The Copperhead

[Ternunda Hunter]

The Copperhead.


An 'off the cuff' and 'fly by the seat of your pants' kind-of thread @mechanimated and I started. After we continued for a few posts we figured it was worth actually sharing. It is, perhaps, a little fight club-esque. A healer and an underdog! The healer seems to be well acclimated to her surroundings while the new fighter attempts to do the same for herself, soon to find she'll have a harder time than she thought, more than what she was prepared for.

Enjoy,


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[mechanimated]

Surima Intro

Spoiler

WHAM.


A bloodied and filthy body slammed into the rickety wooden barrier that formed the wall of the ring. Surrounding the fighters, a mass of screaming, cheering patrons made a barrier of their own. Dozens of arms waved in the air, clutching multicolored wooden chips. Betting tokens. Each labeled by a meticulous, bespectacled clerk with very long fingers. The rectangular sliver would be inscribed with a date, sigil of the chosen fighter, and the amount of money wagered.


Another roar as the favored fighter hooked his opponent under the chin with a savage kick, sending him sprawling. Blood and saliva mingled with the dust coating the floor, red droplets falling like rain.


Every evening, people gathered at the Copperhead to watch the fights. Poor with nothing better to spend their money on, gambling addicts losing their livelihoods, rich idiots slumming it for a thrill, and your average blood sport enthusiasts. A dense and rowdy crowd that spent their coin equally freely on bets and booze. Rumor had it the owner of the less-than-reputable establishment made a killing. Surima had no doubt it was true. Winning fighters were entitled to one-twentieth of the days earnings, losers to one-fortieth. Apparently this was a significant enough sum that fighters came in droves to pit their strength against each other week after week.


Surima, meanwhile, had the unenviable task of patching them back up afterwards. Some days it wasn't so bad - the humans-only fights were usually alright. Bruises, cuts, concussions...rarely anything worse. It was when the Others got thrown in that things got really awful. Human versus arcane, or worse yet, two arcanes clawing at each others' throats...It got ugly. The Others spanned a wide range of magical beings, some indistinguishable from humans but with hidden abilities, others closer in appearance to beasts than men. When the battle was a mismatch, the human would often be given armor and a weapon while the Other would be naked. A way to "balance" the fight, supposedly. In truth, all it did was make it gorier, more drawn out, and indescribably gruesome. The whole of it made Surima sick to her stomach. And yet, here she was, elbow-deep in guts every other night.


Usually, the healer watched the fights from the balcony. Her talents made her a "valued asset" to the owner of the Copperhead, a dry and ghastly old woman by the name of Matron Tiku. Everyone called her Mati for short. She looked and sounded like a goblin with black lung, and as far as Surima could tell, she should have been six feet under twenty years ago. The hag clung to life purely out of spite. Normally the balcony was reserved for higher-paying clientele who wanted to watch but avoid the filthy bustle below. Being so prized, Surima had the luxury of spending her time there instead of in the chop shop (the, ah, rather poetic name of the room set aside for her healing work) or in the cramped living quarters. Many of the fighters and employees roomed in the Copperhead itself, sleeping in a tightly packed shared space on the top floor. The sloped roof made it impossible to stand up straight and it got unbearably hot in the summer, but it was a bed and the ceiling didn't leak so most didn't complain.


Surima scoffed, disgusted, as one of the fighters bit the other on the leg. He went down screaming, and struck out wildly in retaliation (landing only a glancing blow). Bites got infected so easily. Filthy. If the fight didn't end soon, the inflammation would have time to set in before she got to it. Her wrists rattled with bracelets as Surima waved at the bartender, trying to get his attention. He spotted her after a moment, and within a minute a serving girl was sent over with a drink. Surima's order never changed - a glass of strong cherry liquor filled to the brim. She nursed it, waiting for the battle to wind down. It was almost boring - her eyes, a deep, mossy green, glazed over. The clamor of the crowd sounded like the crush and break of turbulent waves, indistinct and chaotic. She could tell, just like when listening to the sea, if the weather was promising rain or sun, storms or calm skies. As the shouting began to flatten, quieting to a dull roar rather than a deafening one, Surima rose. She didn't need to see the state of the fight to know. The mood of the patrons always told her that things were wrapping up. Soon, one or both of the fighters would be laid out on her tables, waiting for her like cadavers for their burial rites.


It was funny, really, how much her work room resembled a butchery and a morgue all in one, when Surima in fact rarely saw the bodies. No, those disappeared out back. Claimed if they had family, tossed in the river if they didn't.


The woman left her empty glass on the bar top as she passed by, clattering down the narrow stairs until she found herself in the basement. It was cool here, and an earthy smell permeated the air. Not everyone found it as pleasant as Surima did, but then, she spent most of her time in a room that stank of copper and bile. Perhaps to her, everything smelled sweeter by comparison. She stopped by her prep room first, in truth little more than a closet with some hooks on the walls and a small chest in one corner. The latter she unlocked with a key hanging from a chain around her neck. Here Surima began readying herself for work. Her numerous rings, bracelets, necklaces, and earrings made a heap on the bottom of the chest, glinting in the low light. Only a few of them were really worth anything, but Surima didn't like to tempt thieves. Even the pieces made of simple bronze or brass were beautifully made, creating intricate geometrical shapes, set with bright chips of colorful stones, or formed into delightfully lifelike animals. The healer loved them too much to risk losing them. Dusky arms free of encumberment, Surima next began to shed her shawls and wraps. She wore voluminous, many-layered robes of all different cloth in shades of red, gold, green, and brown. Animal and plant motifs marched along some, tassels hung from others, tiny golden bells hemmed more still. Under the bright green scarf draped over her head Surima hid a braid of inky black hair as thick around as her two wrists. It hung down her back like a python, almost long enough to brush the backs of her knees. A thin golden band winked in the low candlelight from her brow. The decorative robes loaded the numerous hooks until Surima was down to her last layer, a plain brown dress that covered her neck to ankle but left her arms entirely bare. On top of this, she tied a long and thick leather butchers apron.


Suitably outfitted, Surima locked the chest again and straightened, pausing. On the back of the door hung a tiny mirror, in truth little more than a well-polished sheet of metal. The healer glanced at herself, lips pursed in thought. She had a dark complexion, copper skin dusted with nearly invisible freckles. Her full lips and slightly upturned nose gave Surima a somewhat petulant expression, and the intensely thick black lashes surrounding her too-large eyes reminded one of a perpetually startled deer. If she had not had the gift of particularly icy glares, it would have been easy to take the soft lines of her face and rather short stature for youth or innocence. In truth, Surima was approaching her 57th year. As an Other, her gift of healing granted many subtle boons - a slowness to age, the ability to recover with ease from injuries that should have been debilitating or disfiguring, a seeming immunity to any sort of disease...


Pressing her lips to her thumb and then her thumb to the center of the mirror, Surima muttered her way through the Platitudes. Though she was not particularly religious, it never hurt to be on the safe side. Especially when it would be the lives of others on the line.


Leaving her changing room behind, Surima entered the chop shop. It was a narrow but well-lit room appointed with the tools of her trade. Knives, meticulously cleaned and sharpened, hung gleaming against one wall. Several large basins of clean water stood against another. The bulk of the room was taken up by several flat tables, covered in freshly washed linen, and a massive cabinet covered in a great quantity of neatly labeled drawers no bigger than a hands-breadth across. They were filled with herbs and extracts and kept well-stocked on Mati's dime. Losing good fighters to preventable causes was bad for business.


Surima seated herself on a tall, three legged stool jammed into one corner. It was the only one in the room. Leaning against the wall, the healer waited in silence for her charges to walk (or be carried) in.

Ternazol Intro

Spoiler

A new fighter stepped out into the ring, the ground slick with blood, spit, vomit, and piss from those that died right there, on the spot. The one who entered the ring was fresh, unmarred, and obviously younger, stumbling out into the center of the circle. She looked up at the crowd, waiting for her opponent, but everyone started to laugh. 

"That little bird is gonna die out here!" One bellowed out, "You're just going to sacrifice a young woman to the pit!? This is a waste of my time -and- money!" 


The green haired beauty didn't look any of them in the eye. She stood perhaps 5 feet 7 inches tall, thin and pale, but obviously healthy. She looked like she never skipped a day to work out and, even though her long sea green locks fell in front of her face and down one shoulder, she stood as tall as she could, one defiant hand rested on her hip. Ternazol, her name was.. Not that anyone cared to mention or even think of it. They were all more worried about whether or not she'd be scrappy enough to bet on. No more than a couple people bet on her, though, as she was put up against a massive man who wore armor and carried a shiv. He couldn't possibly need more than a shiv on such a small thing, arcane wielding or not. Besides, he had the upper hand with all that armor!

He, Thaddius, stomped out towards the center of The Pit to meet Ternazol. He stood about two feet away wearing a cocky grin with teeth that threatened to rot right out of his face. She could smell his rancid breath all the way down from his nine inches of height over her. He chuckled, his shoulders and armor following suit a ridiculous up and down motion, "It's a good thing I don't like kids." And, with that small justification for what he was about to try and do, he swung. No warning, not tone of the bell. Just the sounds of people screaming and shouting for him to, "slaughter that bitch," all too eager to see the blood spilled of a mere twenty four year old.

His shiv armed hand aimed straight for her temple, an easy dodge. She ducked and pushed her hand out, palm landing flat on his rusty iron armor. As soon as contact was made her usually bright, almost glowing green eyes shaded black. Intricate black tattoos sprawled across her once naked arms, and the sound of his armor cracking and hissing could be heard, all before it shattered and fell to the floor like shards of ice. Despite it all he turned the blade in his hand and pushed his down in an attempt to stab her in the back, which he did do multiple times. For such a big guy, as soon as he made any contact with the blade of that tiny knife he was quick to offer another... and another... and another.

Ternazol cried out and, as he pulled the blade back out she disappeared in a cloud of black smoke, only to reappear behind him. Her feet planted firmly on the ground and with a single twist wicked, sharp black spikes shot up from the ground. One managed to go right through his boot which caused him to howl loudly and throw his arms out in anger in an attempt to grab her. But, with his pinned foot she found it easier to duck under his grasp and get back behind him. It wasn't long before he pulled his foot up off of the spike, a long trail of blood following from his punctured boot to the floor until it landed flat with a heavy thump. The man had blood and rage in his eyes. 

He lunged forward and and connected a punch right to her face, an armored fist cutting into her skin and crushing the bones in her cheek and her nose. She fell to the disgusting floor and looked up at him, blood from her brow dribbling into her eyes which caused her to blink furiously. He laughed and picked her up by her left wrist until she dangled freely in the air with a completely blank, dead expression on her face. 

The crowd was drinking it up. They cheered, hooped, hollered. This was a fight they all knew they'd win money on, even if just a little because almost no one bet on the girl. 

And then the crowd went silent. 

The man and the girl both dropped to the floor but one was still moving, another offering grotesque gurgling sounds that sputtered out from their throat. Ternazol pushed up to hands and knees, moving the back of her right wrist to wipe away some of the blood that had dribbled in her eyes, soon looking down at the dead man. He had a black dagger formed purely from dark arcane power jutting out from the underside of his jaw, eyes wide open, bald head shining with sweat. The dagger disappeared and made way for a fresh, impressive flow of blood to spill out from Thaddius' neck.

No one expected it and if any of the actual victors cheered they knew they would find themselves dead or robbed.. Because they made a lot of money that night. Who would bet on such a small thing up against that behemoth of a man? Granted.. He wasn't any more than a human but size still mattered, right? 

Ternazol finally looked up at the crowd who all wore stunned faces. Even the ones who made money off of her had prematurely accepted the fact that they'd lost money on her before that twist of an ending. Without lingering on any single gaze she turned away from them and stumbled out towards the chop shop to meet the famous 'fixer upper' of The Copperhead. She'd never been there but, it wasn't hard to find. All she had to do was follow the trails of blood. 

Ternazol pushed through a pair of double doors, letting a weak, quiet groan press past her lips as the pain in her back and all over her face started to set in. Even with a broken nose and a cracked cheek and brow the woman didn't look to be any worse off than the rest of them. She was still fair in skin and, now, her green hair found itself soaked in blood, matted down and clinging to her face and shoulder. Her eyes darted around, shining ever the more brightly next to the darkness of the blood that painted each eye and the skin around it, until they landed on the green eyed woman sitting in the corner. 

She swallowed and took a few more steps in, her arms cradling one another like she had to for protection. Those black, intricate tattoos that shone during combat had completely faded away by then. When she spoke, it was soft - silken notes barely able to reach the woman's ears, "You're the healer, I'll suppose?

Meeting Each Other

Spoiler

"Mm."


