RONIN
"I don't play chess," Ronin says quietly. "More of a cards and dice man, myself." Which speaks perfectly to the way the two of them are, in retrospect. Cian knocks, opens the door, and disappears inside. It doesn't take the Star long to follow, either; Ronin is practically burning up with it, the itch to move and to fight becoming more and more overwhelming with every stunning reminder that this place is not Torchline. Or the Greatwood. Or the Wishing Wagon.
By the time he makes it downstairs, it's already apparent that he's not intending to watch on the sidelines. Ronin has a word with a small, quiet man who definitely looks like the brains of the operation (what with him not being drunk or cheering or fighting), quickly determining which member of this little fight club brings in the highest bets. So of course he matches it, pulling his shirt over his head and meandering to the ring to await his turn.
Within, through the throngs of screaming, cheering spectators, the Star spies a large slab of meat with a face that he's pretty sure is supposed to be his opponent. The man makes him look like a string in comparison. Excellent.
By the time he makes it downstairs, it's already apparent that he's not intending to watch on the sidelines. Ronin has a word with a small, quiet man who definitely looks like the brains of the operation (what with him not being drunk or cheering or fighting), quickly determining which member of this little fight club brings in the highest bets. So of course he matches it, pulling his shirt over his head and meandering to the ring to await his turn.
Within, through the throngs of screaming, cheering spectators, the Star spies a large slab of meat with a face that he's pretty sure is supposed to be his opponent. The man makes him look like a string in comparison. Excellent.
one more wish for you
