2024-01-20 Cyrus Thorne's Dark Renaissance

Cyrus Thorne's Dark Renaissance

Participants: Adam, Alyssa, Amanda, Asenath, Avery, Mr. Chen, Kian as The Dark Scholar, Eliott, Gabriel LeSeraphin, Grayson, Lexi, Mark, Pris, Wayne, and Sarita, with Skarn and Cyrus hosting.

Location: Mount Sinai Memorial Park

Date and Time: January 20th, 2024 8pm

Summary: A Ren Faire with a dark fantasy twist.

As the sun creeps down over the LA skyline that can be seen from the park the last of the contracted construction crews pack up to leave--at least, most of them. A few dip off to change into more casual clothes and stick around. The vast park has been arranged into a faithful mirror of a 14th century European village. Convincing, when not closely inspected, plague-set corpses occasionally punctuate the freshly formed dirt "roads" that wind between the scattered handful of wooden buildings and market stalls, with many costumed merchants hawking their wares.

Central to the exhibit is a ring of packed dirt, surrounded by a wooden waist-high barrier held up on posts with only a man sized gap for entry and exit. Beside it sits a man at a desk wearing a large, garish red and purple cap with a peacock feather reaching like a finger to the heavens. Over his seat and the desk it's behind is a sign that reads, "Duels to Near Death - Signups Open". Of course the stack of legal paperwork next to the ringside official and the medical lean-to nearby with an out of costume paramedic ready and waiting belie the ominous tone of the sign.

One wooden hovel has the door boarded shut, with plague written sloppily in white paint across the façade of the small excuse for a home. The makeshift, impromptu dirt streets are patrolled by staff dressed in black robes with plague doctor masks wrought of iron.

In the center of all, not far from the fighting arena, stands a man in green and yellow jester attire. With an unseen microphone carrying his voice to unseen speakers throughout the park, he cries: "Hear ye, hear ye! By the King's decree, be welcome to this most esteemed celebration! The dread of many, the knight of darkest deeds, Thomas Johnson will take challengers in the ring! And soon, your master of ceremonies Cyrus Thorne will be among you. Tonight will be a night not soon forgotten by the fair folk of the city of angels. But tonight, let us revel as a city of demons! Welcome one and welcome all to Cyrus Thorne's Dark Renaissance!"

"I'm not really sure, just yet. Maybe if it's too crowded..." Amanda seems to have arrived in the middle of a conversation. ... with no one? Or, no. Apparently with her bird, as she is half-glancing at the parrot perched on her shoulder. Apparently he is her sounding-board for this strange and macabre event, as she continues, "Well, we'll give it a try, shall we? If it's too much, we can always just slip out."

Major, the little 'Victorian-dressed' parrot on her shoulder, says nothing in return. Even he's giving her a curious side-eye, though that's probably because she's talking at him.

Having made the decision, Amanda starts to move among the crowd, the hood lifted for the moment to give the best possible 'costumed' look between the shadowy cloth and that 'skeletal doll' face that she's wearing right now. Her eyes slowly skim the crowd, taking in the variety of faces, costumes, styles, groups, and other things. Especially the costumes: like many people, she's got her camera. However, *un*like many people, she's not snapping pictures willy-nilly. She's one of those people who's actually polite enough to *ask directly* before taking the pictures. And while it's always the costumed folks, it's not always the particularly fancy and out-there costumes. Sometimes, it's just the simple put-togethers that seem to be catching her eye. And for those who don't want to be photographed? Always the same: "No problem! *Great* costume, though! Love it!" and Amanda's moving on.

Mark's here. But he hasn't dressed up. No one around to talk him into costume, and though it's a coin-flip whether he'd wear one or not - tonight he just didn't. Not yet anyway, who knows what the near future will bring. He's wandering around the 14th Century European village with his hands in the pockets of his brown leather jacket. Just some old dude in the City of Angels hanging out and looking around at things. There's no Arthur with him, maybe the old British chap is at an ale tent trying to bag a wench, but for his part, the lawyer looks contented enough, occasionally smiling wryly at a particularly good costume. Though he is wondering of a staff member nearby, "Challengers in the ring at what?" Jousting? Boxing? Grecan wrestling? Donut eating contest?

There is no grand entrance, just the ebb and flow of arrivals. Two figures move through the press of bodies, neither seeking attention nor drawing it to themselves beyond the costumes.

The Dark Scholar looks to float rather than walk, his steps unnaturally graceful, his presence slipping through the crowd like a specter of a forgotten age. The faint clink of chain against leather is lost to the ambient noise, the heavy robes coiling around him as if alive. One hand holds fast to his traveling companion, whoever the mystery woman may be, while the other grips a massive, timeworn tome, its weight effortless in his grasp. The hallowed Voice echoes from behind the mask, "Are we prepared for this?" The glint of violet eyes flickers from behind the mask with the lights of the festival.

As darkness descends over the park, guests and interested parties start to filter in, and one such is Gabriel. The fellow uses a wizard's staff with goat skulls to help him get around, his gate uneven and deliberate in the way that suggests the staff is a most necessary item for support. Rusty red robes drape down his whole somewhat bent over body, the hood leaving parts of his face cast in shadow.

He looks around for people he knows and, spotting Mark in his 'I am a tourist' outfit, heads on over to him, grinning, and asking in a croaky sick voice, "Alms for the poor, sir. I have so many buboes..." A beat, and then, "Hey Mark."

Eliott is easily lost in the crowd, a small, thin figure in unremarkable clothing. No costume for him, just his usual hoodie, supplemented by a pair of fingerless gloves and his scarf swaddling the lower half of his face to protect against the cold. He could be anyone, really, just another normie come to experience the attraction.

Alyssa arrives in her bright crimson robes, the Latina wearing a gentle smile as she arrives to the sickness-stricken village. She carries a more straight posture, arms clasped under sleeves and single visible eye flying over the décor with a bemused smile. The bootprints she leaves behind in the dirt were not quite fitting, but her costume budget was pretty limited. What was not limited, however, was her budget for gear to be purchased here. The woman was discerning as she hovered between stalls, looking for quality material of some sort, but not yet making a purchase. Her eyes occasionally wander to the ring, and the table before it with a tempted, eager bite of her lip. She waves over meekly to Eliott upon spotting him in the crowd, keeping a pleasant ease about her.

"I swear to fuck if.... " Asenath's voice might be heard by those near as she wanders toward the faire; it might not. If it is? The shape and heft of the woman's words matter little, and do nothing to obscure the simple truth of her voice: it's low; it's sultry; it's enchanting in the way some voices are that just demand attention. And if attention is garnered, by voice alone? The rest of her absolutely commands it. No actual tavern wench has ever looked nearly as ethereal in her beauty, nor as sharp. But who is it she's talking to?

That would be the 6'6" shadow nearby, who has not bothered to dress in any way for the faire and has instead retained his usual black-on-black suit that screams 'bodyguard' or at least 'security.' He's nodding along with Asenath's mild complaints; at least until she draws to a pause and looks over the area, eyes narrowed behind the sanguine tint of eyeglasses that TMZ at least has told every she wears due to light sensitivity. How very rock star of her.

"Well, anyway. This should be a fucking experience. One way or another." And with that: she continues forward, leaving the big hulking security guard to follow after the goth rock star who appears to be his principal. Her gait is slow and rolling; her entire mien one best described as 'bitchy seduction'; and it doesn't take long at all for her to draw near enough to some familiarity to call out, almost drily: "Mark! Leave it to an attorney to show up to a plague in a suit!" She almost sounds jovial, or at least genial, as she approaches the attorney; and nods, too, to Gabriel as she comes.

Avery moves alongside the tall figure that is the Dark Scholar, hand in his as though it was part of some unspoken ritual or perhaps a tether to keep her from straying too far. This is a plague zone, after all! She's draped in layers of deep forest green and obsidian black, a robe that neither billows nor clings but settles around her like the hush before a whispered secret. The hood is worn up, casting a soft shadow over her face, though it doesn't fully conceal her features. Hearing the amplified voice that's welcoming everyone, the faintest hint of a smile forms, then her head tips back to look up at her companion for the night. "We're prepared for anything," she remarks lightly, confidently even before her gaze returns to take things in with great interest.

Wayne pads into the scene on light feet, blending in with the arrivals in costume. He is dressed as a barbarian warrior of some sort, perhaps with a Nordic flavor given the presence of runes stitched onto the leather pieces he wears. The fur cloak that floats behind him is probably not real fur, and neither is the helm made of a wolf's head. Still, they look pretty convincing at more than two paces. Alongside the barbarian is his trust war-hound, who is quite possibly the ugliest pitbull anyone has ever seen. She's scarred and mangled, but those scars look old and long-healed. She trots next to her master merrily, eager and happy.

The man's eyes scan the area; he seems to keep a special eye on the Dark Scholar, watching the tall figure with his lady companion with wariness. Even now, he's on duty, it seems...

He does grin to himself at spotting the stunning form of Asenath, because... who wouldn't?

As Gabriel approaches Mark about his buboes, Mark gives a slight wry grin, "You should take some penicillin for it." He turns to look at the younger more limpy man, and offers, "Good to see you again. They really put some effort into all this huh?" Then Asenath is approaching, swearing to fuck and looming at an unreasonable height with her equally unreasonably tall security. Glancing her outfit over he says with a small shrug of his shoulder, "I almost wore a costume. But I waited too long. I didn't want to half-ass something, you should always whole-ass things. Maybe next time."

Lexi is here. That much is fairly obvious, because she tends to catch the eye a little for various reasons. Maybe at least one is the vivid pink hair. She's strolling along into the dark ages, middle ages, something like that? And you can almost smell the bubonic plague from here. She blink blinks, wandering along and peeking at pretty much everything as she passes by, looking a little concerned briefly until she does look closer at one of the 'bodies'. And then carries on. There's a little click-click of green heels, hips swaying casually as she makes her way.

Seemingly oblivious of famous and important faces yet, she eyes the CLOWN --- Jester... Same thing right? Warily for a moment.

Eliott catches Alyssa's wave and brightens. He disappears again for a moment, someone stepping between him and her, only to turn up at her elbow. While that scarf hides most of his expression, his twilight eyes are wide behind the veil of his terrible haircut. "Have you ever seen anything like this before? I had no idea that people were going to wear costumes. You look very nice."

Asenath's salty approach, and then declaration that, of course, Mark would be dressed for the plague in casual attire, elicits a grin from the fellow with the wizard staff. When he gets a nod, he gives a polite little bow back to the woman, and then he hears the rattle of chains. The Dark Scholar and Avery practically float into view, and the fellow in the red robes just stares. "Oh.... wow...." he breathes, holding onto Mark's shoulder for a bit of support. "There is no penicillin up to the challenge of my misbehavior, Mark." Back to the conversation, and he leans more on his staff, freeing the attorney's shoulder. "Mrs. Demoncouer! How lovely you look, and how cheerful!"

"Next time, I'm dragging you to a tailor so you can really impress your next young intern." Asenath's lips - so accustomed to a vaguely bitchy pout - curve into something that straddles the line between grin and smirk, amusement and arrogance. The eyes behind her sanguine lenses sweep aside from Mark to Gabriel, and when the latter suggests she looks cheerful... well. For a moment, she actually does: the gothic rock star's head tosses back just a little and laughter spills forth past those oh-so-red and poutily kissable (if one fucking dares) lips.

"Cheerful, moi? Do be sure to tell my wife, if you would - she could use a good startle." No matter the joking, Asenath's tone is in fact friendly and companionable; or at least as much so as it ever is, which is to say that there will never not be some suggestion of haughty judgment in the woman's tone and mien, nor will there ever not be that subtle spice of a purr that could grow into so very much more. Both on stage and - better - off.

Amanda's costume-picture-taking is bringing her toward said Dark Scholar and his crew, as a matter of fact. Between Scholar and his party's remarkable robing, it seems a good chance to get a good group shot together, apparently. Skimming a glance over toward the food sellers, she informs herself (or the bird), "No, later. I'm not that hungry yet," as she's headed in the direction of Dark Scholar and Avery (and, apparently, Wayne, if he is indeed keeping an eye on things).

As she's approaching, the musing voice sharpens to something a little louder: "Excuse me, Milord. Milord with the tome. Excuse me." She even puts just a smidge of an accent on it to 'lean in' to the Renaissance Faire stereotype.

Mark's query draws the slow turn of a shining metal mask, and the black makeup around the wearer's eyes gives his gaze a harrowing, soul-shivering unsettling quality to it. The black eye makeup surrounding his eyes gives the look an empty quality and there is no way to read the staff member's expression beyond his eyes. Which is why when his voice comes out with a friendly, "Hello! Welcome! The events will be HEMA, they are with Thomas Johnson who's a really big HEMA YouTuber."

Alyssa turns to meet Eliott when he reaches her side, her easygoing smile holding well "Few times, they don't hold faires like these too often though. Usually a bit less... stylized, but this is still a good time." she explains, continuing "I practice swordwork as a hobby, not really sure how they're managing the arena here though, didn't bring my own." she says with a hint of dourness, but she seems quite comfortable with the horrific scenery.

