The two of them sit there, like old buddies, at the bar. Chris on one stool, Corvus to his left, as the bartender serves them their shots. A kamikaze shot is put down before Corvus, while Chris picks up his B-52.
"Did you know that demons can't get hungover?" Chris tells his friend suddenly as they clink together their glasses.
"Gods can't get drunk on alcohol," Corvus replies. This is the fourth since moving on to shots. They both throw their heads back and down the drinks go. Chris licks his lips, the aftertaste of the different liquors still lingering in his mouth, in his throat. A new feeling for him to remember. Corvus on the other hand, seems unfazed by the taste or potency of his shot, already flagging the waiter over for another order.
"My turn," Corvus says with a slight smile to Chris, before turning to the bartender, "Your best bourbon whiskey for two please."
"I don't think that we should head strait to the glasses already...-", Chris tries to interject but Corvus waves it off.
"Nonsense," he retaliates, "Skylar thinks I'm out shopping, I might aswell spend the money."
They watch the barista pour the two glasses in silence, both brooding with their thoughts.
"I feel fuzzy already," Chris suddenly groans quietly, propping his head on his hands on the bar as the drinks are placed before them. They drink it down, Corvus sober, and Chris slightly red in the face. No wonder. An hour of drinking this stuff nonstop leaves anyone in this state. Drunk is an understatement. Corvus lets the last drop of bourbon roll down the glass into his mouth, and sets it down with such intensity, it makes Chris flinch a little.
"Tell me, Chris," Corvus starts, "What did you mean yesterday?"
The red fades slightly from the demon kings face, but it quickly returns as he attempts to seat himself up, not completely successful.
"I did wonder why you visited me two nights in a row," Chris mutters, words a little slow, "But I meant it."
"What did you mean?" Corvus asks back, "Repeat what you said."
Without turning his head, Chris glances to Corvus, gaze sharpening.
"Don't be stupid. Gods do not forget."
Corvus tightens his expression, as he closes his mouth, repeating the events from the night before, "We were talking about Adonis. And suddenly you said... That you love me."
"I love you."
"Exactly like that."
"Exactly like that?"
"Exactly like that."
Chris looks down at his empty glass, with a serious enough expression to fool anyone who might think he's drunk.
"But you're aroace, and I'm a king. I would never have said that."
Corvus' gaze softens, perhaps in relief, though he's unsure why. It is hard to be the one not reciprocating ones feelings.
"I suppose gods do forget," Corvus sighs, flagging the barista once more.
"I suppose they do."
Chris recalls yesterday. What was it, a fuzzy feeling in his mouth, the tint of alcohol. A margarita? They typically hit those last. That's when he said it. Chris smiles a small smile, a sad one even, opening his mouth to order another drink.
This weeks question is 'how do you feel here? What is this place for you?'. For once, it's not a question of the past, but instead, the present.
This prison is more like a mashup of prison and psych ward. There is no crying in your room, no slipping out from work, no secrets. Everything you do is monitored and closely documented. It is an experiment at the same time, or at least, that's what I'm starting to believe.
If one can document every single move, every single action and calculate it, is prediction possible? I feel like they're trying to constantly monitor us to try and predict our actions or the way we will develop the longer we stay here. Maybe what will trigger us or what will break us.
I feel analyzed here, challenged. I dont find that bad, since it keeps my thoughts active. I don't wish to lose my will and don't intend on giving up my freedom either. Your prison tries to rob us from it. Never seeing the outside world again is usually enough of a blow to break some over time. We have no idea how the world outside is functioning or what is happening. We are really as secluded as can be.
This place... it's a cunning little trick. A mental trick. I don't believe in it. No prison will break what I have. One day an accident will happen, and it will ruin everything here, and that is satisfying enough to know. Nothing is perfect. You can't perfectly predict my actions. Even in your special green room, you can't.
I'm figuring this place out, don't worry. And it's not like you can up your watch on us even more. I know I will land in solitary for writing and submitting this but who cares.
Corvus rows, stroke after stroke. It's a small boat he's in, a wooden rowboat to be precise. There is only space for two but he needs no more than that. It is dark all around, with a sky of hazy grey mist and clouds, and the water around him polkuted with souls. They all wish to cross onto the land he's rowing toward, but cannot leave the waters, glowing from below
Corvus dips in his oars back into the river with a gentleness of a floating snowflake, barely stirring the waters as he pulls to move closer to shore. There is not a single sound in this area. There is a figure waiting there, a man of lean stature and elegant posture.
