06-22-2018, 12:14 PM
The woman nervously stacked a tumbler of whiskey onto the brown cafeteria tray, the glass clinking against the others that it joined. Champagne, red wine, vodka, a large diet soda, and some kind of tropical mixed thing with an itty bitty umbrella sticking out of the top.
She grasped the edge of the overfilled tray and gingerly lifted it with both hands, her eyes wide in focused terror for the fear of spilling everything. A nearby waiter have her an unsure glance and pleaded, “Again, I will happily carry your drinks for you.”
“Nah,” she replied, her laser focus not lifting from the drinks. “I wanna take it.” After she has held it for a few moments without it exploding, she looked up to him. “Ok, where am I heading again?”
“I last saw him around the central room, headed into the Teleporter room,” he carefully replied, glancing between her and the tray, imagining the mess he was about to have to clean up.
“Dope,” she shot back. She looked to the table of her compatriots, Caret rambling, Balanlara watching, and Kerrigan… was there. She barked out, “Aight dudes I'll be back in a bit. Be nice or whatever.” Caret waved enthusiastically, Balanlara nodded solemnly, and Kerrigan… was there.
It's not that Kerrigan wasn't nice. It's not that she wasn't present in every interaction that the two had. There was just something distant about her. Some inscrutable gulf that the marauder could never seem to vault. She probably just needed more time.
She turned and began to inch her way over the clean, white floors, the glasses rattling with every tiny step. She made it through the central chamber, everyone knowing well enough to avoid bumping into the hulking woman with spiked armor hunched over a platter of drinks as she crept amid them.
As she reached the spanning archway into the teleportation chamber, a man stopped just short of slamming into her. As she looked up to rip his whole ass head from his shoulders, her anger snapped to shock.
Purple suit, perfect hair, strong jawline, seemed like he needed to be somewhere.
“Oh, uh,” she stammered. “Yoooo, Karl.” She smiled awkwardly, still stooped protectively over the tray. “How's it, uh, going, dude?”
Karl’s momentarily shocked expression shifted instantly into a pleasant, advertiser worthy grin. “Ah, the Bandit!” he cheerfully replied, “Good to see you. I'm on my wa-”
“I was wondering if you, like, wanted to chill a sec and grab a drink?” she hastily interrupted him. She gestured with her cool to the massive collection of beverages she carried. “I didn't really know what you liked. Or what any of this is. So I just got a bunch of shit.”
He stood, almost frozen for a moment, as he proceeded the ridiculousness of the encounter. Then he plucked up the tall flute of champagne and held it up. “Then I say we drink to your victory!”
She grabbed the excessively boozy mixed drink and all but slammed the rest of the tray into a passing Syntech employee, the drinks sloshing everywhere as they took it from her with a bewildered expression.
She too raised her glass, then pounded her fist into his in an excessively forceful cheers. “Hell yes!”
He smirked and took a sip while she slammed the remainder of the iced drink, a free dabs of frozen yellow fruit juice and vodka spilling onto her chest plate. After finishing it off she exhaled contentedly.
He smiled and took another long, classy draft, staring at her in subdued entertainment.
“That was goddamn ama-” she cut herself off and held her hands to her head in pain, hunching over when it refused to relent.
“Brain freeze?” he quipped, chuckling softly. “Put your tongue on the roof of your mouth. It's because your upper palette got too cold too fast.”
She grunted and opened her eyes, then shook her head. “Ah nah,” she says, clearly fighting through the headache, “it's fine. Never felt better.” In an effort to top off her very convincing lie, she leaned against the wall with a single arm. “So what you up to?”
“Just keeping the show running,” he said with a sigh. “There's so much to keep going. You just can't get help these days.” Every word that fluttered from his mouth was laced with a heavy dose of comedic sarcasm and charm. He pointed with the glass in hand, “About to start looking over some of the round one footage, a few people are still finishing up their matches.”
“Damn, still?” she balked, “How long does pushing a dude off a ledge take? You don't even have to kill them.”