"HEMA huh?" Mark considers that for a moment, not donut eating then. He projects a mild disappointment. He's definitely way too old to get in there and start swinging Claymores or something. He nods to the staff member, tilting his head and offering, "Okay, thanks Chum." He steps a little bit away from the 'challenge ring' once Gabriel is settled and steady again and then explains to his erstwhile companions, "It's not the sort of law firm that has interns, as you know." Just Mark, himself, and he. "But I have been trying to loosen up a little lately, try some new things. Besides, robes look comfortable."

Speaking of big HEMA youtuber, Thomas was rather large, perhaps not in following for his HEMA stuff but in person, and his fitness content Having entered into the ring area, he was clad in full plate armor carrying a two handed sword, where his companion was wearing full armor as well but had a shield and longsword. Near the entrance of the ring were small stands with some soft weapons to touch and feel and try under supervision of course, but right now it seem it was slowly getting time for the show

Seeing Asenath laugh is very nice, and Gabriel leans happily on his staff to watch. "I *would* tell the other Mrs. Demoncouer, Madame, but I do not at present have... her digits, is that how one says it?" His smile is naughty, charming, unserious. He's just playing. "Would I be slapped if I asked you for them? I should think so, and so I won't. I would not want to made a mess at such a delightful faire. Oh and complete with bodies, would you just look..." One of the plastic half buried corpses gets a poke from the bottom of his staff. He looks delighted. "Mark I should empty all my coffers to see you dressed only in robes. Do keep in mind that I think my bank account is full of moths and perhaps a five dollar bill... but it is the thought that counts."

He lowers his gaze as he steps forward, his fingers tightening briefly in a silent squeeze of Averys hand before he takes in the scene. "Now, these bodies are amazing props.. Well, one assumes they are props.." His voice trails off as he leans down, bending unnervingly close to one of the plague victims, studying them with an exaggerated intensity. Then, straightening with seamless ease, "Yes, quite fake." There is a hint of disappointment, he shifts effortlessly into an impeccably refined Victorian British accent. "Yes, Bel Dame?" The mask conceals any trace of expression as he speaks to Amanda, his tone both formal and reserved. It would seem she has caught his attention for the moment.

Eliott looks over towards the ring, his gaze sweeping past some of the decorations on its way to doing so. "The, um. The plague bodies are an... interesting touch," he says after a moment, in an 'if you can't say something nice' tone of voice. "Are you going to... compete? Is it a competition? I can't imagine that they'll want people using real swords. Someone could get hurt."

Amid the realistic, but unreal, corpses, walks Pris, a lady of the Renaissance night. Having the kind of beauty that history remembers in oil paintings—soft, luminous, and deceptively delicate. Her blonde hair catches the light like silk, framing a face that could belong to a Grand Maestro's muse. Wide, intelligent eyes, the color of sage, hold a quiet intensity, attentive but soft as they take in the fair. She is accompanied by a larger man who is dressed as a guard, minus the metal armour. Because like Asenath's companions, he's probably a real bodyguard.

Wayne turns toward Kian at the question, and is attempting to look threatening, menacing, imposing, a lot more -ings that would make him seem intimidating. It goes with the costume, after all. His shaggy hair is barely seen beneath the wolf-head hood, so his fair skin and dark eyes dominate the view. He stops as Kian addresses the woman, and heels his ugly pitbull, who sits and lolls her tongue happily. He doesn't speak, but he seems to be watching with curiosity.

When Adam arrives, it's with a long, lazy gait--the sort of stride that tends towards meandering rather than any real purposeful movement, with both of the man's hands tucked into the pockets of his leather pants. Are pockets period? Absolutely not. But maybe he already owned them, long before finding out about the Renaissance Faire. Like having a pair of leather pants is a prerequisite for being in a rock band, or they come with the starter kit.

He's apparently mid-conversation with Grayson as the pair of them move slowly towards that center ring. "...not the weirdest thing anyone's gonna see in Hollywood tonight," he continues with a shrug. "Not even close, y'know?"

Dark eyes narrow faintly at that sign: Duels to Near Death. And then Adam snorts once, gaze sliding over to his friend to shoot him an all too knowing look.

Grayson is in black and red tonight, although there's rather more red than usual. Wearing a pair of loose black trousers and a black shirt, with black knee-high boots and a red tunic over the top, he's got some sort of black hat on his head. It somehow manages to look vaguely stylish and vaguely medieval to renaissance to not all that long ago, all at once, albeit there's something about the outfit that's not entirely European in nature. He strolls along one of the paths in the company of another, making his way towards the ring at the centre but apparently in no great hurry to get there.

Grayson meets Adam's slid-over gaze and matches its knowing quality with absolute blandness. Even for Grayson, that expression is incredibly bland.

Asenath looks at Gabriel a moment with something like vague surprise that the man would even make the attempt; and then her lips curve into a fuller grin and she shakes her head, while one hand - tattooed digits ruining the renaissance wench look, but c'est la vie - lifts to comb fingers back through the nearly five foot long curtain of her hair. "You would be lucky to be slapped, darling; I only slap people I like." Notably, though, Asenath does not give the man her wife's phone number. Some things are sacrosanct, even to the goth rock star known for finding nothing sacrosanct.

To Mark, Asenath notes, almost deadpan: "Comfort is overrated, Mark." Says the woman wearing a corset tight enough that her organs must be crying somewhere inside her slender body. A pause then, and Asenath looks over the crowd slowly, eyes lingering here and there - on the masked Dark Scholar and the gorgeously cloaked Avery and furred Wayne; over Amanda and Eliott; and then it is Pris who holds that sanguine-tinted attention. It is Pris, too, who gets a genuine smile to curve upon the rosy invitation that is Asenath's mouth. "Ah, speaking of." Was she speaking of Pris? Or anything to do with Pris? Probably not - but who cares? "Someone certainly saw their tailor recently."

Lexi's gaze will find the man giving announcements sucking in a deep breath, readying another, while Thomas approaches the ring. He's not in makeup at least, but his hat with jingling yellow and green bells gives him a contrasting appearance to the rest of his surroundings. "Behold, the city of angels most delightfully devilish denizens!" He approaches the ring side while trying to bring attention that way. "Be ready to witness the horror of battle first hand. Soon you too will know, first hand, why our celebrant today is so widely feared!"

As if by design to take advantage of when most of the attention will be elsewhere, Cyrus steals this moment to slip out of the building with the apparently not very well boarded shut door, closing it and slipping through the many people there in an unassuming but expensive looking suit. Still, he fits in reasonably for LA. In spite of this other effort he's made no attempt to disguise his face. Unless you count his attempts at avoiding eye contact, that is.

Amanda lowers into a half-bow. Half, for the sake of Shoulder-Bird, though he seems to keep his grip with the movement with little difficulty, other than a shifting around. "Good evening, Sir," she says to Dark Scholar. A glance to the others with him as well: Wayne and Avery. "All. You've got a *great* costume group going on. I'm wondering if you'd mind me taking some pictures." And before they can ask (if they do), "I'm not with the event; I just love costumes." Wouldn't want them to think that she's taking for the website or something like that! Her smile takes in the trio. Quad, if you include the pit bull, who gets his own smile as well, as if he's one of the crowd. Certainly with the battle-scarred look, he goes well with 'Barbarian'!

Sarita's arrival is ever so slightly harried, stopping just inside the small fence to recheck herself and make sure everything made it with her. Her outfit is a little more 'normal' Renaissance than dark, but the night shadows turn even brighter colors a bit more morose. She's got a pin with the letters 'KWOD' hooked to the shoulder of her dress, and she's holding a small black professional audio recorder, though none of the lights indicate it's recording anything. With a last smoothing of her hair, she sets off into the crowd.

"I can only imagine the stench around here if they weren't fake," Avery remarks of the plague bodies with a slight wrinkle of her nose. "And getting that stench out of these costumes..." The thought trails off as Amanda approaches, attention turning towards the woman. The request being asked sees her free hand lift to grasp the edge of the robe's hood and pull it down a bit more to shadow her face.

"I don't know, comfort has its charms." Mark flicks his glance over Asenath's body, checking her out for what might actually be the first time ever. He seems content to hang out where he's at for now, not too far from the center circle where the 'demonstration' is going to happen. He looks around a bit, examining the crowd, hands still in his pockets. But then Asenath is calling out someone in the crowd, and he turns in that direction to spot the blonde Priscilla Albret. He purses his lips together for a moment, as if searching for the right thing to say about it, raising his hand to see if he can catch attention in the crowd, and then saying to Asenath and Gabriel, "Ms. Albret is always dressed properly for the occasion, I'd assume."

The two knights enter the ring and let the other HEMA people handle the stand with weapons for now, they clank their weapons against their armor to make noise and call for attention. Once people had gathered around they stepped away from each other Skarn having his helmet under his arm. Calling out loudly for all to hear "Here Ye, Here ye, come one and all for a duel is about to start. The brave sir Martin has challenged me for my title and as soon as the bell rings we shall begin!" he motions to a person at the gate of the ring holding up a bell. Both fighters don their helmets and get into fighting positions. And thusly the bell sounds.

Alyssa bobs her head "Yep, bit extra, but its good décor. Helps with its own atmosphere." she says happily, clearly less dissuaded by the presence of horrid death and disease "I think I will, it looks pretty exciting, probably going to get beat by some huge dude who's been doing it longer than me though." she says with a grin... does she want to get beat down? When the first fight is called by the announcer, she would gesture for the teen to follow her, intent on watching the display.

The fair in darkness is certainly bewitching, the golden lights that guide attendees no doubt casting eerie shadow and hints of ghostly presence. Even ladies like to be thrilled by a scare. Pris seems to be enjoying herself as she chats with her 'guard' --- Mark's wave gets her eye, and she smiles to him, Gabriel and Asenath, before walking toward them.

That bland look from Grayson is met with a too bright, too broad grin. "What," Adam asks, his voice thick with feigned innocence even as he tries (and fails) to soften that grin into something closer to a smile. 'Angelic' and 'beatific' are not really words that apply to the look on the man's face. 'Shit-eating grin' would be far, far more accurate. "You don't want to step into the ring and give it a go? Play the villain and see how many proper knights you can take out at the knees?"

Despite Gabriel's cheerful visage, he is thanking his lucky stars that Asenath took that well. Phew! Though with her stating that she only slaps people she likes, he inclines his head. "I have a goal then, Madame. Thank you." When his attention is directed towards Pris, the gentleman blinks, using both hands on the wizard staff to hold himself up. "Oh my friend... You are cooked sir. Hello, My lady!" The latter is called out to Pris. He bows politely and when he's standing he's grinning with delight, his sleepy green eyes twinkling. Mark's comment gets a solid nod, and Gabriel concurs. "Mrs. Demoncouer and Ms. Albret are a beacon of style and decorum in the darkest hours. Ah..." He looks to the arena. "Some merry violence is afoot!"

He lifts a gloved hand that holds the tome, shaking his head gently. "I'm afraid I must decline your request. I came here for the immersion and atmosphere, to lose myself in the experience rather than be captured by a lens. The mask is not just for show, I wear it because I am quite shy about my appearance, in truth, we both are and the thought of being photographed unsettles me more than I care to admit."

"I do hope you understand. It is not my intention to offend, only to preserve my own comfort in this space. Please forgive my selfishness in prioritizing my own wishes over your request. I truly appreciate your understanding." He carefully wraps Lady Thornton within the shadows of his robe, "But thank you for noticing our hard work."

"She had best be; she's one of the rare women who almost outshines me." Almost. God, Asenath is such an insufferably arrogant bitch. But at least she's smiling! "Did you happen to see the dress she wore to the fetish party held some months back? I still don't understand how she managed to get in a car with all those feathers." But while Pris is indeed a beacon of style toward whom Asenath's eyes are nearly as drawn as anyone else's, the goth rock star does let her eyes wander all the more. Spying Lexi among the crowd makes those red lips quirk into a little smirk; but it is the familiar form of Sarita that catches her eyes most, and upon whom that sanguine-tinted attention lingers at last - though she does not yet move, and does nothing to draw attention aside from existing (which, given the mix of her fame and her appearance, is usually more than enough).

But then there is a fight, and her eyes turn that direction next, lips pursing into a little moue of something that might be distaste or might just be consideration. "Ah, ren faires - where sweaty men get to pretend going to the gym makes them capable and busty women show their tits."

Like she's one to talk, with her own tits damned near spilling out of her velvet dress.

Eliott looks out to the ring, where a fight seems to be beginning, and then back at Alyssa. Even with the barriers around the arena, a bunch of the crowd, and plenty of space between him and the fight, the violence has definitely set him on edge a little bit. "You said you'd done something like this before? With... what, a sword?"

