The Sanctuary Goodwill Games are under way. One of the first matches pits attorney Jacob Gettleman against the Nall Soth Betoth in a fencing match that yields some amusing results, if not an abundance of goodwill.
Smuggler’s Cove — Fighting Arena
This is a fairly large room with a high ceiling. In the center of the room is a raised square platform that resembles an old-style boxing ring, complete with ropes and turnbuckles. The ring is lighted by a series of white spotlights overhead, and the rest of the room is dark. Around the ring, arranged in rows, are seats for spectators, but despite the appearance of size for the room, there is only enough seating for perhaps 200 people.
Betoth continues to stare at Jacob. His eyes nictate and he snarls, “This? This is what I am to fight?”
Jacob finishes limbering up, grips his nub-tipped saber in his right hand and smiles crookedly at Betoth. “Worried, are you?”
Darcy – if anyone recognizes her or knows her – sets down a small case beside her and takes out a compact little unit which she assembles with some care. When she finishes, it is revealed as a little holovid camera. This she sets down on her lap while she fiddles with a stand, sets that up, and puts the camera on it, smiling all the while. “Best of luck, Jacob,” she calls and a very small hint of sarcasm can be heard in her tone.
Betoth’s jaw lolls, revealing a great many pointed teeth. He says, “Only that your blood will stain my armor.”
Volanta glances at the fighters oddly, maybe it won’t take as long with pointy things…
The Ref, having stepped up to the ring, says, “Keep your heads, keep your heads– let’s get the ring cleared first.”
Jacob clenches his jaw in a mordant sort of smile at the Nall’s comment. Then he nods a greeting toward the faceless well-wisher with the sarcastic tone, and turns his attention to the referee.
Merram sighs, “Good one.”
Rondeau settles herself in a folding chair near the ring. “Dis one oughd to be quick,” she drawls.
Falkenberg turns with a start, to look at Namura.
Darcy picks up the small camera and stand, and slips out of her seat with the case. She makes her way to the front of the ring and gives both Betoth and Jacob a brilliant smile. “Greetings. I do believe I’m on ahh, announcement duty tonight for this match.”
Arn’ga moves one seat across for variety, he is chuckling to himself
Jacob begins to move back and forth on his toes, testing his balance. He loses it and nearly falls over when he sees Darcy is the announcer.
Betoth hops from the ringpole, landing in his corner with a soft thump. His eyes do not track away from Jacob. He hisses, “So, soft thing…You consider yourself a match for Be of Hatch Toth?”
Darcy, satisfied with the effect she’s made on Jacob, gracefully trots over to the small announcer’s area and picks up the microphone on the stand, ahem-ing a few times and testing the reverb.
Jacob chuckles nervously at the Nall, whickwhacking the rapier before himself. “Just lucky, I guess.”
Satisfied with the way the microphone responds, Darcy clears her throat and announces, calmly, “This match is between L’Soth Be, of Hatch Toth, against Jacob Gettleman, attorney of law.” She glances from one to the other, appraising, then continues. “I will now set down the ground rules of the match.” Her voice is surprisingly low, a husky baritone almost.
Jacob rolls his eyes.
Namura whispers, “Ah. Okay.”
Melissa arrives from Smuggler’s Cove — Cantina .
Melissa has arrived.
Merram chuckles, “This is going to be good.”
Melissa steps in, obviously having just gotten off duty. She steps inside and stops, waiting for her eyes to adjust.
Karith grins at the titles, obviously hoping that this will be a quick match.
Volanta says, “I’ve seen the Nall in action, I seriously doubt that the ‘ground rules’ will stay intact.”
A crackle of static whine spoils the microphone’s response. Darcy hastily pulls it a little ways from the speaker direction, and ahems ladylike. “Hr-rrrm. This match will go to 10 points, however many rounds it takes to reach it. Time out will only be called in case of foul, which the referree will see to, or in case of debilitating injury.”
