The Ringmaster was not happy when he found out he had to buy a new table.
He was amused, though, when he found out why, but he warned me not to do it again.
"You know you're not allowed to fight outside of the arena, Isaac. Even if they ask for it."
"You said that I'm not allowed to kill outside the arena. I didn't kill him."
He sighed at me, then sent me back to my cell.
No dessert tonight, and I had to help clean up in the kitchens after dinner. The second part wasn't that bad, I got to see Ms. Janet.
I spent an hour or two reading in my cell, currently going through White Fang for the hundredth time. I was about to the part where White Fang is fighting the bulldog when the level below me and I were called for our time outside.
The courtyard was rather large, allowing me to get away from the crowd. I noticed there was a new fighter. He was a few inches shorter than me, with blond hair, like my mothers. It hung down to the small of his back in a long braid, so different from my short-cropped black.
He approached me, cautiously. Apparently he had been a part of the crowd this morning.
"I won't bite," I called to him, softly. I liked him already. He seemed familiar, they way he carried himself.
He came closer to where I sat with my back to the chain wire fence, soaking in the July sun. "I'm not worried about your teeth. I'm worried about getting close enough for you to get your arms around me."
"That's probably a good idea, though we aren't in the arena."
"You fought that guy this morning, and you weren't in the arena."
"He was asking for it. If I had it my way, he wouldn't be in the infirmary, and we wouldn't need a new table."
"You seem to care more about the table than the human."
"The table was useful."
He laughed, relaxing and sitting next to me, a good two feet away. Out of my bubble.
"How long have you been here?" he questioned, "I was taken a year ago."
"You rose pretty far in a year."
"True. I'm a good fighter, and once I got used to the death, I stopped holding back."
We chatted about fighting and how to take down an opponent quickly but still be entertaining. After a few minutes of this he turned to me.
"You still haven't answered my original question." He spoke cautiously, afraid of angering me.
I sighed, giving in. "I wasn't taken. I was born here."
He gaped. "This place couldn't have been here that long!"
"I was born the first year this place was in business. My father was an original fighter from Russia, and my mother one of the whores they picked up off the street."
"How old are you?"
"Twenty-four, twenty-five in August."
His brow crinkles in confusion. "You're younger than me? I thought you'd be older."
I smiled, softly. "It's the height."
"Ah," he said, nodding.
A few moments of silence passed, my new friend having spaced off, staring in my direction. His eyes were green, like mine.
"Any idea how long The Ringmaster's been doing this?" He inquires.
"I think since he was twenty? He's about seventy now."
"I wonder how many people have died for his amusement?"
"Thousands. I'll have killed one hundred fifty next my next fight."
"That many? How do you keep count?"
"It's hard to forget the thrill. I still remember my first. A woman. She was short, with dark brown hair and a pixie cut. She looked so much like a fairy, I think her fighter's name was Tink."
"I thought most of us were named after animals."
"We are, with a few oddballs here and there."
We talked until we had to head back inside.
I soon learned his name was Nathan Green. He was startled to learn that didn't really have a last name, and everyone here either called me Isaac or The Dragon. His fighter's name was The Leopard, a very fitting name. He was lean, with a large chest and looked almost as strong as me. Ironically, he had gotten a leopard tattoo before being brought here.
Later that night, after dinner, I went down to the kitchens to help clean up. Ms. Janet greeted me at the double doors.
"Isaac! What a nice surprise! Come to help?" Her silver hair was pulled back into a braid, but a few strands had escaped and framed her face.
"Punishment. Not a very good one, though. I get to see you," I gauged her reaction. She was always concerned for me, more a mother figure than my real one had been.
She turned serious, and raised her eyebrows at me. "What did you do?"
Shit.
"Threw a man into a table," I muttered.
She crossed her arms, tapping one foot while staring me down. "And what did you do that for?"
I could feel my face turn red. Honestly. Me, The Dragon, quailed by an old woman. Some of the other kitchen workers were stopping their work, watching Ms. Janet bring down the champion.
"He was blocking my door. When I shoved him out of the way he shoved me back. I tried to walk away but he thought he would be able to knock me over, so I retaliated."
