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"Do you really think you might've lost?"

The question hung in the air, asked by the man sitting across from Deitric in the commons room of his hotel suite. The room had been fairly lavish, but the tribesman had move things around. There was only a couch, the TV set, a coffee table, and two chairs with their own smaller table. All the other things that had been in the considerably large room had been moved.

Them an sitting across from him was Jonnie Ferrusgut, the reporter who he'd signed an agreement with on matters of the media. But there weren't any cameras here - the reporter was wearing casual clothes and had a drink in his hand. His immaculate brown hair was a messy tangle of curls atop his head. Deitric was dressed in loose clothing - a pair of sweat pants and a white T-shirt. He'd woke up an hour or two ago, but didn't see a reason to change into anything suitable.

"I think it could have gone either way.. The fight was pretty close," the warrior offered, taking a small drink from his own glass of water. A dark bruise still clung angrily to his brow, refusing to heal completely. Combined with his dour visage, it was obvious he didn't share the same confidence as his compatriot.

"It wouldn't of been the finals if it hadn't been a close fight, Deitric. But you broke the man's leg - hell, my boys caught the sound of it on camera, as close as we were. You're still whole, right? You broke something, he didn't. It was in your favor," Jonnie counted, pointing a finger at the red-skinned fighter. The TV was flickering behind them with images of the fight and Ferrusgut's face - it was his commentary, but it was on mute. He hated the sound of his own voice.

"Maybe.. We'll see," the finalist conceded, finishing off his own drink while Jonnie did the same. The reporter got up and gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder with one hand while he set down the empty glass with the other.

"No, you'll see. Mark my words, Jocasta. You won this fight. After all, I did bet on you. I've never bet wrong before," the reporter offered with a broad smile. Deitric grinned slightly and offered him a wave to see Jonnie off before the man left the commons room to find his news crew, leaving Deitric alone in his contemplation.

Running his fingers along the small remote for the sound system of the room, he flicked it on. Faint sounds whispered from the hidden speakers - the rustle of grass and leaves in the wind, the chirp of birds. Deitric had taken some time in his travels to record the simple sounds of nature. He felt more at home with the sounds of the wind and the birds than he did with the sounds of the city and the noisy, smoke-belching vehicles.

He closed his eyes quietly and reclined in his seat, letting himself finally rest.



The fighter took a seat in the special section that had been cordoned off for those who had participated in the fights. He wore simple clothing; black jeans that had been ripped and tore in some places, a black vest-jacket with white sleeves, and his typical bandana around his forehead. Shades kept the camera flashes from blinding him, and twin bracelets of beads and semi-precious stones jangled loosely from his wrists, matching the jade pendant he always wore.

Deitric leaned forward as he listened to Midus's speech. He'd seen very little of the man, but like all fighters, had recieved letters of encouragement from him through-out the tournament. He offered applause after the man's speech and waited for the announcements on who won to begin.



The fighter clapped for the participant who had won third place. He had been rooting for the other fighter, Reyin - but he couldn't deny that Snow was a good fighter. Good enough to claw his way through the tournament to grasp one of the prizes, to say the least. He held the man in high regards.

But that meant that it was time to announce who had won the bout between he and Omi. The fighter leaned forward to listen, despite the fact he could hear well and clear. His shades had disappeared into one of his pockets to give him a clear view of the crowd and the stone stage.



Deitric's composure melted for a moment as he stood up, raising his hands to the crowd with a shout of triumph. Assuming Omi was sitting nearby, he'd shake his opponent's hand, his features overtaken with excitement for a moment. He wouldn't have time for words though - especially considering the fact that they probably couldn't hear each other over the crowd.

Deitric made his way along the set path towards the stone platform that had only recently hosted his bone-shattering bout with the other finalist, Omi Barsait. He'd managed to regain most of his calm, quiet demeanor, though broad smile still split his features. Cameras flashed all around, hands outreached and grasping for him as he passed, stepping up onto the stone platform lightly.

The tribesman took the mic for a moment, turning to face the crowd. In another situation, he might've been showing a bit of discomfort, but he seemed to excited - even if he hid it - to be anything else.

