We bum around camp for a few hours, mostly in the den of the upper cabin to evade the heat of midday. Roman twiddles around on his acoustic guitar, and Sage ends up falling asleep on the couch. I find myself nodding off as well when Roman settles on a melodic tune. He's pretty good.
The family eventually trickles back in from boating at the lakes all day, and the children that wander into the upper cabin find great amusement and fascination with Roman's playing. I share a slight mesmerization myself at his versatility and deft skill. We burn the hours until The Tournament that way, along with the delicious dinner of homemade pizzas, which we all help to create. After dinner, Roman and Sage tell the family that we're going off to meet up with friends at The Gazebo, and a few tell us not to come back too late at night. After some-see-you laters from the adults, and can-I-come-too-pretty-pretty-please from the kids, we're off in Roman's truck by the light of the setting sun.
We take a different route than we took to the lakes, and a 20-minute drive past cabins and cottages deposits us in a large clearing in the forest, with a wide gazebo in the middle. Other vehicles are parked along the road, and figures dot the grass around the structure as well as inside it. Roman gives me a grin and a wink before ducking out of the truck. With myself between the boys, we walk casually in a line to the gazebo, Roman and Sage waving and greeting kids they know on our way. I'm introduced to no one until we reach the gazebo.
We stop once we're under the structure, and a pair of teens our age wave a beam once they catch sight of the boys. A boy and a girl come up to us, and the group exchanges excited hugs.
"Bennen, this is Aleithea Revora, who's with us for the summer," Roman introduces me first to the thickly-built guy, with impossibly long and curly copper-colored hair, and a dusting of freckles covering his face and bare shoulders. He takes my small hand in his massive one, pumping it strongly as he gives me a nod.
"Allie, this is Bennen, from a cottage by the lakes."
"Nice to meet you, Bennen," I say with a smile, and his darker brows raise over brown eyes.
"Call me Ben. Nice to meet you too, Aleithea," he says.
"Call me Allie," I chuckle.
"And this is Maizy," Sage tells me, gesturing towards the beaming girl, petite and blonde.
"Woah, nice hair! Hey, Allie," she says in a cool voice, shaking my hand firmly.
"Thanks," I chortle, "Nice to meet you, Maizy," I tell her, and she returns the thought with a nod and a smile. Though small and pretty, she looks like the rough-and-tumble type, her face thin with a rugged beauty that comes from zero make-up, and a mud-splattered tank top that used to be plain white.
"Ready to get your ass beat, Rome?" Ben chimes cooly, crossing his thick, sleeveless arms over his chest. Sizing them up beside each other, I couldn't tell you who'd win in a fight. Ben was barrel-chested and thickly muscled, where Roman was well built himself, but lean. They were about the same height, too. Roman gives his dark hair a flick to the side as he smirks wide.
"You'd have to catch it, first." His confidence in this area kindles my excitement, and I already feel a fierce instinct to support him.
"You might have to fight me for the chance to take Roman out, though, Ben," Sage adds, and Maizy laughs. She makes a face at him before throwing his arm a punch.
"You think you can beat Ben?"
"I know I can beat Ben," he narrows his eyes at her as his mouth slides up into a grin. She gives a guffaw.
"Oh, please!"
"Hey, I thought you said you were going to be my pillar this year?"
"When did I say that?"
"Last summer, silly." Maizy chuckles and looks over at Bennen.
"You gonna be a worthy warrior?"
"But of course," Sage says with a grin, holding out his hand. She looks down at it with a raised brow, arms not moving from where they're crossed over her chest. With a gust of air to blow her bangs out of her face, she finally takes it and shakes it firmly. Sage beams, and I look up at Roman.
"I said I'd be someone else's warrior, anyway," Ben mutters at Maizy with a grin before waving to us all and wandering off. Sage and Maizy fall into conversation.
"What're they talking about?" I ask Roman, and he looks down at me.
"I told you the girls get in on the matches, too. They take on contenders as "warriors" of their cause, and they become that guy's pillar. Kind of like personal support system. We use war paint and everything, the pillars get to make their warriors pretty," he adds with a chuckle. I look around the gazebo at all the kids, varying slightly in age, and I wonder who Roman has lined up to be his pillar.
"That's pretty fun," I say with a smirk, putting my hands on my hips. Roman nods with a grin.
"Roman!" a voice calls behind us, and I turn to look as Roman freezes in place. A girl our age bounds up to us, touching Roman's arm as she slides to stand in front of him. "It's so good to see you! This last school year has been way too long," she says, absently tossing dark maroon hair out of her lightly freckled face. I raise my brow silently when her hand stays on his arm.
Woah. Jealousy? Me? Not fucking cool.
Roman nods at her, murmuring a greeting of his own.