Somewhere in the crowd, Arthur must be here, and nearby, because a British accented voice can be heard quietly chanting as if trying to hide his position, "Grayson. Grayson. Grayson." Fight fight fight!

Mark for his part, greets the new arrivals, "Ms. Albret, Nico, good to see you." Why does Mark always insist on talking to hired help as if they're actual people! Though it's just a greeting, he'd never interfere in the work of a bodyguard. "I think you've arrived just in time for a show." He smiles warmly at Pris and then nods his head in the direction of the ring where Thomas/Skarn is getting ready to take somebody to school. He looks in that direction, though scoots to make space for Pris to join their circle. He's quiet, for a long time, a few heartbeats, and then he comments, "Sometimes sweaty men show their tits and busty women go to the gym I suppose. It's 2024, people can do what they want I'm told."

"No offense taken! Great costumes, both; absolutely love them!" Amanda smiles at Dark Scholar and Avery, moving out of the way for them, and offering one to Wayne. "Yours, too. I assume you're with them." She gestures to those he's obviously keeping an eye on, preparing to move on if he's as uninterested as they. So many other costumes, after all.

Wayne notes the reply from Kian, and adds, "Afraid I gotta concur with the gentleman," but offers an attempt at a smile to soften the words. "But enjoy the night."

Grayson chuckles in response to Adam's question - and it even sounds like a real chuckle, even if it doesn't last long. "It wouldn't be in character to use a sword," the overtall man replies to Adam. "Especially not that sort of sword. Or armour, either, for that matter. We didn't get such things." He does slant an amused look at Adam, though, and then look out over the crowd. Possibly for the person chanting his name.

As the bell sounds the two men, the large with his two hand sword and the smaller with his sword and shield begin. Large swords bashing at the shield of the smaller man, and they do not seem to be holding back, but those who know a thing or two about sword fighting would notice they are not using effective fighting techniques but rather show fighting. A flurry of strong blows, though unlike much show fighting, they were connecting a luxury given by their heavy armor which would protect them from most blows. Thusly the fight kept high energy and showmanship to keep the crowd invested and look interesting rather than the two grown men just trying to exchange blows efficiently.

Sir Martin managed a good block and ripost combination striking Skarn in the chest with a loud clang. Which he played into by staggering backward some, though regaining his posture once he had stepped back a few feet and able to use his giant reach to his advantage.

"THERE WAS A FETISH PARTY?!" Of course Gabriel is struck, shocked, stunned! "And I missed it!" The man looks pained. Taking a moment, his hood draped further over his features, he slumps and gets a feel for what's going on around him. Hmmm... The conversation occurring between Amanda and the Dark Scholar catches Gabriel's attention, and he swears there's something familiar. "Would you excuse me," he offers to Mark, Pris, and Asenath politely before turning and using his staff to help him cross the distance between his location at the arena fence and where Dark Scholar and Avery are standing.

"A bonne soirée, Madame et Monsieur! What a fabulous adornment you both wear. It is so stylish! Please forgive if I am intruding of course - I see beauty and I must offer praise, I feel. My name is Gabriel LeSeraphin, and but of course I do not wish to take up too much of your time."

Sarita reacts immediately to the news of the battle, scurrying in the direction of the arena. A few ambient tracks of metal on metal and maybe some dramatic shouting would make an excellent introduction to the segment. She weaves a bit haphazardly through the crowd walking in that direction. Shockingly, she does miss Asenath for now, but it is no doubt a matter of time, so intent is she on getting to the sidelines. She gets as close to the barrier as she can...and a small red light appears on her recorder as Martin and Thomas begin their battle.

Pris joins in the watching of the casual bloodsport, greeting Gabriel back with a quiet warmth. "Mr. LeSeraphin, do the goats on your staff have profound significance to the Renaissance, or were you just looking to make it... extra horned?" She gives the adorable Wizard a warm smile. "Ms. Demoncoeur, a pleasure. You always bring bold style." Last, but not least, she looks quietly to Mark, and almost laughs. "No costume, Mr. Steele. Such a shame. But I do suppose those of your esteemed years are sorely under-represented in Renaissance themes, perhaps due to the issues of life expectancy, at the time."

Gabriel calls over to Pris, recalling of a sudden her note about his staff. "Madame! I need no special accessory to be extra horned, as you know!"

The woman in red nods to Eliott, Alyssa pretty chipper "Yeah, usually wooden practice ones, but real ones too." she explains "You see 'em all dressed up, it's pretty safe, bruises aside." she explains, her expression souring some as she realizes that the fighters were leaving themselves so open to each other's strikes. "Pretty good, right?" she says, the kineticism on display dancing across her face in the lighting. "Yeah, I need to get in on this." she says, still looking towards Eliott while she begins filling forms.

Amanda's glance momentarily takes in a few, even several, people *not* in costume, too. Noting Eliott and Alyssa briefly, then Asenarth and her circle.

The talk about the fight doesn't seem to have pulled Amanda's attention at all. Apparently the fighting ring isn't to her taste. Although with the crowd drifting that way, it *does* open up a bit more of a path to the available food that she'd skimmed earlier.

... that is until suddenly, there's a Gabriel there, and Amanda offers a big smile to him. "Aren't they, though! Amazing costumes." As if he were only talking about the other two. Absolutely *no* expectation that hers is remotely part of that discussion. "Speaking of which," Amanda indicates the simple camera she's got with her. "Do you mind if I take a picture of yours? I'm not part of the event; I just love costuming." The smile looks more than a little odd, with the corners of mouth not so clear and the dollish 'pout' stretching uncannily at the corners even so.

When asked if Amanda may take a picture, Gabriel smiles and bows. "But of course!" The fellow strikes a dashing and noble pose, managing not to grin for all of a few seconds while the snap is secured. "My costume is not quite so complicated, but ah, may I take a picture of yours my dear? I feel that you have put in far more time and effort than I have and I should like to remember it." His free hand slips into his robe, to pull his cell phone out of his pocket, turning it on and aiming the lenses at her. "May I, my dear?"

She smiles a little curiously, with pink-glossed lips, as Lexi listens to the pomp and sincerity of the announcements, and she heads over close to the ring to see the fight. So much more civilized than that American stuff where they bash each other into a bloody pulp...

Blue eyes eager. She then spots Asenath there and looks a little surprised. Though maybe she shouldn't be really. And she heads that way quietly, making sure not to interrupt much. Click-click click.

Inasmuch as Eliott is watching the match at all, he's not watching it with the gaze of someone who has any idea what he's looking at. "How does someone get into something like this?" He asks Alyssa. "They both seem pretty good at it."

With the folds of the Dark Scholar's cloak covering her own robes, and the declined response given to Amanda regarding taking pictures, Avery gives a gentle tug on his hand. "Let's find a better spot to watch this fight," she says, already taking steps to do just that when Gabriel approaches and starts using... French? French. "French invasion," she mutters softly with a slight frown even as he's given a curious onceover.

Despite his best efforts a circle has begun to form around Cyrus. While many who consume things with his name attached are just fans of horror and have never once seen his face it only takes the first person to recognize and the crowd grows curious. He stands about politely answering questions, signing an occasional autograph, posing for a photo, and doing his best to remind the attendees around him of the upcoming fight, the hard work put into the décor, or anything that might deflect attention from himself as chance allows.

Bitchiness has its limits even for Asenath, and sometimes a goth girl's inner Daria has to take over. So it is when Gabriel calls out that he needs nothing to be extra horned: the goth rock star's eyes roll. And it's not just a standard eye roll; it's weaponized and every bit as sharp and wicked as the swords currently clanging against each other in a definitely not euphemistic sense in the ring. No one eyerolls like a rich bitch California girl, except maybe goths; and when their powers combine, you get Asenath. Woe be to anyone for whom the eyes roll.

"Sometimes I think I'm just not overt enough in my sluttery." She almost pouts - but the comment is so dry and so obviously a joke that she only smiles instead, shaking her head a little. "Ms. Albret - I did tell him that when next there's a party, I'm dragging him to my tailor to dress appropriately. Unless someone beats me to it, of course." And with that, Asenath half bows toward the beautiful blonde - and so what if doing so is uncharacteristic of her? It's a renaissance faire - and anyway, the way that dip at her waist puts her barely-restrained tits all the more on display is entirely in character, and isn't that what's important. As she straightens, that smile becomes a grin. "But if you'll excuse me?"

She does not wait for permission, of course. She's already moving, with Dominik - that 6'6" shadow looming nearby - coming along for the silent ride. Where is she going? That's not yet decided - but aimless though her wandering is, it very well may be that she's drawing near to the DJ recording the fight's audio. Even if along the way, Lexi joins her, and will find a hand stroking in idle pets through neon pink hair - and no verbal greeting to go with it.

Mark shrugs a shoulder, keeping his hands in his pocket and turning to watch the fight with Pris and Nico as Gabriel and Asenath spin off into other directions, slowly drawing more people into the gravity of the orbit. Just a social orbit, not a cleavage one. "True but, If I can steal from Emerson: the years teach much which the days never knew." He chews on that for a few heartbeats, perhaps thinking about his own life expectancy, "The truth is I thought about wearing a costume too late and didn't want to just throw something together. I'd want to do it right, anything worth doing is doing right, don't you agree Ms. Albret?"

ROLL> Mark: Manipulation + Subterfuge vs. 4 -> 3 successes. (7 7 5 3 3 3)

The fighting continues with exchanges of blows, switching who is at advantage and who is at disadvantage a few times, sword clashes, armor is hit with some force. Again Skarn is at the disadvantage from a blow given by sir Martin. Then he raises his above his head in a high stance. Crying out with all his might and hits solidly in the middle of the shield that splits in half from the blow. Quite the sight for the audience to see this mountain of a man and his giant sword split the sturdy shield in twain. Taking advantage he knocks sir Martin over and puts his sword to his neck. Sir Martin calls out "I yield, I yield!" and is offered an arm to help him up by Skarn. They both turn and offer a bow to the crowd.

Taking off his helmet, Skarn calls out to those who watch. "Thank you ladies and lords for witnessing our duel, we hope it brought entertainment and joy to you all." Then he bows again with Sir Martin picking up the shield and their weapons to return to the gate of the ring to speak with anyone interested there.

ROLL> Pris: Perception + Empathy vs. 6 -> -3 successes. (Botch!)

Amanda steps away from the trio, letting Gabriel talk with them briefly and then at her and the outfit. A wide smile echoes. "Well, if you like, certainly," she says, tucking the hood up a bit to help with the effect. "The only time and effort put into mine was in the face makeup. I think *his*," a playful nod to the attentive and surprisingly calm shoulder-bird, "took longer if you don't count *that*."

Once Gabriel gives his poses, she makes certain there are no unwitting photobombers and snaps her pictures of the outfit, cheerfully encouraging his variety of poses. She'll happily snap away as many times as he wants to show off, though eventually it's her turn to show a few pictures for the camera. Hood up, tucked around to give the best effect of that eerie porcelain-skull face, pressing her lips in a bit of a duck-lip to make the 'doll lip-bow' stand out even more uncannily within the shadow, or against the light that's being photographed. And if he wants, she'll gently move Major down on her arm so she can hold him up for a better view of the little flight suit, though it's pretty obvious it's just sewn cloth pieces on a 'bodysuit' rather than an *actual* 'vest and shirt'.

"Spoilsport," Adam replies as his joke is rebuffed. He shakes his head slowly, attention turning back to the men in the ring. "I guess we'll have to settle for watching the professionals," he quips, something surprisingly dry in his tone at the last, as if there is--somehow--yet more humor in the words. Humor that would be wasted on almost anyone else.

But then a familiar face across the ring catches his eye. A hand slips from Adam's pocket as he gives a small, two-fingered wave in the general direction of Avery and the splendidly costumed Dark Scholar, along with whoever else may still be clustered around them. Does he recognize the scholar? No, though at that height, he can make a guess. But that wave is cut short when the duel ends; polite clapping for the show is required.

Alyssa shrugs "They're pretty good, not the best I've ever seen, definitely just having fun in there, and that's what I'm signing up for." she says firmly, making her way slowly along the side of the ring, gesturing for Eliott to follow her as she goes to inspect those weapons, raising her eyepatch and blinking firmly as it adjusts to the light.

Sarita does her best to clap with one hand while using the other to hold the audio recorder. A useless effort that doesn't add much to the applause, but feels about right. When the cheers fall away, the red light on her recorder also fades. She checks the display briefly to make sure it saved properly (the horrors of second hand technology) and thus remains -somehow- oblivious to being hunted by a 6 and a half foot bodyguard, a wealth of bright pink hair, and the most ogled chest of the event.

Pris watches Gabriel go with sanguine mirth, and inclines her head warmly to Asenath the Lusty Wench. As she positions herself closer to Mark, she makes sure to be close enough to respond to his observations. "Going halfway is just very unsatisfying, Mr. Steele." She grins to him, while clapping for the completion of the match. "Bravo!! Wonderful feats of strength and bravery!"