Corvus doesn't utter a word as the boat bumps against the shore. The man steps in, and seats himself, holding his hands out to take the oars. Corvus obliges. Down here, the man has no face to distinguish his identity, but Corvus knows through that single action, that it is Chris. Chris Fang, the demon king.
Chris begins to row across the river, and Corvus watches quietly. This is what... the fifteenth time Chris has died? He always takes the oars from Corvus, and rows himself back to the living world. A demon king can't die unnaturally after all. They have to succumb to their own genetic failures, which has to be influenced by nothing. Such a death is nearly impossible to create.
As they reach the midway point, the wood begins to groan softly. It is aging once more. Corvus glances down toward the souls accompanying the little Boat. They collect around the hull, forming a faint glow from below. Chris continues dipping his oars amongst them, swiftly pushing the little boat on.
Corvus watches.
They are nearly there. The souls are departing from the boat, one by one, they drift off. Each represents the hosts will to live, making them really only fragments of the souls. Corvus could watch them forever. There's something haunting and mesmerizing about them, to have a will without a thought.
When the boat bumps the shore, Chris gets out first. Corvus glances to his friend as he steps onto the shore. Chris' features become more defined by the moment. The silky hair, the near black eyes, the mouth, nose, and ears.
"Come with me," Chris suddenly speaks behind him, holding out his hand. His voice carries across the underworld, and yet it's swallowed up at the same time. Corvus starts shaking his head lightly, but Chris doesn't stop there.
"Why do you refuse to let me into your heart?" He questions, "Why can you not love me?"
"I don't know," Corvus sighs, staring up to the mist hanging above, "I don't know if I can love or if this is love and I just don't see it. I don't think I feel what you do."
Chris swallows hard, admitting, "I don't know what you feel either. But I know when I'm with you... I want to stay, drink and see you happy. You could try at least."
Corvus grips his oars and dips them in the water. It is murky, and the souls have moved away, leaving them in even more darkness as before.
"Go home," he tells Chris, "What you feel is loneliness."
"You're so stubborn, won't even try something," Chris quietly says, voice cracking a little, "I died just to talk, and you turn away. When will you open up?"
"I don't know, ok?" Corvus suddenly snaps. Chris is too overwhelming right now. He hates when this topic comes. When Corvus turns back to face bis friend and say something, he's gone already.
All these feelings Chris has, he doesn't want them. He wants a friend, but Chris wants to go further. So childish of them two. He smiles a little, a tear rolling down his cheek.
He doesn't want to lose Chris as a friend, but he doesn't know how to continue from here.
"I almost thought I wasted my time here," Robert jokes, voice a bit of a grumble as he makes no effort to sound funny. She giggles and he narrows his eyes a little.
"If you bring me a fishy, I'll give you food and water for the day," Nyx tells him, "That's todays quest. Take it or leave it, I don't care."
Seems easy enough. He should have taken the fish from the fishing game.
"I'll fetch you one," Robert agrees, getting up. She clasps her hands together.
"Great! Come back when you have it."
Robert leaves the tent, the flashing decorations, smells and street noises filling his senses once more. The whole world seems brighter out here than in the tent.
He shakes it off and leaves, backtracking in his steps. The fish stand should be somewhere around...
He knows he's close when the road changes back to gravel. There's the balloon stand. Robert glances at it briefly. The lights are still on, the balloons still hanging and purple confetti litters the floor inside. He trudges by.
"Hello!" the young boy from the stand a few meters away calls out. Robert waves back, approaching the fish stand.
"You're back already," the boy smiles, "wanna play?"
Robert shrugs, remarking, "I got a, what do you call it... quest. I need a fish and these came to mind. Can I borrow one?"
The kid looks down into the pool of fish swimming around, still seated on his three legged stool.
"Can you tell me about the other games if I let you? I only got this far, and no one ever comes back here, so it's kind of lonely."
"Ok," Robert agrees. He takes an empty box discarded at the back of the stall and seats himself. He clasps his hands and the boy edges closer with his stool, leaning forward in anticipation.
