeste, two strange boys, and...Inarin. It looked like he was trapped, scared. Despite himself, Izaic took a step towards his classmate, distracted for the briefest of seconds. Thats when the captain used a Parterre Offense Technique, slamming a palm down on Izaic's back with one hand and reaching under the proselyte at the same time with the other hand, sweeping out the knee.

Izaic would give out a bark of rage as he felt himself hit the mat, hard, then again as the other boy practically jumped onto him, knees leading to pin his back down and drive the bully's wind out from him, taking the momentum further to wrap Izaic in a headlock with one arm, using the others to bend the proselyte's dominant arm behind his back.

The ref would begin to count...

As far as Inarin was concerned, dying of shame was well and truly underway. He was scarcely aware of what was going on in the ring anymore. One hand had come up to his cheek where Al had kissed him, and he continued to stammer incoherently over what might have been a continued attempt at denial.

Alvére had no such worries. Enjoying Remy's evident confusion far too much, he leaned back, nodding his head. "Yup! Through and through."

"All three of us!" Valére chimed in, equally amused. The twins re-clasped one another's hands, leaning in close to press their cheeks together in a way that was barely one step short of intimate.

Remy's face was often ruddy anyway, so no one could tell that he was blushing. He was determinedly staring down at the ring, though he was really not seeing it at all. In fact, he was thinking about Anything other than sweaty men locked in physical embrace. Things like his girlfriend, and the plumbing work he expected to do, and the destruction of the project that he and his brother meant to be working on next week.

Papa Hogan twisted to smile and wink at the boys, "Gotta have fun while you can."

Celeste wished she could just hide under the seats and not be seen again until spring at that, and gave her father a pleading look, "Can't we please just move past this...?"

"Your dad knows what's up, Celeste," Alvére remarked, winking back at him. The twins separated and returned to their leaning perches to either side of Inarin.

"Looks like Eddie's got this one," Valére noted casually as his attention briefly drifted back towards the ring.

"Huh?" Inarin followed his gaze down to where Izaic was being counted out. "Oh..." he frowned, as much disappointed with himself for not paying attention and missing what had happened as anything.
 
as written by Script, Krysis and Emperor Jester

Izaic would only break free by sheer luck and will. His foe had underestimated his strength training, and between the sweat, power, and rage that was the proselyte under him, he couldn't complete the High Dive hold, and thus, couldn't get complete control of his foe.

As he broke free, he'd smash back with an elbow, catching the Lutetia City's captain in the gut. The dark haired youth would give a pain "oof!" stumbling slightly. With a crouched spin, Izaic would dive at the boy's upper thighs, lifting him off his feet to slam his back onto the mat. Quickly, the proselyte would disengage from his foe, flipping him over in the process, locking his legs into the college boy's arms and falling back, performing a (monestary grade) double armbar.

There would be a single snap followed by a single scream immediately following this. A quick, forced removal of Izaic by the ref and a first aid responder rushed into the ring right after. Izaic had dislocated one of his opponent's elbows, and from the howls of pain and the honestly guilty look on the proselyte's face it seemed like an accident.

He hadn't done anything illegal, just a case of misjudging the force. They were young, it happened, but with the way the arm was twisted, it seemed like more like a complex dislocation, meaning there could be severe bone or ligament damage, and in the worse case, blood vessel or nerve damage.

Celeste had looked as well, her expression falling at Izaic seeming to be stuck. Then he was breaking free and she perked up. At about the time the other boy was being lifted, Celeste leaped to her feet with a cry of approval.

Remy was also standing, and so were the people in front of Papa, so the older man was yanking at Remy and demanding to know what was happening, or help to get to his feet as well and see for himself.

"Yeah!" Celeste roared and jumped up and down in place when Izaic won in such a dramatic manner. She didn't really care that the other boy was badly hurt in this case. When civilians went up against paladins (in training), they had to expect things like this to happen. Just like what would happen if dogs went up against wolves. She had no idea that her pleated skirt was doing interesting things as she bounced.

Inarin winced visibly at the sound of Edgar's scream, and surprisingly, so did both the twins. The pair grimaced, exchanging a glance. "There goes that career," Alvére remarked dryly.

"And that victory party," Valére added, sighing.