Betoth hisses softly, “An a-tourn-knee? Weak thing, know that 77 challengers lie in bones behind me.” His jaw lolls. “Surrender now. Spare yourself this humiliation. None could possibly think you lesser.”
Jacob assumes the on guard position, like someone classically trained in the sport, and lowers the mask over his face with his free left hand before putting it behind and above his head, fingers wiggling. With his right hand, he extends the nub-tipped rapier. One foot faces his opponent, the other perpendicular. “I’ll want to see a copy of those rules for technical review purposes, Darcy,” he says, his voice slightly muffled.
Melissa’s eyes finally adjust and she walks forward to take a seat, she ends up seated next to Falkenberg.
Darcy gives Gettleman a very angelic smile, her eyes bright with amusement. “I happen to have them with me, signed by Judge Basilton himself, witnessed and stamped, Weasel dear,” she says, then turns her eyes to Betoth. “If the contestants will now step forward and ignore the ahh, interplay which has just occurred.”
The referee scowls some more and watches, giving his best imitation of a statue.
Betoth, angrily, slaps the offending parry aside. He presses his attack forward, advancing in little controlled hops, blade blurring as he swings it once more towards the attorney.
Melissa is seated next to Falkenberg.
Snowmist walks in slowly, glancing about idly as she takes in who’s currently fighting and who’s present in the audience.
Jacob yelps in uncharacteristic shock as he staggers back, throwing another desperate parry with his blade.
Darcy oooohs. “OH my. A most credible recovery by Mr. Gettleman, and a noble attack indeed, advanced by the L’Soth. This promises to be a lightning clash, ladies and gentleman. Quite noteworthy.”
Betoth dips his blade, his entire stance dropping lower, attempting to slide under Gettleman’s guard.
Jacob eeps, backing against the ropes of the ring and holding his blade at an angle, nearly pointed at the ground, in an attempt to block the relentless reptiloid.
Betoth abruptly hops sideways to the right, slashing his sword left and down, towards Gettleman’s exposed shoulder.
Snowmist’s ear pricks up at the change in announcer’s voice, and shrugging as she spies the woman in Jordan’s place, moves around the edge of the arena to perch on a seat, watching the Nall’s movements intently.
A little static-y *thud* occurs as Darcy sets down the announcer’s microphone and applauds enthusiastically. She then picks the mic back up and announces, her tones trembling with mirth, “And the move by the Nall has succceeded in ahh, fazing the unflappable Jacob Gettleman! Ladies and gentleman, this is indeed a day to remember. Oh my…a rather savage attack, will Mr. Gettleman be able to parry?”
Jacob still, however, manages to keep his left hand – trembling, more than wiggling – above and behind his head. Still manages to maintain a half-crouch, knees bent, all proper. He tries to jerk aside from the incoming blow – but fails, getting tagged on the shoulder.
The ref barks, “One point to the Nall!”
MacDonald steps down towards Melissa and Falkenberg, “Mind if I join you two?”
Jacob lifts his mask and snaps at the ref: “He’s not following tournament rules! He didn’t raise his hand behind his head! He didn’t bend his knees! He didn’t properly engage the battle. Check the rules! He should be disqualified!”
The ref barks back, “Mis-terr Gettleman, this isn’t a classical fencing tournament, is it? It’s not stated specifically /IN/ the rules or the signup sheet that it was supposed to be, so follow on and get on with it!”
Falkenberg looks up tiredly. “Eh? No, not at all.”
Betoth snorts, and, in reply, smacks Gettleman in his side with his blade. “Fight, soft thing.”
Karith mumbles, “Definitely a lawyer.”
Melissa looks up towards MacDonald and shrugs, “Take a seat,” she says moving over.
The ref, in response, yells, “Point two to the Nall!”
MacDonald smiles slightly as he settles, “Long day?”
Melissa just shakes her head a bit and laughs at the exchange.
Snowmist’s mouth quirks and she shakes her head slightly as she leans back, resettling herself a little more comfortably.