He inclines his head in silent thanks to Amanda before turning with the emotionless void of the mask, his attention settling with quiet intent on the one beside him, giving her a protective half-embrace. Gabriel's arrival shifts the air, drawing his gaze as the man speaks. "Monsieur LeSeraphin, I assure you, we have met once before. But thank you for your kind words-it is most generous of you to speak such things."

His response is effortless, each syllable carrying the weight of memory. "Ms. Albret. It is lovely to see you as well,as it is to see the rest of you." His gaze moves beyond Pris, lingering briefly on Mark, Asenath, and the others. his gaze settling upon Wayne. A moment passes, silent but understood, before he inclines his head. "Thank you, old friend. Shall you join us?" The expressionless mask tilts downward, its void-like gaze resting upon Avery. A single nod follows. "Yes. Let us find a place to watch." As he guides the group to a decent spot to watch the Arena.

Mark lifts his hands to clap for Skarn and Martin, who have gotten forgotten in all this unfortunate and lurid business. His calloused hands clap together loudly and rhythmically, "Excellent show!" He calls out to the two men in the ring, though really he has no idea if it was an excellent show or not. What is he, some kind of medievalist? "You should sign up for a fight demonstration Ms. Albret." He encourages her, "Use some of that youthful vigor of yours." Hey, she was ageist first!

Drawn along for the ride by curiosity, and maybe a little bit of petting across her head like some kind of cat, apparently, Lexi blink-binks a moment, but-- Doesn't complain, she has a content smile on her face a moment as she slips along, apparently towards where the SOUND is decided. What is Asenath up to...

She flashes a big smile as she spots Sarita, and waves a pale hand quickly. "SARITA HI, I REMEMBER YOU!"

Her voice sounding kinda like a tourist around here, not LA for sure, Londonish but not Canada, over the sea and far away.

Click click click! Gabriel takes quite a few pictures of Amanda and shows them to her, oohing and ahing about how the light does this and that, how her makeup is quite nice, and of course her bird! "Very good, Madame, very good! Do enjoy the faire, yes? A pleasure to meet you indeed! But I must rattle a chain or two, if I am allowed. Bonne soiree!" And he walks back to Dark Scholar and Avery. "A French invasion indeed! May I stand with you as you watch, my friends. And I have met you be...." The wizard looks up and up at the dark scholar, and then he *beams* with delight. "OH YES! Oh I am so glad! Yes yes."

Grayson catches who Adam's waving to, and he turns to walk with the not-that-much-shorter man towards the little group. It's easy for him to keep an eye on the Dark Scholar, with the two of them towering over the crowd as they are - but then there's applause for the ended duel, and Grayson adds his own to the mix. It's important, after all, to appreciate the work of professional entertainers - or even those who just work to keep the crowd entertained.

"I'm afraid I left my sword in my other pants." Pris replies to Mark with a warm smile. "I assume that's true for you as well?"

The Dark Scholar is greeted with warmth and recognition, as the lady inclines her head. Looking like a queen, as if she does this all time. "How lovely to see you out and about. Quite a theme, though I suspect the decor is a bit thrift for your tastes."

Is Sarita being hunted? Asenath wouldn't say so; but then, Asenath would and wouldn't say a lot of things that are and are not precisely accurate. Whatever the goth rock star is up to, it will find her sidling up beside Sarita with Lexi to her other side - but whatever Asenath starts to say gets lost when the pink-haired girl announces familiarity with the DJ. That results instead in a little purse of invitingly red lips, and a glance from one to the other and back again.

"You have definitely fucked, haven't you?" Look: Asenath isn't known much for being circumspect. All the tabloids are pretty clear on that: she's a party girl who was born rich, got richer, is at that rare stratification of beautiful that's memorable even in Los Angeles, and is famous to boot. Circumspection is for the 5s, when the 10s are speaking.

Eliott follows along behind Alyssa towards the weapons; as long as he doesn't have to actually get NEAR the big armored people with swords, his interest outweighs his trepidation. Not that he really knows what he's looking at, but he still joins her in her inspection of the arms, taking in the details. "If you're going to be going into the ring, maybe I should give you..." He trails off in thought. "Oh, I can use this." He plucks off one of his fingerless gloves and offers it over. "Just bring it back. It's cold out here."

Mark isn't going to let his companion off that easy. He points off to the side, where Skarn and Cyrus had earlier posed that there are soft weapons for trying out, as well as signup sheets to play with said 'boffer' weapons wrapped in foam and padding one presumes. "It appears that they have thought of everything." A small smile of his own touches his face, that broadens just a little bit. He looks confused, and cautious, but not unpleased, as he says, "I may be able to teach you something about handling a sword."

Sarita very much does not miss her own name, particularly not at that volume. She spins automatically, her expression and the jerky moment indicating she's worried she did something wrong. As her hands come up, the recorder pops free, leaving her performing the unintentional juggle of repeatedly knocking an object into the air and reaching for it again. She gets it on the fourth attempt, but only after being so overbalanced she has to hop on one foot twice before getting herself back to two feet again. Ah, there's that spectacular darkening flush of hers, though fortunately greatly less noticeable in the gloom.

"Well hello! I wasn't expecting to see you here!" She managed at Lexi, getting both mental and physical feet under her again, "It really is a small world, isn't it? And who's your...uh..."

Blink Blink Blink. Okay, SOME of her mental feet under her.

"...Miss Demoncouer! Ah...Evening! I...wait what?"

As the fight draws to an end, the jester begins to broadcast once more. "As expected, the great and feared Thomas Johnson, known among you all as the infamous Skarn, has brought Sir Martin to his knees! Ladies and gentleman--" he cries out, queueing up those who applaud and cheer after, "SKARN!" As Skarn exits the area, the jester moves to stand beside him an flails his arms about in an exaggerated and comedic Vanna White, bending at his knees with splayed out hands gesturing towards his feet and head with locked elbows and a small bounce from his thighs, that wide, white-toothed grin he shares wild and primal in a somehow vicious way for a man in a silly outfit laughing. "Now who is brave enough to risk life and limb for spectacle and triumph?!" He moves to mount one of the prop corpses, standing atop it like a soapbox while still smiling with wild joy.

Amanda compares the pictures, then waves Gabriel to his crew. "Of course! Thank you! Have a good time of the event!" she says to him as he's headed off. "Great costume!" And she parts her ways to take in the crowd again. As applause sounds, she, too, joins in a brief clapping for the crew at the arena, joining in the ebb and flow of the people, no doubt wanting to give her approval of the show even if she hadn't been there and watching it.

As Pris starts to join the nearby event, Amanda takes her in and the costume she wears with a bit of interest, then seems to hesitate for a moment. Not wanting to interrupt the conversation *yet again*, she can be heard to say aloud, "No, no. It'll wait. I'm sure she'll be here la-...." Voice tapering off, as if Amanda's just now noticing that she's literally talking out loud to herself.

Avery's attention shifts away from Gabriel just long enough to look in the direction of the fight, and the two-fingered wave coming from Adam is noted and answered with a larger wave on her part just before the fight ends. Then she looks back to her little party - now consisting of the Dark Scholar, Wayne, and Gabriel. "I don't mind. We're all here for an enjoyable, and dark experience, aren't we? I'm curious to see just how many 'dead' bodies are lying around here. Finding them could be an interesting scavenger hunt. Maybe."

Wayne nods and agrees with The Dark Scholar's request, leading his scarred pit bull along with them as he follows the stately forms of Dark Scholar and Avery. He chuckles at the comment from Avery and says, "Sort of like one of those 'guess how many jelly beans are in this jar and win a prize' sort of things?"

There's a little blink-blink as Lexi looks slightly concerned as Asenath notices -- that they know each other. Wait, is something going on her--

Then -- THAT.

"Wha-- no, I-- We only met each other once I mean we-- We just talked. God...!"

She groans. "Why would I-- I mean -- Not that-- Ugh...."

She looks to Sarita now, from Asenath, worriedly.

"Hi. You know each other already?"

Skarn would be near the entrance to the ring where there indeed are soft weapons that can be used and tried for smaller bouts from the visitors if they so choose, of course supervised to ensure that no one gets hurt or tries to hurt each other. Answering questions people had about their duel or just talking about HEMA and swordsmanship in general.

With Grayson at his side, Adam circles slowly around the ring to join--who is it now, Avery and the Dark Scholar with Wayne and Gabriel? That once waving, then clapping hand gets stuffed back into his pocket while he's on that slow, languid trek to their side of the ring. "Miss Thornton," he says, one corner of his mouth quirking upwards into half a smile. "At the rate we run into one another in cemeteries, I feel like it would only be prudent to start peeking behind every headstone or mausoleum I pass to see if you're there." To the gentleman, he nods. After all, two of them are unfamiliar and the third remains masked.

Pris' eyes quietly sparkle as she laughs at Mark's offer. "How can I say no to that." She seems uncertain, and a bit standoffish as she adds says something quieter to him.

Asenath, chaos bitch that she is, only smiles as both Sarita and Lexi fumble. The former both physically and vocally; the latter only vocally. That little grin just touching the corners of pouty red lips curves a little further, and she looks from woman to woman almost placidly. Waiting. Letting them each exhaust their consternation and denials alike.

"No?" She even pouts, and really: it's a good pout. Asenath's mouth was practically made for two expressions: pouting, and rank bitchiness. She pulls both off with alacrity, it turns out. "Well, I'm just shocked. How, darling, can anyone look at this lovely thing... " She means Lexi, which she proves by simply drawing the girl in front of her and draping her arms across Lexi's shoulders and down the line of her body. She even bends and leans down, to both eliminate the height disparity and to settle her chin right over that shocking pink hair. That this also means the back of Lexi's head is practically cradled in tits... well, Asenath does nothing accidentally, does she?

" ...and not wonder about that pretty little mouth's talents?" A beat, and Asenath winks - winks! - at Sarita. "It is talented, by the way."

Oh, yes. She's just trying to cause trouble.

Alyssa smirks at the gesture, her eyes squinting slightly "Thank you, but they got big padded ones to use so you don't break anything." she explains, raising her hand before the offered glove and looking over to Skarn, who towers even over the taller than average woman. She offers a small smile "Looked pretty fun in there, how long you been practicing?" she seems pretty impressed.

Avery's idle wondering of if there are dead bodies in the area raises Gabriel's brows, and he gestures to a sign that may have been seen towards the entrance of the park. "Madame, this *is* a cemetery, in part. So I should think the answer is yes, though I doubt any are so improperly buried..." He nudges a plastic corpse with a boot. When Adam comes by and notes the cemetery frequency of meetings, the frenchman smiles. "I do hope it is for purposes most debauched. Doing ones accounting and taxes within a mausoleum seems such a waste of romantic death." It does occur to him that he hasn't really met the fellow yet, so he offers, "I am Gabriel LeSeraphin. A pleasure to meet you."

Amanda, having tucked the self-talk away for now, takes in the crowd. Mainly there's one over at the arena, with people challenging to... an actual fight? Her brows raise up, surprised at that. And no doubt a bit amused. Still, her meandering doesn't take her directly there, bringing her more in line with costumers that she can get some shots of, and there are many. Some say 'No'. Many say 'Yes'. Her makeup is photographed in turn by a few.

And then, somewhere in the wandering, Amanda is noting Cyrus and his circle. A wide smile beneath her hood, and she starts to head over in his direction, slow enough to not rudely push through the people, but with a gradual motion that lets her move *with* the crowd in a natural flow, barely needing to offer 'excuse me' or any gestures as she eases her way up toward speaking distance with the author-and-host. "Mr. Thorne," she offers to Cyrus as she gets a bit closer. Not wanting to shout, but making sure it's pitched to carry.

Mark breathes deeply and quietly, finding his calm in a way that gives off strong 'what have I done now' energy. Amused, in a wry sort of way, but also confused. He leans in to hear Pris' more quiet discussion below the roar of the crowd. He raises an eyebrow, and looks more firm for a second, even stern, whispering back to her with a smile that widens more as he speaks.

Grayson mostly lurks at Adam's side - although he does cast some looks towards the recently-fighting and the boffer weapons, and there's perhaps a little curiosity in those not-quite-glances. He greets the little assembly of Avery, Wayne, Gabriel and the Dark Scholar with a polite inclination of his head, though, and a, "Good evening, one and all." And then to Gabriel, "Is it? I believe in a cemetery, the bodies have usually been buried rather than left lying around to make the place look untidy. Raymond Grayson, Mr. LeSeraphin."

"You're supposed to take a favor before you go in and fight with swords, right?" Eliott asks Alyssa with a grin. "I don't have a ribbon, and it's too cold to give up my scarf." He puts his glove back on, though, as she turns to speak with Skarn.

He surveys the growing group before speaking, his inflection is almost jovial. edged with dry amusement. "Yes, well, she hasn't yet found a grave large enough to toss me in." A nod follows in Gabriels direction. "Yes, I am fine with your accompanying us."