"Unfortunately, I'm not much for speeches - I'm a fighter, not a talker.. But I will say that everyone in this tournament fought hard. All of my opponents were great fighters and I don't think any of them could of been considered anything other than consummate warriors. I hold each man I fought in high respect - most especially Omi Barsait. I hope to meet him again - be it in the ring, or shoulder to shoulder--"

The tribesman paused for a moment as he trailed off.

"I hope everyone out there got what they wanted out of these fights - we don't bleed and sweat for nothing," he finished calmly, passing off the mic to whoever should take it - Midus, or one of the staff - before turning back to the tournament host.

He didn't really know how the ceremony worked, but he could only assume that the man who ran the tournament would have a few words for him, along with his prizes. He could see the trophy, at least - but didn't feel it was his place to take it, if it was meant to be presented to him by Midus.

The fighter took the trophy with a nod, holding it in the crook of his arm so that he could take the check. With one arm full, he reached out with the other, shaking Midus's hand firmly before stepping back.

"Thank you. I enjoyed fighting here," Deitric offered with a slight nod.

Slipping the pocket away for safe-keeping, the tribesman held his trophy up to the crowd for a moment before turning away to leave from the back of the platform, using the 'backstage' to escape the crowds.

Unheard over the roiling crowds, the motorcycle's engine revved as the GTB II winner left the scene; already moving on to whatever endeavour he had next.

Out of sight, Barsait caught wind of the announcement given the voice giving it wasn't exactly his definition of quiet. The fighter was now wearing his regular gear & armaments, save the sword he started out with which was now discarded. Upon hearing the verdict given, Omi's expression didn't even change. Apparently, he already had a good idea of whom won that round; with a few rare exceptions, it wasn't hard for him to see who the roaming eye dubbed superior in a match he himself participated in.

Below the mesh, cloth bandages wrapped about his gut and mid-ribs tightly; and although doing his best to hide it, a definitive limp could be seen. Not just injuries from the final match but an accumulation of all the bouts in this tournament - the two-time GTB participant was sore and aching all over. Yet it didn't show in his expression, steely peering over a small television within his room broadcasting the event.

So, in the end, he made it to the finals and lost. A worthy opponent made it to first, and a familiar face made it to third; things were rather tolerable. It didn't come down to a knock out spectacle like he wanted, but rather a judge's call; yet still, it was a ferocious match and one the mercenary'd be a liar not to admit was enjoyable. All the same, the 2nd place contestant rubbed his chin for a moment in light thought..

"So, second, eh? First tourney, I barely lasted until the semi-finals; this time, I contended for the championship. Not bad I suppose." Flicking a switch and a button - the room descended into darkness, already cleaned out of his few possessions. As the wooden door creaked open the final time it would for a while, Omi Barsait paused momentarily; a slight daze striking him. Overcoming it and securing the door shut, the fighter stood within an empty hall - departing whilst the ceremony was in bloom.

".. But I didn't go near far enough, either. I can tell I'm still in my infancy stage compared to what's possible; these hands're still inexperienced. Good match, Deitric.. 'Til next time." His weary words drawled from those parsed lips rather than his head; as the tired swordsman began a familiar act once more. Wandering right out and off the tourney grounds, taking odd turns and paths to avoid a crowd; he'd return for miscellaneous things, namely his payment - but for all intensive purposes..

[2nd place Finalist Omi Barsait]'s time at the Gaian Tenkaichi Budoukai was over for now.

[Midus's Office]

The headman himself sat there in his seat, looking up his large television screen as the weather was being displayed before him for the local area.

"Currently, a storm front is moving in from the west, going at about ten miles per hour..."

Beside him, his right-hand man Xia, responded: "That storm is heading our way. And the fights are suppose to begin tomorrow, the same time it'll arrive. It seems it would be best for us to close up the ceilings."

Midus's fingers drummed against one another as he stared with this small smirk on his face, scheming something in his mind.

"No...I have a different plan for this."

"A different plan?"

Midus's smile grew.