He chuckled as he began walking down the hallway, “Good programming is staggered.” The bandit grabbed two more drinks off the treat that she had pawned off on some host and followed after.
“What’d you think of me and Kerri out there?” She took a sip of the vodka and scrunched her nose.
He shrugged gently and sipped, taking a moment to stop and soon a piece of paper some assistant brought up to him. “Above average, I'd say. Kerrigan really shined out there.” He gave a reassuring glance back, “But you did well yourself.”
“Thanks! Yeah, Kerri is a fuckin’ beast. I like working with her.” She took a gulp of the rum and smiled, finding it more palatable. “I just got done with that Micky x Gil fight. Shit was crazy.”
Karl nodded, opening a door and peering into it. “It was delicious. Their history made that whole match pop. And Kanda’s partner placement couldn't have been any better. A king versus his own guard captain? The ratings have been outstanding.”
“And they both kick some serious ass on top of their, ‘I'm a good guy but also I'm confused about it,’ drama.” The woman tried to look over Karl's shoulder but he scoffed and closed the door.
He finished off his drink and handed it off to one of his aids who rushed up to take it from him. “You know, you could do for a little bit of drama yourself. Really help the viewership of your fights.”
Her eyebrows crunched up a bit as she thought. “Yeah, I remember most folks looking that kind of shit the best when I used to watch.”
He smirked and accepted the fresh tumbler of brown alcohol from the same person who had taken the last one from him. “Long time viewer?”
She shrugged, “I caught it now and then. Reception sucked out in the Dunes.”
“Ch,” he scoffed, “the signal in the Dunes is pristine. Your set must have been bad.”
She gave him a thuggish grin, “Well not everything holds up well in the back of a raid truck. Lots of stuff gets piled up. That probably did it.”
He sighed and turned, once again walking towards the main hall. “So I assume from you bringing me drinks and doing your best at idle chat that you aren't at this competition to murder me and send me to hell for the evils of broadcast television.”
She shook her head and polished off the rum glass, then starting on the vodka. “Nah dude, I fucking love what you're doing here. You're just having people that face literally no consequences murder each other. That’s not evil, it's just good fun.” She wanted her hand at the bustling sea of people around her, “And it's not like you're done kind of asshole putting secondaries through the grinder or something. These people are just working, and it's not even hard work. It seems like a lot of them even enjoy their jobs.”
A devilish grin spread on his face, but he quickly covered it with another drink. “You're not wrong.”
She stopped and turned to him, her face cast in deep sincerity. “Seriously. This is amazing. I love what you do. I love seeing you on the TV, I love seeing what you've done here. It's all really cool shit. I really admire you for this.” She laughed softly to herself, “I think I'd watch a show just about you now that I've got a phone to stream it on.”
He bowed slightly in a bit of performative graciousness and slapped her shoulder. “Well thanks, but the producer should always be in the background, never the star.”
She boomed out a laugh and slapped his shoulder back, causing him to lose his footing slightly. “Well you're always the star when I'm watching.”
He winked and pointed at her, “Hahaha, watch it there! Assault of a Syntech employee is grounds for disqualification!” He laughed sharply at his own joke, but it hung in the air with sinister notes of ambiguity about whether or not he was actually joking.
She chuckled back, glancing away awkwardly. “Yeahhhh, I'll be sure to watch that.”
“Well,” he said with a long exhalation, “I've got to get back to finishing up this round. Thanks for bringing me a drink.”
“Yeah, totally man. Would you, uh,” she rubbed the back of her head with Gildarts’ stolen fingers, “like to maybe hang later? I dunno, next round? If you don't have time, maybe after the tourney?”
His lips pursed, “Are you asking Karl Jak out on a date?” Cackling at his own joke for a moment, he pressed his hand into his chest in a grandiose gesture, “The only loving I need is from me.”