"So, you want to be my warrior this year? We make a pretty good team."
"I had someone else in mind for this year, Gen, but thanks." Her flirtatious look is replaced by confusion after a brief flash of shock glints across her features. Roman's smoky gaze travels to me as she tilts her head at him, exposing her neck and hitting his arm.
"Oh, come on, Rome," she croons.
"This is Allie, by the way," he brushes her pleading to the side, and I stand up straight as her dark, dyed hair flicks around with her head. Her eyes scan me briefly before a beaming smile lights up her face.
"Oh hey there, I'm Genevieve," she says, turning all the way around to twiddle a wave at me. I nod with a lazy smile, giving her a relaxed salute. "Another cousin?" she asks.
"Summer project partner, actually," I say with a shrug. She looks at Roman, who doesn't look away from me.
"Oh, are you staying with him?" I nod.
"Unfortunately. Pain in my ass, he's been, I'm gonna go insane before the summer's out." A wide smirk breaks out over Roman's face as he brushes past Gen to stand toe-to-toe with me. I cross my arms and smirk right back up at him as his shoulders broaden when he rests his hands on his hips.
"And who asked you to come, smart ass?" he growls.
"You did, sunshine." Gen scoffs. My heart flutters when Roman's eyes travel downward to my lips, and I pick up on the slightest look of admiration.
"You're so rude to each other," Gen giggles, smacking Roman on the arm again. "She's a lady, you jerk!" she jokes, and Roman's eye twitches slightly. His arm plops over my shoulder as he turns to Gen and leans lazily against me.
"Oh, we're just messing with each other," he says, bending his elbow to put me in a gentle headlock. I give him a good elbow to the solar plexus, and he wheezes away from me.
"Says who?" I grin, patting his cheek. Gen pokes at his arm again, trying to get his attention.
"You guys are dumb," she says with a strained giggle, and Roman straightens to cross his arms.
"Want to be my piller, Thea?" he says, along with that nickname that he always says with affection. Deep down, I relish the look Gen is trying to mask.
"Why not. As long as you don't get your ass kicked and humiliate me," I grin. He returns my look as he offers his hand up in an arm-wrestling position.
"Deal," he murmurs, and I look down at his strong, pale hand. I clap mine in his, and he holds it fast for a moment as he pulls me toward him in a gesture of camaraderie.
"Good," I smirk.
~*~
“Sweet Jesus,” Roman mutters as he drags his hands down his face once Genevieve wanders away from us. I cross my arms and cock a brow at him.
“Ex? Obsessed stalker?” I ask, amused. Roman gives a high, strained... giggle, from behind his hands.
“Almost the first. Probably the second,” he tells me. I snort, patting him on the arm.
“Poor baby! She wants the D.”
“No kidding, fucking whore,” he laughs, “She’s fucking annoying as hell.” I chuckle as I nod in agreement.
“You like it. You’re the player, here.”
“Whaaaat?” he says, looking at me with a slightly furrowed brow. I shrug and flick his arm with a smirk.
“You’re the ladies’ man, bra. Manwhore?” I say, playfully blunt. Well... sort of. I realize I should probably keep my suggestions to myself, but the desire to get them off of my chest and out in the open was suddenly tantalizing. He gives me a look.
“Far from it, darlin’.”
“Roman!” We turn to see Maizy and Sage waving to us from across the gazebo, each holding a bowl in their hands. Roman’s mouth slides up into a smile.
“Come on,” he takes my hand and leads me toward the pair. Maizy hands me the bowl she carries, and I peer into it.
“It’s the war paint for you guys,” she giggles as I sniff at the dark, thick substance, “Go to town on him.”
“Ooo,” Roman chimes with a huge smile, elbowing my arm. “I like the sound of that...” I give a burst of laughter as I clutch the bowl.
“What a pervert...”
After Roman checks in officially with the kids who run the brackets, he returns to me to get his warpaint done.
“What do you think, Spade?” I ask him as I hold the bowl of paint, and Roman looks up at me from where he sits facing me on a bench. I take a furtive peek around at the other pillars and warriors who are preparing with the paint.
“You’re the pillar, darlin’,” he murmurs with a lazy smile, “It’s all up to you.” I furrow my brow at the paint, then at Roman as he watches me with calm silence. I study his features for a moment. Strong jaw and neck, high cheekbones, chiseled lips and brow, that dark hair.
“Hm,” I grunt. I set the bowl on his lap for him to hold as I pull off the black fabric headband that I did my hair in this evening. I untie it and approach Roman, standing between his legs as I place it across his forehead and tie it behind his head. He closes his eyes as I mess with his hair, getting it to lay correctly with the headband. I tug some locks out to hang over the black fabric. I lean back to stroke my chin and survey it.
“A good start.” He grins slyly up at me.