Rondeau smiles felinely. “Oui! Fighd, sofd ting!”
Jacob snarls at the referee. “No one told me it was going to be a circus act, either.” He lowers the mask impudently over his face and moves to circle around the Nall. “We’re throwing the rules out the window, are we?” He snaps his head around at the ref. “TWO? We didn’t even go back to on guard!”
Snowmist sighs and runs a hand over her face.
Darcy takes a moment to laugh herself silly before she raises the mic to her lips and announces, voice shaking with mirth. “And the score is two to zero – with the L’Soth in the lead. My this promises to be a rather interesting tournament.”
Karith slumps in his chair, seeing that Jacob will attempt to rely on technicalities to win.
Betoth hisses furiously, leaping bodily at Jacob, blade flashing in a whirlwind of flurried attack.
Arn’ga removes his feet from the lower row and watches the sword play interested at last
The ref glares at Gettleman. “Misterrr, I call the shots here. You ain’t in a court of law, so hush up and stop tryin’ to weasel out of the match. He’s allowed his style. Notice it says FENCING – not classical doo-doo technical shit.”
Jacob makes a very pitiful “Yowwwww” sort of noise as he sees the incoming scale-covered dervish, and then abandons all appearance of classical training and starts whacking desperately toward Betoth’s head.
Karith grins at the referee’s last remark, then watches the two whacking away at each other with stifled amusement.
Betoth is evidently used to this sort of response to his assaults. Slaver drips from his jaws as he relentlessly hammers at the larger, slower, and weaker being’s defenses.
Darcy puts down the microphone and holds her sides. The faint drift of her laughter echoes through the speakers as she wheezes in absolute mirth, before forcing herself to announce, “And the heat is on, ladies and gentlemen! The L’Soth is absolutely taking the offensive here!”
Jacob growls, “Offensive is right,” as he goes from trying to slam his rapier upside Betoth’s head to simply trying to stand upright and keep his rapier from flying out of his hand.
Merram stifles a yawn.
The ref says, “Three– fourfivesixseven…”
Karith softly comments, “Amazing. The softskin still tries.”
Snowmist buries her face in her hands, shoulders shaking in silent laughter.
Melissa just shakes her head laughing.
Jacob is bent about backward, one knee on the ground, the other just barely off the ground, throwing the blade up to defend himself and lowering his head. He almost looks like a knight awaiting a touch of a sword from a regent.
Darcy applauds. Loudly. She almost forgets she’s holding the mic, but remembers when static suddenly whines through the air, putting it down then to applaud very very enthusiastically and vigorously. In fact, one might have sworn she shouted, “BRAVO!” but one can’t be sure. She does recover after a while and announces, “And advantage to Be of Hatch Toth! Dear me, can Mr. Gettleman recover from this devastating blow?”
Arn’ga grunts to himself, and says in the open “Bout time, easy one happened”
Betoth, his rule of the ring quite obvious by this point, slaps his blade against Gettleman’s shoulder, right near the neck.
The camera set on the tripod beside Darcy records the match away merrily, with blinking lights emitting occasionally.
The ref yells, “EIGHT to the Nall!”
Snowmist straightens slightly with a large gulp of air, and turns slightly to quirk an eyebrow at the way too enthusiastic lady with the mic before turning back to watch the Nall.
Jacob roars like a madman, throws himself to the lift in a wild sort of lunging roll, blade in hand, and then comes up near the center of the ring. He reaches up with his left hand, snatches off the mask and hurls it to the ref. “Hold that, moron.”
Merram throws his head back laughing.
The mask misses the ref and bounces off into the front seat forlornly.
Melissa starts laughing, watching the show.
Karith begins to laugh out loud, the display frightening some of the humans sitting nearby.
Rondeau carefully pats her coiffure. “Much bedder dan da kiddy cad fighd.”
Darcy by now is almost breathless in her mirth and her commentary. “Oh my my my, and not a point to Mr. Gettleman! Ladies and gentlemen, this is not a fight – this is a massacre! It is incredible to watch, but my my I believe the L’Soth is going to bulldoze through!”
