Welcome to Gaia! ::

It was another day as usual in the expo. Folks of all breed milled about, drawn to the flashy displays of the assorted booths. Over it all came a noisy hum of conversation. It was all standard fare, a bustling evening of shoppers looking for something peculiar before the sun set.

Among them was a man wrapped from fingertips to head in bandages. Anywhere his t-shirt didn't cover, the tightly wound cloth strips did. Even his eyes were obscured through mirrored shades; Iden DeSeer had been burned all too painfully recently to be less than absolutely cautious about exposure to the sun. He wouldn't be here at all, but for the fight's results.

Three flashbangs. He'd used three of the damnable things. He had brought only about half a dozen total; one brawl and he was now down by half. The situation called for a trip to the market; he was not keen on getting to the next bracket and being one item shy of the list of gear he possessed. Someone, SOMEWHERE in this shambling mass of humanity had to sell nonlethal military surplus...

The Vernal's booth sparkled as if it were a plot item.

Cal was sitting around behind the military surplus area, idly ringing up NPC purchases and eying assorted unsavory-looking ones to be sure they didn't steal anything.

The Vernals weren't exactly "honorable" as far as reputable went (although they were reliable) and sold to everyone so long as they paid their bills. Every now and then, Rhoslyn would conclude that an individual warlord or organization was killing too many kids and promptly cut a secret deal with the other side at a cheaper rate, but the business would go on with both sides.

Needless to say, as a paragon of free enterprise, Rhoslyn - or, more accurately, Cal - would cheerfully sell the weapons to Thurgood's (Elf Guy's, as far as Ross knew) parents. Speaking of said blue-haired faerie, Cal would finish with the cash register, do some sort of spell-thing to lock it, and then make her way over to the "guns" section, beaming and SHINY'ing at the two almost!PC's investigating their wares.

"Can I help you?"

There was movement in the crowd of the expo again, and again it was Tous Shinjiko. He had already noted the Vernal booth, and decided to pay them a visit.

Upon arrival, he'd have three suited guards near him and a medic who was periodically scanning him with some sort of device. As he moved closer they made the move to spread out around the front section of the booth where they could keep an eye on anything. The medic stayed with him, reading his vital signs as well as checking for any inner abnormalities.

Tous Shinjiko stood near the parents of the dark elf on their right for a moment while he shoved his hands into his pockets. "Why don't you pick up an FN F2000 or FS2000 assault rifle. The latter takes AR 15 rounds. Or grab a few AR 15's. Argued as the most customizable weapon on the market. Not to mention, you can't go wrong with an AK 47 or a variant of the weapon." Tous spoke out as he pretty much interjected himself into their conversations. His right hand moved from his pocket as if he were shooing a fly from the area, mainly to get the medic away yet to no avail.

Tous relaxed as his eyes scanned the booth he stood in next to the parents of Thurgood. "I'm sure this booth can get you what you need, I doubt you'll be disappointed." He explained before giving them a nod and making his way out from the booth.

He made his way to his own booth, making sure everything was in order. Seemingly so, there was a decision made to leave the expo and return to the hotel.

[ I'm taking a bit of ballsy initiative and advancing the day to better suit my purposes. Y'all were done anyway D:<

right? ]

GTB volunteer staff had been up most of the night, rearranging some of the smaller booths to clear a space in the dead center of the Expo. There were whispered rumors, of course, that magic had been involved in the redecorating, which would account for the various paths that had popped up to lead to this new area from each direction and the great, circular stage that poised as the central meeting point, well lit and strewn with banners to attract attention.

The podium stood about five feet above the ground, and on top of that sat a perfectly round, 10' diameter inflatable pool, roughly two feet and height and filled about ankle deep with copious amounts of lime gelatin. Various cameras had been suspended from the scaffolding above them, and monitors had been set in five points around the stage for close-up viewing (as well as at various stations around the tournament grounds. ) Rock music blared from the speakers of an announcer's stand, where a bored-looking MC sat behind his equipment, consistently checking his watch. "She's forty minutes late," he called down to the sole other person within this eye-catching exhibit's roped-off radius.

Ever Linde sat perched on the edge of the stage, turning heads with nothing but an official "Cloak and Dagger" boyfriend tank over a military-green string bikini to protect her modesty. Her dark hair was tousled and loose, splayed messily down her back and over sun-kissed shoulders. She was slouched slightly, resting her chin in the palm of her hand and that elbow on one bare knee, an elastic band encircling her wrist.

"I know, I know." The mariner sighed, lifting the hand that cradled her chin to wave off the emcee's remark. Truth be told, Ever didn't know how to feel about her opponent's no-show. On the one hand, she was being lavishly compensated for the event, and Dodger would be none-too-pleased to find out his precious PR spectacle had fallen through. On the other, how could she really complain about getting to avoid another such blow to her dignity.

Would have been fun, though. Could hardly argue that.

The tanned, seafaring beauty placed her hands on the podium on either side of her and pushed herself to her feet. Anyone would be able to look up and see her above the crowds, now, but it was a fair-trade for getting a bird's eye view of the exposition. (Besides, it wasn't as if the pumped-up beat from the amplifiers was keeping their little display on the down low.) Her earthen eyes scanned the room for any sign of Miana's shock of blue hair, but found nothing.

"I dunno," She turned and called to the announcer, adjusting her swimsuit straps. "Should we just pack this up and go home?"

Standing out here for nigh on an hour and finally one of the passerbys sum up the nerve to speak. The thick, Slavic accent was quick to earn Ever's attention. She turned, her own face bearing an air of curiosity and a lifted brow in regard to the woman who'd posed the question. Something about the gypsy struck a reminescent chord that gave the mariner pause, but Ever had never been terribly good with faces. After a moment she waved off the idea, having no definitive instance to connect with the nagging sense of familiarity.

"Well," The sailor gave a grunting little exhale of discontent and hopped down from the platform, her bare feet landing with a muffled thud against the carpet. "It was supposed to be," Ever began, approaching the velvet divider that stood between them. Her hands drifted to her hips, fingertips tapping with an air of frustration. "Jello wrestling, actually. Publicity stunt for this bar I work at. A friend was going to help me out for a share of the betting pool, but I guess something came up; she hasn't shown."

Ever trailed off, taking a glance at the leggy gunslinger. There was clearly potential here. A lot of it, in fact, but she hesitated at the idea of presenting a total stranger with such a proposition. Lifting a hand, the dark-skinned brunette caught her earlobe up between her thumb and index finger and tugged at it thoughtfully, then made a dismissive gesture and shrugged. "Just as well, I suppose. I couldn't decide whether I found the whole idea to be a fun, easy way to make a paycheck or a total mockery, you know?"