A smile played at her lips. "Was he really that stupid? Or are you lying to me?"
I looked up at her. Or, down, rather. She was only five foot two, and even hunched over I towered above her. "You know I haven't lied to you since I was twelve. I still remember the chewing out you gave me." And it was true. I had stolen another cinnamon bun, besides the extra she always gave me, and lied to her about it. She had scolded me almost to the point of tears. I've always wanted to be good for her. I don't know why.
She sighed. "I know. I also know that if you were, you wouldn't be able to hold it in for long." She unfolded her arms. "Come on. You can help with the dishes."
I let out a breath of relief. She did know me well.
I plunged my hands into the rinse water, accepting the dishes as they were handed to me. At first the new workers were afraid, not wanting to come too close, but they grew used to me. I joined in a bit of the conversation, and of course talk went to why I couldn't be allowed in the kitchens alone anymore.
A few years ago, when I was barely an adult, Ms. Janet and the rest of the workers had gone on a break, leaving me alone in the kitchen. I had been helping after breakfast, and there were cinnamon buns that day.
The kitchen workers made about eight dozen cinnamon buns for everyone in the Arena, the entire staff adding up to about seventy-four. There was always at least one tray extra, in case The Ringmaster had clients over, or there were a few more fighters than usual.
The hotel pans could each hold one and a half dozen cinnamon buns, and that day there was a tray and a half left.
Me being the cinnamon bun whore I was, I went through an entire tray in the five minutes they we gone. I quickly washed the now empty tray, and put the half-filled one away in the walk-in cooler, making it seem that I had put the leftovers away.
I made it until lunch without being discovered, and then only because Ms. Janet had made sure there was still one and a half pans left.
She had been furious. Her scolding almost matched the one I had gotten when I was twelve, but now she wasn't mad because I lied to her, only because I hid the evidence of my crime.
The newer kitchen workers, ones who hadn't been there at the time, found this amusing. The ones who had cringed slightly, remembering Ms. Janet's wrath. She had gone into a full-blown cook rant. Frightening thing, really. I had faced starved cougars with only a knife, and Ms. Janet's anger was the only thing that scared me.
We quickly finished cleaning up, and I wandered back to my cell, stopping to take a quick shower.
As I returned, I was startled to find The Ringmaster in my cell, body guards glued to his sides. He was hunched over my desk, examining a doodle I'd been working on. I always enjoyed making unrealistic scenes, so I'd been working on a design for wolf armor.
As I stepped into the room, he turned.
"Ah, Isaac. You're here." It must have been one of his worse days. The Russian accent he always tried to hide for some reason was easily detectable.
"And what do I have the honor of your presence?" I asked, teasing him.
"I wanted to tell you that I've moved your next fight to the night after tomorrow. When I sent my men out for a new fighter, they came back with a woman as well. Quite vicious. If you win your next fight, which I know you will, I'll let you break her in. She's quite gorgeous. I'd take her for myself, but I don't want to end up like the two men I lost to her."
I cringed. I knew what he meant by "breaking in," and I didn't like it. Just being in the same room with someone I don't know is bad enough, but that? No.
"Really, I'm not sure how she managed it. I haven't gotten a look at the bodies yet, and the only other man who survived is in the infirmary. She's got quite a few scars, her arms and hands especially. Most look like burns, the rest from a knife. I think they pulled her from an alley behind a restaurant. My men barely managed to get out of there before more people came, drawn by the sounds of the fight she put up." The Ringmaster continued. "Her beauty makes up for her scars, though. Hair as fiery as her spirit down past her waist, and soft as silk. Deep, hypnotizing, violet eyes and perfect, creamy skin."
I raised my eyebrows. Sounded like a lover's description. "A description fit for a poet, sir." I replied.
He sighed, rolling his eyes at my musing. He hated being called sir.
"Remember," he called back, "night after tomorrow!" And he was gone, leaving me standing in my cell.
I thunked down at my desk to sort the papers The Ringmaster had scattered.
Well. I guess I'll be having an unwanted roommate.