Chapter Text
Metem likes to use surprises to get genuine reactions. It's easier for the fighters who can't act to put on a convincing performance if it's not really a performance.
Kate Ruthveyn, Warrior of Light (and Darkness), Silencer of the Song of Oblivion, Champion of Eorzea, Vanquisher of Midgardsormr, Sire of All Dragonkind (and subsequent babysitter of the remnant of the Father of Dragons that would later return as such), Slayer of Primals, Paragons, and an entire Pantheon of Too-Tired Gods, was unquestionably astounding in battles great and small, transcending her limits against overwhelming odds time and again to protect the innocent, defend the defenseless, and triumph over the tyrannical.
Kate Ruthveyn, the "Unenhanced Upstart," the "Challenger from Nowhere," and newest fighter rising in the ranks of the sport-entertainment complex of Ascension Arcadia was also a lousy actress. Consequently, she was rarely informed beforehand of either her next opponent or the stunts of publicity the canny announcer scheduled to generate excitement and ticket sales. This placed her squarely into the category of people who had Metem's "surprises" done to them, rather than one of Metem's surprise-people.
The latest "surprise" to happen to her was the entrance of the bronzed Eldite god on a flying car to both "rescue" her from an ambush (another surprise) and subsequently lecture her on her disrespect for the Arcadion's long-storied tradition of using feral souls to enhance fighters.
In retrospect, it probably hadn't been her best idea to accept the tiny announcer's offer of gladiatorial combat in non life-threatening contexts, even when accompanied by an offer to liberate souls amidst assurances of her anonymity, but in the midst of the complexities of two societies and indeed, two worlds that had crashed into one another, a little uncomplicated scrapping-for-sport with a clear payoff and no casualties held a strangely relaxing appeal.
Of course, it got complicated rather quickly, as things tended to do when she was around.
This latest complication, in addition to being an olive-skinned eldite god with elegantly fine ear-points, a sleeveless greatcoat open to the waist and very tight pants with strategically...enhancing...color-blocking (I do solemnly swear that I am looking at the color-blocking, she told herself) was also the last obstacle standing between Kate and a serious goal of obtaining a cure for a deadly disease plaguing her fellow fighters.
Conveniently-present fans of the Arcadion sport had begun shouting his name--or rather, his title--when he first appeared from On-High in a godsdamned flying electromobile and thundering about the Sacred Ring of the Arena.
By way of introduction, "the Tyrant" chased away the fighters who'd ambushed her outside Tri-Tails. Once he sent them scurrying away, he had the audacity to chastise her for drawing her weapon outside the ring.
Being pronounced a heathen by an arrogant eldite looking down on her from a height reminded her of Old Gridania. And Ishgard. And Eulmore. And Sharlayan.
But nostalgia for the good old days had to wait in favor of witnessing his acrobatic dismount from the hood of the car. He landed in front of her, Big Damn Hero-style, one leg out for balance, the corresponding arm outstretched, before rising to his feet. He crossed his arms and looked down his nose at her and her baggy street clothes. The position made his biceps flex. Biceps made for swinging great-axes and holding up the thighs of tall women who wouldn't mind wrapping them around his waist--
She shook herself and sheathed the twin daggers that had come to hand when she was first accosted, letting the soul of the shinobi melt back into its position at her hip.
Rather than introducing himself to her, he introduced himself to the gathering crowd of onlookers.
Conscious of scrutiny, Kate flipped up the hood of her street jacket as this Tyrant insisted that she know the storied tradition of that which she sought to end. He began with the President's ancestor who first brought the tradition to Alexandria's dome in the wake of the Storm Surge, and how the current President kept this noble Lindblum theatrical tradition alive.
At the cost of the fighters, Kate thought acidly. Even now the mysterious recluse withheld this potential cure in favor of "the show," going so far as to kidnap Yaana's sisters to ensure Kate's compliance with his "script."
Do not deviate from my script again. If you wish to acquire the cure for psychokinesis, defeat the reigning Grand Champion of the heavyweight division and become Grand Champion yourself. After Metem had gone after a panicked Yaana, leaving her alone with the President's floating outrigger 'bot, the President had a message for her ears alone. Oh, and Challenger? Your efforts at showmanship will be judged.*
Kate half-listened to the Tyrant's history of the Arcadion just in case there was a test later, but her mind was already assessing him--*as an opponent,* she told herself sternly. She didn't think he was playing a seductive angle in spite of the costume that suggested otherwise. Too bad. It's working anyway.
But how to play to a Tyrant? Metem never gave her any clues about what he wanted in terms of "entertainment" from her, so she was obliged to come up with something herself. Her eyes followed this Tyrant as he paced back and forth, his sweeping gestures drawing the audience in, inspiring them to his cause and focusing their ire on her.
"Yeah, you're just a villain!" cried one such "inspired" onlooker.