[Infirmary]

With all of the other patients that need attending to inside the infirmary, Thurgood was placed in the furthest room from the action, on basic vital monitors, saline, and nutrient drips to sustain him in his coma, his blood having been replenished and his bleeding wounds having been stitched closed and right big toe re-attached using conventional means. Try as they might, the healers' magic didn't do a thing to help him, and in fact, the most powerful caster in the infirmary made Thurgood worse! So for now, he's out of consciousness, but not quite out of life, just lying there, with normal vital signs.

(edit to avoid double-posting)

Today however, Thurgood, based either on his own healing, or more likely the fact that he's itching to do something, woke up from his coma, then called the staff.

Long story short, Thurgood is being released, and he hopes to crash some Easter parties.

Sitting crossed legged upon a simple wooden chair, the wizard casually sipped at his cup of earl tea as boy threw punches at the ghost of the mid day air. Lowering the tea cup onto a small platter, the wizard raised a napkin and pressed it against his lips before placing both upon the wooden table before him. Rising from his seat slowly that man made a quiet joke about there being both a dinner and a show before laughing to himself. A well dressed individual with not even a stray hair breaking his perfectly kept hair, the wizard was something of an oddity on the battlefield. His navy blue suit jacket over a gray dress shirt with perfectly creased navy pants, were not the clothes of a warrior or blade master by any means. Instead of a sword he carried a simple pen, and instead of armor he wore a pair of white leather gloves.

A gloved hand rose into a sky and a soft snap could be heard as a finger struck against the palm of the hand. A puff of smoke consuming the table and chair before disbursing, leaving nothing but a simple black walking cane in it's wake. The wizard slowly reaching down to pick up the black cane by the gold handle with his right hand. Straightening up, Ea turned to face the stranger before planting the butt of his cane upon the arena's sand. "Well, lets get to it then" he said with a shrug of disinterest.




Notes:

Wizard's Wand: The black cane Ea carries with him at almost all times, both a walking stick and a wand, it's wooden fibers absorb magic and seal it within the staff until the command of release. Though constructed of simple wood, as magic travels through the cane's fibers the strength and durably extended beyond commonly known metals, allowing it the capability to guard against weapons such as swords and axes.

There was a nice contradiction of fighting styles and personalities at play within this little showdown, evident to any onlooker. A built nearly 200 pound man driving his feet into the sands to throw a body forward at full stride with aggressive intent. While only a few several feet away stood a nicely dressed individual with approximate weight of 150 soaking wet. If one looked at the numbers, in pure physical strength it was almost like comparing a F150 to a Civic, in a straight on collision here was only one logical outcome. Ea understood this well enough to not put himself into a compromising position, remaining clear of hand to hand combat would be his best option by far.

His foe had cut a serious amount of distance in a rather short period of time, Ea pushing up onto the ball of his feet while leaning back at an ever so slight slant. A quick adjustment? At the distance of about three feet Heita's weight shifted and with a strafing step to the left had altered his direction of approach. This was beneficial for wizard, who also mirrored Heita's action of a left strafe. Ensuring his shoulders remain straight on his opponent allowed for Ea to keep his target as his cane quickly rose upwards. Given the locations, a swing of an arm would not reach the wizard, offering the advantage to the man with the stick. Another quick step followed after the strafe would place Ea in a position to strike at the back and side of his attacker. The cane came quick, the sleek black weapon coming at an angle to strike the back and rib cage of the heavy man. Not an impossible block but an uncomfortable one.

Always facing his opponent, Ea would back step away from his target whether he was successful with striking the rib cage or not. Allowing for the wizard to gather his wits. The cane striking into the sand once more as the left hand ran through the man dark blue hair. The white glove began to glow with a faint light as he drew it through the dark hair. A sense of wave like energy emitting from the leather as the hand lowered back onto the head of the cane. A soft transfer of energy looked like something of falling stars as the cane absorbed the soft light from the glove.

Thinking back the wizard was almost certain he had seen the most bizarre display. Bold print words appearing over his own head declaring the fight start with dramatic flare. The idea seemed crazy upon consideration but the man couldn't help but trust he eyes had truly seen this display.



1/5 Charge [Wizard's Wand]

Low [Magical Potency/Capabilities] Seals Still in Place

Health:100%
Mana: 85%