A bead of sweat rolled down her forehead. “Nah,” she said flatly. “Nahhhh. That would be… weird. I’m not into that kinda stuff. I'm all about like, crushing skulls and drinking booze and explosions and shit. You know. Cool stuff.”
She grasped the edge of the overfilled tray and gingerly lifted it with both hands, her eyes wide in focused terror for the fear of spilling everything. A nearby waiter have her an unsure glance and pleaded, “Again, I will happily carry your drinks for you.”
“Nah,” she replied, her laser focus not lifting from the drinks. “I wanna take it.” After she has held it for a few moments without it exploding, she looked up to him. “Ok, where am I heading again?”
“I last saw him around the central room, headed into the Teleporter room,” he carefully replied, glancing between her and the tray, imagining the mess he was about to have to clean up.
“Dope,” she shot back. She looked to the table of her compatriots, Caret rambling, Balanlara watching, and Kerrigan… was there. She barked out, “Aight dudes I'll be back in a bit. Be nice or whatever.” Caret waved enthusiastically, Balanlara nodded solemnly, and Kerrigan… was there.
It's not that Kerrigan wasn't nice. It's not that she wasn't present in every interaction that the two had. There was just something distant about her. Some inscrutable gulf that the marauder could never seem to vault. She probably just needed more time.
She turned and began to inch her way over the clean, white floors, the glasses rattling with every tiny step. She made it through the central chamber, everyone knowing well enough to avoid bumping into the hulking woman with spiked armor hunched over a platter of drinks as she crept amid them.
As she reached the spanning archway into the teleportation chamber, a man stopped just short of slamming into her. As she looked up to rip his whole ass head from his shoulders, her anger snapped to shock.
Purple suit, perfect hair, strong jawline, seemed like he needed to be somewhere.
“Oh, uh,” she stammered. “Yoooo, Karl.” She smiled awkwardly, still stooped protectively over the tray. “How's it, uh, going, dude?”
Karl’s momentarily shocked expression shifted instantly into a pleasant, advertiser worthy grin. “Ah, the Bandit!” he cheerfully replied, “Good to see you. I'm on my wa-”
“I was wondering if you, like, wanted to chill a sec and grab a drink?” she hastily interrupted him. She gestured with her cool to the massive collection of beverages she carried. “I didn't really know what you liked. Or what any of this is. So I just got a bunch of shit.”
He stood, almost frozen for a moment, as he proceeded the ridiculousness of the encounter. Then he plucked up the tall flute of champagne and held it up. “Then I say we drink to your victory!”
She grabbed the excessively boozy mixed drink and all but slammed the rest of the tray into a passing Syntech employee, the drinks sloshing everywhere as they took it from her with a bewildered expression.
She too raised her glass, then pounded her fist into his in an excessively forceful cheers. “Hell yes!”
He smirked and took a sip while she slammed the remainder of the iced drink, a free dabs of frozen yellow fruit juice and vodka spilling onto her chest plate. After finishing it off she exhaled contentedly.
He smiled and took another long, classy draft, staring at her in subdued entertainment.
“That was goddamn ama-” she cut herself off and held her hands to her head in pain, hunching over when it refused to relent.
“Brain freeze?” he quipped, chuckling softly. “Put your tongue on the roof of your mouth. It's because your upper palette got too cold too fast.”
She grunted and opened her eyes, then shook her head. “Ah nah,” she says, clearly fighting through the headache, “it's fine. Never felt better.” In an effort to top off her very convincing lie, she leaned against the wall with a single arm. “So what you up to?”
“Just keeping the show running,” he said with a sigh. “There's so much to keep going. You just can't get help these days.” Every word that fluttered from his mouth was laced with a heavy dose of comedic sarcasm and charm. He pointed with the glass in hand, “About to start looking over some of the round one footage, a few people are still finishing up their matches.”
“Damn, still?” she balked, “How long does pushing a dude off a ledge take? You don't even have to kill them.”
He chuckled as he began walking down the hallway, “Good programming is staggered.” The bandit grabbed two more drinks off the treat that she had pawned off on some host and followed after.