He couldn't leave, not yet, so Izaic just sat down in the corner, his shame at going too far momentarily forgotten. Two other things distracted him. Celeste's jumping, and the results there of, and the way the two eeriely similar looking strangers constantly seemed to fix Inarin with a hungry, predatorial eyes. Conflicting reactions inside his body, hormones struggling against the pure rage and protectiveness he was feeling.

Celeste blinked and looked down at Alvére and Valére, tilting her head in curiousity, "He was going to pursue wrestling as a career? What for? He's one of your rich friends, right?"

Papa Hogan winced when he finally saw what had happened, and would be leaning on Remy as the two older Hogans made their way down towards the ring. After all, Papa had wrestled in this same event every year until he became maimed, so he knew exactly the sort of emotional turmoil the kid would be going through.

Celeste, however, had an unusual lack of empthy for the situation, and it was only after the disapproving murmurs of the crowd reached her that she finally sat down with Inarin again.

Alvére hummed thoughtfully. "Not exactly," he replied. "He's pretty well off, I guess, but not on our level." The matter-of-fact way he said it made it plain it didn't really occur to him that the statement might be taken as posturing. "Isn't his dad a politician, or something?"

Valére nodded. "He was a few years above us at Delacroix," he explained. "Nice guy. Pretty smart, too. I think he's studying biochem."

"Way more into his wrestling than his studies, though," Alvére shrugged. "Sucks for him, I guess."

"Hey, is that guy staring at us?" Valére pointed a finger down at Izaic, tilting his head curiously.

It was then that the Captain would be carried out of the ring, rather than just helped. The ref would shoot Izaic a dirty look, signaling that he could leave as well. He didn't even bother to hold up the Proselyte's hand, instead, just gesturing to him.

He wouldn't even wait. Izaic was already moving towards the seats.

Valére raised an eyebrow. "Um."

"This should be good," Alvére remarked.

"Um, Inarin, maybe you should... Izaic gives you a hard enough time already." Celeste points out awkwardly, glad she was positioned so that Izaic would reach her first instead of being able to get directly at the smaller boy. The twins... well, they could fend for themselves.

"Wh- what do you mean?" Inarin asked, looking from Celeste to the advancing Izaic with concern. "Why would he..." he trailed off, glancing back at the twins. "Oh. Right." But it was a bit late now.

"Gives you a hard time, does he?" Alvére's eyes narrowed. "Let's see him try it, I say."

Once he arrived at their row, Izaic would begin to push his way through, stopping at Celeste. He didn't say a thing to Inarin or the twins, instead looking them all over with a furious glare. "Move, Hogan."

"Not till you rein it in a bit, Swigelf. You're still on whatever emotion you were feeling in the ring. Inarin can run circles around us in the mental arena, but he isn't up to our standards in the physical ones." Celeste answered, putting both hands up in a 'stop' gesture to keep Izaic back, unless he wanted to actually push her.

Pushing Celeste was never a good idea.

Though neither of the twins moved away from their lounging posture to either side of Inarin, both had fixed Izaic with a wary, warning glare. Of course, it likely didn't seem very intimidating at all to the far larger boy - the twins were scarcely any less slender than Inarin himself. Still, they didn't seem cowed in the slightest by Izaic's obvious anger.

"Uh... Iza?" Inarin looked up at the older proselyte worriedly. "Are... are you..?" Okay? Angry? The answer to both of those questions was pretty obvious, and so he let the question hang unfinished, unsure what to say.

Izaic's eyes would swivel onto the mousey Nuvellon boy, the protective rage rekindled anew. A snarl grew on his lips before dying quickly, as did the fire. Something seemed to suck it all out of the older brute, leaving him, for a brief moment, appearing hurt, though it was hard to tell if it was mental or physical.

"I knew I was wasting my time trying to be nice to you. Next time I see you, I'm taking those weights back. And maybe throwing you down some stairs." Despite the threat, there seemed to be no passion behind it, so, Izaic would immediately turn to leave right after finishing his thoughts.

Celeste rolled her eyes and took a few steps to try to touch Izaic's back (she couldn't reach his shoulder easily), "Will you just chill for a moment? Inarin didn't invite those guys. He is just too nice to tell them to leave him alone."

"Well, that's rude," Alvére noted dryly, raising an eyebrow.

Inarin had taken a few moments to recover from the shock of Izaic's abrupt return to form, but when he did, his voice was charged with a surprising amount of force. "What did I even do?" he blurted out. "I don't- I don't get it!"

