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Saiya looked blank. "Why would I have to worry about...bounty...boards..." she trailed off. Her eyes narrowed. She reached out, took his shirt collar in one hand, and drew him towards her gently. "Siat, what are you talking about?" she purred.

She rolled her eyes and let him go. "Don't try to change the subject," she replied flatly. "What is on the bounty boards that I should know about?" Saiya hadn't checked them in a long time--ever since she came to Latent, she thought she'd be able to quit worrying about that sort of thing. Obviously she was wrong, but she wanted to know exactly how wrong and to what extent. If the bounty was small, she could hide out for a couple of weeks. If the bounty was larger...well, don't stop to pack.

She stood up, very carefully. But inside her mind was whirring like clockwork on overload. How had they found out? Saiya was normally quite good at covering up her tracks. Would he keep shut or should she take measures?--No. She hadn't told him that much (had she?) and he looked like the type who'd be missed, at least if the tournaments hadn't been a load of hype. Should she get away from Latent? Could she? Her resources were limited, to say the least. The swarm of her ancestors, sensing their descendant's anxiety, lifted, bubbled up around her like a cloud, albeit one of weaving, barely anthromorphic shapes. The pent up mass of energy gave off ripples like heat waves. "So," she said finally, fixing him with a penetrating stare. "Now that you've found me, what are you going to do about it? I've no doubt that you could knock me about for a few minutes and drag me back to wherever-you-people-turn-wanted-criminals in, but that's your decision, I expect." Saiya stretched, turning her face towards the sunlight. "I shan't be a good sport about it, I promise you."

She glared. "If you say that one more time I shall slap you, I really will."

"Punny," she muttered, sitting down again. "After my mom passed away, it was either join one of the local gangs--they dabbled in it, but mostly they were in it for turf wars--or go begging. The la--the woman who had my mother working for her wouldn't let me stay now that nobody was paying for it. And...it always seemed to come easy, y'know? They said I was good at it, a natural, and I'd never had something like that. So I kept with it, broke away from the gang 'round eleven, started doing jobs for myself." she shrugged. "I get along." Then she stopped, scowled faintly at herself for making it sound like some ten-penny novel, and turned to him in retribution. "What about you? Why're you a fighter?"

She hesitated. Above, the ghosts slid down between them, settled around his shoulders, making the temperature around them drop several degrees. "I don't know. It seemed...wrong, somehow. It's like drinking Veuve Clicquot Ponsardin all your life and then suddenly switching to Cava."

"Things go wrong," she said darkly. "All the time. The only time I have any luck at all is when I'm on the wrong side of the law, and then it seems like it's overcompensating."