Surima appraised the injuries she was dealing with today. She had an expert eye, and it took but three heartbeats to complete her professional assessment. Decades in the business made you good at your job. The fact that the fighter had made it here of her own accord already spoke to the severity - or rather, lack thereof - of the wounds. Surima gestured to one of the empty cots, letting her patient lie down while she turned to the cabinet and rummaged for some basic supplies. The healer placed them on a small table, basically a glorified stool, next to her work for the evening. Surima also dipped a large jug into one of the several basins by the wall, bringing it with her.


There was an air of professional detachment about Surima. She barely spoke, instead conveying instructions through pressure or curt jerks of her head. First of all, she twirled her finger, waiting for Ternazol to roll onto her stomach. The fighter's back was a mess of bloody holes - the most immediate danger. Her face, while resembling a pound of ground beef, was purely aesthetic damage. Surima produced a pair of bright, curved scissors. In no time flat, Ternazol's clothes were in ribbons littering the floor. Surima sluiced off the stab wounds with water from the jug, pink-tinged rivulets swirling across the floor and disappearing down one of the many drains. The plip-plip-plip as bloody droplets dripped from the table to the puddle underneath it provided a hypnotic background for the healers work.


The next thirty minutes were silent but for rustles of cloth and the clinks of various bottles being picked up, unstoppered, set down. This wasn't work that required more than the barest direct involvement from Surima. First, she prodded each of the holes with her fingers. The healer kept one hand between Ternazol's shoulder blades in case she struggled from the pain. Her calloused palm was unyielding and surprisingly strong. Surima, too, had spent her fair share of time in the pit before Mati discovered she was more valuable playing the butcher. Satisfied that no foreign objects had broken off inside, she wiped her crimson hand on a snow white towel. Surima then concocted a thick slate-gray paste from a number of unlabeled substances. Scooping up globs of it on two fingers, she briskly pressed coin-sized lumps of it into each of the half-dozen ragged punctures. Now came the hardest part, though to an outside it might look like the easiest.


Passing her hands over Ternazol, Surima channeled. Her eyes glazed over, the whites consuming them until they gleamed like pearls in their sockets. A cold glow suffused them, spilling from her palms like moonlight. Surima had been told that the experience was much like having ice-water thrown on you - a breath-stealing shock that left one shivering and covered in goose-flesh for hours. Skin, crusted with the deep brick red of drying blood, knit itself together. When Surima was done, there wasn't even so much as a scar. The healer let out a long breath, taking a swig of water straight from the jug. Healing always left her a little unsteady. It was a sensation similar to the swoop of dizziness one might get after missing one too many meals.


"Alright, up."


The medicine she had concocted would prevent blood sickness and kill inflammation, and sealing the wounds ensured the internal damage would heal cleanly and safely. Surima could look at the more superficial injuries now, the luxury patch-ups.


Now that Ternazol was definitely not going to choke on her own blood from a punctured lung or anything, Surima took the time to conduct a basic check-up. Heart rate was rather elevated, not surprising. Pupils dilated a tad unevenly, evidence of a mild concussion. Breathing sounded clean and unlabored. Surima's fingers poked and prodded Ternazol's torso, searching. Lungs clean, stomach clean, bladder clean. The healer felt no unusual shifting or give and saw no telltale wince of pain. Nothing important perforated inside. Good, good. She took Ternazol's face in her hands, dusky skin on white, tilting the fighters head back and forth. Surprisingly gentle fingers felt the swelling almost entirely obscuring one eye, a mess of taut red flesh that would darken to a spectacular shiner in no time. It seemed like the orbital was shattered. Not necessarily dangerous, but...Mm. Surima liked to be thorough, and bone shards floating around was just begging for infection. Good way to become blind.


This would be fine, precise work. Surima placed her palm over the distended skin, willing the little bits of bone to rearrange, find their home, meld back together into a skull. The process was quite painful, sharp little slivers of ivory seeking their proper places with little regard for the brutalized flesh they peppered. Surima kept a tight grip on the back of Ternazol's neck, wary of her trying to squirm away. When she was done, the fighter's face didn't look quite so much like a collapsed cardboard box. The healer didn't bother wasting energy fixing the bruise. That'd go away in its own time. The real damage was mended.


Rinsing her hands and wiping them clean, Surima methodically cleared her workspace. She didn't bother to ask if Ternazol felt better. Either she did or didn't. Nothing more Surima could do now either way. When the fighter didn't immediately leave, she spared her a glance.


"You're new, then, right? Are you bunking at the Copperhead? I can show you the sleeping quarters if you don't know where they are."

Spoiler

Ternazol rubbed at her eyes tiredly. The fighter that was in the ring, the ruthless, merciless woman that could take down a behemoth had all but disappeared. She pulled her hands away from her face and blinked a few times, grateful to be able to see much more clearly and without blood dripping from her lashes into her eyes. She shifted her weight and looked the woman up and down, finally having the opportunity to take in the sight of the woman who saved her life, technically. Had she left those back wounds to bleed she would have been free of blood, almost, by the morning -- Cold and dead wherever she managed to lay her head. 

Now that adrenaline finished coursing through she shivered, goose bumps pushing up on her skin and making her hair stand on end. It was cold, despite all the bodies crowding the underground. Perhaps the presence of death. Perhaps the healer's chilled glare. Ternazol swallowed and nodded once, her sharp, pale green eyes sliding over to the door. "I am new," she responded with knit brows. "I imagine I could find the rooms.. But, I wouldn't mind the company." Ternazol accepting the woman's offer was more for self preservation than a timid need for help. 

If any of her experience prior to arriving at The Copperhead meant anything, a few of the fighters closest to Thaddius would have a taste for blood after tonight. Tern wouldn't be sleeping for the few hours of dark left, she'd be pressed back into the wall next to the door, ready for intruders to attempt a cheap, easy kill. Maybe this place was different! But she wouldn't be taking any chances. 



Tern waited for the woman to pass, finally taking the opportunity to follow and watch. See. Before, all she was worried about was the fight. Winning. Surviving. Regardless, sympathy wasn't what she was looking for. She wasn't looking for anything. Why was she even there? Really, she didn't know. People didn't just come here to fight for money. Most didn't, in fact... And those that did were arrogant, ignorant, and destined to die. 


The young, green haired woman padded through quietly wearing soft, animal skin boots. Why? A bunch of reasons. Thick soled shoes irritated her. She felt blind and like she couldn't feel anything. Dangerous. Feet are vulnerable, and with non-protective wear they became an easy target like she had done to Thaddius. But, sacrifices for agility and comfort had to be made.

A certain smell followed the healer but Ternazol couldn't put her finger on what it was. It was sweet but earthy. As they walked she closed her eyes for a moment and just felt everything. Heard everything. Cursing, shouting. The shuffling of feet and the collision of bodies. The night was dying down. By this time everyone was scrambling to turn in their tokens, retrieve their money (or pay their debts), and hurry off to avoid any conflict that could happen afterward. There were always fights by the entrance so, most made a point to get out as soon as they could lest they be trapped inside or involved in the fight. 

"Thank you," she said softly as they trekked forward. Ternazol felt much better, at any rate. She was light headed and exhausted.. But, it wasn't like she didn't have a long night ahead of her. She wanted to say more. Perhaps strike up some conversation as she hadn't had a meaningful one in what felt like years. Tern was capable, though, of recognizing someone who indulged in such a luxury and someone who was exceptionally efficient. Pointed. Cold by necessity. So, she swallowed down any other words she might have let slide out of her mouth and followed, wondering if the woman would make a move on her own to speak.

Spoiler

"Sure. I sleep here too."


Surima didn't mention that she got a real berth instead of a pallet on the floor. Perks of being the one to sew all the meat back together. She led the way in silence, not talkative by nature. Being less inclined to idle conversation made her rather popular with most of the regular fighters, her saving their lives every other week besides. The cocksure newbies liked to make a show of everything, play up the drama. But the ones who were still here, month after month, were inevitably the quieter ones. The ones who took to the task like smiths at a forge, brutalizing their 10 minutes in the ring into a victory. Hammer and tong, hammer and tong. Surima sat and drank with them sometimes, over a hand of cards or just clustered up at the same table - as if by chance. There were a lot of things you didn't feel the need to say once you'd reattached a persons bits and pieces enough times, or been the one to lay there with someones arms buried in your gizzards to the elbow.


The healer closed up the chop shop and stopped by the prep room, hanging up her butcher's apron and draping her many colorful shawls about her waist and shoulders. Once the multitude of bracelets, bangles, rings, earrings, and necklaces were in place, Surima locked up and padded down the hallway. The passages here were cramped and narrow, with a bare dirt floor beaten flat by the tramping of countless feet. This part of the Copperhead had been dug out after the fighting ring had gained traction, an illegal addition to house, arm, and feed fighters. The pair ran into Mati, heading the other way. She had a frightful leer plastered across her face, what few crooked stumps of teeth she had left bared in a rictus of a grin. Mati extended a shriveled claw and shoved something into Surima's hand, wheezing like a phlegmatic sow, before pattering off down the hall. Surima watched her go for a moment before extending what was in her hand to Ternazol.


"Your pay. She's pleased because so many bet against you. Good money today."


It was rare to see Mati so visibly pleased. The shrew seemed to delight in taking out the most minor of grievances on everyone around her. She didn't dare get too fresh with Surima, but even she wasn't safe from the petty nuisances. But the old witch had dry beds and food that was free of maggots, even if it wasn't exactly lordly fare. There were worse places to live.


Surima glanced back at Ternazol at the thanks, mildly surprised. She had been working here for so long that she had long since stopped considering her work much of a boon. Just gluing poor bastards back together just enough to get broken up again. Still, she inclined her head in acknowledgement. On closer inspection, the girl seemed rather...lost? Unsure? Afraid? Surima, methodical to a fault, considered the situation. A new fighter, underdog, with a from-behind victory. Mm...ah. Of course.


"No one will slit your throat tonight."


Someone else might have offered more words, by way of explanation, or perhaps some sort of comfort. Surima didn't really know how, even if she had wanted to. Her own consolation lay in facts, forethought, and reason. What bad might lay in the future was not worth worrying about. Fretting about that which might never happen was a waste of time and energy. What bad you had in the now could only be dealt with with a clear head. Getting worked up just made one less efficient. What bad you had in the past was gone, unfixable and untouchable no matter how you wished to change things. Regrets only crowded your mind and left less room for more useful things.


"It's Surima."

Spoiler

Ternazol watched Surima re-dress, letting her head fall to the side slightly out of genuine curiosity. So many layers and colors. All interesting choices for the kind of place she found herself working, and the sort of tasks she found herself fulfilling. She wondered if there was a story behind the way she dressed... And in that wonder she started to imagine how the woman could have grown up. If she had a loving mother and father with multiple brothers and sisters who all played outside until they were shouted at to come inside. She imagined traveling out into the woods and flattening out parts of the greenery to pave the way for a makeshift fort. A hideout. Despite all life had to offer, every twist, turn, upswing and fall, the kids could retreat to their little safe place in the middle of the woods that, in truth, everyone knew about but never mentioned. 


She listened to the woman's many bracelets announce her presence as she walked along the narrow corridor's. It was an uncomfortable experience if anyone tried to come down the opposite way, and even more uncomfortable when Ternazol's eyes landed on Mati. A strange creature, that was for sure. The woman genuinely made Ternazol's insides turn but she dared not react with how she truly felt. She watched the brief exchange, one brow unable to remain straight and steady... Instead, lifting up onto her forehead as she received the small bag. The material felt to be made of animal skin which was strangely nice. She clutched it tightly and offered Surima a single nod before looking ahead of them down the hall.

Ternazol's behavior was less due to being shy, uncomfortable, and worried... But more for the sake of absorbing everything that was around her. Wiser not to step on any toes on her first night as she'd already kicked up a fuss in winning the fight. Tern's usual expression was, well.. Dead. She often found herself resorting to silence paired with a blank face. It made everything easier. However, her having a face of stone didn't mean she wasn't feeling on the inside. While she handled stress and adrenaline well, she was still young. Still emotional. Still desperate, in her own way, for approval and caring. She wasn't one to cling onto the bad but simply move forward. What would come would come despite one's preparations.. But, even still, being prepared never hurt. 

Despite Surima's reassuring words, Ternazol knew she would not sleep that night. She did offer a nod in response, though, her eyes sliding up to meet the woman's before facing forward again. "Surima," she repeated. "Ternazol," she offered. "Tern is good, though." 


As they finally exited the long corridor and pressed into another room where one would be hit in the face with the smell of death and sweat, all over again. Tern's face gave in and showed her discomfort for only a second before it was controlled and fixed to blank and cold. Her glowing green eyes skirted around the entirety of the nearly empty room as she followed Surima. Stiff beds lined the walls and a few were occupied by men, primarily, who sat up, cross legged, speaking to one another. A few eyes landed on the green haired victor but they quickly pulled away. A few nods were made in their direction, no doubt in recognition of Surima's presence, though. 