"What's your name?" Robert begins.
"Nicu. I'm Nicu and I'm eleven."
"Alright, Nicu. Further down this road, there are more stands. One stand had balloons, and you could shoot darts at them. I got one and purple confetti flew around us."
"Oh yes, I heard that. I never knew that the popping was balloons," Nicu thinks out loud. Robert nods.
"Yes. And then... and then," he hesitates, "then I continued down the road and found a shooting game, with the rifle I have here. After that, I went to a big tent, and there were candles lighting it up, and carpets laying out the floors. That's where a girl asked me for the fish."
"Wow," Nicu breathes, completely hooked on his every word, "That sounds so fun. It's like a game quest."
Robert only shrugs.
"I have to do what I have to do, just like you. Can we play the game now?"
Nicu's face falters a little when he hears the question.
"I'll give you one for free," he offers instead, before holding out his pinkie, "If you pinkie promise to come back and tell me about the tent."
Robert nods in agreement, interlocking fingers with a little smile.
"I promise."
The boy happily gets up from his stool, grabbing a plastic bag. He fills it with some water from the pool and rolls up the sleeves on his shirt, wrinkling the dinosaur bones printed on them.
With a delighted yelp, he plunges his hands into the pool coming up with a fish.
"I'm really good at this," he tells Robert as it flops into the bag. Standing upright again, he holds out the fish, pride beaming on his face.
"So you are," he agrees, receiving the gift. Robert gets up to leave, turning back one last time.
"I'll see you in the morning, ok?"
"Yess, I can't wait. Can you bring me a snack too? I'm really hungry."
He nods and leaves. Such a bright and quirky kid. What did he do to come here? He glances back. Nicu seems like a kid who doesn't need to know what goes on beyond the fishing spot. Then again... The image of their first meeting comes back to him. A duel between him and the kid. Robert shakes his head lightly, grounding himself in the crunch of gravel beneath his boots and the carousel music playing in his ears.
As he walks, he lifts the bag to examine it closer. The fish swims in a circle, quite healthy looking, the golden yellow pale scales glittering in the light the stands cast.
A watchful gaze rips his attention away from the fish and to his surroundings. There are a few people around now, unlike before. Two of them, two women, are stood by an empty stall right ahead, eyeing him and pushing off of the post. They position themselves expectantly as he approaches.
One crap after the next here, isn't it. He grips the shouldersling of his rifle a little tighter and there's a moment of them standing there.
Their gaze is fixated on the bag Robert holds, the one with the fish in it. The left woman is wearing a dirty white tank top, skinny jeans and pearly earrings. Smoke puffs out of her mouth, which still has a smidgen of rosy lipstick here and there, as she speaks, a cigar pinched between her long fingers. Her sharp hazel eyes are partly hidden by sunglasses tinted black, slick hair pulled to one side of her shoulder.
" A newbie," the woman points out, voice husky and low.
"Can I help you two?" Robert asks, voice kept polite.
"If I may offer, let's trade," she offers, puckering her lips to blow out a ring of smoke to the side, glance cast off to the side eyeing the rifle.
"Your fishy there for information on how this game works."
"Can we have a conversation like adults and not spew demands around? You're not a kid, are you?" Robert criticizes, eyes hard. Any guy who'd talk to him like that would be on the ground doing pushups by now. She clearly has not been anywhere close to a place like the military.
"Oh sorry, tough guy, but rules are everything here. As long as I know more, you better behave and give me that fish... And the rifle."
"Sorry, but if you won't even introduce yourself, I'm not going to do anything of that sort," he responds,, unslinging his rifle. The other womans hand immediately responds, moving into her hoodie pocket. She's got to have a gun or something of that sort. Gun beats rifle in this closer distance. Maybe it's a knife. He hadn't looked closely enough at the bulge.
The woman with the cigar scoffs, "Kill us will you? You do you that a rule for pvp exists, correct?"
"Kinda sucks for both of us then, if you really want to continue confronting me then," Robert answers calmly, focusing on loading the piece with two bullets. Not too shabby of quality either. It should definitely suffice for this distance.