But it is Avery who draws the biggest reaction, a chuckle even, laughter escape the mask. "Ah, yes, I do believe that is a beautiful idea, We simply need a shovel... Oh, you meant the ones here." There is an unseen pout behind the mask, fleeting but implied in the sorrow of his voice, perhaps a dark joke?

Skarn smiles to Alyssa "I've been practicing for about 5 or so years. Still have a far way to go" smiling broadly to her "Though this was coordinated, real fighting is not pretty to look at or fun for people so... thusly staging things is better."

Confused as to why Grayson is correcting him on what he said, and then is in agreement with what he said, Gabriel just blinks for a moment. "Yes that is usually the case, Sir, I agree with you." Speaking as if the very tall gentleman is a touch simple. When Dark Scholar gives his permission to loiter, the wizard inclines his head politely, and then notes the change in tone of the masked voice in response to Avery, and he smiles as well. "Madame, did you come to this faire to do your chthonic shopping? I applaud the intent. Such decor can otherwise be so costly."

Mr. Chen does not seem to have known what to expect, following the directions on his phone to the event. He was curious and he had the night off, so sure... why not go see what this was all about. The Asian man seems a little out-of-sorts.

After a moment, Pris replies to Mark, the man without a costume. "Show me how to handle a sword, Mr. Steele?" She smiles over her shoulder before she moves toward the guy behind the Duel to Near Death sign.

Both of Adam's brows shoot up at that greeting. "Of course I do my taxes in cemeteries," he replies. "Haven't you ever met an accountant? They're like lawyers. The best ones are all already dead. Or at least dead inside, which is pretty much the same thing." The corner of his mouth that's already twisted upwards twitches faintly. If no one else laughs at his quip? Well, he amuses himself, at least.

"Adam Turnbull. Welcome to Los Angeles. Or welcome back, Monsieur, whichever one applies."

The low murmur of questions around Cyrus is easy enough for Amanda to cut into. Just after he finishes explaining to someone some non-answer about how he started working with Thomas to begin with. "It's been great getting to work with Skarn--" he says, before his eyes flick over to Amanda with the practiced twitch of someone who's seen a few press conferences. "Yes, thanks for coming to the event," he responds with a friendly but reserved tone. As practiced as he moves, the way he tucks his shoulders tight and shrinks his posture down low speaks of anything but comfort with the attention.

Mark seems worried, clearly whatever he said to Ms. Priscilla Albret, he can't tell if it really sunk in or not. Maybe she didn't buy it? He's still got a suspicious and cautious look on his face, a man navigating a minefield. This time rather than a joke he merely makes his way over towards the guy, "I'll do my best." He says simply, glancing and reaching for one of the forms, tilting his head up to look down through his glasses. He's a lawyer, you better believe he's reading the frakkin' waiver.

Avery smiles as Gabriel points out the fact that part of this area is a cemetery, then grins up at the Dark Scholar. "I was referring to the fake ones, yes." Then Adam's and Grayson's arrival is greeted with that same grin. "We are two for two, aren't we?" A hint of amusement lights up her eyes. "It's good to see you both again. I hope it's entertaining for you, dark as it may be." She looks back to Gabriel, pushing the hood back from her face just a touch. "That wasn't my intent, but perhaps I should consider it. My wardrobe could use some sprucing up." Silence falls then as she listens to the exchange between Adam and Gabriel, amusement still in her expression.

The man behind the counter turns to look at Pris, his feather in his cap swinging out wide. In reality she has space, but the comedic size of his accent piece still somehow makes it look like a near miss to avoid dragging that plume across Pris' dimple. "Please, feel welcome! If you wish to sign up to join the ring that form is here. To use the weapons at all, you'll just need to sign these forms." It's a waiver. There's probably not a real risk of disembowelment, but the extensive list of waived liabilities juxtaposed with a bit about the signer's soul gives the document a thematic feel, even if parts clearly aren't legally binding.

Alyssa seems to light up with a smile towards Eliott, "I accept your favor in spirit then." She gives a mock half-curtsey in her robes with a playfulness about her. "There's a certain intensity about it that I have a good time with." she says comfortably "I'm usually a bit slower, less flashy, but I'd love to give it a shot if you want a second match." she offers, a little eager.

Amanda can see that look on Cyrus' face. Her smile is warm and proper.... or as warm and proper as it can be underneath the hood. "Mr. Thorne, I'm sorry to be interrupting your interviews, but I've some business. If you don't mind." A look briefly to the crowd, then to Cyrus. "I'm sure it won't take too long," she says, "and I'm sure the interviews can wait *that* long." The second part is said toward the crowd around him asking their questions, then back to Cyrus with a polite, but expectant face that appears to be trying to book some importance to the whole thing.

For a moment, Gabriel looks confused until he realizes it's a joke, offering a little smile. "I should think that if I needed representation in court and all I had available was a corpse as my attorney, perhaps I deserve whatever sentencing comes my way. Mr. Turnbull, thank you for the welcome. I am indeed squeaking with the veneer of newness." His weight shifts on his feet, the hand on his staff gripping a little tighter as he takes a moment to ease tired muscles, smiling apologetically. "Your wardrobe entire, Madame? If this is how you dress for a faire, I am certain your couture is most breathtaking. And perhaps if you need help sourcing more difficult items, well..." The fellow fishes around in his robes and hands her a business card. Upon it is a winged eye and "Angel Investigations" on the front, with his contact number on the back. "For you as well, my tall and mysterious friend." A smile is tossed up to Dark Scholar.

Sarita stared, head snapping between the two, and her face darkens to the point it's even visible in the night. She coughs, and manages to sputter for a minute or two.

"Ah...I...No we...ah...I didn't even ask your name, yet...not that we...well, we didn't...Not that I -wouldn't-, it's just...we.."

Oh yes. Asenath is making trouble. Poor Sarita is managing to dig herself in deeper with every passing second.

"It was just...uh...Therapy for a milkshake, that was all! I still owe her for that."

Pris trusts Mark to read the waiver. Or maybe she's just not that worried about signing away her soul. "Such quaint wording", she offers to Mark with a warm smile. After penning with a flourish, she picks up one of the swords. Luckily not too heavy. Still, like Asenath, she is corseted for maximum treasure. She holds it quite awkwardly.

Eliott is happy to hand his 'favor' over to Alyssa, that beat up old fingerless glove, the acrylic yarn fuzzed and pilled. The little half-bow that he gives as he presents it over is poised in a way that's out of step with the way that he's dressed. Then he looks to Skarn to see whether the other man will take her up on her offer, pushing his hair out of his eyes with a now bare hand as he does so. Then he puts his hand in his pocket again, because it's cold out here.

Skarn chuckles "Well it would be with a soft weapon if at all then," nodding to Alyssa and motioning to the soft weapons in the stands. "We don't have armor for people to try metal weapons, and well it would require some training to even begin to do that safely." Indicating his own full plate armor he was wearing. "But if you wish to try some and have no one to spar with I would be happy to assist you."

Wayne is quiet at the moment, leaning down to scritch the pit bull's scarred head with genuine affection. He listens to Avery and the Dark Scholar speaking to Adam and Gabriel, and then asks, "Have we met?" to the other two men, curious.

"You're the one who called me old, Ms. Albret." Mark points out amiably enough. He reads over the waiver, though as he reads through some if it his irritability is clear. Some of these clauses don't even comport with California's implementation of the Universal Commercial Code as referenced by the Torts section of the state code. He moves to pick up one of the swords as well, giving it a little flourish and swing, his movements slow. He begins to walk over to one of the little areas set up where people aren't going to compete but maybe just play around a little bit. "Might not help your reputation much to beat up a beloved senior citizen."

Mr. Chen doesn't seem to get it. Then again, in Chinatown, they have festivals like every week. He'll wander around, the little dueling exhibit being most interesting.

As those words come out, and then the -pout-, Lexi's looking over to Asenath as if trying to read her expression, trying to figure out -- What is going on here. She blink blinks.

And then suddenly she's being casually drawn by those arms back against Asenath, and her head cradled by both limbs and chest. There's an undeniable softness of skin there that makes her realise without needing to turn, and she smiles a little nervously to Sarita, shell-shocked, as Asenath well -- marks out her territory? Or maybe the opposite, given how she's trying to -- Verbally push them together.

Then those words come. About the mouth. And having put a brave effort on until then, she does flush pink across those pale cheeks now.

"It was just a... Milkshake thing. She has a lot of stuff to get depressed over.. I just wanted to make her happy but it wasn't like --- "

When Wayne addresses him, Gabriel blinks and then looks the fellow up and down, clearly impressed. And perhaps... interested. "And Bonne Soiree to you, Sir." His smile is something that promises fun trouble, though it gives the vibe of being an opt-in situation. "I don't believe you and I have met. I am Gabriel LeSeraphin! A strange wizard for tonight. Most other nights I am but a private detective, currently busy setting up a practice. And besides handsome, what may I call you?"

Cyrus looks between Amanda and the little crowd of star struck faces surrounding him and the gears behind his eyes visibly churn, grinding his options together. "Is it about your book?" He assumes as he apparently makes his choice and slips away from the onlookers, though some do drag behind and linger like an impromptu posse. "Unfortunately I only carry so much weight with the publisher, but I'm sure if you sent in your draft--," he starts the conversation like he already knows what it's about.

Alyssa bows her head "'’course, figured those forms could only get me so far." she says simply, "I'm actually in the market for some good gear if you know a good seller." she asks, looking around for a potential challenger and seeing none, she would spare a wave over to Mr. Chen staying nearby as she straps on the padded glove. "Think it's just us here, unless you want to try some El?"

Eliott lifts a thin hand and backs off with a faint, nervous laugh. "I don't think I would know where to begin. I'm happy to watch you two from here."

Pris laughs and quietly catches up to Mark, taking his lead to the more open area. "Beloved might be pushing it." She gives him a quiet smile as she takes up position on the grass, still holding the sword awkwardly.

"But it would be a spectacle. And there's nothing that L.A. loves like a spectacle," Adam murmurs in answer to that continued comment about corpses. It's followed by a sweeping gesture, his right hand indicating, well, all of their surroundings. And then, as reassurance to Avery, "Myself included, Miss Thornton. Dark as it may be, I'm sure I won't be too troubled by all the performative violence and the manufactured gore."

He's about to reply to Wayne, but with Gabriel claiming the first introduction, Adam's attention turns back to Avery and to the Dark Scholar looming at her side, waiting for a more opportune moment. "Am I allowed to ask what's in the book, or is it a grim secret, never to be revealed?"

Asenath's grin just grows as she watches Sarita cough and sputter and simultaneously insist that she and Lexi definitely never but also she's not saying she wouldn't but also....

It goes on, and on, and throughout it Asenath just watches the poor girl, obviously amused, while she drapes herself over Lexi in a suggestion of possession and intimate familiarity that's nearly unmistakable. It's only when Lexi joins in on the chorus of denials that Asenath finally breaks, a little: she laughs softly, and even dips her head down a little to brush a quick kiss across that crown of brilliant pink hair.

"You are both far too easily flustered." A beat, and Asenath straightens - and as she does so, her draped arms across Lexi's body slide with her, hands crawling up along the pink-haired girl's front. She doesn't quite cup the curves behind the green tanktop, but it's a very near thing. "But I did hear somewhere in all of that a denial that you would deny her, Sarita." She winks again, utterly amused. "And how hard exactly did you stare at those pretty lips pursed around a straw, I wonder?"

She doesn't give time for an answer, really. Asenath's already turning to draw away - with a little smack as she withdraws to Lexi's ass meant to compel her closer to Sarita. "Have fun, darlings." Because Asenath saw something, and it's something she's simply going to have to watch in full: Mark and Pris, preparing to commit elder abuse.

As Amanda and Cyrus are moving away from the onlookers, Amanda's voice drops down from the sharper, attention-getting pitch toward one more served for casual conversation, just between them. Not whispering, but not trying to have it carry *too* far. I.E. not to the crowd of onlookers: "No. Actually, it just sounded like the questions were kind of getting into areas you didn't look exactly comfortable about answering, and I figured I'd give you an 'out' for a bit. However long you need. Go with the 'draft' excuse; whenever you've got your breath back or the Nosy Nancies have lost interest, shrug me off."

Mark at least holds the sword correctly, he chose a shorter sword, "You wound me Ms. Albret. Verbally, hopefully not physically." He gestures to his arm, bringing the weapon up. It's clear he's held a weapon before, but it's also clear that he's not as young as he used to be. His movements are slow, his footing is too heavy, the weapon seems heavy on his aged arm. "Come on then." His gaze grows more serious, as if he's finally realized 'okay, this is happening'. "You can go first."

Wayne blinks in surprise, and then laughs huskily at Gabriel's introduction. "Wayne Spencer -- also a private detective, though tonight I'm also a bodyguard. Interesting coincidence. Whereabouts in the city do you work?" He's clearly interested, and looking for information like the nosy bastard he is. He extends a gauntleted hand to shake in greeting. "Still working on setting up a formal office again; I've mostly been working over the phone, which is its own issue when it comes to meeting clients."