The new shirt Ternazol wore in replacement for the shirt Surima had cut off was itchy. It felt like a strange mix between hemp and cotton, light brown in color and tight around her slender neck. She hadn't brought much with her when she arrive at The Copperhead, hoping to accumulate a few items and a couple sets of clothes over time. With the money she had in her hand she should, at least, be able to afford some clothes and a few hygienic items. She followed Surima through the stretch of a room with beds, unsure of where to stop. In truth, she was grateful for the guidance as Mati's second in command, Lev, hadn't told her where she was sleeping, or.. well, anything. He said, "Good! Arcane. You'll be fighting tonight." Penciled down who she'd be with and behind.. And left it at that.

She looked up to see a large man standing in front of her and Surima. Ridiculously muscular for his living condition. Ternazol wasn't sure how some of the men kept up their muscle mass in such a place with the food provided. He had scruffy black hair and dull grey eyes, a scar that stretched from his hair line right down the center of his face, over his nose, lips, and shin, to about his adam's apple. An incredible scar which lead one to wonder how he survived such a wound. Well, everyone knew how. Surima did it, more likely than not. 

The man grinned and bellowed out, "Good fighting out there, girl! I expect Surima patched you up pretty well." A charismatic man which was shocking for the scene he stood in, enough to make anyone uncomfortable who couldn't match his energy. She looked up at him with high brows, wide eyes, and silence.

Getting Acclimated

Spoiler

Surima padded through the cramped and noisy room with practiced ease, weaving between pallets and card games strewn about the floor. The healer returned nods, waves, and called greetings with measured diplomacy. An offer to join a game of dominoes was politely waved aside. The room itself was much like an arena stable, a wide open space with a low ceiling. Cots built into the walls lined the room, claimed by the senior fighters. The rest had made nests all over the floor from hay- or heather-stuffed bedrolls. Here and there were chests and lockboxes, bought by those who had things worth storing. One far, narrow end of the room was taken up entirely by little hinged doors, like mailboxes. Safe-deposits for the fighters to freely use, for those who had nothing worth protecting but their winnings. Unused safes had the keys glinting in their locks for anyone to take as needed. Most, however, were claimed.


Surima was heading for what would be the western end of the room (though underground it was nigh impossible to tell) when she was stopped by a towering giant of a man. He spoke first to Tern, voice a carrying baritone. Surima, for her own part, offered an eye-roll and a tired grin.


"Come offit then, Jacim. Always makin' a show-a things what no one asked for, na? Let'er get 'er head on afore you go using her f'r a prop, attention-seeking mutt that y'are."


The man laughed, a rich guffaw from the depths of his belly, and slapped Surima on the shoulder. She stumbled half a step forward under the weight of his muscle-banded arm. He seemed to relish the theater of it all, though the ropy scar cleaving his face in two pulled at his features and made him look rather more sinister than he might have otherwise. Surima, for her own part, had lapsed instantly into a sparrow-quick and chattering parlance, quite unlike the careful and precise speech of before. 


"You're in good hands, love," the hulking brute said to Ternazol. "There's no one better for stitching whatever you leave behind in the ring back on. Mind, be polite to the good doctor, or she'll sew it on upside down."


Surima jabbed Jacim in the ribs, her swift punch light but well-aimed. Intimate anatomical knowledge had its perks. He let out a soft oof, chuckling and rubbing his kidney. 


"Test me an' I'll not sew on somethin' you'll miss et all."


Shaking her head, Surima turned back to Tern. She was smiling, and the expression transformed her stern and cold appearance. Pointing to the back wall, the healer mouthed something rude to the massive fighter before focusing her attention on the fresh blood.


"That bunk in the corner, the one that looks like an actual bed, with the curtains? That's mine. Don't bother me unless it's an emergency if those are drawn. But next to it, there's three doors. The closest is a supply closet. You can get a pallet and blanket there, but they'll be coarse and full of hay. I'd get them padded with something softer as soon as you can. The second is a washroom. Only cold water, but you'll get used to it. The furthest is the armory. You can practice there if you want, but if you hurt anyone bad enough to need me Mati'll take it out of your next winnings."


She didn't elaborate on what would happen if you didn't have any winnings, but the implication was that it wouldn't be good.

Spoiler

Ternazol watched the two interact, her eyes narrowing slightly in Surima's direction at the sudden eruption of a heavy accent. Unexpected. It was thick and shocking enough that it took her a moment to actually process the woman's words as her eyes bounced between the muscular man and the smaller woman. She nodded a couple times at the man's words feeling it was probably an appropriate time to crack a smile or at least break in the wake of comedy but, she just nodded softly.


Her eyes moved up to meet the woman's as she continued speaking, warming up a little as she saw how pleasant she looked. Tern looked to where the healer pointed and offered more short nods in response to her direction, brow furrowing a little at the practice room warning of sorts. She was tired but, more importantly, she was concerned with getting set up and settled down before any issues in the stuffy room had time to spark. 

Ternazol took a single step forward before stopping and looking up at the woman, again. "Thanks," she said once more before glancing at the large fighter and stepping off to find her pallet and a spot on the floor. As she stepped off she could tell her movements were stiff. Every step was calculated as her eyes darted around, doing her best to gauge what each of the fighters around her were thinking, doing, and planning to do.


She heard the large fighter from before chuckle a few times, a low rumble that barely made it up and over the constant roar in the room. "She's quiet. Wonder how long she'll last," he said, raising a single brow and looking at the green eyed healer like she would have some sort of intelligent response. 


In the mean time, Tern sifted through the supply closet, quickly picking out the pallet that looked less used, less bled on, and well... Less awful. Once she had enough money she'd have to make sure she invested in something to help her sleep more comfortably. She was surprised at how healthy she felt. She'd never been treated by such a skilled healer before so, the idea of going to bed with minimal aches and pains was.. Well, refreshing. She gripped her pallet at its corner by the left hand and hugged her blanket to her chest with her right as she looked around the room, examining every open spot carefully.. More so focusing on who was sitting beside that spot and what they looked like, how they sat, spoke, or moved.


Eventually, she found something that seemed suitable. One of the few women in the room held a spot beside her that was just large enough to fit a pallet in. She was busy speaking with another fighter who looked dark and uninviting on his own but, not so bad when he actually spoke. His hair was very long, dark brown to match his eyes, and his skin, too, looked as if he spent most of his time out in the sun. He had a strong nose and a perpetually furrowed brow only complimented by a frown that didn't stop pulling his lips down except for when he moved them to speak. The woman beside him had curly blond hair that looked as if it were lined with silver but, she didn't appear any older than her late twenties. A safe option, Tern hoped. 

She encroached on the area and raised her slender dark brows at the two of them who stopped speaking with each other to turn and looked at Ternazol. The woman sat with her knees pulled to her chest, light blue eyes giving Tern a hard appraising glare, "You needing a spot to sleep tonight," she stated rather than asked. Her voice was cool and pitched high enough that it was almost grating to listen to. 


Ternazol nodded once, "If you don't mind." The brief interaction simply resulted in the woman making a vague, inviting motion in the direction of the empty spot on the floor before returning to her less than innocent conversation with the dark man to her left. So, Ternazol laid her pallet flat on the ground which kicked up a small cloud of dirt that she had to wave off. She took in a deep breath before carefully making her way over to the wall of locked boxes. She pulled one of the keys out of the wall and rubbed her thumb over it a few times to clear off what she hoped was dust and dirt and not blood. 119. Lock box 119. That would be where she kept her winnings from now on. She opened the small animal skin pouch, before placing it inside, to count out her winnings. She grit her teeth and swallowed. It was a lot for what one would assume was a first timer. A lot for a first night. 120 Ren. Substantial, considering that was the only fight she'd have that week. At least it was enough to get what she needed. Though, it was funny to think about how many people bet against her and lost that night. 


Either way, she locked up her winnings, closing the box in the wall as quietly as possible after the old hinges offered a loud, screeching complaint. She knew she'd see the healer again and probably sooner rather than later. For now, she needed to make it through the night and maybe catch a couple hours of sleep

Spoiler

Surima watched Tern edge we way through the bustle of the room, mossy green eyes lingering briefly on the new fighter.


"'S tough t'say. She does spellery, so mostuv'r best scrappers 'ere won't face 'er. Saw the sheets Lev put up t'day - she's slated for walk-ins fer now. By the time she fights anyone here they're like t'have wised up to her tricks."


Fights at the Copperhead were decided on a rank and rotation system. The top resident fighters went against established up-and-comers three weeks out of the month, and free challengers one week in a day-long serial bout. Newer fighters were all given a rank based on how many fights they had won or lost, and fought others in a similar range to climb in the hierarchy, though they could take newcomer challengers just for the money anytime. The bottom-tier fellas fought almost exclusively newcomers until they were considered "blooded", having beaten or killed at least six challengers in the ring. Mati ran a tight ship. Her little battalion of butchers were her bread and butter. For all that it was a dangerous, often deadly blood sport, the bulk of it was governed by strict rules, and often felt surprisingly bureaucratic. No one fought more than once a week. No one fought outside their rank unless it was a free-fight day, and you had to be either blooded or a complete newcomer to walk into the ring with a top-tier fighter. Everyone's wins and losses were tallied and assigned points based on the rank of their opponent, and kept track of on a huge board upstairs. It was hung with dozens and dozens of colored tabs bearing fighter marks, and used to show rank, odds for a given fight, and daily matches. It was a lot like a bank stock exchange, if the brokers were prone to punching each other in the face over bad trades.


Declining Jacim's offer to join him and a couple of others for a drinking game, Surima padded over to her bed and swung back the curtain. It was a small privilege, but one she was grateful for. The small, boxy poster bed was the only one such solid piece of furniture in the room, and the semblance of privacy provided by being able to pull the curtains shut was a blessing. The other fighters didn't much resent this boon, being that Surima had pasted most of them back together at least once. Anyway, those who were less inclined to respect her personal space were 'encouraged' to do so by the other gladiators. 


Before Surima could flop onto the mattress that was beckoning ever so sweetly to her, she was intercepted by a pair of young men. They were twins, or perhaps more accurately, had been twins before a variety of fascinating scars made it quite easy to distinguish them. Both had short, wheat-blonde hair that stuck up every which way like hay, both stood a good five inches shorter than Surima, and both had that look on their faces. The one mischief-makers think makes them look charming and sweet, when in fact all it does is make everyone suspicious about what they're up to. Derry, the one with the lattice of scars overlaying his face like a fishing net, flashed what Surima was sure he imagined to be a winning smile.


"Surima! Fancy catching you out like this. We were just minding our own business here, weaving bracelets to donate to the orphanage, when-"


"-we couldn't help spotting you arriving with that fascinating new fighter." chimed in Tanis, who had angry red streaks peeking out from under his scarf and licking up along his jaw.


Surima arched an eyebrow, her lips curling into a rather sardonic grin.


"And you two gentlemen, being the polite and civilized saints that you are, decided to inquire about her well being, yes?"


Derry and Tanis nodded in unison, side-eyeing each. The pair were incorrigible lechers, and Tanis was a lush to boot. Most every new arrival, the two tried to work them over. Usually simultaneously. Even Surima wasn't safe, though their inquiries into the spaciousness of her bed were more cautious than with most. It was actually quite strange, as the twins were by all accounts from a very good family. The two were well-spoken and fluent in both Cunish and Sweytalk, and had some of the finest-crafted equipment here. They clearly didn't fight for the money. Surima suspected the two secretly rather liked the bloodshed itself, but they were rather nice either way so it was no skin off her back.


"If you must harass her, at least wait until tomorrow, won't you? She's tired. I just patched her up tonight."


"Ahh, well, if the good doctor demands bed rest..."


Surima smacked Derry upside the head, leaving Tanis cackling. Sending the pair on their way, Surima shed her voluminous layers and stashed her clothes and jewels in the locked chest at the foot of her bed. Anyone could buy their own if they wanted to, but most everyone didn't bother. The armory had it's own locks, and that's where most of the fighters stowed their only possessions of value - their weapons. Stripped down to a pair of silk drawers, Surima crawled into bed and yanked the curtain shut. There, in the close darkness, she drifted off to sleep. 

Spoiler

It took Ternazol awhile to fall asleep. The woman and man beside her didn't stop speaking and, of course, she was on edge expecting a fighter to attack at any moment. However, eventually, she lost to the night's call.. Tired, sore, and quite overwhelmed. 