“What’d you think of me and Kerri out there?” She took a sip of the vodka and scrunched her nose.
He shrugged gently and sipped, taking a moment to stop and soon a piece of paper some assistant brought up to him. “Above average, I'd say. Kerrigan really shined out there.” He gave a reassuring glance back, “But you did well yourself.”
“Thanks! Yeah, Kerri is a fuckin’ beast. I like working with her.” She took a gulp of the rum and smiled, finding it more palatable. “I just got done with that Micky x Gil fight. Shit was crazy.”
Karl nodded, opening a door and peering into it. “It was delicious. Their history made that whole match pop. And Kanda’s partner placement couldn't have been any better. A king versus his own guard captain? The ratings have been outstanding.”
“And they both kick some serious ass on top of their, ‘I'm a good guy but also I'm confused about it,’ drama.” The woman tried to look over Karl's shoulder but he scoffed and closed the door.
He finished off his drink and handed it off to one of his aids who rushed up to take it from him. “You know, you could do for a little bit of drama yourself. Really help the viewership of your fights.”
Her eyebrows crunched up a bit as she thought. “Yeah, I remember most folks looking that kind of shit the best when I used to watch.”
He smirked and accepted the fresh tumbler of brown alcohol from the same person who had taken the last one from him. “Long time viewer?”
She shrugged, “I caught it now and then. Reception sucked out in the Dunes.”
“Ch,” he scoffed, “the signal in the Dunes is pristine. Your set must have been bad.”
She gave him a thuggish grin, “Well not everything holds up well in the back of a raid truck. Lots of stuff gets piled up. That probably did it.”
He sighed and turned, once again walking towards the main hall. “So I assume from you bringing me drinks and doing your best at idle chat that you aren't at this competition to murder me and send me to hell for the evils of broadcast television.”
She shook her head and polished off the rum glass, then starting on the vodka. “Nah dude, I fucking love what you're doing here. You're just having people that face literally no consequences murder each other. That’s not evil, it's just good fun.” She wanted her hand at the bustling sea of people around her, “And it's not like you're done kind of asshole putting secondaries through the grinder or something. These people are just working, and it's not even hard work. It seems like a lot of them even enjoy their jobs.”
A devilish grin spread on his face, but he quickly covered it with another drink. “You're not wrong.”
She stopped and turned to him, her face cast in deep sincerity. “Seriously. This is amazing. I love what you do. I love seeing you on the TV, I love seeing what you've done here. It's all really cool shit. I really admire you for this.” She laughed softly to herself, “I think I'd watch a show just about you now that I've got a phone to stream it on.”
He bowed slightly in a bit of performative graciousness and slapped her shoulder. “Well thanks, but the producer should always be in the background, never the star.”
She boomed out a laugh and slapped his shoulder back, causing him to lose his footing slightly. “Well you're always the star when I'm watching.”
He winked and pointed at her, “Hahaha, watch it there! Assault of a Syntech employee is grounds for disqualification!” He laughed sharply at his own joke, but it hung in the air with sinister notes of ambiguity about whether or not he was actually joking.
She chuckled back, glancing away awkwardly. “Yeahhhh, I'll be sure to watch that.”
“Well,” he said with a long exhalation, “I've got to get back to finishing up this round. Thanks for bringing me a drink.”
“Yeah, totally man. Would you, uh,” she rubbed the back of her head with Gildarts’ stolen fingers, “like to maybe hang later? I dunno, next round? If you don't have time, maybe after the tourney?”
His lips pursed, “Are you asking Karl Jak out on a date?” Cackling at his own joke for a moment, he pressed his hand into his chest in a grandiose gesture, “The only loving I need is from me.”
A bead of sweat rolled down her forehead. “Nah,” she said flatly. “Nahhhh. That would be… weird. I’m not into that kinda stuff. I'm all about like, crushing skulls and drinking booze and explosions and shit. You know. Cool stuff.”