Mr. Chen has also found his way to watch the older man and the probable-model prepare to duel. He doesn't say a word. Maybe he's shy. But there seem to be others watching this as well, so what's one more body?

Grayson inclines his head politely to Gabriel when the man slows his speech towards him, and falls silent. His gaze flicks to the dark scholar, then to Adam, and then he's taking the fraction of a step back that's needed to put him just behind Adam's shoulder. It's almost as though he's turned into some sort of bizarre furniture - a hatstand, perhaps, given his size and general shape, and that he seems to be wearing something that might be considered a hat.

Skarn would not do Alyssa "Alright" grabbing himself a long sword and stepping into the grounds. Anyone who was interested in trying things out would have a senior member of the HEMA club assist them with any help they would need, along with supervising any sparring to ensure safety and prevent injuries.

Skarn would get into a ready stance "For armor like this there are a few creators that make lightweight but sturdy one. For more padding or for training or competition there are a few websites I can recommend."

Sarita reacts to the teasing with exactly the reaction sought. Managing to flush even harder and protest even more obviously.

"That's not...I mean...I didn't...I wouldn't- I..."

Fortunately, Asenath's departure (even after a few actions guaranteed to make her sputter harder) give the two woman a chance to breath and defluster. At least a little bit. Sarita rubs her temple.

"...How am I -from- here and somehow not cut out for LA? I...Sorry for all that. I didn't know you two...uh...knew each other. We ran into each other in a café, just the other day. I sling her records most weekends...and may or may not have had a poster on my wall for multiple years."

ROLL> Pris: Dexterity vs. 8 -> 2 successes.

Oh the LOOK on Gabriel's face! The Delight! When Wayen shakes his hand, the wizard beams and shakes it back, shuffling over a little closer to the fellow in furs to give the others some space to chit chat. "Monsieur, you cannot imagine how delighted I am to meet a fellow investigator! Oh and a bodyguard - well yes, you, well... look at you." Oh, and he is. "But please excuse me. You say you are working to establish a new place of business? I myself am setting up near the university, UCLA. The westside, yes. That is where my business shall be, and where I shall live. I have not established anything in concrete just yet - perhaps you may give a new arrival some advice? Ah yes, and of course..." Wayne gets a business card too.

Avery can't help but let out a short laugh to what Gabriel implies about her wardrobe. "Breathtaking on a casual level, I suppose." The business card that comes to be offered is eyed quietly a moment, then she reaches out to take it, briefly glancing over the front and back. "Given what we're at, I feel like there should be a 'Dark' in front of the business name." A shoulder shrugs, a very slight movement considering her attire, then the card finds a place among the folds of her costume as Gabriel provides introduction to Wayne. She looks back to Adam with a smile, lips pressing gently together as though to keep from answering the question he poses for the Dark Scholar. "It doesn't usually hurt to ask. Usually." There's that grin again.

ROLL> Pris: Perception + Empathy vs. 6 -> 0 successes.

The death mask turns toward Wayne, its hollow gaze settling with quiet intent. "My apologies, Warlord Spencer, for the lack of a proper introduction." A slight pause, deliberate. "This is Mr. Adam Turnbull, Mr. Raymond Grayson, and Mr. Gabriel LeSeraph..." His tone is that of regret, " Yes, again, I regret the delay of formalities."

His tone soften as his attention shifts back down to Avery, the words edged with something near amusement. "It would seem you are quite popular this evening." The clasped hand in his own is given a gentle, lingering squeeze of support and care. However Adam question bring a smile, "I am afraid, you are not prepare for the darkest that dwells within." A theatrical voice of spookiness escape the unsettling mask. His gaze drift however to Grayson for a moment.

Alyssa straps on some padding, taking a moment to shake herself some as her robes are strapped against her skin. "I meant more like the real deal stuff, got some workable padding at home." she says, testing the weight of the sword, not quite familiar to her at all with its awkward shaping. Nevertheless, she takes a position opposite Skarn.

ROLL> Alyssa: Dexterity + Melee vs. 6 -> 5 successes. (9 8 8 7 7 7 1)

Like some kind of metaphor for the way beauty can be a kind of cage, Pris raises the foam weapon with elegance and dignity within the confines of ladies Renaissance fashion, and actually opens with a not bad rally at trying to hit the self-proclaimed senior.

It looks like Mark, for now at least, is allowing Pris to be the aggressor. He stands and waits for her attack, pacing back and forth in his slow and heavy footed way. She comes in swinging at him with the boffer weapon, and nearly hits him! Again, it looks as if he knows what he's doing, his fitness above average (relative to his apparent age) and he seems to know a little about how to handle the sword. He turns Pris' blow aside, barely, at the last second, blocking it off to the side, "That's not bad but you're showing off too much." He says, in the sort of calm and patient tone that can be infuriating in the wrong situation. "You're not posing for a magazine cover, you're trying to hurt me." Uh. Okay Mark, calm down man. Apparently he takes combat teaching seriously!

Asenath draws away from the pair of Lexi and Sarita, and moves to watch Mark and Pris beat at each other in ways that are, alas, not terribly sensual. That in no way makes it less entertaining, though, and of course the tall goth rock star in all her slut-rageousness (that's a word now) grins as she watches. Does she have a favorite, among the pair? Of course she does - and it is for that reason that she even calls out, her voice raising easily above the din of the crowd because anyone who can emulate Bruce Dickinson on command isn't gonna have much problem being heard anywhere, ever.

"Pose for a magazine cover and hurt him!"

Skarn would get beat by Alyssa by some back and forward though the large armored man does not seem to be worried about it quite the opposite "Ah see you know your way around a blade miss. I should probably be taking lessons from you."

"So your shopping list, then?," Adam quips, tilting his head back ever so slightly to catch the Dark Scholar's eyes--or to try to, anyway. It's much harder to do given the mask in place. Harder still to detect any hint of mirth or irritation, though he seems to be aiming for the former rather than the latter. "I keep mine on my phone, personally. Much more portable. Much less stylish, though. Less of an air of doom and gloom about the old iPhone."

With introductions being made, though, he does turn back to Wayne, Adam's dark eyes resting on the man's face for a moment, then another. "A pleasure, Mister Spencer. The name's a familiar one, but I hadn't put a face to it before."

Pris glances to Asenath and laughs, then turns her attention back to Mark, with a mildly-raised eyebrow. "Is refinement of sword-play usually developed through lecture-based teaching? I haven't exactly seen anything to emulate, Mr. Steele." Giving him a quiet challenge.

Alyssa is in her element here, more than she can really express, those deep red robes were moving like a bullfighter's cape as she circles "Just some simple sparring, count clean hits." she says curtly, figuring the experienced fighter knew her meaning. She takes a slow advance, blissfully unaware of the other combat not so far away, much more refined, though much less passionate. She takes a hanging crown guard, her sword held high, not needing to be angled down as much against the taller man. She would move with grace in her strikes, and blows would be traded in quick engagements, it would certainly be a treat to watch two experienced fighters go across for a longer bout "I've actually been looking for a place to practice around here, do you guys have an opening?"

Skarn nods to Alyssa "We have openings and membership which allows use of the hall for sparring and training, can give you a pamphlet if you want" grinning to her widely Wayne laughs at the 'look at you' remark -- he seems sincerely amused. "Westside, huh? I was looking at Hollywood myself, maybe Santa Monica, but I'm still going back and forth about it. I have to look at the neighborhoods and what I can afford in terms of rent and everything else. There are so many considerations that need to go into choosing where to put one's place of work." He pauses and fishes in a furry belt pouch, drawing out a business card to exchange, then takes Gabriel's and tucks it inside that same pouch.

He smiles at the Dark Scholar's introductions and nods to each in turn, and says, "In my non-warlord guise, I'm just Wayne Spencer," amused to no end. "Likewise, I've heard your name before, and now I can connect it to a face, Mister Turnbull." He nods toward Greyson and notes, "I remember having met you before. I really need to be more social."

Off to the side, away from any risk of getting near swinging foam weapons, Eliott watches Alyssa and Skarn, his eyes wide and moving fast as he tracks the speed of their strikes. He might not even be aware of the way that he takes a little step back.

Mark rises to the challenge and shuffles in. He knows how to swing a sword. He does all the right things, generating power through his hips, following through with his shoulder. He even puts a thrust in there. But, he's still 55+, and he's still basically a heavy-footed shuffler. You can tell there was probably a day in his prime that he was a bad-ass, but probably no more. Thus goes the way of all flesh one supposes. However, it seems good enough to slip past Pris' defenses, a backhand swing of his sword thwacking Pris what sounds like a pretty hard hit in the arm.

Cyrus smiles softly to Amanda as she explains. "Thanks. No one was asking inappropriate questions. I didn't expect to get all this attention when I started writing books," he offers, letting Amanda piece together the why of his discomfort from there. He takes his moment of solace with gratitude and tries to litter it with as few words as possible, his silence made thoughtful by the far-away look floating in and out of his eyes. "All the same, it's part of the job I suppose," he adds eventually with the remnants of his prior crowd still following a few paces behind.

Grayson inclines his head politely to Wayne. "Mr. Spencer," he greets the man, his voice quiet despite the volume of the crowd. There's a nod for Avery, too, and the Dark Scholar, but mostly he's letting Adam take point right now. There are twin points of colour high on his pale cheeks, and his eyes are ever so slightly narrowed; he's being polite but deliberately so, and his expression is so blank it might as well be another mask like the scholar's.

The absolute astonishment on Pris' face when Mark takes and lands that palpable hit. She is. Floored. But apparently uninjured. Her lips part gently, and she says, "Ow."

There's that teasing stroke of hands, the words, the little kiss to her head - it's hard to tell if Asenath just adopts people in general though. Lexi shivers briefly, either way. And smiles a little... Embarrassedly to Sarita. As the straw comment is made, there's a blink blink as she parses that for a moment, then looks to Sarita, then back again.

The little bump guiding her over towards Sarita makes her jump, and then she laughs, embarrassedly, smiling to Sarita after with pink-glossed lips.

"She's-- Very -- A presence, yeah. Hi again."

"Is LA always like that then, you mean? I didn't even know you were a DJ too I think. You were dressed.. Very different last time yeah. That's cool. When you said the radio thing I thought it was like news stuff.."

Adam again becomes the focus of the Dark Scholar's attention, "Yes, well, there is nothing quite like a tome to invoke eldritch terror in others. Something about citing Latin sent a chill up the spine of many.. Even if it is the rantings of Rhode Island author." He sigh a bit, "But, yes, the age of cell phone are somewhat unsettling." His attention drifts back to Grayson from time to time, before looking down to Avery. "Clothing shopping.. speaking of terror beyond words."

"I should imagine that rent may decide it for you. My budget is small, such is life. If yours is more robust, being closer to the beating heart is a sound choice. Far easier to well... have conversations that need having." Gabriel trails off a little as he pays attention to the ring to catch sight of Pris and Mark sword fighting. "It has come to this, has it?" It's said with soft bemusement and affection, watching those two. "But in any case, it is a pleasure to meet you! Should you need any resources from the UCLA library please let me know. I shall obtain, mmm.... overnight access to it soon. Monsieurs et Madame." He bows to them as a group and hobbles a bit closer to the ring, resting a hand on the wooden rail. "Mark! What is this childish nonsense?! Why are you clothed?!"

Amanda seems more than happy to let Cyrus take the breather, alternating glances from Cyrus to the crowd, back to Cyrus, ensuring that no one is getting into their personal bubble. A bubble that's not *visible*, but the way she stands hopefully gives an impression that the space is desired. Hopefully keeping the crowd at 'breathing range'.

"Oh, no problem," she says. "In that case, I won't get into details about which parts I *thought* you were finding inappropriate. Wouldn't want to end up embarrassing anyone." 'Anyone' in this case meaning 'her', probably? "Anyway, not to fanboy, but I've had a flip through some of the books. You've got a good writing style. I can imagine why they would catch on. simple enough wording that anyone can really absorb them, but with just complex enough topics that people don't feel... you know. Infantilized by the scares. It's a good balance, I'm saying." Amanda raises her thumb up. "A-1 job. Amanda Lee, by the way. Nothing like a superfan. Just a normal fan, and a busybody who'll apparently White Knight someone who's getting implied relationship questions asked."

When Pris looks surprised and astonished at being hit, Mark only gives a very slightly amused smile, though there's a brooding dark cast on his face, a difference in him . . . in a fight. He stands and invites her in, waving his sword as if to as 'come on, come on and try again'

Alyssa has a wicked grin as she exchanges contacts for the gym. She would walk back to the side, unstrapping her padding and nodding to Eliott "See, lotta fun!" she says, a bit loudly. "I seriously need to get some more practice in though." she continues, looking him over before she spares a glance over to the other sparring.

While Mark is smiling at her pain, Pris narrows her eyes and takes the opportunity to go in for some payback. She makes to strike his left. Flank.

