10-07-2015, 09:47 PM
It probably shouldn't have been so much a surprise that the Colosseum was jam-packed full of different people- spectators, competitors, representatives, and the like. Dante still felt a bit cramped and out of place in such a throng of individuals, but at least it seemed he wasn't the only one. There was a colorful variety of beings and professions wandering about, gathering towards a wide booth where it seemed signing was taking place, and many of them looked at least as extraordinary as Dante himself, if not more so.
So at least he wasn't too far off, the nephilim figured as he approached the tables. Still, most of these folks were humanoid, if not all entirely human-like. Perhaps, then, it would better not to make his devil half more apparent - if he could even reach it. But maybe it was better without it, to take the opportunity to test his base abilities. Yes, Dante decided, this was fine.
For the most part, he didn't pay much attention to the other people around him. Many different voices rang out in idle chatter and active declarations, but it was all white noise to Dante. He wanted to get in, fight, and win, easy enough. Not the fighting itself, but point being that the Son of Sparda kept his goals relatively simple.
The small cluster of people looking to sign up eventually dispersed enough for Dante to step up to one of the signup spots and stake his claim there. An attendant with long, elvish features and a voice laced with professional fake enthusiasm hailed him as he approached, "Looking to enter the tournament?" In mock pondering, Dante looked off to the side distantly, a hand on his chin in vein of The Thinker.
"Well, I am a Prime," the nephilim matter-of-factually responded, turning his vision back. Without waiting for further response, the lady pointed out one of the sheets, a fresh rectangle of beige parchment with a classical inkwell beside it. A list of scribbled and neat names alike were already dabbed on, leaving but a few spaces left at the bottom.
"Sign up right there. Entry will close soon, and the event will start in a couple days, after the brackets are announced," the elfin attendant declared, but Dante was already writing his name. As she stopped, so did he, and after a moment of actual consideration, scratched out the four letters he had written to register as something else. A moment longer, and beside a scribbled-out patch of ink sat the scratchy cursive signature of 'Tony Redgrave'.
It was best not to use his actual name, Dante decided, at least not for any official records. Slipping the pen back into the inkwell, the lady continued her false smile at Dante, "Alright, then. There is a carnival outside the stadium if you want to relaxation, and stands inside for refreshments. Or, there's a carriage service available if you want to go to nearby Minas Tirith. Just don't stray farther than that, or we can't get messages out to you."
"Right, got it," Dante mumbled out in dismissal of himself, and walked away from the stand to make away for a few others. For some reason, he was feeling awfully claustrophobic in here; for that reason, the Son of Sparda vouched himself to go outside and perhaps observe the carnival some. Maybe he could find some other entertainment to hold over his otherwise lost self.
So at least he wasn't too far off, the nephilim figured as he approached the tables. Still, most of these folks were humanoid, if not all entirely human-like. Perhaps, then, it would better not to make his devil half more apparent - if he could even reach it. But maybe it was better without it, to take the opportunity to test his base abilities. Yes, Dante decided, this was fine.
For the most part, he didn't pay much attention to the other people around him. Many different voices rang out in idle chatter and active declarations, but it was all white noise to Dante. He wanted to get in, fight, and win, easy enough. Not the fighting itself, but point being that the Son of Sparda kept his goals relatively simple.
The small cluster of people looking to sign up eventually dispersed enough for Dante to step up to one of the signup spots and stake his claim there. An attendant with long, elvish features and a voice laced with professional fake enthusiasm hailed him as he approached, "Looking to enter the tournament?" In mock pondering, Dante looked off to the side distantly, a hand on his chin in vein of The Thinker.
"Well, I am a Prime," the nephilim matter-of-factually responded, turning his vision back. Without waiting for further response, the lady pointed out one of the sheets, a fresh rectangle of beige parchment with a classical inkwell beside it. A list of scribbled and neat names alike were already dabbed on, leaving but a few spaces left at the bottom.
"Sign up right there. Entry will close soon, and the event will start in a couple days, after the brackets are announced," the elfin attendant declared, but Dante was already writing his name. As she stopped, so did he, and after a moment of actual consideration, scratched out the four letters he had written to register as something else. A moment longer, and beside a scribbled-out patch of ink sat the scratchy cursive signature of 'Tony Redgrave'.
It was best not to use his actual name, Dante decided, at least not for any official records. Slipping the pen back into the inkwell, the lady continued her false smile at Dante, "Alright, then. There is a carnival outside the stadium if you want to relaxation, and stands inside for refreshments. Or, there's a carriage service available if you want to go to nearby Minas Tirith. Just don't stray farther than that, or we can't get messages out to you."
"Right, got it," Dante mumbled out in dismissal of himself, and walked away from the stand to make away for a few others. For some reason, he was feeling awfully claustrophobic in here; for that reason, the Son of Sparda vouched himself to go outside and perhaps observe the carnival some. Maybe he could find some other entertainment to hold over his otherwise lost self.