"Alright, fine," the woman with the cigar huffs, voice tilting a little. She shakes off the ash from the butt with a flick of her fingers. The other woman pulls out her weapon that had been concealed. The blade glints in the light. Wait, a knife? Robert moves back instinctively as she lets it fly through the air with a twist of the wrist.
"What the fu-" Robert curses out loud as it brushes the plastic bag, ripping a little hole in it. The fish flies out with the swoosh of the water streaming out.
"Didn't you want the stupid thing?" He questions, irritation evident. Maybe a dead fish works too. One glance at the duo tells him that that was their trump card of sorts aswell. To be honest, the silent woman was quite a good shot for the distance between them.
"Don't worry, you're as good as dead now," the woman with the cigar laughs haughtily, "Thank you for your participation."
His mind races. What... Is something supposed to happen? They watch the fish flop around on the ground, all the water disappearing between the cracks of the gravel.
One moment passes. Another. The fish flip flops and the music plays. He watches them carefully as the cigar lady visibly swallows, licking her lips in growing anxiety.
"What...," the woman questions quietly, glancing around. Her eyes are frantic as she looks.
With two clicks his rifle he raises it, aiming right at them. With an instant, both of them freeze up a little.
"Wait," the second woman in hoodie speaks up for the first time, "We have a lot of tickets since we've been here from the start. If you know anything, I wouldn't shoot. I'm willing to talk."
"Why the frick are the guns not activating. The stupid fish is dead," the cigar woman mutters. He glances to where she's looking. The lasers set up all around the place stay still, and yet she still looks to them expectantly.
"Explain. Why did you want the fish? Am I supposed to have died?" Robert demands. Right when the quiet woman is about to speak again, the cigar woman interrupts, "Shut up, Ell, I swear. Look, just get yourself another fish. No harm done. Now..."
She's turns her feet, shoes giving away the intent with a crunch against the gravel.
"Halt!" Robert calls out, immediately lunging forward to stop the woman from fleeing. She, in turn, pushes 'Ell' in his way, and she collides with him with a yelp.
[The following is an interview taken from the magazine “Hermes” from the month Martius. It is documented by the journalist who goes by Stolov and his interviews are in almost every monthly edition]
Tell me about yourself
My name is Chris Fang. I am a middle-aged man on paper and work for Camasoz as head of the weapons and crafts department. To summarize, I take care of inventing and developing the tech Camasoz uses. I’m the guardian of my cousins daughter and also am temporarily caring for a few other nieces and nephews, as they currently don’t have a guardian and I, as head of the family, have responsibility for them. I also am a conductor in my free time and, though I dabble in many instruments, professionally played the violin and the organ back when Camasoz wasn’t as big as it is today.
Who would you side with? Solaris or Camasoz? And why?
As mentioned above, since I work for Camasoz, I of course side with the organization. Additionally, the head of Camasoz is a good friend of mine and we share ideologies, at least for the most part. Camasoz strives for a greener, more sustainable way of life, in harmony with nature. I’m glad that many nations agree with us, and we’re able to turn so many heads, but our job isn’t done until everyone understands how essential these changes are. Even though we might not live to see it, I don’t want to leave behind a wasteland, but instead, a stable cycle of nature that people have reintegrated into. We aren’t the only species in this universe after all.
What are your thoughts on the massacres from Camasoz?
Humanity has changed so much of the earth, and it’s messing things up. Leaving it to continue wreaking havoc is like bringing in a foreign disease and not taking responsibility. I could dress it all up for the press and all, but to be blunt, I grew up in a beast kill beast world. This is just a different version. It’s interesting that Solaris cares about that, but no one raised hell when another war broke out because of some religion or ownership feuds. They were too common, I suppose. Or maybe it was because we’d prefer living in a bubble. What Camasoz does as an organization is not criminal, either. We do not take hostages and misuse them. The opposite, really, we take in those that are willing to adjust, no matter what their background may have been. I know this has stirred a lot of debate, but it is how we work and what the countries we work with support. I’m a believer in second chances.
What do you hope Solaris will do if Camasoz does get sued and gotten rid of?
That will not happen, but if it does, I know what they will do. They will try to give people their views of luxury back. Money will begin to dominate again, and the rich will get richer once more as all nature suffers. All that Camasoz worked to establish will quickly be used for profit and destroyed, infrastructure rebuilt and the internal time of how long earth can sustain itself will tick faster once more. Before we began, you wouldn’t even notice the ticking, it went so slowly, but now it’s a metronome guiding into the last pages of an encore no one asked for.