“You’re getting the idea,” he murmurs. I pat his cheek lightly before dipping two fingers into the paint bowl in his lap.
“Close your eyes,” I instruct, and he does. I hold his hair back with one hand as I drag a thick black line down the right side of his face, from above his left eyebrow beneath the headband, all the way down to curve slightly under his jaw, the paint fading in thickness as it reaches the end of the stroke.
“Don’t open your eyes, let it dry,” I tell him, not wanting the paint that covers his left eye to smear before it’s dried. I fan it a bit, and dip my fingers back into the bowl. I dab the paint horizontally along his whole brow this time, making it darkest where it will be seen right under the headband, and fading slightly as it reaches down his face. I darken the areas around his eyes, though, especially the inside corners. After It dries, I put his shaggy bangs and headband back into place, and he opens his eyes. I grin at the instant effect that I wanted. His smoky grey-green eyes pop out from the dark background of the paint. He looks at my expression with a questioning smile.
“One more thing,” I say, dipping all four long fingers of my hand in the paint, “Hold still.” I lightly place my paint-covered fingers over the top of his mouth, slowly dragging four even streaks of paint down across his supple lips. I’m careful enough to keep it out of his mouth, and he holds still enough to let it dry on his lips. Two lines stretch evenly over his curved mouth, and the other two run down on either side of it.
“Looks pretty good,” I say after stepping back to take a look at my work.
“I had faith in you,” he chuckles as he stands to grasp my clean hand. My heart swells at the team that The Tournament has created out of us, the bond we share in this moment.
Roman swipes the fingers of his free hand in the bowl of paint I hold, and instructs me to close my eyes. I give him a quizzical look before obeying, and he releases my hand to brush my bangs out of my face, the gentle touch sending goosebumps over the skin of my bare arms. The paint is startlingly cold on my face as he drags a line down from my brow to my jaw, matching the line I gave him. He blows on it until it’s dry, and I open my eyes.
“Now we’re good,” he says, and I wonder what my face looks like.
As the warriors gather with their pillars under the gazebo, most of the physical preparations made, a mat is pulled out and the picnic tables are moved out onto the grass. Throngs of painted kids create an arena around the cushy mat laid out in the center of the gazebo. I spot Sage, and I like the paint Maizy’s done him up in. He has a streaked handprint over his entire face, the fingers spreading to cover his eye. We join them, and I compliment Sage’s warpaint, and she returns admiration for Roman’s. I notice she doesn’t have paint on her face like I do. Looking around, I notice that most girls actually don’t have paint on their faces. It strikes me as odd, at first, but I guess Roman likes to be different.
The brackets are hung over the mantle of a big fireplace that sits on the end of the gazebo, and the first contenders are called for the first match of the night. I watch the process with fascination. The warriors take the mat, kicking off shoes and taking off wristbands or necklaces. I spot their respective pillars on the edges of the mat, saying things to their warriors before the whistle is blown. The two warriors in this match vary slightly in build, and I ask Roman if there are anything like weight classes.
“No, actually. We like having one single winner, not tons of winners from every weight class we’d have to make. The brackets are made by complete random. The weaker will all eventually be beat, the stronger will champion them.” I give a slight shrug and a nod in understanding.
We watch the first match, and it’s soon easy to see that the scrawnier guy wasn’t going to win this one. They tussle, exchange a few blows, and wrestle each other to the ground. It doesn’t take long for the smaller kid to be pinned. The designated ref’s whistle gives a shriek when the kid is eventually pinned, and the throng of teens around the mat cheer or boo, the pillars rushing onto the mat to either console their warrior, or leap triumphantly on him. I clap along with Roman as the second bracket is called.
We watch match after match, some looking fair, others not so much. We cheer when Bennen is called, and I notice with a smile that his chosen pillar has tiny dots of paint that match his, like mine and Roman’s. Bennen stands in his corner with her, laughing over something. He is shirtless, and his shoulders and back are decorated with the same kinds of patterns that cover his face. His muscles are thick and corded, and a thin sheen of sweat already glistens in the torchlight. The match looks even, Ben’s opponent looking fierce, fit, and ready to take him down. The crowd of spectating teens go crazy the moment the match starts, Bennen and his opponent flying at each other like two crazed bulls. Both of my hands clap over my mouth as I give a giant gasp when Bennen bodily throws the kid to the ground, and pins him like that. Roman roars beside me as I stand there, struck by Bennen’s might.
“Holy fucking shit!” I curse as I clap with the crowd.
“Right?” Roman laughs down at me, crossing his arms and smiling.
“Bennen’s a fucking tank!” I say with animation, grabbing Roman’s arm in my excitement.
“Hell yes,” he chuckles, “You’ll probably cheer for him when we’re against each other.” I shake my head with laughter.