Sarita chuckles, rubbing the back of her neck shyly. But without outside interference, they were able to breath again. The flush begins to retract, but by bit, toward her normal coloration.

"...That she is. I honestly have no idea how much of a show she's putting on...Probably less than I think. But really, it's amazing we ran into each other at all. I honestly didn't expect her to agree to talk to me...and it's kind of both? Fridays and...most Saturdays, when the antennae is working, it's music. The Midnight March. Sunday is talk format. Sunset LA. Just a little gig, to be honest."

She coughs, and finally extends her hand out to Lexi.

"Really did want to run into you again. You caught my name. Sar-...Uh. Well, Sarita Shah. But it's Sarah Strand for the radio. Easier for people. I never did catch yours. Can't call you milkshake therapist forever."

Asenath, watching Mark and Pris, just shakes her head and sighs heavily. And then - she's gonna regret this, and she knows it, but sometimes life is worth regretting a little - the goth rock star glances about the surroundings briefly, as if looking to ensure someone or someones is or are not present. The 6'6" shadow of Dominik nearby catches her attention, and to her bodyguard the goth rock star tilts her head. "Anyone tries to take pictures of what's coming, I'll pay for the cameras." With that permission of sorts given, she turns back to the fight - and calls out again.

"I'm next, so fuck him up, Pris!"

"Tell me about," Avery murmurs with a glance back up to the Dark Scholar. "Everything that's supposedly fashionable hardly looks fashionable. I'm sure I could rock a potato sack, or a body bag." She's kidding, right? Most likely, considering she can't contain the amused smile that quickly appears. A curious look is given to Grayson where he looms just behind Adam's shoulder, then her gaze shifts elsewhere, taking in more of the festivities now even as the conversations around her carry on.

Eliott's laughter is almost soundless as Alyssa comes back to where he's watching from. "I don't know that I would find it so," he admits. "You're very good. I don't think you mentioned how you wound up picking up the hobby." He then follows her gaze to Mark and Pris and, in a tone a bit more concerned, adds: "I hope he doesn't hurt himself."

Mark and Pris exchange another few short volleys of blows and blocks, and then she is able to flank him, to move faster than he is and outfox the old wolf. She comes around on his left and he apparently isn't an ambi-turner, because he turns way too slow and takes a hit right to the precious hip. He winces, stumbling back a step and almost losing his footing. Not quite going down to one knee, he lifts his hand and offers, "I yield, I yield." He grins at the blonde Albret, "I wish I had your vigor."

"If you ever want a tour of Hollywood, Mister Spencer, just ask. I've been settled there for awhile now. Long enough that I only have make up wild bullshit for about half the stars on the Walk of Fame instead of most of them, y'know?," Adam offers, before rocking back on his heels, then forwards again. He nods once to Gabriel as the man departs.

That swings into a slow turn of his head, one brow arching mildly at the Dark Scholar, then at Avery, and back again. "I suspect we have very different ideas of entertainment. While I won't deny the fun in sparking terror in people too obtuse to recognize Latin, there's an undeniable pleasure in taking a lovely woman out to buy new things. In watching her eyes light when she finds something she feels beautiful in, taking in the look on her face when she turns to you hoping you'll think the same. I recommend trying it some night, if you've got the opportunity."

A faint step to one side makes room for Grayson to join their conversation once more, if he's so inclined. But Adam only looks over his should at the taller man the once, saying nothing more.

ROLL> Mark: Manipulation + Subterfuge vs. 4 -> 3 successes. (10 8 5 4 3 1)
ROLL> Pris: Perception + Empathy vs. 6 -> 4 successes.
ROLL> Asenath: Perception + Empathy vs. 6 -> 4 successes. (9 7 7 7 2)

Pris watches Mark with warm amusement, eyebrows slightly raised. "Mmmhmmm." She quietly offers him a hand. "I have to be going, but that was not as unpleasant as I thought it would be."

Alyssa hums "Just some nerd stuff I picked up in high school with some guy friends. Beat the heck out of track." she says "Been at it for about a decade." she smirks "Plus, very fun thing to spring on people, like now." she gives a small wink "They look like they know what they're doing over there." she says, moving towards the other ring to watch.

There's a soft quiet chuckle that comes out audibly as much as it does visibly, amusement etched over Cyrus' countenance. "Oh, those weren't relationship questions," he says with his words bouncing along that quiet laugh still coming forth. "Thomas, or Skarn as he's better known, is our real star for the evening. They just put my name on it, but as you saw, he was the real crowd favorite. He's a smaller YouTuber so they were probably wondering how the collaboration happened. That part is a secret, but I promise it's dreadfully boring information behind an even more boring NDA." He speaks not to her but with his eyes cast over the park, looking past the faire to some place thousands of miles away before he turns to face them again, his eyes boring into Amanda's with a natural intensity while he devours her every word with an off putting focus.

"I'm very grateful for all my fans, super and normal alike. If anything, I myself have never quite been normal. Which book was your favorite?"

"Bravo, Ms Albret! Bravo!" Gabriel clacks his staff against the wooden rail in lieu of clapping, given that he can't really let go. Asenath's intention to go fight Mark next gets a grin, and he turns to her after she offers to purchase all the cameras with photos of her in them. "Madame Demoncouer, if you use your stilettos as your weapons I will become your most devoted follower." He flutters his eyelashes and smiles prettily, resting his elbow on the rail and propping up his chin with his hand.

Lexi listens curiously to Sarita, with the expression on her delicate features one of hearing some alien device being operated.

"Why does the antennae not work sometimes? Isn't it always meant to be on with radio or something? I'm gonna listen to I think... I need to get a radio, my parents had one I remember..." She murmurs thoughtfully towards the end.

Taking the hand carefully, she shakes it, then laughs a little.

"Oh god, so formal but-- Like, you look much LESS formal. I didn't think this would be your scene at all really kinda surprising. I kinda rushed to make it here I forgot it was on, I'm not good with schedules... Now I need to make an outfit in retrospect I think."

"Oh! I'm Lexi. But milkshake therapist is kinda funny..."

Mark is a good sport about it, however much he may have gotten a bit too into the drill instructor bit. Then again, given what his career was spent doing in his youth. He steps forward to accept Pris Albret's hand, holding onto it with a firm and friendly shake, meeting her gaze right in the eyes. "Thanks for not hurting me too hard Ms. Albret, I hope to see you again soon." Since she's leaving, he moves towards the side.

Eliott trails after Alyssa towards where Mark and Pris are sparring. "'Nerd stuff' is usually how people describe things like chess club," he counters. And then: "I think Mr. Steele used to be a soldier. Have you met him? He was at the 13th Hour a lot when I used to play piano there."

Amanda shakes her head, raising her hand in a polite gesture and reassuring, "Don't worry. I don't need to know *how* the two of you collaborated. Not my business, especially if it's a secret. Not theirs, either, though," she adds, a slight nod toward the crowd with a grin, "though that secrecy *is* why I thought it might be a relationship thing.”

She leaves the comment at that, look neither knowing nor apologetic for being told it was a misunderstanding. Hey. They happen! "I don't think *any* of us is particularly *normal*," Amanda agrees with great humor. "That's just how things go. Personally, though, when it comes to books, I'm not *as* much into horror and dark fantasy. Just personal taste. You did write a modern fantasy... I *think* they call it that? Urban fantasy, maybe? .... is it?" That part, asking herself the question, almost seems to expect an answer as she tilts her head and tries to gather her thoughts.

A slight delay in reply that takes a bit longer than might be comfortable, in fact, before she snaps out of 'asking herself' and says, "Oh, sorry. Right. It was 'Freudian Slip'. The man who couldn't lie, even if he was answering questions that he didn't know the answer to. I really liked the concept behind it. Very eerie."

"No one ever accused me of being good at being casual, it's true." Sarita agreed, easily. Then blew out a breath, "...And it IS supposed to be on all the time but...we've got gremlins. Live system gets locked up and needs a full reboot and some retooling -far- more than I'd like. I should be there but...it gave me the chance to run down here for the event. I've been looking to ask around after Mr. Thorne for a while anyway."

She turns in place and lets the hem of the dress swirl out a bit, obviously pleased.

"Do you like it? I was convinced I wouldn't find anything on short notice but...well, it's LA. Finding a selection of appropriate dresses for a bygone age in this town is barely even a challenge. One of the other hosts does stage management on the side. Oh! Looks the battle are about to heat up...I hope I'm not keeping you?"

Asenath looks aside a moment, to Gabriel, and her brows lift a little over the sanguine tint of her eyeglass lenses. "Admitting you are not currently my most devoted follower? A bold move."

But Asenath's about to be somewhat busy, since it's her turn. She simply turns and strides up to take a sword, holding it not quite like it's some alien thing, but not far from that either. She een purses her lips as she regards the thing; and though someone behind her is trying to insist that the goth rock star sign some kind of waiver, that person is, well: ignored. What are they gonna do, anyway?

The goth swings the sword a couple times, and nods to herself. "This should be hilarious."

And with that? She steps into the ring in Pris' place, grinning at the blonde in passing. "I obviously understand if you only have the stamina for one beautiful woman, Mr. Steele. You are after all so... old." Taunting about his age really should be below even Asenath, but obviously: it isn't.

Alyssa nods, shaking her head "Sure, but chess club is takes a bit less..." she mulls her words "lets say specificity to get in to." she continues over "Not at all, don't think I've been to the 13th hour either." she says, looking the older man up and down with idle curiosity on her face.

Mark is sweating a little, maybe even more than a little! It might be night time, but that's a lot of activity for a heart his age. He stops near the weapons rack, slowly putting away the boffer weapon and glancing over towards Asenath and Gabriel, remarking in a raised voice used to piercing battle fields, "I am glad to see how loyal my friends are in their support." Since both of them cheered for Mark to get whooped. Then Alyssa and Eliott are approaching as Eliott trails the comely young woman. "Hello there Eliott, how've you been?"

But then Asenath's challenge is coming, and Mark turns to consider her. Quite a bit more seriously than he did the challenge from Pris. He looks around the crowd for a moment, as if considering what they might want.

There is a softness to his voice, a quiet kindness. "I am certain that no matter what you wear, where you wear it, you would be stunning." His linked hand shifts, curling effortlessly around Avery's shoulder. His gaze flickers between Avery and Adam, and though the mask conceals his face, there is something in his stillness. an unseen moment of hesitation, as if caught like a deer in headlights. "You need only express the desire," he murmurs, tone unwavering despite the social reservations. "And I will endure the public for you, to shop until you can no longer...if that is what you want." Yup. Doomed.

Pris gives Mark a warm nod, Asenath a quiet smile, and then moves off, waving to Eliott and Alyssa as she passes them, and then she heads out.

With Asenath striding into the arena, the wizard Gabriel smiles dreamily. "It was a bold move to nearly ask for your wife's phone number, Madame. But of course I would never presume to do that." A beat, and he croons, "May I have yours instead?" Good lord, someone get a hose. Mark's grumbling about how supportive his friends are, the elderly gentleman gets a compassionate smile. "I am behind you one hundred percent, Sir! There is less chance for Madame Demoncouer to damage me that way."

Eliott takes one hand out of his pocket long enough to give Mark a little wave, before jamming it back in, again. "Hello, Mr. Steele. I've been well. Entertained. I'm not sure I knew what to expect when I came out here tonight, but it's been an experience." A pause. "... Are you alright?" Look, he's OLD, alright? Eliott may have concerns about broken hips.

Avery's expression softens at what Adam says, and she watches the man quietly for a short time. "I sense the heart of a romantic there," she says, following it with a soft laugh. "And don't worry - I won't let on that you possess such a softness." There's a slight grin, then she looks back up at the Dark Scholar. "We both know I won't express a desire to do that, so you're safe. For now."

Mark smiles apologetically at Eliott and Alyssa, "I'm sorry, I'd love to talk to you in a minute, if I can still talk." He smiles to Eliott, "Thanks for your concern, I'll be okay, maybe a bit of a bruise." He calls out then to Asenath, "The US Army never backs down." It seems he's going to meet Asenath's challenge. She has many fans after all, and is putting him in a tough position where he can't back down without looking like a killjoy or afraid of her. "Just don't hurt me."

ROLL> Asenath: Manipulation + Subterfuge vs. 6 -> 2 successes. (10 10 7 5 2 1)
ROLL> Gabriel: Perception + Subterfuge vs. 6 -> 2 successes. (7 7 5 4 3)

Alyssa gives a gentle smile and a slight bow of deference to the older man, the wide brimmed red hat covering her face for a moment. She gives a sidelong look to Eliott when he asks Mark if he was okay. She follows Mark's eyes up to the singer watching from on high, surprised to see her here as well.

She quickly shakes her head, with a smile, Lexi smiling a little bit embarassedly.

"Oh, no, nothing like that god -- I would've come to talk to you anyway without the celebrity endorsement..." She laughs softly for a moment, and then tilts her head curiously, after the little twirl.