The smell is stronger here, one of food. Warm food, baked food. Robert’s stomach grumbles a bit. He had smelled this upon entering aswell, the waft of fresh baked goods. Following his nose, he walks down one of the streets. It’s strong. His eyes go to the first stand that’s open, only a handful of meters away. Robert approaches it. The smell is definitely from here.
“Welcome, welcome,” the vendor greets, a teenager who jumps up from her stool when she notices him stop, “I’m Lissa. Do you want to play this game?”
Robert glances at what Lissa’s table displays. There are three bowls face down on her table, though no food in sight. It must be underneath the long tablecloth that’s draped over the surface.
“It’s a cup guessing game, correct?” he assumes. She nods her head.
“Yeah, exactly right,” she confirms, “And there are no consequences for the rounds you lose before you win. When you win, you get a loaf of bread.”
Robert sits down.
“Can I look under and at each bowl beforehand?” he asks. She gestures for him, giving him the green light. Lissa is acting a lot more like what he’d expect at a normal carnival. The music in the background is almost serving its purpose to make the scene more cheerful if he were to forget that this is a slaughterhouse. The sweet smell of bread, the colorful lighting decorating her stand, Lissa’s relaxed stance, all normal things. Vendors, if at the right stall, don’t seem to have it too bad after all, it seems.
Robert picks up each bowl and examines them. All three have a red coating with matching white decorations. There is a blue rubber ball underneath the middle bowl, shining in the lights. His gaze pauses on the bowl that the ball had been under. There is a small ‘x’ etched into the top when it’s face down, only visible because of the play of light and dark. A cheat.
Robert places the middle bowl back on the ball and returns the other two next to it, just like he’d found it.
“I don’t think I want to play this game,” he sighs, stepping back again. She furrows her brows, clearly confused with his sudden withdrawal.
“Do you not trust me?” she asks, “There really are no strings attached, and I don’t play dirty tricks.”
“I’m really fine,” Robert assures, turning away, “I might come back later.”
Robert leaves under her disappointed gaze. She seems too comfortable here, so even if what she says is true, he want’s confirmation from someone he trusts first. Maybe Era. He looks left and right. Now that he’s thinking about it, he doesn’t even know where she went off to. He’ll come across her at some point. A movement catches his attention. A person entering a tent. A tent among stalls. Now that he thinks about it, he’s passed one or two, but they must be quite scattered.
Robert heads to the tent, shouldering his rifle. The ringing of a bicycle startles him for a moment as he walks. Only a recording. When he glances back to the tent, he sees the same person leave. The man’s hair is pulled back into a small little ponytail, a matte black in color. The outfit is equally matching his elegant features, a suit and button up shirt, as if he’s ready to go to a high end restaurant. Definitely unbefitting of the situation they’re in. The man heeds Robert barely a glance before going in between two empty stalls and turning the corner, now out of sight.´
“This place is full of eccentrics,” Robert mutters. Kind of rude of the fashionable stranger. He peers into the darkness of the tent that the man had just entered and exited within the minute. The lighting inside is much different, lanterns with fake flames hung up in the four corners, leading it to seem much darker than outside. Perhaps it’s the ambience of the warmer hues of lighting.
There is a table set up in the middle of the tent’s space, standing right atop of a large rug. The whole inside is covered with rugs, every inch of ground. The scent of lavender and honey reaches his nose, the source being lit incense sticks placed in a small holder in one corner. A small radio plays soothing tunes, ones of rain falling and slow violin strokes playing along with it.
He can’t see what is on the table, but he does see the teenage girl who is seated behind it. The devs seem to have a thing for teenagers. Suppose they are the most reckless and fun to watch.
“Hello there,” the girl welcomes, “Are you just going to stand there, or come in?”
Adonis cautiously peers into the darkness of the cave. The walls are moist, and he can hear the echo of water dripping from inside.
“Are you sure that she lives here?” He questions Skylar who is stood beside him.