Kate didn't trust herself not to spit out something terrible, or terribly awkward, so she kept her mouth shut. Fortunately for her, Yaana was better at dealing with publicity (and didn't seem as tongue-tied in front of a slice of bare chest and toned biceps). The hhetsaro had already rounded up a handful of supporters of unenhanced fighting while Kate was busy fixating on the fine-edged sweep of his ear-points as he gave a history lesson to the crowd with a bombastic flair that reminded her of Fourchenault Leveilleur at his most aggravated (aka, when she was anywhere nearby). I never wanted to lick Fourchenault Leveilleur, though.
Kate retaliated against Fourchenault's disdain by supplying Ameliance Leveilleur with a never-ending supply of increasingly scandalous boudoir fashions that she loudly questioned the woman on her satisfaction with every time Fourchenault was within earshot, entertaining Ameliance to no end by embarrassing her husband. Because the Warrior of Light was that kind of petty when the leader of the Sharlayan Forum kept flagging her visa at Sharlayan Customs.
Here and now, the Tyrant took her to task but ensured his focus remained mostly on the assembled audience. He clearly loved the attention of his people, but from a respectful distance. Playing up his kingly persona. He needs someone to get all up in his business. Like Fourchenault, he was too comfortable being untouchable.
Looks like I'll be getting handsy then.
She courteously let him wind down his lesson before stepping up to the Tyrant. She didn't know if it was good spectacle, but it was better than making a spectacle of herself with her ogling.
"You can satisfy people even unenhanced," she blurted. The corner of his mouth turned up and she realized how that sounded. Should have been content with the silent ogling. Oh Zodiark, we're in it now. "Well." she lowered her voice, for his ears alone "I can."
Up close, the color of his eyes reminded her of levin-bursts in Heritage Found. The white of his runemark stood out against olive-toned skin and the silvery eyebrow that arched in amusement. Ridiculously long eyelashes brushed his cheeks when his gaze lowered enough to sweep down to where the neckline of her street tunic dipped to show her collarbones.
"A bold claim." He leaned in. "Can you...bring it to completion?"
One good thing about having skin the color of a busted ceruleum canister was that it hid blushes well. He smells nice. She licked her lips and drew in a breath. "As many times as it takes."
She hadn't noticed that she also moved forward and they were toe-to-toe. All she needed to do was take a deep breath and she could easily come into contact with that slice of bare chest. She could see herself reaching out, dragging a finger down dead center over his sternum. She lifted her hand.
"We've seen how exciting an unenhanced battle can be!" The comment came from one of the onlookers who'd come to Tri-Tails to see her. She blinked and her hand settled back at her side. Not exactly what I meant, but bless that kid's regulated little heart.
The cadre of onlookers rounded up by Yaana started clapping. This earned them a response from the feral-souls fans and soon the two groups were trading insults. Kate fought the urge to roll her eyes, but did raise one eyebrow at the grand champion, who offered her a brief, lopsided smirk in return.
He drew himself up, the smirk disappearing into cold arrogance. "You may have garnered attention for fighting unenhanced, but in the end you are naught more than a heel intended to create excitement." The Tyrant beckoned with the hand not being used to point at her.
His electrope vehicle dropped down at a speed that displaced the air and fair blew the crowd back. The Tyrant leaped up on the flame-ornamented hood and sneered at her. "It is your fate to fall."
With a knock to the windscreen to signal his driver, the Tyrant and his vehicle whooshed up and away, leaving Kate standing in a wide circle of onlookers, half of whom cheered her, while the other half now looked as if they'd like to tear her apart if they didn't hear their moms calling or have other pressing business to attend to like popping tabs of their energy drinks to see if they'd won a prize.
As the crowd dispersed, Yaana approached. "Well that happened," she said.
Kate lifted both eyebrows. "That...definitely was a thing that happened," she replied, watching the crowd disperse into smaller groups of two and three, amongst excited chatter and gestures.
++
"That was the most animated I've seen you when meeting an opponent." Yaana started back to the gym and Kate reluctantly followed.
"Metem will be so pleased," Kate said dryly.
The gym's lights were on as they approached and it was easy to see the disarray from the Extremes still inside. Kate felt a little bad, given that Yaana put her heart and soul into this gym, and Kate's presence was supposed to drum up business for the fighter, so she could support herself and her sisters after her career in the ring was over. Given how close Yaana was to succumbing to psychonekrosis, the Black Cat's career was all but done for, unless the "unenhanced fighting" caught on.
"Thank the Maker," Yaana muttered when the gym appeared to be in a lesser state of disarray than the heavyweight brothers left it. "Somebody started cleaning, at least."
But she flicked her tail and flattened her ears, returning to her "game face" as Kate's trainer. "As you saw, the Tyrant's a force to be reckoned with even when not using a feral soul."
"I'll say," Kate said. "Does he make that entrance every time he goes somewhere?"
"Oh I think that one was especially for you." Yaana flicked on the monitor and queued up the information on the Tyrant. "What's more, as grand champion, he has free access to the soul repository, and can choose the best soul for each opponent."
To Kate, it sounded even more horrible. At least the other fighters stuck to one class of souls to exploit. The grand champion got to pick from a selection? Of souls. She couldn't forget that. She sighed as she followed the light-heavyweight into the gym. Could be worse. At least they're not summoning Primals.