She hadn't slept long, though. What with the new environment, the multiple people around making all kinds of noises in the room prone to echoing, and the anxiety about the days to come, she couldn't find rest for longer than a few hours. When she woke she found herself laying there for awhile longer, hesitant to get up and potentially disturb any of the fighters around her.. But, when they ones closest to her woke she allowed herself to get up, wandering around in an attempt to find food. 

The room stank at night. With so many bodies in one place, sweating, un-showered, or healing, an unpleasant smell seemed to hang right over one's nose, waiting for you to breath it right in. Certainly something she'd get used to, right? She wondered who's job it was to clean the place up.. Curious if the fighters were often tasked with the job on their days off. Surely she'd see soon enough. Tern carefully dodged any of the stumbling, still half-awake fighters who made their way out of the sleeping quarters, following them in hopes they would lead her to the mess hall. 

Not many choices but, she took what she could get. She found her plate dressed with some dried meat and rice, carefully picked at as she watched a lot of the other fighters destroy their plates like their food would be taken from them if they took too long. She wanted to watch the fight tonight and, assuming she wouldn't be seeing anyone she found it appropriate to speak with, she'd do just that. Hopefully, too, she wouldn't be made to fight. She was only officially scheduled for one fight that week but, she knew how it worked... "Oh by the way! You're fighting tonight. We need another hand since he or she was attacked/beaten up/died overnight." And what was she to do other than accept and hope she didn't get put up against someone who was much more experienced than she was. This was her job, now. Her life.

When she finished with her food she stood and took her plate to the wash station, cleaned it off, and took it back to the window for collection. Tern made her way out to leave but was stopped by the very person she'd hope she wouldn't be.. Mati. The conversation was brief but, exactly what she'd hoped it wouldn't be. She was scheduled for tonight. Though, she had to admit she felt healthy enough. Surima had done a wonderful job and, still she couldn't believe that all she left the chop shop with was a couple bruises and some soreness. Sure, she could fight tonight.. But, that still meant she wouldn't be able to watch the others, really. 

Now.. To wait.

 

[mechanimated]

Surima slept through the night without so much as a twitch. She simply rolled onto her stomach, hands folded under her like a cat, and passed out instantly. The scuffles, murmurs, and occasional quickly smothered shout or bark of laughter did nothing to disturb the healer's rest. Most everyone that spent more than a week or two here got used to the nightly disturbances in no time. Plus, it helped to be exhausted. When Surima awoke, she had the sense that she'd dreamt something important, but all she could remember was the color red.


Yanking open the curtains, the tawny-skinned arcane yawned and scratched her tousled hair before joining the stream of other early risers marching into the washroom. It was little more than a massive stone room with a floor sloping toward a drain in the center. Pumps lined the walls, rusty and stiff, and a tower of buckets was stacked by the door. Surima grabbed one by the coarse rope handle and wearily hoped it wasn't one of the ones with a hole in the bottom. By the drain stood a rickety wooden stool with a massive cake of lumpy yellow soap on it. Using her nails, Surima scraped off a handful of sudsy flakes for herself and hung her bucket below the pump. Filling it took a few tries, as the pipe merely rattled and gurgled at first. Finally, Surima managed to pull up some icy water for her bath. At least it was fresh, if cold, pumped from one of the many deep river tributaries running under the city. Bracing herself, she dumped the freezing water onto her head. Goosebumps immediately covered her skin, and Surima scrubbed her hair and skin vigorously in an effort to warm herself. She shed her knickers as well, washing them too. Might as well be efficient.


Sluicing off with another bucketful of frigid snowmelt, Surima pattered out of the room, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the gray slate. Tanis, also bathing at the time, took the opportunity to crack her bare arse with a wet towel. He earned a bucket to the head and a colorful cuss for his trouble, and the other fighters howled with laughter.


"I hope that swells up and you go blind, you wretched piss-stain!"


Surima dried off and changed quickly, shivering all the while she wrapped herself up in the usual layers. She used different scarves and shawls this time, but the effect was much the same. Brushing her hair took no time at all, as Surima had straight, silky black locks. Normally she would put the hair into a braid, but it would never dry that way, so the healer let it hang loose. The damp-heavy tresses left a dark, wet patch on her back.

Padding through the room, Surima headed upstairs instead of to the mess hall. She liked to see who was fighting for the day before taking her meal. It let her prepare for the sort of work she might be expected to do. When Surima saw the tab-covered board, her face tightened into a frown.


"Hey!"


Irate, the healer nabbed Mati on her way up from the passages below. The little witch was tallying something in a worn leather notebook, but the pad and pen she used disappeared as if by magic when Surima approached. Grinning with all her 5 yellowed teeth, the proprietress wheezed a laugh instead of a greeting. She was still in a giddy mood from the massive profits of last night.


"Whaddya mean ta slate tha new girl 'ere a day gone? I just fin' gone glued 'er back together! Ya wan' her fall to bits-like inna Pit? She needs rest!"


Surima was fuming, in part because she didn't like to see new fighters get diced up, but mostly in offence for the disrespect to her work. It was in part because of the healer that fighters were on such a strict schedule. What was the point of healing them if they were gonna get chopped to bits before they could even recover? Surima may have knitted the surface flesh back together, and encouraged the internal wounds to bind, but there was still a lot of healing Tern would have to do on her own power. Surima couldn't make lost blood come back, and much of the connective tissue inside she left to mend on its own. Tern would be weak, would tire easily in the ring. It couldn't be a fair fight. Mati didn't seem concerned, dry-washing her scabby little hands and grinning as though the sun were shining out her arse.


"Ahh, what, heal-witch worried, eh? Ahahaha! Tha wee bint gon' fight, she will! Charlie down sick ta bed wi' worms in he sorry gut, canna brawl t'day. So I put 'ere fresh girly in, 'gainst 'nuther newcomer. Whatcher worry? She did good las' night even bein' titchy small."


Oh, so that's what it was about. Crossing her arms, Surima scoffed, her nostrils flaring with anger. She should have known. Mati was such a miser.


"Ya just wan' make good agin, ya wicked hag! What, ya saw tha fat coins she brought in an' ya couldn' resist?"


Instead of confirming or denying the charge, Mati laughed and spun on her heel, wandering off. Surima shook her head, but really, there wasn't much she could do. With a sigh, she padded downstairs to get a meal. It was looking to be a rough day. Just on her way in to the canteen, she ran into Tern on her way out.


"Judging by the look on your face, you've already heard."

 

[Ternunda Hunter]

Tern had been chewing away at a small scrap of dried meat slowly.. Consciously, pushing forth some serious effort as she concentrated on the fight she'd be going through that night. The most stressful part about fighting was the anticipation. Unless you'd been around awhile and knew plenty of the fighters and how they fought, cooking up scenarios and how to defend against them was the largest weight on a newcomer's mind. Tern was humble, aware that, one day, she'd be completely rolled over and probably end up dying in the Pit, there. But, until that day she had a mind to fight and push and win as much as she could... Though, she didn't really know why she cared to fight or win. She didn't have much to win -for- other than her life. But, maybe that was all she needed. Maybe that's what most of the fighters that stayed and fought every night and every week, months, and years, lived for. To simply live.

With the last scrap hanging out of her mouth, Tern stopped for a moment to straighten her clothes before she had to, inevitably, fight a crowd. She wore a simple tunic and pants. The tunic was light grey in color with a V cut at the neck and small little V's turned down at the arms. She wore a dark leather belt at the waist to pull it all together. Her jade/sage green hair with darker roots and ends was draped over her shoulder, like usual, and her light green eyes shone as bright as ever, despite the circumstances. But, she wasn't impervious to the stress, a slight furrow in her brow as she pulled the piece from her mouth after chomping down to get a more bite sized portion. 
 


When Surima approached Tern was in the middle of chewing a particularly tough piece of the meat while making her way out to the Pit to get a read on how everyone seemed to be feeling about the line up. She stopped and looked up, staring only for a moment before she realized she still had food in her mouth. So, she looked down, swallowed, and cleared her throat. Tern nodded once, "Yes. Mati let me know in passing." Her brows raised a little, "You look a little upset." 

 

 

[mechanimated]

Surima crossed her arms, frowning.


"I am. I don't like watching new blood get mulched in an unfair match. Plus, it's like as not ends up a waste of my work."


It was an open secret that Surima didn't particularly like the fights. She treated it the way the cabin boy might treat a fantastic haul of fish. Great for whoever was profiting - but mostly just a lot of goddamn clean-up for her. But at the very least she could appreciate a proper battle of strength or skill. It was when it devolved into mismatched underdog money fights in the name of entertainment that Surima got her knickers in a bunch. Sighing, she waved her hand absently.


"Just be forewarned, you'll tire quickly. You might feel well now, but I only healed that which I had to work with. I can't make something out of nothing. It will be weeks yet before the blood you lost is fully replenished, and at least a few days before you are well enough inside to perform at your best in the pit. Mati is being a gold-grubber, that's why you're on the board today. Ugh. Anyway, I'm going to eat. I'll be ringside tonight, so if you think you're going to lose just take your punches and let lay. It's a fight, not an execution. If you look fair beaten, your opponent will leave alone and you'll live another day. I'll clean you up after."


She left Tern behind to think on that bit of advice. It was surprisingly hard to follow for most. Instinct screamed at you to flee or fight. Trapped in the pit, there often felt to be only one option. It was easy to forget that you could end the fight on your own terms if you really wanted to. Of course, there were bloodthirsty types that didn't like to let an opponent walk (or crawl) away if they could help it. Sometimes, there'd be a real sick sort of bastard that'd indulge in a finisher. Such behavior was forbidden - they were never allowed to fight at the Copperhead again. Of course, for the poor unconscious bastard whose throat got slit, it was too little too late. But it helped to have it known that killing an opponent who couldn't fight back lost you a spot in the most profitable ring in the city.


Surima ate with great efficiency, emptying her bowl of rice and diced jerky in five minutes flat. As soon as she was done, the healer glided upstairs. Though the fights wouldn't start till the evening, the Copperhead was already half-full. Patrons with nothing better to do, those that liked to get good spots, and prospective fighters mingled by the bar. Fresh rushes covered the floor, and one of the serving girls was leveling and tamping the dirt floor of the pit with a special wooden rake. Surima lingered by the wall, watching and listening. One of the fighters, a tall and lithely muscled man, had caught her attention. He looked normal, for the most part, but for his arms. They were leathery, shiny black, like he had dipped them in oil, up past his elbows. Each of his fingers ended in a long and wicked claw. Surima had noticed him because of what he was saying.


"Yeah," he answered nervously, the question lost in the low bustle, "but I think I'll be okay. I'm 6th slot so I have a little time to prepare. Have a drink or two and calm my nerves. Do you know who it is I'm fighting?....Oh. Well that's-....Oh. Ah."


He fiddled with his glass, spinning it in his hands. 6th slot? That was Tern's fight. Well, at least he didn't look too composed. And he didn't seem the type to love the gore and the killing, so hopefully he wouldn't be too much of a savage. Hell, with his rattled demeanor, perhaps he'd prove one of those snotty gentlemen who didn't like to fight women at all.

 

[Ternunda Hunter]

Ternazol watched Surima as she spoke, nodding a couple times, her furrowed brow deepening the longer she spoke. Tired, yes. Weaker, yes. She would have to adjust. The new fighter would have offered the healer a small smile and a, "thank you," but she'd already left, her many layers of clothes brushing up against Tern's bare arms as she passed. 

She sighed and left the door way, having found a couple sets of eyes landed on her and Surima out of curiosity. As she pushed out she glanced up at the boards and took careful note of her number placement... She would have to prepare and do so very well, while also making sure not to tire herself out more. So, she made her way back to the sleeping quarters and even further into the practice room. Not that she really wanted to practice so much as she wanted to give herself plenty of time to warm up. There was about 30 minutes until the fights started. Thirty minutes and five fights before her.. Assuming the fights before here were short it would be about fifteen each as the clean-up never took long. 

Even if one of the fighters died in the Pit all that was done was removal of the body. The fighters following each fight would be forced to stomp through the blood, slip, or use it tactically. Forcing your opponent to fall was a valuable and often rewarding move, especially if it was a due to a spill. Their feet or boots or sometimes paws and hooves, would find themselves slicker, less traction, easier to overcome. 

Tern pushed into the practice room and looked around. There wasn't much in the way of dummies, weights, or well, anything. It was mostly just an open room that had a line going through the middle vertically and horizontally, splitting it off into four sections. There were two people in the furthest left section from the back; two humans just wielding their fists, practicing blocks and tackles.

Tern scooted her way over to the nearest right quarter of the room. She needed to stretch, warm up, push and pull and see what her limits would be. She needed to practice conserving as much as possible with each attack. She had no idea who she was fighting, but she knew no matter her opponent she couldn't take the fight lightly.. Not that she ever did. Tern was always intense when it came to fighting. Always cautious. Always careful. She practiced swipes, cuts, up and down, kicks, good movement.. And found herself breathing heavily already. 