“You’re the one with the letter from Corvus,” she responds with a shrug, eyes scanning the interior. It’s too dark for either of them to see very far, but it is big, that’s for sure. Adonis glances down at the paper he’s holding, turning in a way that the light from outside still falls onto it. He reads out loud what it says on it.
“Next, I want you to meet Robin. She’s usually in the cave resembling a heart by the coast of Africa. The ship knows the way there.”
“Well, this must be it then,” Skylar confirms. He still hesitates, calling out into the darkness, “Hello?”
“No one’s going to answer-,” his friend starts before pausing. Two glowing yellow eyes appear in the darkness, a vague laying shape outlining it. Her hand goes to the knife by her side.
“Are you…, uh,” Adonis starts, “Robin?”
The eyes suddenly disappear, making him glance around. Where is the figure?
“I am, yeah,” a girl suddenly speaks behind them. Adonis freezes in surprise while Skylar whips around, fully ready to punch something. Her muscles relax when she realizes there is no danger, only a human. Her hair is curly and black, with kind, dark brown eyes. Robin wears only a tank top of sorts, with a material that reminds Skylar of leather, and a skirt that reaches her knees. She has a feathery speckled brown shawl or something around her neck, hanging down loosely.
“I’m Adonis,” the boy hastily greets, overcoming his previous surprise. Skylar stays quiet, sizing Robin up mentally.
“Ah, the ship boy, right?” Robin recalls with a smile, “I thought you’d be coming soon.”
A soft growl is emitted from within, turning the attention of all three back to the inside of the cave. There are the glowing eyes again. The creature stands up and draws closer. Adonis nearly stumbles back in surprise when he recognizes what it is.
“Oh, don’t worry about him,” Robin laughs, noticing his reaction to the male lion that appears before them. The mane isn’t fully grown out yet, making it a youngster.
“So you just keep lions as pets?” Skylar finally speaks, questioning Robin.
“No,” the native immediately denies, voice becoming more serious. Adonis gazes at the beautiful and luscious lions fur. It’s quite the imposing beast. Robin further explains, “This lion currently has no pride. He’ll have to fight for one once he’s at the right age, but for now, I’ll let him shelter from the hunters here.”
“Hunters?” Adonis echoes, “As in… Poachers?”
Robin nods, expression grave.
“The one race that takes lives for pleasure has come out here. They won’t get a hit as long as I am here.”
“You can’t be everywhere at once, though,” Skylar criticizes and Robin takes a deep breath, staring out at the open sky behind them.
“You’re right. But I’ll try. That’s my job here, as an immortal, you know?” she explains. Adonis watches the lion leave, stepping out into the sunlight and further, slowly walking away.
“I see. You are like a protector of wildlife,” he realizes. Robin nods her head, confirming.
“I’ll be on my way now,” she continues, “There is more to be done today. Thanks for dropping by, though.”
Skylar and Adonis both say their goodbye as she also starts walking away. A light wind blows and they watch as her shawl opens up and grow with a burst, feathers flying.
“They’re wings,” Skylar breathes, eyes lighting up. Robin flaps them once, and suddenly disappears from view. Adonis scans the sky, but he can only make out the faint dot of her before it vanishes too. That is definitely the most effective travelling he’s seen so far.
Adonis turns back to the now empty cave, remarking, “That was kind of… anticlimactic.”
Skylar shrugs as he pulls out his letter.
“At least we visited her, you know,” she points out, “But it was a long voyage getting here for only that to be our interaction, yeah.”
Once they reach the end of the of stalls, he finds himself in a square, a plaza of sorts. There is a fountain in the middle, just like Tar assured him, with a marble statue decorating it in the center. It is of a man who is getting stabbed by another with a dagger. The insignia writes 'et tu brute?'
Caesars death.
"I don't think you want to watch me wash my shirt," Robert remarks, making her smile lightly. She moves away, to the other side of the fountain, where they cannot see eachother. As he starts washing his bloody arms and face, he questions her, "Isn't the rule of no teaming still in place? We could both die."
"Nay," she responds, "Since no vendors are actively watching the both of us, it's fine. That's the extent of the rule, but not everyone knows."
There is another moment of silence as Robert continues to wash himself.