"Yeah -- that's pretty cool, maybe I need to make friends with that host because the possibilities with Hollywood makeup would be amaaaazing. Like, aliens and demons and all kinds of crazy stuff. I wonder if they ever get tempted to dress someone up crazy and let them loose in a backwater street and see how people react. Why does no one do that already? Make everyone think the world is ending or somethi--- Ooh, battle?"

She looks around, and over that way. What is Asenath doi----

Asenath finds herself alone in the ring, and just tilts her head as she watches Mark consider whether or not to rejoin her. And then he does, and is met with a laugh from the goth rock star which comes complete with her head tossing back, the long, long, holy shit so long curtain of her hair - it falls to her knees, for Christ's sake - shifting in a little rippling wave with the movement. "Oh, I can think of a few times they backed down." Oh, yes: she's still taunting. When does she ever do otherwise?

Still, Asenath's smiling at Mark as he comes to meet her challenge, and she takes up her sword in a fashion that is at once vaguely familiar with how to wield the thing in some academic sense and not terribly familiar in the practicality of things. "No promises, Mr. Steele. But I'll try to restrain myself."

Eliott pushes his hair out of his eyes, watching as Asenath and Mark go back into the ring together. He looks over at Alyssa. "The 13th Hour is down the street from Dante's. It's a jazz club."

Mr. Chen seems to be appreciating the skill used, as he stands off to the side, hands in his hoody pockets. He's just watching, and as he doesn't know anyone here... he's alone.

"That was inspired by someone I went to High School with. He was suspended for spraying graffiti on the lockers. He spray painted his name, but they couldn't read it. When asked, he told them outright it was him. I'd never seen him once lie but... I'm sure his situation wasn't as extreme as the book." He slips his phone out of his pocket while squeezing the button on the side, the screen glowing and revealed only enough to show the time. "I'm only obligated to spend two hours in the public eye today so, thanks for making it bearable," he tells Amanda with a warm smile. "And thanks for appreciating my work. I'm not sure if people believe me when I say this anymore but, it still means a lot. I worked hard on every one." After a moment of his eyes going far and his lips pressing tight and his brow twisting up into a knot of skin at the center he adds, pulling free a small white perfectly rectangular bit of cardboard from his pocket, "Here's my agent's contact info. He'll be expecting to hear from you, Ms..?" he pauses to let her answer. "I'll send you a signed copy of Freudian Slip. Or if there's something else, ask."

"...That might explain a lot about some of the stranger characters in LA, to be sure. Though I hold out some suspicion that the alien invasion might be real. I could absolutely introduce you to an excessive number of theatre kids, if you'd like."

Her eyes also drift to the ring...and her eyebrows jump up into her hairline.

"...Sure looks like our mutual friend is going to try her hand at swordfighting. She does HEMA? I am...okay, surprised probably isn't the word, but..."

Sarita puts a hand lightly on Lexi's back, automatically guiding her back in the direction of the arena.

Asenath might have a little more experience than she's letting on. Maybe she trained at some point at a gym in her young life, or had a boyfriend who was into this shit, or... whatever. She launches her first attack in any case, with the sort of two-handed overhand strike that would probably hurt like a bitch if it connected; but it won't. In some fashion Mark will block, and Asenath will simply laugh - and it might actually be a genuine laugh.

Is the goth rock star... enjoying herself? Unironically?

There's a bright, bold laugh at that accusation--at having the heart of a romantic. Adam shakes his head once. It's enough to dislodge a few of his curls, which he soon tucks back into their place behind his ear. "My innamorati are more likely to spike something hard and sharp at my head than to enjoy the swish and swirl of a good dress, Miss Thornton," he admits, his voice something of a murmur as he replies to Avery and to the Dark Scholar. "Because I have a taste for the wildly temperamental. Still, I find it's best to indulge them as much as possible. It makes my discomfort short-lived, instead of leaving me with a suddenly missing limb. Or two. Besides, I enjoy seeing their joy, even when it's at my figurative instead of my literal expense."

Alyssa gives a soft 'ahh' to Eliott as she is suddenly very interested in the trash talking from the ring. Clearly miss Demoncoeur kept interesting friends. She squints her eyes some as she watches, expecting experience before realizing this was far more friendly. She gives a look up to Mr. Chen, considering him for a moment.

Mark prepares, smiling slightly as Asenath raises the weapon with some familiarity, and promises to restrain herself. He seems to believe in 'ladies first' when it comes to combat. Because just like with Pris he doesn't move, just paces slowly in his ponderous way back and forth, waiting for Asenath to choose to come to him. When Asenath springs into action and comes at him with that overhead strike he waits until the last minute, and rather than trying to block it entirely he steps into her personal space, so that he's too close for it to really be effective and easier for him to push it off and shrug Asenath to the side, "Ms. Demoncouer. You are a constant surprise to me." Mark grins at her laugh. . . what does it say about the buttoned up lawyer that he seems more relaxed fighting than in a bar.

Amanda accepts the piece of card from Cyrus. "Oh, thank you, Mr. Thorne." Tone is back to something approaching professional again, a little pitchy once more to give it that *official* sound. As if indeed, it *is* business that's just being broken off. "Lee. Amanda Lee. And please," she adds, letting her voice ease again some, "it's fine. I haven't experienced it first-hand, but I know all about how fans can be. I'd love to have the chance to chat again sometime, if you're offering. It'll be my pleasure, I'm sure." Her own contact is, unfortunately, not on a card, though she will write it down if Cyrus wants it in return. "Enjoy the event. I certainly know I am. The costuming is *fantastic*." She holds up her phone in indication of what she means by that.

Lexi beams at Sarita, and nodnods along, "Sure! I like to do new costumes-- A lot really, it's fun- But it's never quite Hollywood quality but no one does...."

"What's HEMA?"

She follows along to the arena, as she's well, guided, though she does look aside to Sarita curiously a moment. Maybe she's not as shy as she thought. She smiles a bit.

Then she shouts,

"BEAT HIM ASENATHHHHHH.... WITH THE SWORD...! Oh dothethingwhere theyjumpontheropes then jump off the rope like an arrow!"

Eliott follows Alyssa's gaze to Mr. Chen; he's watchful enough that's it's probably instinct for him to look where the people he's with are looking. Lexi's shout makes him jump and pretty roughly pulls his attention back to the spar.

ROLL> Mark: 5 vs. 6 -> 4 successes. (10 10 9 7 2)
ROLL> Asenath: Dexterity + Melee vs. 6 -> 1 success. (8 2 2 2)
ROLL> Mark: Strength + 3 vs. 6 -> 5 successes. (10 10 10 9 8 3)

Mr. Chen will nod to Elliott, and make a comment. "She is good. Better than I expected." He chuckles, not taking his eyes off of the pretty woman. "You also did well." This time, he looks away form Asenath to Alyssa.

He glances down at Avery, his voice threaded with quiet amusement. "Now, if I were to take you to the lost books.... I have a feeling the outcome would be quite different. Somehow, I suspect I would soon be finding space for yet another collection." His gaze shifts, tracking Asenaths battle with idle curiosity. Absent-mindedly, he responds to Adams' remark regarding expense, his tone smooth yet with a strong scene of knowing. "I can deeply relate to that." his attention drifts back to Avery, watching, waiting, and possibly fearing his own words.

Eliott meets Mr. Chen's nod with a nervous wave. And maybe a smile, although it's hard to be sure, since the lower half of his face is covered by his scarf.

Mark hears Lexi screaming for Asenath to beat him up and frowns a little. He purses his lips together, and then comes around to another pass at Asenath. Attacks are made on both sides and deflected on both sides, a few testing swings back and forth before Mark seems to just perfectly time a hitch in Asenath's defense. So perfectly in fact, that it hits quite a bit harder than he'd originally intended. Even he winces slightly at the loud 'thwack' sound, wherever it wound up scoring.

"Perhaps you should look around while you're here to see if there's a good helmet of sorts for sale," Avery suggests to Adam with light amusement. "Or a shield. Unless you tend to duck behind furniture and use pillows or cushions for cover. See, now I have this whole picture in my head of things being hurtled at your head and I want to make sure you have proper protection." With the Dark Scholar's voice then sounding, she looks back up at him, thoroughly amused now. "You can afford more space, somewhere. There's always space somewhere for books."

Amanda's phone and the pictures therein will keep Cyrus lingering for a few more moments. He doesn't keep up with her professional pretense and instead chats with her still like an old friend, a lighthearted and casual flow to the cadence of his warm tenor. "Those are great. Great shots," he compliments. He's reluctant about trading direct contact information with fans, but Amanda has a way to reach him and any barrier can eventually be broken even if he doesn't ask for a number or give his own today. "Sure. Just tell Vikram you and I are due for lunch," he offers. "He'll get it all scheduled. It's good to meet you Amanda," he says with his relaxed candor before strolling away, artfully navigating around a passing crowd to avoid another approaching fan before he disappears into the dark of the LA night.

Alyssa's eyes continue to wander over the crowd, amused at how animated the crowd is, the rock star is a lot better than she thought, but Mark's experience is enough to keep her at bay. She is clearly amused and quips over to Elliott "Think he's doing just fine." grinning.

Sarita smiled, thumbing her recorder back on for some more ambient combat, but this time she doesn't stay silent, joining in the cheering with the kind of meaningless 'woo' cheer of someone not quite brave enough to call out for specific wrestling moves.

"Hema. It's the uh...Okay, I looked this up. The Historical European Martial Arts. They're the big org when it comes to sword fighting. A lot of the people who do stage combat seem to - Oh-."

Sarita winces at -that- impact. Ooof. She hoped the venue had a waiver signed. That looked like it might have -stung-.

Somewhere near the arena, there's a 6'6" man dressed in a black-on-black suit who looks like he's just about always ready to tackle someone - and now looks like he's really ready to tackle someone. Mark, specifically. Because when the older man connects with the rock star, that heavy thwack elicits first and foremost a surprised gasp from the goth; and after, something like a grunt as she stumbles, having been struck - quite firmly - in her outer thigh. It makes her stumble, and she's also in four inch heels - so the stumble is a little exaggerated. She stays upright though, and casts a quick look toward her bodyguard. She even holds a hand out to make sure he doesn't try to interfere.

And then Asenath straightens, rolls her shoulders, and sets herself. But rather than attack again, she just bows to Mark, again openly displaying just how readily her dress offers up the depth of her cleavage for admiration. "Mr. Steele. That fucking hurt, but I did sign up for it."

Having tacitly surrendered, she moves to make her way out of the arena - and pauses only a moment to murmur something to Mark as she goes.

The event will carry on for several hours more, and no one will be kicked out once the crew comes to dismantle the set. Eventually the vendors will go once money stops being spent, but the festivities carry on all the same. The bodies never rise from the dead until being disassembled at the events close, and neither does any other truly horrific event reveal sinister motives behind the gathering. Despite advertising itself as the opposite, the festivities are for many a much needed reprieve from the world's true darkness.

Eliott tenses a little bit at the sound of that hit, going very still until Alyssa's comment seems to bring him back to himself again. "I suppose I never thought of him as someone who'd be able to fight. Which sounds pretty silly when I say it out loud. Hopefully I'll get the chance to introduce you two, one of these days."

Alyssa smiles "Maybe so, I'll try to stop by over there sometime, when are you playing?" she asks casually, though judging by how she was sizing up Mark, she looked eager to give the older man yet another bout.

Amanda moves away from where she'd been chatting to Cyrus, letting him return to his fans (or hide from the crowds; either-or) while she returns to her costume-snapping. More people, more costumes, more pictures in her camera roll to marvel over later on. None of the full armor gets taken, one might notice; it looks as if she's focusing on things that someone might be able to put together with cloth and *not* needing the knowledge to forge.

Although speaking of armor, she is making her way over toward the 'arena', even though it looks as if the battle is just finishing up. Amanda looks up to see the tail end of the match, lingering to see whether others are planning to step in and start hitting one another while they're at it.

Grayson continues to stay quietly where he is, saying and showing very little indeed. He's resplendent in red and black, but otherwise he's just keeping a watchful eye on things around himself and Adam. If anything, he's another one like Asenath's slightly-shorter friend. Eliott gives a slight shake of his head to Alyssa. "I don't play there anymore." His tone is... quiet. Something between apology and regret? It's hard to be sure. "The tips were nice while I was building up a library of sheet music, but I'm not really a jazz pianist, and I don't have as much time, anymore."

Mr. Chen nods to the end of the fight, glancing over at the security guard and then smiles. He'll give a polite nod to anyone near him, and then walk off.

The event will carry on for several hours more, and no one will be kicked out once the crew comes to dismantle the set. Eventually the vendors will go once money stops being spent, but the festivities carry on all the same. The bodies never rise from the dead until being disassembled at the events close, and neither does any other truly horrific event reveal sinister motives behind the gathering. Despite advertising itself as the opposite, the festivities are for many a much needed reprieve from the world's true darkness.