Rubbing her face, she moved to the corner and pressed her back to the wall, sliding down it to rest, shaking her head. She remembered what Surima said about losing. About laying down and letting the fight end... Tern had only lost a few fights in her time and with more grave wounds than what she had now. She never had access to a healer as skilled as Surima. She looked at the time. Only two fights left before hers. Surely Surima was very busy by now.

The new fighter took a deep breath and made her way to the Pit,  one careful step at a time as she played and re-played scenario one after another in her head. When she found herself at the ring she allowed herself the time to watch the current fight before heading back to the gates.

 

[mechanimated]

The first couple of brawls were just some human scrapping. Surima watched, intensely disinterested, from her usual position up top. Mati was letting the more boring fights run to warm the crowd. It was still too early for anyone to be drunk enough to lay out big, juicy bets, and none of the rich slummers would be showing up until near midnight. Human fights were usually the most drawn out and technical, though visually not quite as spectacular. The pugilists in particular could go for a solid half an hour, jabbing, kicking, and grappling until exhaustion or tap-out forced them to break. Sipping her drink, Surima observed from under lowered lashes as the first interesting fight of the evening rolled up. The first one that might give her actual work.


It was Jadis, a gladiator-style human fighter, versus Ermine, an Other. Jadis was one of the deadliest fighters on the roster, and he fought almost exclusively non-humans. It was damn near unsporting to pit him against another mundane. Hell, some speculated that he was actually an Other, just with an easily-concealed power such as unnatural strength or senses. Surima, having treated him more than once, knew otherwise. The man was just that good. He wore a thracian helmet, the narrow mesh hiding his face, and the edge of a chainmail coif made a gleaming semicircle across the top half of his chest and back. On a soldier it would have been tucked under platemail, but fighters were allowed only so many pieces of armor. This way, his neck and a good portion of torso (the heart and lungs in particular) were afforded at least some protection. A pair of rusty greaves covered Jadis' thick, muscle-bound thighs, and equally brown-stained steel boots protected his feet. At least, it was probably rust. Some of it. A bit.


Ermine was young, a child to Surima's eyes. He'd been clawing his way up the roster for weeks for a chance to fight Jadis over some stupid perceived insult. It sounded like a load of bullshit. The older gladiator wasn't much of a showboater, and in fact hardly talked with anyone. Surima, based on a few things she had observed, had a sneaking suspicion that he was one of those that liked the blood and killing and pain. Not that he was exceptionally cruel, far from it. Jadis would frequently refuse to keep fighting an enemy that was too injured to retaliate, and most of the deaths at his hands seemed truly accidental. However, there were just...certain things, maybe a look, a few words...Surima just felt, in her gut, that he had the sickness. To pick a fight with him over what was probably completely in his head...Ermine was too cocky for his own good. His magic was powerful, and that was no doubt in part responsible for his overconfidence. It was a mark of how utterly lacking a brain Ermine was that it took him so much effort to move up the list even with his gift. He had the ability to make fire. Burns were a terrible injury to treat, and perhaps that played a part in Surima's sour attitude toward the boy. Infection set in easily on scorched flesh, and even slight burns made moving and fighting unbelievably painful. Recovery could take weeks even with her skilled hand assisting. Light an enemy's hair, fur, or clothes, and all you had to do was stay back while they panicked. Heat up armor or weapons and a fighters own tools turned against them. It was an incredible advantage.


Either way, this fight was sure to be spectacular. Surima leaned over the railing, fingers laced under her chin, and watched with renewed interest. Her mossy eyes seemed to glow, unblinking, in the dim light. Absently, she noted that Tern's fighter was also observing from the lower-floor bar, and that his hands were shaking more by the minute. Strangely, before the bout began, Jadis looked up in Surima's direction, and offered her the slightest bow of the head and a tiny shrug. It was unlikely anyone but Surima would have realized he even meant it for anyone in particular, let alone her. Shaking her head, Surima emptied her glass and waited for the bloodbath. It seemed Jadis knew the work that would be due of the good doctor, whoever won.


Ermine was jeering, mocking. The two fighters circled each other in the ring, Jadis with his short-sword held so steady that the point never seemed to waver from Ermine's heart no matter how they stepped. The roaring rabble drowned out anything being said, but judging by their reactions, Surima could hazard a few guesses. She rolled her eyes. Shit-talking was so rarely paired with skill. Suddenly, contact. Ermine lunged forward, fire blossoming in his fist, and Jadis spun aside. Not quickly enough - embers flew, and Surima could see angry red welts streaking the human's bare stomach. He showed no sign that the injury hurt, but the crowd howled at first blood. Ermine was smirking, cock-sure. Landing the opening blow was inflating his ego to an untenable size. He spit, swaggering to and fro, and then made another sudden pass. Jadis sidestepped again, taking another wound to the upper arm. Not on his primary sword hand, but even so. He was being unusually passive. It seemed that Ermine, being so dangerous to get close to, was making it hard to find an effective strategy for fighting him with a short-range weapon. The Other didn't even need to actually make contact, the searing flames he produced hot enough to burn from several inches away.


Time and again, the boy would dart in, lay a quick hand on Jadis, and then dance out of reach. Soon, the gladiator's torso was a mass of bubbling burns, the weeping cysts bursting and bleeding as he moved. Even Surima, hardened by her years, couldn't help but wince in sympathy. How Jadis stayed so composed was beyond her. The watching masses were damn near uncontrollable, rattling the wooden slats of the ring and screaming in an incoherent frenzy. Between the alcohol and money on the line, everyone was worked up. Witnessing Jadis' first loss, and to such a smarmy upstart to boot? It would be legendary. Not to mention that a small handful here stood to make quite a bit of money betting against the odds.


Finally, Ermine got a little too careless. He stepped in for a ballsy, high-risk-high-reward sort of maneuver. Not smart, considering it was life or death down there in the pit. The boy laid a flame-licked hand on the side of Jadis' helmet, and for the first time the gladiator showed some sign of pain. He bucked like a shying stallion, and his gleaming sword darted forward. Quick, one-two, and Ermine was falling back with a gash across his stomach. At first, Surima thought it was over, but then she saw that Ermine was grinning through the injury, for all that it sent a river of red cascading over his legs. It seemed that Jadis had, intentionally or otherwise, landed too shallow of a blow. In a strange, momentary lull, Surima head Ermine's next words drifting up to the balcony.


"Stings, doesn't it? Don't worry, I'll only slow-cook you a little more before I end this."


Jadis was standing with his head half-cocked in a way that suggested that he had trouble seeing from the side the Other had burned. The helmet was probably still hot, and causing him unimaginable suffering. Yet again, Surima found herself a little awed by how much abuse a regular ol' human could handle. Ermine was taunting Jadis, jumping in and out of reach, throwing about insults like confetti. Jadis only prowled, silent and scarred.


A touch, another burn. The stench of seared flesh was beginning to fill the room, sickly sweet and disturbingly reminiscent of pork. A touch, a burn. Another, another. Jadis was beginning to resemble nothing so much as a flayed cadaver, red and bleeding, hardly a square inch of skin left unmarred. He was hunched over, disgusting to look at, and hardly moving. Ermine wasn't even bothering to stay out of reach anymore, confident that his opponent couldn't manage any agile trickery in his state. That was why, when a glinting sword tip blossomed from his back, he looked so shocked. It seemed that Jadis had realized approaching Ermine on his own would be a waste of energy. The youth would only do what he was doing anyway - burn and run, burn and run, in an effort to wear down the more experienced fighter. Surima wasn't sure if she was more horrified or impressed by Jadis' ability to endure pain and play the long con. The crowd was absolutely crazed, and money was changing hands at a rapid pace.


There was no time to think on that, though. There were two gravely wounded fighters who needed her immediate attention. Surima leapt bodily over the rail, tucking into a roll upon landing in the pit. Miraculously, none of her scarves or many trinkets flew off. Standing, she only managed a single step forward when there was a furious, inhuman shriek. Ermine, it seemed, was not content with letting the loss stand. Surima retreated, eyes darting between the two. The Other had latched on to Jadis' helmet and was heating it, trying to burn or suffocate the other fighter to death. The air around the rosy-glowing metal rippled. With every movement, the sword in Ermine's gut shredded him a little more. Jadis was thrashing, trying to get the helmet off with one blistered hand, refusing to let go of his weapon but neither wanting to withdraw it. If he pulled it out, Ermine would likely bleed to death in minutes. Not even. But if he let go, he'd be left entirely unarmed and horribly injured with Ermine, who didn't look like he had any intention of stopping, win or lose. That Mati hadn't called the fight by now was a goddamn crime. The red-hot steel cage popped free, revealing a monstrous sight. Melted hair and blood and blisters and swelling...A good portion of Jadis' skin had come off with the helmet, sloughed away like lizard sheddings. Surima smothered a lurch of nausea. Ermine appeared crazed, and he reached out with blazing hands for Jadis' ruined face. With a wrench, the gladiators sword arced free. He had torn it out of Ermines side, cutting him near in half. Surima, frozen, was splattered with hot gore. The glassy-eyed youth staggered to the side, blood flowing in an endless waterfall over the bare dirt floor. With a wet thump, he collapsed into a heap of his own entrails, dead or as close to it as makes no difference. There was no fixing that.


Shaking herself, Surima rushed forward. Now was not the time. The cold, clinical detachment of her profession settled around the healer like a familiar cloak, numbing Surima to fear and disgust. Jadis had sunk to his knees and was clearly having trouble breathing. The shouts of the crowd sounded distant, underwater almost, as the doctor tunnel-visioned on her patient. It was a miracle that Jadis hadn't suffocated ten minutes ago. Severe burns caused hypoxia and hypovolemia, if they didn't kill outright through shock. With vague, distant disbelief, Surima realized she might not be able to save him. As she had told Tern what felt like a year ago, she couldn't make blood.


Laying hands on the fighters mutilated shoulders, Surima let her magic flow. Despite the horrific burns, Jadis shivered under her grip. The icy sensation, she imagined, was probably a relief. Doing what she could to stabilize the ravaged gladiator, Surima shouted for assistance. Burly workers materialized as if by magic, ready to take orders. Surima was mid-ordering them to fetch sheets to carry Jadis in a makeshift stretcher, when to her utter amazement he stood by his own power. Speechless, the healer and her two strongarms hovered behind Jadis as he descended to the basement, prepared to catch him if he fell. Surima sent a servant girl to run ahead and have the unoccupied fighters milling in the practice room start carrying buckets of water. She was going to need a tub. Behind them, the butchered remains of Ermine were hoisted out back to await either retrieval or mass burial. 


In the chop shop, the real work began. Surima shed her layers and jewelry in a single, swift motion, dumping it in a heap in the corner without a second thought. No time for the luxury of ritual. Scrubbing her arms, she directed her assistants to help Jadis into the near-overflowing tub of icy water. Only now, clear of the ring, did he moan in pain. Was it her imagination, or did the water hiss as he sank below its surface? Surima had never seen such extensive, awful injuries on a living fighter. Ermine hadn't been trying to win, she realized, he had been trying to torture Jadis. What insult, real or otherwise, could possibly warrant such barbaric tactics?


For the next two hours, Surima was buried in her work. The front of her dress was soaked in water and blood, and slick bits of tissue-paper skin clung to her hands. Jadis had long since fallen unconscious, and the healer worked tirelessly to stabilize him. The fighter's heart stopped twice over the course of the procedure, and by the end Surima was utterly wrung out. She slumped against the wall, leaving Jadis to soak in the medicinal bath. She was satisfied that he wouldn't die, at least, not right this moment. His disfigured body was looking rather better than it had, though it was still a stomach-turning sight. With the swelling brought down and blood cleansed away, the cratered pits left behind by burst blisters were all too visible. There would be far more work to be done later tonight, but for now...a rest.


Without even bothering to clean up, Surima dragged herself upstairs for a large glass of something strong. To her surprise, she saw the young man paired with Tern standing in the pit, alone. There must have been a break after Jadis' spectacular ending to let the crowd settle, if they were only on the 6th fight. Bleary-eyed and exhausted, Surima thudded into an empty seat at the bar and waved vaguely in the direction of the bartender, who obligingly provided a flagon of spirits. It was some of Mati's vile homebrew shit and smelled like a fermented pig sty, but Surima still emptied a quarter of it in a single gulp. It burned all the way down, and injected a bit of verve back into the weary doctor. Enough that she managed to summon the energy to turn back to the fight. If all of yesterday's work was gonna be wasted, she figured she might as well have the decency to watch it happen.


The man stood alone, rubbing his arms up and down with those clawed black hands, as though he was cold. Where was Tern?