"What's your story?" Tar suddenly asks, making him pause his washing. When he doesn't immediately reply, she gets a bit encouraged, explaining, "You know, why are you here? What made you insane enough to come here if you know the mortality rate of this one? You said you're new, right? So you're in the last batch, this week. You knew what the games and the stakes were so..."
"To be honest, I didn't, " Robert interrupts, slipping out of his shoes. The asphalt is warm to the touch from underground pipes in certain spots. They keep the fountain water warm, a nice temperature, especially to wash your face and blood. The tunes of the carnival seem to be quieter here too, like none of the speakers are directed to the center.
"I was picked up by a black suv, and the driver asked whether I wanted to participate in a game that could cost me my life or make me a millionaire. So I got in and signed the papers. They dumped me here soon after, just about 45 minutes ago or so," Robert explains.
"Ah," is all he hears from the other side. He himself is washing away the blood on his legs, letting it run into the fountain. Then he peels off the vest from the vendor he'd dragged here and starts washing it.
"Why are you here?" He asks. She lets out a heavy sigh, one he's familiar with. It's the same one he used to make when hitting a bar or two after a long day of drilling recruits, and sometimes in nights after narrowly avoiding shrapnel lodging into his body during an ambush.
"I'm here to take care of a kid who got himself into some messes. He's kind of like a brother to me," she explains, making Robert openly gaze away for a moment, distaste evident in his expression, as it's not like she can see him.
He comes across people like her often. They will miss their families, wish to go home, but Robert can only give them harsh words to ground them. It's always in situations like these that people start getting sentimental too, and it makes them unreliable. He can't have a soldier out there from whom he doesn't know if they will tough it up and throw that grenade or pull the trigger as soon as some sentimental thought comes into their head. Yes, they are good memories, but it is a careful scale to balance.
"It doesn't seem like you have someone you care of, judging by your silence," Tar remarks as Robert wrings out the vest. There is still a faint trace of where he didn't scrub properly, but the fountan now has a nice pool of diluted blood. He supposes it matches the statue.
"No," Robert admits, shaking out the vest. It looks like it could fit him, but he'll wait until it's dry.
Not to mention that his brother drove his mom to suici-.
"The kid I'm looking after... he's kind," Tar suddenly remarks, snapping Roberts attention back. Oh right. She likes to share information.
"I'm just about done," Robert tells her, putting his shoes back on, rifle on the edge of the fountain. The ammo is in his pocket now. He can hear her get up, and she appears just a moment later.
"I'll explain what I know about a few of the rules then," she starts, and he nods, head gesturing to the corpses.
"What about them?"
"Don't worry about those," Tar replies lightly. I see you already took her vest. Others will come and loot, then dispose of them."
He watches her, but doesn't decide to comment. Tar is the best shot to get information from for now anyway, so it's not good to doubt her.
"I don't know how much you know, but the basic goal here is to get 3000 tickets accumulated all together, amongst players. The biggest issue right now is that many of the vendors are players who played big, so they hold a majority of the tickets."
"Wait," Robert interrupts, "I thought it was 1000."
Tars face darkens at that. She clarifies after a moment of gathering herself, remarking, "That's what we thought too. But 1000 are added for every week we met the previous number. The reason this place is deserted is because we didn't meet it last week, on purpose mind you. Not everyone knows the numbers, but it was one life for every 100 tickets under the cut. According to statistics, those killed by the system only lose 50% of their tickets, and now that Kirin and Elaine are gone, we're still a little over 1000 tickets under the needed number for by the end of this week."
How does she know all these numbers? He supposes he won't get an answer even if he does ask.
"There will be a lot of players, new players, coming today, players that will get everyone killed if they play the wrong games. You have 150 tickets on your account, so no one will look to you," she further says, looking off. It seems to be toward the entrance of the carnival, so far away from where they are now, "But other newbies will be targets. I won't deny that I'll be keeping my eye out aswell. I suggest you do the same if we want to win this."
"I'll keep it in mind," Robert remarks. So that's her angle. She really is altruistic in a twisted sense. In the end, she didn't give him info on any of the games that are safe either.
A small smile cracks on his lips. He's always wanted to go to a carnival anyway, so it's more fun like this. Robert picks up the rifle and his new vest and, after checking the bodies of both corpses once more for anything useful, turns away and toward the sound of music playing and people talking and busy streets.