"You mean you can't tell?" Valére, the closer of the two twins to Izaic, smirked. "Our elbow-snapping friend here is quite obviously je-" A quick spin of his heels and Izaic had darted around Celeste, despite his much larger frame, a wicked right hand hook smashing into the rich boy's mouth before he could finish that thought.

When Izaic's fist connected, several things happened at once. Valére lurched backwards from the impact, his lip well and truly bloodied. Inarin shrieked, practically falling over backwards as he propelled himself away from the swing that he'd been sure was coming for him.

Alvére leaped to his feet, unbridled fury painted across his face. "Don't you touch him!" he yelled, something beyond anger burning in his eyes. "I'll fucking kill you for that."

Izaic made several mistakes though, the biggest one was assuming that Celeste wasn't going to do anything about it, when he gave his back to her again and committed violence to people she was making an effort to protect. She was only half Izaic's size, but she was fast and much stronger than he might have expected. Her small fist to Izaic' kidney area would come half a beat after Izaic's larger hand did damage to Valére's face.

Next would come a kick to the side of Izaic's knee, if Celeste had the time for it.

Izaic would twist to the side with the impact, but that didn't stop it from hurting like a bitch. A mix between a roar and a yelp, stepping back just in time to narrowly avoid the kick, but also doing his best not to step on Inarin.

Alvére hadn't moved from where he stood, but it quickly became apparent that he wasn't idle. He spread his palms, and as he did so, a sickly dark green energy began to pulse around his hands, rising like a growing flame. An overwhelming sensation of debilitating nausea would begin to wrack Izaic's body, weakness flooding into his every muscle.

The older proselyte would almost double over from the combined effects of a kidney shot, being off balance, and a debilatating hex, though he was trained to be a soldier. With obvious effort, he'd turn to face Alvére, a steeled look in his eyes. He wouldn't fall or scream, at least not yet, and despite the fact that everything felt like lead, he'd begin to pull his fist up and back, Celeste being able to see his legs tensing as if Izaic was preparing to leap.

"No you don't!" Celeste grabbed hold of Izaic's bicep when he drew back, throwing her weigh and using the back of one of the bleachers as a fulcrum to pull him around on the side he was off balance on.

"You can it too, Val!" Celeste wasn't sure which twin was which, and so she naturally got it wrong.

Around them, people had already begun to react with startled shifts and exclamations when the fist-fight broke out, but Alvére's necromancy had prompted a series of screams. "He hurt my brother," he hissed, "he deserves what's coming to him."

The necrotic energy in his palms had grown in intensity, and its nature was made readily apparent when the gloves that the boy had been wearing fell from his hands, dissolving away into nothingness.

But before the situation could escalate any further, the energy around Alvére's hands abruptly vanished. In the same instant, the hex on Izaic faded - though its effects would linger for a few minutes yet.

"Castellane," Florianne's voice was sharp and authoritative, her own hand lowering from the gesture she'd used to dispel the younger necromancer's magic. "There is a term I am uncertain you are familiar with. 'Proportionate response'. One does not bring necromancy into a fist-fight, any more than one brings a gun."

Izaic would finally fall then, on top of Celeste no doubt given her pull and his current weakness. Somehow, he managed to muster enough breath for a last insult of "Its fine, he went down like a bitch anyway," before collapsing.

Celeste gave a startled shout when the strength went out of Izaic's arm and she got tangled in the suddenly heavy male as he toppled. Somehow, they ended up in a very awkward pile, but at least Izaic couldn't have gotten a concussion from falling on the meager cushions of Celeste's body.

She got small cut above her left eye though, where she had struck the edge of the bench before having the wind knocked out of her with the twin impact of ground and large male.

Alvére bristled with rage where he stood, clenching his fists. He didn't take his eyes off of Izaic for several long moments, before a groan from the floor drew his attention. His scowl vanished in an instant, and he dropped down to Valére's side. "Are you alright?"

"Do I 'ook a'right?" The other twin's lip was swollen, and blood ran down the lower half of his face. He winced with pain. "I 'hink I bi' my 'ongue."

Inarin, having practically disappeared beneath the seats in an attempt to evade the fight, shuffled over to where his two classmates had fallen. "A-are you guys okay?" he asked
 
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