 

[Ternunda Hunter]

Tern watched the fight prior in a stone-faced horror. On the outside she was completely calm but inside she was screaming. Why did it have to be so brutal? Granted, her last fight was less than pleasant and she'd killed the person, but she didn't make him suffer. What the boy did to that human was ... Disgusting. She stood in the crowd at the northern wall of the fence just staring. At first, they were all, excluding Tern, jumping around, shouting, shoving into the pale, raven haired other as she felt her heart sink. 


It got ugly. It always did. But she rarely ever reflected on it. That time she did. She was appreciative of the long break. Get it together, Tern! It doesn't mean anything. Just keep your head down like you always do. You're fine. This is fine! ... ..No it isn't. It's not fine. Why am I here? You know why you're here! Her considerations tormented her. Finally, she calmed down as she landed on a thought. A face smiling at her behind her closed lids. Small wrinkles by his eyes and salt and pepper hair. Soft, steel grey eyes and tanned skin from hours and hours of work under the sun over many years. That's why she was there.  At least, it's why she started years ago.

Tern took a deep, preparatory breath before her eyes shot open at a nudge on her shoulder, "Hey. You're up, kid. That's you, right?" The offending, bulbous finger jutted up in the direction of the boards as his beady eyes stared down at her expectantly. She practically jumped from the seat before he gripped her shoulder a little too tight, "Hold up, hold up. Looks like they're calling a recess because of the mess that last fight made. Take it easy." Tern shrank and pulled away from him.

"Thanks," she offered softly, casting a glance out to the Pit. They hadn't even started and the room still stunk of burning flesh. She didn't imagine that smell would go away anytime soon. She stepped away from him slowly, uncomfortable under his intense glare, figuring a short walk would do her good. She needed to stretch anyway. Those first human fights were like watching the grass grow. 

She'd seen Surima work in the ring... And really, the entire thing was just an incredible spectacle. The fact that human stood and walked himself out was amazing. She hoped she had that kind of fortitude. Tern wasn't a weak girl, but she wasn't impervious to pain. She wondered if the man let his suffering show when he was away from the crowds. She admired how the healer just jumped in and started working, completely oblivious to the dangers around her, to the people gawking, gasping, and groaning as their weak stomachs threatened to free them of their heavy lunch. 


The green haired woman wandered outside for awhile, strolling slowly along the outside of the building as she attempted to regain her composure. It was just one fight. Not a big deal. It happens.

She heard her name called again. How long had she been outside? She stared at the door for a long time really considering for a moment if she actually wanted to go in there. If she didn't just want to give it all up... If it all was just one big mistake. Tern sighed and made her way back to the door, carefully dodging her way through the crowd and to the cage entrance before turning around after feeling fingers in her pocket and hearing a quiet whisper, "Here kid, this'll help." But, when she turned around every eye on her was expectant and excited. They were itching to watch a new fight.

Her hand pressed to her pocket to feel a small lump that wasn't there before, but she didn't dare actually pull whatever it was out in front of the crowd. She'd have to investigate later. So, she stepped into the ring to face her waiting opponent... Some young man with claws for hands.

Careful, weighing steps moved Tern forward only to have her ears practically blown out as the announcer did his best to hype the crowd back up. He mentioned her fight the day before and how she was some new upstart with incredible promise and that this young man was her next step up. Most of the crowd didn't eat into the hype, though. They'd bet on the boy. Despite her win, they chalked it up to luck and good timing that she beat the human before. Now that she was against another touched man, she was certain to lose or die.

The bell run loudly but the claw-armed man didn't move. He stood there still rubbing his arms up and down, though the only evidence of Tern doing something was the color of her eyes. Those glowing emerald hues were already completely overtaken by a cloud of menacing black, any brilliant color completely stomped out. He shivered and a look of confused concern crossed his face as he took a single step back, "What are you doing?" His voice trembled and stood a little more stiffly.

Tern stepped to the side and watched him, waiting for a move, stalking around him like he was prey. She was feeding off his scared demeanor and she only wanted to give him more reason to surrender. He didn't seem like much of a fighter and if she could make him quit then she'd win without having to over exert herself. That was a good solution, right?

He backed up to the wall of the cage, leaving Tern nowhere to circle behind him... So, she paced slowly from side to side, never taking her eyes off of him, a coating of black frost forming at the most delicate parts of his flesh like the tips of his nose, ears, and fingers. What was that saying, though? She couldn't remember, but it was something to do with smaller animals turning savage when they were pushed into a corner. She'd never experienced it until then.

Suddenly, the young man clawed out of the corner, swiping wildly at her, landing a terrible three or four cuts into her right arm. She instantly dashed away from him and, as she landed, pressed her palm out towards him to launch a projectile of black arcane at him, followed by another.. and another as he ran. One managed to cut into his back, but nothing disabling. 

She reached up to clamp a hand around her wounds, grimacing. She regretted her decision, already. Perhaps she shouldn't have walked through those doors. She was already starting to feel overly exhausted, the tender flesh from the back wounds the night before aching dully. The young man lifted one hand towards Tern, the thing growing impossibly before them, bulging and throbbing grotesquely. He had a wild look in his eyes and Tern was not looking forward to feeling that. 

He let his heavy hand drop and ran straight for her, lifting that hand when he got near to swipe again. She conjured a shield and sword of her own. The shield held up to protect against the attack while her sword-wielding hand swung. But, it seemed his claws were for more than just scratching. As soon as his heavy claw touched the shield, it shattered into nothing. Her sword attack was blocked by his other claw, and it shattered into dust as well. The large hand hit her with an incredible strength he didn't look like he had, which sent her flying to the cage wall not far from them. Tern slid down the metal to her knees, looking up at the man with frustrated, furrowed brows. She couldn't lose.. She couldn't. Tired or not. Weak or not. Even if Surima would be furious with her.

He took his chance to charge at her while she was down, claws out and aimed for her face and throat, wailing like a strange savage. There was nothing she could do, really, aside from throw her hands up defensively. When his massive claws wrapped around her throat, so did her own hand find his face.


His skin turned pale, eyes and hair the same color green she wore, and he stopped after shaking her like a rag doll, sinking the sharpest parts of his claws inches deep in her skin. He wouldn't let go of her but he just stopped moving altogether. Completely frozen. The crowd looked on in confusion until the man flopped to the side, carrying her with him. When he came to from whatever she'd put him under he thrashed, rending her further. He backed away from her, shaking like he'd just seen his worst nightmares, scooting on his rear to another corner of the ring, screaming that he didn't want anymore.

Tern pushed up from the floor carefully, deep gashes in her arms, shoulders, and the back of her neck, the adrenaline the only reason she was on her hands and knees. She looked up at the young man, trembling at the sight of her, brows creased. The announcer's eyes darted between the two for a long moment before he announced the narrow victory for Ternazol.

He didn't move until she was completely out of the ring, stumbling on her own two feet again towards the chop shop.

 

[mechanimated]

Surima watched the fight with a sort of tired half-interest. The newcomer with the claws was interesting. He clearly didn't want to be here, whatever his capabilities. It looked like a pretty sure win for him, and Surima sighed at the thought of having to patch Tern back up after he cut her into ribbons. Judging by the way he dissolved anything the green-haired fighter conjured up, he was either part-demon or got his gifts from a demon pact. Curious, as summoning was very costly for the layman and dangerous for the amateur mage. If he had summoned it himself, that suggested a high degree of skill. Or luck. Everything was unfolding very predictably, until he grabbed Tern and began shaking her like a rag-doll.


Sitting up sharply, Surima watched through narrowed eyes. Whatever was happening, even for an Other, was decidedly unnatural. Despite her exhaustion, the healer sprinted toward the ring and shouldered her way through the sweating, shouting crowd. Rather than the usual excitement, there was a dull rumble of discontent rippling through them. More than once, Surima caught the word "cheating", and she grew tense. Unhappy patrons, especially drunk ones, could be dangerous. The last thing she needed was a riot breaking out. If they got rowdy, Mati could deal with it herself. Surima refused to get involved, after all she had to do today. Hoisting herself over the wooden barricade, Surima went not to Tern, but to the youth. The wounded woman left on her own, and the green-eyed doctor didn't make a move to stop her. A pale glow surrounded Surima's hands, and she approached the trembling man like one might a wild animal. He was hugging himself again, shivering as though freezing. Pitching her voice low, Surima crooned softly to him.


"Shh, it's alright. I'm a healer. Let me...help!"


Darting forward, she laid a hand on his forehead. The clawed man managed only half a yelp before his eyes rolled back in his skull and he went limp. Surima caught him, grunting, and swung him over her shoulders in the fireman's carry. She paused to mutter some instructions to the judge, and before she even left the pit he was already hyping everyone up for the next fight. Distract them, she had said, before they tear this place down around our heads. In the meantime, Surima clattered down the stairs to the chop shop. Tern was sitting down there, covered in cuts and blood, but the healer didn't even glance at her. First, she unloaded the unconscious male onto a bare table, carefully laying him out and looking him over. She checked eyes, throat, pulse, temperature. Surima spent several minutes examining his claws, channeling her magic into them and observing the effects. Finally content that he seemed largely unharmed, she slipped over to Jadis. He, too, was knocked out cold, still floating in the tub of water. This inspection took another fifteen minutes, as Surima assured herself that his lungs and heart were functioning well. For what must have been the twentieth time that day, the healer cursed Ermine under her breath. Though really, he was the one rotting outside, so what more ill will was necessary? With her other two patients seen to, Surima spun on her heel and faced Tern.


Her eyes were glowing faintly, and flickering white licked up her bare arms like cold fire. She looked furious.


"Where. Did. You get it. Where?"


Voice trembling with barely suppressed anger, Surima took a step forward, and then another. Her hands were curled into white-knuckled fists.


"Did you buy it? Find it? Did someone give it to you? Speak!"


Pointing at the clawed youth on the table, whose furrowed brow and soft groans suggested uneasy visions, Surima shook her head in disgust. To use a curse in the ring was dangerous, downright evil even. Tern was lucky no one recognized her little trick for what it was, because the other fighters might have torn her apart then and there. As it was, the healer had half a mind to do it herself. Instead, with the expression of someone being forced to touch rotting meat or festering garbage, she laid a glowing hand on the injured woman. Even shielded, she couldn't suppress a shudder. The curse physically stung, like a hundred hot little needles driving into her skull, but Surima fended it off. She closed the new surface wounds Tern had acquired as quickly as she could, doing perhaps rather a sloppier job than necessary. Still, it was done, even if there was more scarring that the healer would normally allow herself. Drawing back with a wince, Surima rubbed her temples, quelling the aching throb there.


"If it's an object, give it to me now. If it's a casting, you're leaving and not coming back until it's dispelled. Do you understand me?"

 

[Ternunda Hunter]

Tern watched Surima work, sitting in silence while she waited for her turn. But, what she faced was.. Well, unexpected. Her eyes widened as the only one she thought she had any kind of relationship to seemed to turn on her in an instant. And, more than that, she had no idea what she was talking about. Her eyes widened, glowing, light green hues nearly unblinking as she shook her head, "I-I don't ..."

She flinched under Surima's touch and looked away from her and to other. His hair had returned to its dirty brown color and his skin had that normal, fleshy human shade again. That's how it always worked unless she did more. She didn't understand why Surima was so upset with her. She'd totally forgotten about the whatever it was that someone in the crowd shoved in her pocket but even that didn't change anything. That's how it always worked. "I don't understand. What's wrong? He'll be fine, probably even wake up in a few minutes, anyway. I didn't kill him..." She was absolutely the image of confusion, looking down at her hands and shaking her head. 

 

[mechanimated]

Surima's lip curled in disgust. Tern was acting as though she didn't even know what she had done. The idea...god, it was hard to tell whether ignorance or intent was worse. Crossing her arms, Surima closed her eyes in momentary supplication to her gods. If it fell to her to be an educator, well, better that than letting Tern do that to other people without understanding the damage she wrought. There was some unraveling to do here. Letting the white fire run up her arms once more, Surima grazed Tern with her magic, wincing. The needles, sharp as ever, dug into her brain. The healer fought past the pain, struggling to detangle auras and flows, like spidersilk strands. With her gift, Surima could sense the flow of power and magic through a person as though it was a tangible thing, like blood. Objects were harder, but it was still possible. 


After a few minutes, Surima fell back, leaning over with her hands on her knees.


"You...ah, hah...are a fool and piece of work. Do you really not know?"


