ProfetessaOscura

Vespyr nodded, then waved dismissively. Although indignant, the men and women around Vespyr backed off. "My friend," he said, "I know you are displeased."

Sparrow would find himself entering the seated area of the arena, with multiple fighting pairs down on the field. A couple of politicians were thumbing through papers and trying animatedly to speak with Vespyr, whose mouth remained closed. He was likely using the wind as his voice, perhaps to remind them who really had power, or perhaps because the wind was just as much his voice as his vocal chords.

((Nope! I just expected you to go in.)) She frowned. “Wait here for a minute.” She tottered off, then shortly returned, flustered. “He’ll see you,” she said, surprised.

She knelt and pressed the stamp down again. The floor shattered a second time, and this time, it just became rough, gnarled terrain.

She seemed oddly uncomfortable. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather come back? His class is scheduled to go for a long time."

The woman shifted uncomfortably. "If it's important, he's in the arena. Two doors down."

"He's holding a class right now. He'll be out in about four hours, if you'd like to come back?" she asked. "He's also currently meeting with some higher up officials. I can leave a note or...?" The woman was infuriating. She smiled slightly. "And I appreciate it." The ice floor suddenly turned into blunt, jagged projectiles, then shot at Cadenza. The woman held, in her hand, a stamp with her initials on it. It had been wired to the battery in her bag, and there, in the ice by her feet, the melted indentation of this old lady's maker's mark seethed, steaming.

“Siren’s got nothing to do with me,” she chortled. She glanced down at the ice and took a knee. “Trying to make me break a hip, are you?” Her voice was accusatory, but she pressed something down against the icy floor, then stood again.

The old woman snorted, then approached and pulled Cadenza to her feet. “Keep your stance steady, child. You can sway out of the way without losing your balance and focus. Ducking your head makes it hard to protect with your hands.” She stepped back. “Don’t be afraid of me. Show me what you can do.”

The charming woman at the receptionist’s desk leaned over. “Good afternoon! Are you another recruit?”

The woman smiled. Suddenly, the ice pillar broke from the floor and shot at an intense speed, directly at Cadenza’s face.

The woman shrugged, then tossed a single, tiny, rag doll onto the floor. It lifted on its own and started to toddle toward Cadenza.

The woman hobbled up to the center of the arena, and the wind wheel spun up around the pair.

She nodded, then plugged a portable battery into something in her bag. She stood and stretched, muscles clicking. “Let’s have at it, then.”

“Ever since I beat him, the little brat sends everyone my way after fighting him,” she snorted, “hoping one of them will take me down. What’s your ability, child?”

"Come to beat up an old woman?" she asked sternly as Cadenza, or Cadence, approached. Her voice was stern as steel, her fingers thin and spindly.

((More Shai from Emperor's Soul mixed with something a little original.)) The old lady was still crocheting, a large straw crafting basket leaned against her hip. She hummed to herself quietly, completely spaced out.

"Well... she- she probably saw you fighting anyways," he said, "But why don't you just ask her first?" He seemed easily won over, for the most part. "She can control stuff that she makes, I think. It's got something to do with her intent and creation, or purpose or something. If she alters or makes something, she can use it in a fight. I even saw her draw a smile on a piece of paper, and the paper came to life." He seemed suddenly ashamed, as if he'd crossed a line of his own personal morality. "You- you should tell her what your ability is, too."

He blushed again, but looked away. "Really, it's not fair, it gives you an advantage when you go in to spar."

“Now that would be cheating,” he said, smiling widely.

He nodded. “She’s over there,” he said, pointing to an ancient, spindly woman. She was sitting quietly and crocheting something.

((Since it has been two weeks, it is actually reasonable to assume that something happened with the courtroom and move forward. It's not fair to Koi for this to go on for an eternity. Are you okay if, after an extended battle, some measure of guilt is proven against him, but for lesser charges, and they accept a rather lenient plea that results in 6 months of prison with 10 years probation, since they couldn't make the worst of the crimes stick. However, this is inconvenient for literally Cruz and everyone else, so he needs to do shenanigans to get out of it?))

He nodded. “Yeah, For sure! I should go fight someone else now. There’s this other girl who has really long hair, she might be a challenge for you.”

He shook his head. "You must have said you were a proficient at sparring on your registration if she sent you up here, right?"

"She's not a combat specialist, but she wanted to help out, and she knows paperwork. If the school looks legit, there's more likelihood it'll be accepted instead of dubbed a terrorist organization by the nation." His face flushed slightly. "Oh, and yeah, I can help out. So..." He gestured around. This is our first class. It's pretty relaxed. The professor is here from 6:00 AM to 6:00 PM, and everyone is expected to spend about 2 hours of the day here, practicing. He's usually dealing with people up in the wings, but he can really split his attention really well. Those wheels of wind? He's giving advice to all of the fighters simultaneously to improve their fighting skills. I honestly don't know how he can manage everyone at once." Corwin finally found his glasses and slid them back onto his face. His eyes looked bigger behind the thick lenses. "There are supposed to be other classes soon. He's trying to get some military strategists and sergeants to teach survival tactics, team fighting, and maneuvering. I think he's also trying to get a therapist or something to teach morality and ethics. I guess he's got a friend or something who is really against violence, so he doesn't want any of us using these lessons to go psycho." Corwin stepped to the side so another pair of fighters could take their place. "The class is pretty simple, though. You pair up and spar. You try to get in 20 bouts a day, or like I said, 2 hours of practice. Not everyone is good enough to start fighting right off the bat. There's another room where people work on tuning into their abilities, and another for physical conditioning. I-" he blushed, "I only just got approved to start fighting yesterday, but that's because I learn pretty fast, not because I'm really good at any of the moves."