AND THE CROWD GOES WIIIIIIIIIIIILD!!!!!!!

I assume it is due to the same sadistic pleasure that people imbibe upon seeing the target get hit with the ball, sending the man (or the rabbit) crashing into the Redfang-infested waters. At least there were no Redfangs to eat him up within Draconua's belly, but that was hardly a comfort because what remained was arguably worse.

Indeed, he had gotten on a train to nowhere, not realizing that the world had not left him behind nearly as much as he had left the world. I mean, he can be as sad and pitiful as he likes or dislikes, but the truth remains: he ran as soon as things didn't go his way. He didn't change. He didn't try. And maybe he couldn't have. That's not the kind of story I would tell though, I don't want to believe in the hopelessness of people. So I won't blame him or call him the c word or anything, but Aethril by all means can and should. It's funny as heck! He's the clown of the show!

Maybe this train would take him to another chance, although... his other chances lived on in two others he'd scarcely met before, if ever. Maybe they were waiting in the stands, his daughter and grandchild. It was mercy not to know. The last thing he would have wanted to see in his final moments was a batcat. And besides that, Draconua's words, although he didn't understand them and he wouldn't have even if they had been in the common cave language, were true. He had done nothing to deserve anything, and he just barely scraped by in terms of eligibility for death. "Death" as in transmutation.

The last line... he was barely awake enough internally to hear or comprehend it, but somehow it struck a chord in him. Held on high C or some other uncomfortable note. Because that's where she was wrong. That's where, in his eyes, which would quickly be swamped and digested into oil- that's where she failed to impress. She did not know him. She was not there for his beginning, only his end. She had not watched him rise like a fledgeling bird only to fall to the earth and wound the wings. She did not know the life of that bird; she was the predator, the prowling cat outside. She did not understand that the bird, in the eyes of fate, had served only to feed her. She only understood the taste of that entitlement. This was the bird. This was his worth.

To be made a corpse, eaten by another corpse, because it's all some form of cannibalism when everything is oil in the end. The carnage of piñatas devouring each other, the shredded candy wrappers gushing over the floor... or that silly painting of the one guy and his son. It's one of my favorite kinds of tragedy -- the humorous kind.

Maybe he should have told her that, for all it was worth. But he didn't have the chance, and now it wouldn't haunt him.

- Exit via Clown Train (die). -

DEATHMATCH

Oh, the drama! The cheers! The cries! The pathetic little lump just lying belly-up for his fate! Nemean would have been annoyed by the lack of investment if the Valkhound currently lunging up to meet him hadn't made such a show out of it.

"BLOOD! BLOOD! BLOOD!" came the ear-piercing shriek of a sprite far too small to be so loud, her fists beating against Chadsworthington's head (because the big STUPID lug hadn't moved out of her way, so now he was her new SEAT.) The resounding crunch! and sputtering noise of the cat meeting his demise was drowned out by an air guitar absolutely being shredded on.

"DO I EVEN NEED TO SAY IT?" she bellowed over the music, practically scrambling to her feet. After a moment's heavy metal-filled silence, Nemean harrumphed. "Alright, I will—THAT WAS FUCKING AWESOME!!! SEE YOU LATER, SULKY COTTONBALL! GIVE A ROUND OF APPLAUSE TO THE VICTOR: DRAAAACONUA!"

To the victor goes the spoils... literally! That was a nice little snack for the big beastie, wasn't it?

"Now get back up here, you bigass monster! You've got more problems to cause for me!"

All in those DEATHMATCHES! to come, of course!

_____________

DEATHMATCH WINNER: DRACONUA

Character: Draconua Age: +5 ("10" Cycles - Capped) Magic Level: +5 (Transcendent Pupil) ROUND 1 Attempt: - Penalties: - ROUND 2 Attempt: +16 Penalties: - ROUND 3 Attempt: +20 Penalties: - Total: 36

Character: Alrik Age: +5 (15 Cycles - Capped) Magic Level: +1 (Fledgling) ROUND 1 Attempt: - Penalties: - ROUND 2 Attempt: +10 Penalties: - ROUND 3 Attempt: No Attempt Penalties: - Total: 10

WINNER: Draconua

@Draconua @Alrik

Pollen hung close to the edge of her seat as the feline just... Gave up.

What? No, you weren't supposed to do that. She was shocked into stillness when Draconua lifted Alrik up, and a flame ignited in her. No! "FIGHT, COWARD!" she yelled out, curling her paws over her mouth. Standing abruptly, she knocked over her own bowl of popcorn, lost in the fight. "COME ON! YOU'RE GONNA WASTE YOUR LIFE LIKE THIS? FIGHT!"

There was no use pleading when all that was left of him was a bloody smear on Draconua's teeth.

Pollen stumbled back into her seat. No- why would someone opt to just go out like that? That fire in her rose into rage, and she gripped the stone below her as she tensed, arms quivering. "COWARD!" She cried out again for good measure. She would not go out like that- she wouldn't go out at all.

And she'd give Draconua the perfect battle, if she managed it.

"Should have just tried anything, you- coward," she hissed out to the empty air. She should find something better to use than just coward, but it was the best title she could find for the poor feline.

She can't believe she met him before. Scoffing, Pollen picked up the remains of her popcorn to angrily stuff her face with it, glowering into the emptying ring.

Thalia... had no idea what to make of what she'd just seen. She saw the little creature tossed upward, falling--snapped and crunched into nothing.

...Damn.

She winced, though it wasn't just from the bloodlust--but from the tragedy that might've led to that point. What had that poor damn cat experienced that it'd marched all the way to a Deathmatch just to get itself killed-? What the hell could push someone to that point?

Fingers idly twisted the drink held in her hands as she thought about this--mind wandering, eyes no longer seeing the behemoth now alone in the arena below. Her thoughts were still on Alrik.

exit Thalia

Content Warning
This post contains potentially sensitive material:

gore

It was kind of pathetic how easily the fresh carcass fit in her mouth. A few cursory crunches at the back of it—complete with alligatoresque tossing and piercing through with pointed teeth—and she threw her head back to swallow. Rather disappointing, how all that fluff was just a scrap of flesh (and somewhere, gem possibly lost forever) but Draconua did not discriminate. A kill was a kill. If only she'd had the patience to wait for it to decompose...

She took to the stands, climbing up in an easy, smooth motion. The flat of her skull turned to regard Nemean. "Do not mock me with a match like that again," she growled, and sat down.

But, licking her chops, she added. "It was a nice snack."

"exit" Drac (unless stopped)