Pulling up a chair, the healer tiredly collapsed into it, wiping the cold sweat that had beaded on her brow. Magic presented itself in countless forms, but it could be classified into a handful of general types. Affinity magic would be things like what Ermine or Surima had, inborn gifts that did a specific thing or set of things, and no more. Ether wielders would be those like mages and wizards, who could draw and mold magic to their will through spells or rituals. Their abilities were usually weaker, but more varied, than those of an innately gifted individual. Pact magic was granted, from a demon, djinn, or similar being. It's strength and nature depended on the one giving it, and it often came at a high price. And finally...there were curses. The counterpart to a pact, a curse was magic forced on another against their will. It required great strength to complete a curse, and there were countless stories about their use. Fey were well known for cursing humans who crossed them, condemning them to all sorts of misery. Bad luck was a common one with them, as well as muteness, infertility, and all kinds of other misfortune. But it was weaponizing such magic that was the worst of the worst. Zombies, werewolves, and other examples of humans turned into mindless monsters against their will were the stuff of children's horror stories, but they were all very real. These days, doing such a thing to a person was cause for hanging, but once upon a time it had been common for warring wizards to raise entire armies of brainwashed humans, living and dead, to march to battle for them. 


"What you did to that boy, it's evil, you understand? I can still feel the residue of it when I touch you. Have...have you ever had such a thing done to you? You're cursing him. Weakly, admittedly, as it doesn't seem to take if you're not in contact with the individual, but even so. When you do...that...it is like an endless torture. You are overwriting his mind, his self, with your own. It's very similar to how the vilest warlords used to create armies of subjugated slaves, though their abilities were far more powerful and refined. A completed curse, it's unbreakable. An eternity trapped in your own mind as someones puppet, that's what you'd be consigning someone to. I don't know where you learned to do such a thing, but if anyone realizes what it is you'll be thrown in prison to rot for the rest of your sad life. If you're not executed. And on top of that-"


Surima pointed to Tern's pocket.


"-you cheated. There's a nightmare in your pocket. Where did you get it?"

 

[Ternunda Hunter]

Tern's shoulders sank deeply as Surima spat at her. Evil?

She'd never been called evil a day in her life. She looked over at the boy and her brows furrowed, a couple shakes of her head the only response as her mouth hung half-open. "I didn't..." She could understand the words coming out of the healer's mouth, but she was mostly in disbelief. She'd always been able to do that. Always. Ever since she was just a child. Matter of fact, that was how she acquired her first wolf-pet. She'd been wandering the woods and a small pack surrounded her. The Alpha was the first to attack and as soon as her hand landed on his face he stopped and he was obedient until his last day. He was her best friend.

Tern was actually an adult, though. So, coming to the crushing realization that she's always been doing something illegal and hated hurt her. It was hard to believe. She'd never killed anyone with it... It just made them leave her alone long enough for her to get away. The wolf was the only real exception. And, well, her brother...

Her eyes widened, "Oh I completely--.." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a strange black stone flecked with gold and green and her face instantly twisted in confusion. "S-someone slipped this in my pocket before I got into the pit. I never even had a chance to look, it was my turn to fight." She left the stone flat on her palm and offered to Surima with creased, concerned brows. She didn't understand why Surima seemed to struggle so hard just to touch her. Would she have the same problem with that, too? Her eyes dropped down to the stone as she wondered what it was all about. How did she cheat? Even if the stone was some crazy magical object, she didn't wield it. 

Again, her eyes dropped on the boy and she wondered why he hadn't woken up yet, and why he still squirmed. That wasn't her -- "He should have woken up by now, I--.. I didn't do that."

 

[mechanimated]

"I did, for his own sake. Whatever he saw when you cursed him, it was kinder to put him to sleep than let him dwell. At least for a little while."


Picking up the stone, Surima held it up between them. It looked quite unremarkable, just a pebble, but to the healer's eye it's edges blurred and twisted away from the eye. A powerful charm, something that would have cost a fair bit of money to make. And Tern said someone just slipped it into her pocket? Hm. Perhaps someone who had bet against the odds and wanted to increase their chances of winning a tidy sum. Had whoever handed this off known about Tern's ability? It was quite the stroke of luck - or perhaps misfortune - that she had been given an artifact of this precise nature. It complemented her capabilities perfectly.


"It's called a nightmare. When you have one in your possession and cast upon another, it sends them hallucinations of all kinds of horrors. Gives 'em a splitting headache, too. Popular among interrogators and torturers."


For a brief moment, Surima was compelled to show Tern exactly what she had done to the young man now sleeping restlessly on her cot. What sort of fears would the stone dredge up for her? What visions would it use, torn out from the most secret places in her mind? Instead, Surima clenched the artifact in her hand, squeezing her eyes shut. The healer had a bit of a vindictive, vicious streak, but right now fairness and justice were not as important as conserving her energy. She was going to be up all night with Jadis, grafting skin and keeping him breathing. Wasting energy on meting out punishment, no matter how deserved, would be foolish. Pocketing the stone, Surima made a mental note to inquire about its origins. The Copperhead saw all kinds, and there were plenty here who kept sharp eyes on all the patrons in the interest of accumulating information. There had to be someone who knew where the awful little trinket had come from. Maybe she'd pay whoever it was a visit sometime.


"What you did today will never happen again, yes? Never. You're lucky I believe that you were truly ignorant of what you did, because if I reported you to the guard you'd like as not be strung up without so much as a pause for breath."


Pinching the bridge of her nose, Surima leaned against the wall. She was so tired, so angry. How many people had Tern brainwashed in the past? Were there a bunch of hapless slaves shambling around somewhere, perhaps starving or freezing to death without orders to eat and take shelter? It was easier to think not. A terrible fate to be consigned to. Taking a deep breath, Surima gave Tern another once-over. The stabbing pains were weaker now, as the vestiges of the curse-work faded from Tern's magic reservoirs. Satisfied, the healer rose with a grunt and waved Tern away.


"You're well enough. No worse than this morning, really. Rest, eat, sleep. No fighting tomorrow, I don't care if Mati puts you on the board a dozen times over."


As Surima spoke, another fighter staggered into the room. She had a huge gash across her throat, and was clutching it as though she might somehow stem the flow of indigo blood with her bare hands. Tern forgotten, Surima flew to her side and began to knit the flesh, swearing to herself. The woman, whose skin was faintly iridescent and appeared to be almost scaly, fainted before the healer could finish. Surima was forced to catch her with one arm, the other pressed over the awful wound as she willed it to heal. It never ended. The creeping exhaustion was more pronounced now, harder to fight. Surima blinked blearily as she lifted this newcomer onto another of the cots, covering her with a thick blanket. Blood loss tended to cause chills. Back to the clawed youth. Surima cycled between her three primary patients, checking vitals and taking breaks between healing each of them a little bit further. The demon-boy she left mostly alone. Not much to be done for scars of the mind.


Most of her efforts were focused on Jadis. For hours, Surima would sit and pump magic into his skin, compelling it to grow and cover the raw wounds that pitted much of his skin. On and off, taking breaks to drink a bit of water, and then back to work. Though she didn't know it, the sun had begun to rise before she finished. Jadis was looking remarkably better. There was hardly any evidence of the third-degree burns that had covered so much of his body the night before. Surima was far too tired to haul him out of the tub, so she just drained it and threw another blanket over him as well. Then she unceremoniously collapsed in a heap on the floor, dead asleep.

 

[Ternunda Hunter]

Slowly, Tern's eyes rose to look at Surima as she threatened her. She nodded and looked down quickly, guilt and shame just destroying her. Surima would have been better to know that there were no thralls just walking around with no guidance. Tern, at least, in her taking of men and women who wished her harm, always let them go. She never tortured them with visions of horror and pain... Well, except one person. 


Another drop as she shooed her off. She swallowed and slid off the stool, eyes falling on the boy, "Surima, I'm s-.." And then the new patient came stumbling in. Tern grit her teeth and pushed back her soft feelings, moving away from the pair and leaving Surima to work. She wished there was something she could do to help, she knew the healer had a busy night ahead of her. But, she knew nothing of healing. Not a single bit. Her arcane ability had always been destructive and invasive. Maybe one day she'd be able to manipulate it in a way to help people but, that day wasn't it.

She couldn't use her ability anymore. Granted, Tern rarely did use it. Only in a scary pinch. One time for wicked revenge, but the rest in danger, and she always left them alive, breathing, and minimally tormented. She didn't realize what she was doing was cursing, what did that say about her as a person or an.. Anything? That she had been cursing people since she was just a child and didn't even know it?


As she walked down the halls she was faced with an occasional accusing glare. Did people really believe that she cheated? And who the hell slipped that stone in her pocket? She really didn't want to imagine who it could have been, hoping that her past hadn't dragged itself up and surfaced in her freshly started life. 


Eating was a quick matter. She scarfed down her dried meat and bread, chugged the water, and quickly made her way to the bunkhouse, snagging a spot by the wall with her mat. If people really thought she was a cheater and that she cast a curse on that boy, then being against a wall was best for her. They wouldn't be able to surround her from one side and she'd be able to dart between them. She was exhausted, though. The boy's claws dug into her back and shoulders deeply, and Surima took care of them but, unlike her first time, she was still incredibly sore. She felt like the muscle was still torn to shreds under the sealed skin. 

It definitely didn't take long for her to pass out once she'd found a position that didn't irritate the damage. Pangs of guilt and self pity tore at her.. But, she wouldn't let it show. After the scene with Surima her face was made of stone. Even still, she wouldn't be at breakfast or lunch, or dinner the next day. Not even at the pit watching. And if anyone asked? She went to bed and no one caught even a glimpse of her since then. Not that it mattered, one day was nothing, right?

 

[mechanimated]

When Tern left, her apology for a crime she didn't fully understand dying on her lips, Surima didn't turn. Her back was an icy, bloodstained wall. If one murdered another because they were ignorant that it was a bad thing to do, did that make it any more excusable? Still, the healer knew she wasn't being entirely fair. Her exhaustion, anger, and the endangered lives of her patients put patience far down the list of things she was willing to exhibit at that moment. Tomorrow, there might be time. There might be forgiveness. But not now. Not tonight.


The following morning, as Surima slept in an unmoving heap, she was carefully gathered into a bundle and lifted up off the bare dirt floor. Jadis, in further testament to his incredible tenacity, had woken up. Healing drew on the strength of both the healer and patient, and the fighter had undergone an incredible ordeal. The brutality of the battle, the extent of his injuries, and even the no-doubt less than comfortable night sleeping in a damp metal tub did not lend themselves to being capable of much but sleeping and maybe complaining a little bit, if the energy could be spared for that. And yet, he had left the ring on his own two legs, and now he stood on them once more. Wobbly, perhaps. Terribly tired. But standing.


Surima didn't stir, not so much as a flutter of her eyelids, and at the earliest opportunity Jadis passed her off to a more hale and hearty individual to bring to her bed. Everyone knew where Surima slept. She was tucked in like a child, with great reverence. Everyone there knew that she, however brusque and short-tempered, didn't have to expend herself like that for them. Didn't have to risk her life to drag someone back from the brink of death when there were like as not gonna end up on that cold doorstep again the next day. It was a comfort to know that at the end of the day, no matter the cost, she would do all she could to give them another hour to draw breath. Another chance to fight, fuck, eat, live.


There was an unspoken consensus. No one fought to incapacitate, drew blood unless necessary, or aimed to kill. No one put anyone on the chop-shop table that would die without her help. Because Mati, wretch that she was, would drag Surima to her blood-stained, battered little basement hospital to revive the profits that lay bleeding out on the slab. So for the good doctor, no death. Not today.


Mati pitched a fit, of course. Less blood meant less money. But what could she do, get in there herself? Undying lich of a woman that she was, fair bet she'd be the one making out alive. Well, in the end, grumbling and screeching and browbeating got her nowhere. And truth be told, she could hardly be mad. Even Mati didn't dare breathe a word against Surima in front of the fighters, even if she was mightily annoyed that the doctor had put herself out of commission and cut income by an entire 17%. Jadis, alone, was worth it. He drew some of the biggest, rowdiest, most purse-loose crowds the Copperhead ever saw. His life was worth a day of slow bets.


The tawny-skinned Other slept, and slept, and slept. She slept so long that some of the newer blood, who had never seen such a thing, thought she would never wake. Her and the black-clawed young man were twins, unmoving and silent in their unnatural slumber. When Surima finally stirred, she found herself in the dark and familiar confines of her cot. It wasn't unexpected - she cared for her fighters and they cared for her, in their own clumsy way. Groaning, she crawled out of bed. Before she could even blink away the grit, someone was pushing a glass of water into her hands. Surima drank greedily, and had it refilled twice before she took a break with a gasp. It was Tanis, keeping his usual lewd commentary to himself. His customary scarf hung looser than usual today, and she could see the slick burgundy welts licking at his throat. She hadn't been here when he had gotten those burns, and it was rather a miracle he had survived. Tanis didn't talk about it, and when Surima once offered to help the scarring he had gotten such a look in his eye that she didn't bring it up again. However, the sight did remind her of Jadis.


