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"Ok now I'm wondering how you pull that bit with the transformation. The physics of it don't add up in any way shape or form. Oh yeah, damn majik. I never put my trust in something like that too fickle for my tastes especially after my chaos majik got shattered with the fall of the Chaos March. But it has a unfamiliar smell, so I do not beleive it is chaos, evil, order, or peace majik. Is it based off of the good sphere of influence? Gak, I'm talking too much aren't, I? I apologize for this." He barely noticed that Jack's field is now gone away from him because his hold on Chaos majik is almost gone since the Order of Chaos fell and the Chaos Flame was snuffed. His oly majik powered item is a little channel stone which he once used to absorb certain majiks and redirect them.

"Games, ah, I'll give you games." And before you knew it, Gamma had a knife out over the table in his left hand while his right was groping uselessly at Gammu.

"Come on, give me you-"

"Hey. Hey."

"Give me you hand. Give me your- like this. Like this."

"Hey. On the table. Like this."

"Come on."

"Put it here like th- hey. Stop moving your hand so much."

Oh, knife games. Fun for the whole family.

Another quick shrug of his shoulders at Flare's 'praise'. Even if she was just trying to get on his good side, it wasn't often that Athan was capable of experiencing positive reactions concerning his recent exploits.

"Well, I don't like to brag..."

And he really shouldn't have. While he helped take down the Viceroy of Chaos not more than a year ago, his aid concerning the defeat of the god of Death was almost moot compared to Owle's contribution. Not like the Viceroy was much of a pushover, though. Hell, Athan's shoulder still had scars from the first fight against the guy where his own bone had pierced through the skin, let alone the subsequent 'final showdown', where he was pretty sure he should have died on more than one occasion.

"Anyway, if this tournament's full of half as many good fighters as everyone says it is, then you don't need to ask me twice. I'm in."

He looked towards Kalis, arching an eyebrow.

"Competent fighter or not, if your gear is busted, we better fix you up with some new supplies."

Now, if he were back across the ocean, there'd be no shortage of fine blacksmiths to turn to. The only problem was, he had no clue where the hell to find one here. So Kalis was on his own in that regard.

"Physics?" Owle blinked at Damien as he accosted her on her way to Jack with the food. She shrugged, not understanding half of what he was babbling on about. "I'm a shifter, so I shift. It's in the blood."

She didn't mind talking further to him, but right now she had a hungry customer on her hands. Well, more precisely, she had his food in her hands, and she needed to get it to him. So, suppressing the ordinary response that would have been to question what Damien was saying, she moved past him to hand the food to Jack.

She smiled at his expression of gratitude. "It's no trouble, really. Hell, the Firebrand exists for people like you."

She realized how that must sound, and corrected herself. "Well, I mean...Rage and his friends took me in when I was living in a clearing in Barton Forest, hunting as a cat to survive. I guess I feel like I owe the same sort of kindness to others."

She seemed to have lost her earlier nervousness, for her part, having resigned herself to the fact that Flare was probably going to get her way. With Athan and Kalis along for the ride, though, things weren't going to be that bad. She hoped.

"My name's Owle Isohos," she said with a smile. "And you are...?"

Rastir stood in front of the tavern, his left hand behind his back and right hand knocking on the door. As he knocked on the door, he rocked from heel to toe, back and forth. If it were up to him, he'd already be drunk, but his previous errands prevented him from doing so. Now, however, he could finally walk into any tavern of his choosing and order a beer. It had been a long time since last he drank a good beer and he felt that today was the perfect day to get a good one.

After about 12 knocks on the door, Rastir placed his other hand behind his back and continued to rock back and forth from heel to toe. He was singing to himself, "I'm going to get a be-er. I'm going to get a be-er." The tune eventually became a chant. Luckily, he wasn't underage, so there was no chance he wasn't going to get what his heart desired. Though, he was probably acting like a little kid, he was no little kid. He had grown over that years ago.

Rastir stomped his foot and asked, "Anyone in there?" before he gave anyone a chance to come to the door, "I want my beer!" At this, he pounded on the door, hoping that would speed up the process, even though he hadn't given the bartender anytime at all to come to the door. He probably could've just walked in, but he didn't want to be rude and intrude on anything embarassing that might be happening in there. Rastir was tempted to walk in, but he recollected, "Momma said 'no walking into buildings without permission." Of course, last time he just walked in he watched someone cook another person. Since then, he's had no complaints about just walking to the door and knocking, wherever he went.

Naturally she would take his hand, letting him shake hers.

"Likewise."

Well, he was sitting, and her feet were tired, and it would be harder for Flare to drag her up from a sitting position. The only two customers who hadn't been served seemed too drunk to order. So she sat down next to him.

"It's...it's pretty lonely to tell you the truth. Cats usually don't work together...I had my mentor and that was it. And you don't run into many people living as deep in as I did." Owle considered the question a little further. "I guess it's enjoyable in a way...you don't really have to rely on anyone else, and if you get anything at all - a meal, a good night's rest, shelter from the rain - it's because you earned it yourself. It's kind of invigorating to catch fish with your own two hands...er, well, paws I guess.

"The trouble is, you don't have time to think of much else. You hunt, you eat, you sleep. Yellow used to scold me cause I'd insist on taking a few hours every day to be human, and write in my journal...he said that if I ended up starving it was my own fault."

She had spent six months living with the wildcat she called Yellow, and if they hadn't been the happiest times of her life they had been the simplest. At times she would retreat back there when her human life just became unbearable, and at times she would be forced to use the skills she had gained in that time to survive without stealing.

The pounding on the door snapped Owle out of her reverie.



"Come in!" Owle shouted. "It's open." And indeed it was, like any good establishment during business hours. Actually, Owle never locked the front door, even when she went to sleep at night...you never knew who might come running in at the oddest hours.

She heard Flare's thought, and sent back a teasing Maybe. Now that she'd gotten over the fact that she was going to be on Flare's team for the tournamnet, like it or not, she was willing to kid around about it.

Owle chuckled as well, though she hadn't the faintest idea what he was talking about.

"Well, what's your life been like? I noticed you cancel out any magic that comes near you...you must have seen some interesting times, to take that precaution."

She had only a vague idea of what a marine was. Something to do with dolphins, maybe? Hadn't some of the military folks she'd met used that word?

...maybe it had to do with military dolphins?