Training Room #9: Join Me For a Meal

[Itasko Envious]

Once again, Itasko found himself alone and lost. His scythe was not upon his person, which was not entirely unusual. For the life of him, he couldn’t seem to remember where he placed it. There was a loud roaring and grumbling that echoed through the room. It was no monster, dragon, or beast, but rather the stomach of one; hungry to consume the nourishment it needed most.


Was it his stomach that led him here? Had it been that long? He struggled to remember his last meal. He struggled to remember anything.


“Where have you brought me, empty vessel?” He asked of his stomach and then paused for a brief moment to await the answer. The continuation of silence enraged him. “Answer me! You lead me, but you fear my attention!”. True. A stomach can not hear, but surely it could feel? It felt hunger, so it must have felt the coarse ends of Itasko’s hair brush against the skin as he stood somewhat arched and attempted to communicate with his abdomen.


Perhaps it even felt the absurdity of the moment. Itasko soon did and corrected his posture. He needed to contain himself. This was unknown territory and there was no telling who might be watching.


His stomach growled again. Pleased by the thought of someone watching. Pleased by the thought of a meal.


“Now you answer me”. Itasko scoffed. Pushing the remaining mess of green hair from his face, he slowly made his way to a corner of the vacant training room and took a seat on his tattered cloth pants. The texture of the artificial floor felt strange against his toes.

 

[Giovanni Carter]

Ah, the refreshing surges of battle were a calming and soothing thing for Giovanni as he had left the confines of room 7 just a few minutes ago. A good battle with a new friend, Gwendalin. But still, there seemed to be more he needed to test. His former attempt before his spar had tested his abilities within these rooms, which showed he was well enough to hold his own against some if not most. And the battle had shown his speed was only dampened in the most minute of ways. But even with all of his activities, he seemed to be hungry for more battling. He couldn't wait for this tournament to start, he needed something now. RIGHT now.


And that was when he overheard the angry screams of another just a little further down the hall. Such anger, such animosity. It was bound to have some punch behind it right? Such a thing would most likely slake his appetite for battle and carnage. The adrenaline had already begun to pump as he made his way down the hall a little more. But overhearing the insanity within the ninth room, Giovanni gave pause at the doorway to think. Was this a good match to come? Would it be worth it? Only one way would show such.


Giovanni's left hand grasped at the end of the sliding door, opening it to show him sight of the interior. A close emerald gaze fell over the room as it had times before, careful to pick up the weapons pattern within. Just the same as before. The plethora of knives, swords, daggers and such was just as it had been before. These rooms were identical, which was good for the Wickerolan.


His trek lead him to the sword rack right across the room from the doorway as he eyed a copy of the sword he had just used to end his battle with a comrade. Of course his eye had fallen on the man in the corner as he walked over to the aforementioned rack as he spoke softly.


"Care for a dance, mon cher? One little waltz with The Devil wouldn't hurt, right?"

 

[Itasko Envious]

Itasko rested his chin atop his knee and momentarily watched the rack of weapons from afar. There was a faint whisper throughout the room as a door on the opposite side peaked open, if only an inch. A low growl from Itasko’s stomach likely revealed his position, if it was ever unknown to begin with. Small amounts of static hissed and crackled from a loudspeaker in the corner. Itasko was sure he could hear someone laughing. Someone, somewhere.


“Itasko!” The named echoed from the loudspeaker. His eyes shot to the corner of the room and then back to the door, which had now be slid open entirely. Smoke poured into the training room from all corners of the sliding door. A man had stepped in, but Itasko could not make out who or what he was. Blonde hair stood out drastically against the black and green pillows of smoke that continued to move in around him.


“Itasko! Itasko! Itasko! … Hahaha!” It came not from the man, but from the loudspeaker once again. Or perhaps it came from his head, or even worse, his stomach. He could not be sure. He could never be sure.


“Aren’t you hungry, Itasko!? Why don’t you eat me, Itasko!? Don’t eat them, Itasko! Don’t you want to eat the strongest, Itasko!? Don’t you want to eat me, Itasko! Don’t you?! Don’t you! Hahaha! Don‘t you dare eat them, Itasko!” The voice was unbearable, maddening. He tried to focus. He watched the stranger who was making his way to the wall of weapons.


Then another entered behind him. Then another. The laughing continued from the loudspeaker. The same commands attempting to refuse his right to eat those weaker than himself! Another and another entered the training room! The room seem packed to capacity, yet more continued to join the crowd.


Itasko decided it was time to get on his feet. Directly in front of him was a thin strip of emptiness that went from one side of the room to the other, but it lasted for only about two feet. Beyond this strip was one contestant after another. Seventy-one bodies all stood in a fairly neat and organized fashion.


The original stranger to enter the room, the one with the blonde hair, was the furthest away and against the wall. He was the only one who did not stand in formation. He spoke first while the other contestants stood quietly with a blank stare.


“Care for a dance, mon cher?” He spoke and the remaining seventy contestants all repeated the question. Each voice sounded exactly the same. “Care for a dance, mon cher? Care for a dance, mon cher? Care for a dance, mon cher?”


“One little waltz with the Devil wouldn’t hurt, right?”. As before, the man lead with the question and the mindless parrots repeated it around them. Laughter echoed from the loudspeaker and added to the sickening cacophony of noises. It had to stop!


“It has to stop! Enough!” Itasko arched his spine, lowered his head, looked forward and roared as he had roared so many times in the past. He roared as he had roared when he was a child and he roared as he had roared when foes were upon him as an adult. In such moments, he felt little more than an animal.


Without hesitation he crossed the empty void between himself and the army. His right arm was already cocked and at his side before his motion came to a stop on his left foot. He had barely crossed the line into enemy territory. Only so much as a toe, but enough to say, “Here I am!”.


The fist he had prepared was unleashed while the unfortunate red-haired contestant was still removing her dagger from its resting place. She was very short, thus Itasko’s fist launched at a downward angle. For a brief second, her speed seemed to increase and the dagger was free from its sheathe. It was not fast enough, the fist crushed through skin, bone, and everything between, but there was no blood.


Only smoke. Itasko hopped backwards after his arm had completed the strike. He watched as her body returned to the cloud of smoke that tossed at the doorway. What madness was this? How many of them were real? There was only one way to find out.

 

[Giovanni Carter]

What seemed to be the matter with this one? Had he given up on things so easily that he seemed to only scream and punch at air? Was he forever lost to the grips of his own mind and sent into the darkest abyss of his soul? A truly saddening sight, Giovanni thought when he finally picked up the blade from its rack and began to unsheathe it. A soft humming sound reverberating off of the walls. Trickery of sorts, mayhaps? What had caused such an odd phenomenon to occur? But now was not a time to dwell upon such. Better things to think and contemplate on were to his back currently, which he managed to turn to watch the play of this newcomer.


His moves were one of utter rage and the snap of all consciousness perhaps. He had lost his mind long ago, or maybe he was drunk? Either way, the guy must have seen something, otherwise he wouldn't have tried to strike in that way. A test was in order really, and so Giovanni commenced to lift the sheathe hand up to reveal three fingers before speaking. "How many fingers do I have up?"


A simple test, really. Depending on the number, the man may be seeing stuff that Giovanni may not. But there could surely be other questions to follow. And so Giovanni began to move across the room to test reactions still. Every detail needed to be gauged to see how things shift and twist and turn. Anything could set this one off, so Gio began to move slowly and carefully to ensure a non-hostile action.


"Well? How many?"