"Did he live?"


Her voice was a croak, but there was no question as to whom she meant. Tanis nodded, a shadow of his typical grin ghosting across his face. Pressing another glass of water on the doctor, he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder.


"The big bastard damn near carried you here himself. I'm startin' to think it wasn't half bad as you're making it out, if he's strutting around. What, didja want a little lie in?"


The cup bouncing off his thick skull served for an answer, and Derry (never far away, of course) cackled. That was one way to get the message across, of course. Well wishers and friends trickled in, asking after Surima. She chatted with them for a bit, keeping her responses short, and someone brought her a bowl of hot food. Not the usual filling but largely tasteless fare from the cafeteria, but rich street food bought with their own money. Surima's mouth watered at the smell of hot mutton pie and rich milk, and there was even a waxy orange winking like a miniature sun from Jacim's calloused palm. The healer ate with fevered gusto, her snarling stomach setting a rather uncouth pace. Sated, she let Tanis help her shuffle down the stairs to the basement.


It still smelled of blood and scorched flesh here. The gory remains of last nights work (or was it last-last nights? How long had she slept?) had been cleaned away, but the stench remained. The demon-touched boy was still there, and Surima leaned over him to rouse him from the enchanted coma she had put him in. He woke like a wildcat, flailing, and Tanis darted forward to pin him before he could accidentally deck his healer. Tired and raspy, Surima spent the next hour talking to him. Turned out his name was Shane, and he was more afraid than physically hurt. She talked and talked, easing his mind, calming the boy. It was a mistake, an accident. It wouldn't happen again. He should talk to Tern, see she meant no harm. It would be okay. Psychology wasn't what Surima was here for, and as a rule she abstained from this sort of emotional coddling, but this was a special circumstance. Shane was just so pitiful, so scared.


Content that her patient was well enough to be on his own, Surima let Tanis help her back to bed. He was patient and kind, despite his bawdy personality, and sat next to her bed whittling in peaceful silence while she read. Every once in a while, she'd extend a hand, and Tanis would provide a brimming glass of water. For the most part, though, things went right back to normal. The fighters drank and scuffled and told awful jokes, and once in a while an object or person would go flying across the room. Surima paid it no mind. Noise and violence were her life. After a little while though, Tanis nudged her. Looking up, she followed his finger. There, in the corner, was an unmistakable twist of green hair poking out from under a shifting blanket. Tern was awake as well, it seemed. Or perhaps she had been all the while. Surima could understand, after what happened, the urge to disappear from sight for a while. With the worst of the ordeal behind her, the healer was more inclined to be lenient with the girl. Of course, there was still a long and complicated talk that had to be had. A good part of the esteem Surima would hold the flighty fighter in now would depend on what she did next - would she come to Surima and face the truth, or would she let shame shepherd her into hiding?

 

[Ternunda Hunter]

While Surima was out cold Tern was in bed for the majority of the time. She got up to walk around a little every now and then, but mostly she was sleeping. She'd heard the whispers, the rumors that she was just a hexer and that's probably how she won the first fight.. But then someone would step in and laugh, "That was a damn dagger she stabbed him with. There was blood everywhere you damn idiot. She's not a hexer." So, the general consensus was to wait and see what she did in the next fight and, if she was a wicked little curse caster, then they'd take care of the problem. Tern couldn't think of it much, all she really did was sleep and dream, skipping meals all together. 

When breakfast was over the day Surima woke up, the fighter that slept next to Tern the night before nudged her as he collected a couple things from the bag by his cot, "You're up today, kid. You've been sleeping a lot, I hope you're rested for this one." All she responded with was a murmur of appreciation as the tawny skinned man sauntered off to watch the fights and drink. Or practice. She didn't really care to know.

So, she crawled out from her scratchy wool blanket with a soft sigh and rubbed her face, taking no time to look around the room to see if she was being watched or discussed or if anyone was even there. Her feet carried her to the restroom where she quickly took care of her business, cleaned up, and got prepared to at least see people ... And maybe fight. Well, she'd be fighting either way, but she was wondering if she even had the energy. Every step was heavy like she had an extra fifty pounds attached to her ankle. Even lifting her arms was an effort that she didn't have the breath for. She looked pale and, despite all the sleep she'd been getting, she had heavy bags under her eyes. 


In all his fear, that boy didn't tell Surima what he had done. And for all of Surima's healing prowess, in her quick efforts so she didn't have to touch Tern anymore, she missed one thing. A poison. The boy's claws were coated lightly in a scentless toxin that was injected right into the green haired fighter's back and shoulders when he dug deep and shook her around.

Tern was still an early fight, she was new. Jadis went early the night he got burned because he was a good show to get the crowd picked back up after those human fights. She was set for immediately after the human fights for that day, and they were starting soon, so she trudged down to the pit to watch, leaning up against the fencing around the Pit. 

The first fight was abnormally quick. The small bald man with hazel eyes and tanned skin to match landed four incredible blows to his opponent's head, ending the match in a graceful knock out. Very little blood.. A good start. The next fight was a little more extended. The pair had daggers and arm guards but they both seemed too afraid to get up close to each other. Swing after swing they each blocked their opponent's attacks, the metal of the blade clanking loudly against the arm guard. But, finally, the tallest one learned and lunged forward as he swung, digging the dagger right in his enemy's bicep as he threw his arm up for a similar block. He cried out and flailed, swinging madly, slashing his attacker across the face, followed by an angry punch to the temple. The taller man was out cold.


That was that. The man held on to his face and scurried off to see Surima down in the chop shop... To hopefully keep his nose. And then it was Tern's fight. She pushed off the fencing and made her way to her gate, entering the Pit and standing in the middle. Her tired eyes widened when she looked up at her opponent. A woman with beautiful ruby-red hair and emerald green eyes, pale skin, freckles, tall, and curious designs all over her skin that were subtle but there. Ternazol pushed her green tresses back away from her face, listening to the announcer introduce a new fighter: Serena, the sharp shot. 

Sharp shot? She didn't have a weapon or anything. Was she human or an Other? Before Tern had much time to think announcer smacked the bell with his hammer and Serena was on the prowl like a lioness ready to pounce. Tern brought up her hands slowly, talons extending from her fingertips, but she made no move to attack, not yet. Serena was testing the waters, lunging and skipping, swiping to try and make Tern react, to see a little bit of what she could do. She'd never seen Tern fight, not yet. But, all the younger fighter did was dodge back sluggishly. 

Miss sharp shot picked up on how slow she was, how tired she was, and decided to use that to her advantage. She darted to the side and kicked Tern's left leg out from under her, a resounding thud alerting the crowd members that couldn't see that she'd landed flat on her back. Serena dropped down with an elbow as a weapon aimed right for Tern's stomach which she was ready and willing to take, claws out and digging deep into the red head's arm. 

Serena gasped and landed a heavy punch in her opponent's face, getting up when Tern let her go. Ternazol climbed up off the ground and faced the red head again electing to keep Serena at a distance by launching a bolt of dark magic at her. But, it was then that the reasoning for Serena's name was exposed. After a flash of pretty white light what looked like a blunted arrow pushed through Tern's magic and hit her right in the chest with enough force to send her back into the fencing, her head cracking hard on a metal support bar. 

The crowd roared with excitement. A new fighter with a neat new ability! And she beat down the new one who'd looked so promising! Many were relatively frustrated, they'd lost money, but they had a new character to bet on. Tern's pale little body sank to the ground in an unshakable unconsciousness. Serena picked her up and carried her down to the chop shop with an arm that needed patched up anyway.

 

[mechanimated]

It was a relatively peaceful night, as they came. The evil sort of battle that had been inflicted on Jadis was rare, in truth, and Surima rarely had to claw someone back to the world of the living like that. Today's fare was far more common - stab wounds, concussions, and the occasional broken bone. Half of 'em she merely gave herbs and sent on their way, as they required little more than rest. In half a mind to go upstairs for a drink, the healer had just finished mending a jagged facial wound when a red-haired woman, carrying Tern, sidled into the little room. The freckled newcomer seemed cheerful, but graciously untalkative. Surima liked her already. The pair of them looked like some kind of horribly clashing set of siblings, red and green, as though a color-blind child had colored them in. Gesturing for the redhead to lay Tern down, she pursed her lips and examined the groaning girl.


"What happened?"


"I shot her with a bolt, 'n she smacked her head on a pole."


Other than a shrug, the fighter offered no more. She had a melodious, purring voice, deep for a woman.


"Any kind of magic to it? Shock, cold, any of that?"


"Just a regular bolt. Like a punch, all force."


"Mmm."


Surima felt over Tern's chest, the half-conscious woman's heartbeat erratic and wild. Her sternum felt whole, though. Burying brisk and practiced fingers in mossy hair, the healer felt the ridge where Tern had cracked her skull. It felt swollen and was damp with blood, but the bone underneath was whole. Just concussed, then. But there was something strange about it, even so. Surima filled herself with power, eyes aglow from within. Serena, pursing her lips, watched with interest. Letting tendrils of power snake into Tern, the healer mended the head injury with barely a flick of effort. She could see the goosebumps breaking out on the fighter's skin from the icy touch of her healing magic. There was nothing else worth attending, only minor aches and bruises, but...Surima lingered. Tern's heart was spasming almost like she was about to have a stroke right then and there. There had to be...ah.


Reaching down, Surima plucked a scalpel from a nearby table and opened a cut on the inside of Tern's arm. Brilliant blood welled from the neat incision. And then...something like ink. Surima drew out the poison in wispy threads, and it ran down Tern's pale skin in thin black rivulets. Not much, but then, the strongest of poisons killed with just a drop. Content that the taint was cleansed, Surima closed this wound and then went about plucking leaves and powders from various cabinets. A tea, to strengthen and steady the pulse. It wasn't strictly necessary, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Surima wasn't happy that she had missed the unusual toxin in her distraction. But then, she had also never seen such a thing before. It had been half-guess, to look for traces of such a thing, and even then the healer might have missed it if she hadn't trusted her gut or been a hair less experienced.


Sealing up the gauzy packet and putting it aside for when Tern awoke, Surima focused on the other woman. She introduced herself, as did the doctor, and presented ragged claw wounds for inspection. They were cleaned and healed with nary a scar in the blink of an eye, though Serena got up nearly on her toes with a body-shaking shiver when she felt Surima's healing touch. 


"O-o-oh! That's awful!"


"I could just leave it to fester next time," replied the doctor drily.


"Ah, well, when you put it that way...Thank you."


"Mm." 


Briskly giving Serena the rundown - chop shop, training hall, mess room, wash room, barracks - Surima sent her on her way. They'd be seeing plenty of each other soon enough. There was only one more patient today - another newbie, so soundly trounced that he hadn't even landed a blow on his opponent, and that was that. Washing the blood from her hands, Surima donned her rich and layered shawls once more. Softly rattling with jewelry and tassels, she bent over Tern and gently nudged her awake. 


"Come on, you oughta eat something. And here, take these-" she added, tucking the packet of medicine into her hand "-and make a tea with them. It'll taste like sweaty horse arse, but it'll make you feel better."

 

[Ternunda Hunter]

Ternazol had strange dreams behind those pale closed lids. She dreamed of Surima, oddly enough, and another man who she was healing. Surima was having a hard time, sweating and grunting in effort as she seemed to be putting the man's head back on his body! But, even in all of that, even for all the pretty green magic she sank into the guy's body, he died... A strange demon crept out from his chest after cutting its way out in wild, wicked slashes. The thing screeched loudly and jumped for the healer and, unexpectedly, Surima ripped off her cloaks and wrestled with the thing on the Chop Shop floor. 

More expectedly, the healer won. Strange black blood all over her face and arms from beating the damn thing to death. Tern stood in the corner just watching Surima beat the shit out of that small, vicious demon. 

When she woke, though. She wasn't greeted by the uncomfortable image of the healer covered in black blood. She blinked a couple times, lifting her hand with the tea bag, slender brows furrowed over, "S-sweaty horse's..."  She smiled a little and dropped her hand, looking at Surima. "I feel much better. Thank you.." A weird wave of guilt washed back over her. She pressed her hands to the table and moved to sit up, groaning softly, a rush blurring her vision and making her face and fingers tingle. She blinked furiously, trying to get her sight back. She swung her legs over one edge of the table and let them dangle, looking up at her, tempted to say something about the boy... Ask how he was or why she was so mad at her. Hexer? It was something she was completely unfamiliar with and, apparently, something she'd been able to do her whole life.

She looked like she wanted to say more.. but, she couldn't find the words. She couldn't figure out what exactly to say or decide if she really should. So, Tern's eyes just bounced between Surima's pretty green ones with her brows furrowed.