Snippet #2690373

Zhyle's mind was predominated by the word "shit" as he turned and walked away from the edge of the viewing gallery. So people were coming for him. They knew what he looked like and in their messed up little world he was somehow involved in fixing fights.
This is not what he had hoped for when he arrived at the arena this morning.

Worst of all it wasn't like he could just clear up this misunderstanding. What was he supposed to say? "I don't have any money? Oh why yes murderous bastard, I do live with those people, but I assure you they have nothing to do with me." And EVEN THAT was assuming he got a chance to speak to them in the first place. It wasn't like he could guarantee safe parlay with them.

He needed to move. He needed to leave, get to somewhere away from the arena. Maybe lose the pursuer(s). If he remained where he was he could be easily found and at worst get his throat slit. So he needed to move. He walked hastily up to the nearest vomitorium and entered into the central concourse of the colosseum. Which, upon arrival to the concourse, he found to be depressingly empty.

"Well of course it is you little shit." he muttered to himself. "Everyone is watching the arena, like you should be right now. You and your big mouth." Composing himself slightly he began making his way through the pathways towards the exit. He had hardly gotten one-hundred feet before he heard the footfalls of running approaching from behind him. Zhyle spun around with a look of surprise plastered on his face as he saw a girl, roughly his age tearing down the concourse after him, short sword already drawn. She skidded to a halt as he turned to face her and evaluated his expression. "What" she spat at him "not what you were expecting?"

"Indeed not" he replied, "I expected at least a hint of subtlety"