Arn’ga hits a seat next to him as he lets out rythmic grunts. He dosnt notice what damage occurs
Betoth, roaring, hurls himself after the retreating lawyer– one bound, two, and his sword comes down at the now-exposed head of Gettleman from the front.
Jacob seems to be expecting this, laughs ferally, and sidesteps the oncoming Nall, taking a swing at Betoth as he’s going past.
The ref’s scowl turns possibly even deeper as he barks, “Ooooone to the Weasel gent!”
Jacob drops his mouth open in shock and turns toward the ref. “Weasel!?”
Betoth, evidently surprised at last, is caught in the side by the incoming blade. His eyes narrow, his slavering maw lolling open. Then he’s leaping at Jacob again, blade flashing mercilessly towards the distracted lawyer.
Karith frowns, seeing that the match will not be over as quickly as he had hoped.
Jacob realizes his error, just in time to turn and see the Nall leaping at him. This time, he DOES drop his sword, and goes running.
Merram sighs and leans against the wall, realizing that the match won’t be over soon.
Darcy announces grandly, “And Mr. Gettleman has scored himself a point! Bravo I say Bravo…oh my and the L’Soth is going in for the proverbial ahh, kill…What will be Mr. Gettleman’s…” And this time she just bursts out laughing. Hard.
Betoth pursues the fleeing human, swinging his sword violently at Gettleman’s backside again and again as he seeks those final two points.
Jacob can’t outrun the Nall – and the ropes stop him anyway. He hits them, huffing and clenching his eyes shut, awaiting the end.
Merram laughs silently to himself
Melissa laughs as she watches this.
Snowmist finally gives in as she slumps in her seat, arms wrapped around her middle as she laughs at Gettleman’s unceremonious retreat.
Betoth smacks his sword against Jacob’s buttocks twice, hard.
Darcy is laughing so hard she actually drops the microphone, her eyes streaming with tears. She finally gains enough wind to retrieve the fallen microphone and wheezes into it, “And…and…and…I believe the retreat has sounded…and M…Mr. Gettleman’s defeat assured!”
Falkenberg smirks, and fights another yawn.
Namura takes out a small notepad and begins writing down something while intermittently, looking up at the fight.
Jacob cringes and rolls himself over the ropes with a yelp, stumbling and collapsing into the first row of seats.
The ref yells, “TWO to the Nall aaaaaand it’s over gents! We have a winner, L’Soth Be of Hatch Toth!”
Arn’ga watches the last two points in glee thumping the seat to stop himself from doing it to someone else
Snowmist is still wheezing while she tries valiantly to straighten, clapping. Mouth twisted in a wry grin, she calls out, “You are every inch the warrior you claim to be, Be of Hatch Toth!”
Jacob picks himself up, dusts himself off and lifts his chin, trying to regain some sense of composure and calm. “Yeah. All 36 of them. And the ref has the same IQ.”
Darcy manages to gasp out, “And yes ladies and g-gentlemen…we have a w-w-winner…Be of Hatch Toth! Well fought, gentlemen…” and she quietly sinks into her seat, lays her head back and her legs out, and just about rolls off onto the floor laughing.
Merram chukles and yawns at the same time
Rondeau claps and even puts two fingers in her mouth for a very unladylike whistle of appreciation.
Jacob raises his fist in defiance. “The Sanctuary Fencing Guild WILL hear about this!”
Namura hehs
Betoth emits a low growl, saying to the retreating Gettleman. “You have scored a point upon me, weak thing, by so readily taking a beating for eight of mine– congratulations. I will not repeat this mistake again.”
Darcy picks up the microphone and wheezes, “Weasel there isn’t one, so admit it, you lost very dramatically!”
Jacob snorts at the Nall, then turns, nose raised appropriately, and ignores Darcy – trembling with anger all the same – as he walks out the door.