TW: injury to animals ~~ Maethor slipped through the crowd into a door hidden in the back of the huge circular room. It led to a tiny room where a man sat at a desk and two humans lounged in tiny chairs. The man at the desk looked up, setting down the quill he had been using as his mild grey eyes scanned her. "Panther. Just in time, as usual. Set for ring One?" Maethor nodded, sitting down in a corner and glaring formidably at the two humans, who shrank away from her. "Ring One?" said the first human, a young man with blond hair and pleasant blue eyes. "Really?" Maethor tilted her head mockingly, "What're you, Ring Eight?" The boy blushed. "Ring Five, actually." Maethor snorted. "Hardly better." The young man fell silent and looked away. Maethor felt a twinge of satisfaction. Ring Five wasn't really all that bad, there were only two Destryers and Vaelers to ride them, whereas in Ring One there were four of each. The mild-mannered man at the desk looked up, pointing a stubby finger at the door. "You're up, Panther." "She's the Panth-" was all Maethor heard from the Ring Five man before she stepped into the threshold of the door, perching there. A loud voice boomed, "And now, we have Dust City's very own... PANTHER!" ~~~ Much gasped, his eyes widening. /That/ was where Panther was. The man beside him looked down curiously, but said nothing. The cheers of the crowd died down slowly as no Panther materialized, no warrior stepped into the arena. "I'm sure..." boomed the announcer, panic in his tone. He didn't get any farther. A woman appeared out of nowhere in the exact centre of the arena, standing as stiff as a statue, her onyx cloak hanging loosely off her shoulders. Her hood was off, and her brown hair was pulled back, covering her ears, but her mask was still on. Her green eyes flashed to the announcer. "You were saying?" Those three words hushed the crowd. The announcer swallowed. "O-Orrusta, Ring One!" he stammered, pointing dramatically upwards. ~~~
Outwardly, Maethor appeared bored. Her eyes flicked around the arena, appearing not to take anything into account, not even as previously concealed doors near the back of the arena swung open. "Hurry them up, will you, Petre?" she called to the announcer. The soft sandy floor masked the sound of hooves as four horses -oh, what horses- cantered out of the doors, a black-clad figure astride each of their backs. These were normal horses. Entirely normal, except for the fact that they had huge white wings, and that the stiff primary feathers on those wings had been coated with some shining metal, turning each into a deadly blade. Destryers. The Dragonking's second-finest creation. She stayed still as the horses thundered towards her, staring levelly at them, a blade spinning slowly on her forefinger. They came closer. Closer. At the last possible second, the feyrie dove aside, her knife raking the bottom of the leading Destryer's belly. The white horse stumbled and spread its wings, wildly beating them from side to side. The metal-coated feathers whistled past Maethor's ear, almost making contact. ~~~ "GO, PANTHER!" Much screamed, despite the hush of the crowd around him. The man looked strangely at him once more, "Do you know her?" "Yes!" Much grinned frankly up at him, "She's..." -he realised he probably shouldn't give too much away,- "a friend." "Ah." the stranger nodded, turned calmly back to the arena. But then his long fingers closed in an iron grip around Much's arm, and he very calmly whispered, still looking out at the stadium, "You're coming with me." ~~~
