are you hungry?

Marc smiled and inclined his head politely as he moved toward the chair and settled in.

He found it irritating that she was splitting her focus, but of course she didn’t yet know why he was here. Assuming she cared as much as he thought she did, surely her priorities would shift.

"I’m tracking an illegal, one who I’ve heard has been taking his share of rations." He paused and smirked slightly. "Catching him would be mutually beneficial, of course, and working together would get results faster. That is, if you’re interested?"

The small detail of this illegal being slippery, difficult, and otherwise problematic wasn’t important. Not yet, at least. No, Sitri only needed to know why she should get involved; the finer details could be shared later. Maybe.

"So, what do you say?"

     As her pen jotted across the page, Sitri's ears were more focused on what Marc had to say. She was interested as soon as he'd said 'tracking an illegal'. Of course she was. She wanted every last one of them dead-- or at least reprimanded and reformed so she could get one with starving people.

     "My dear. I understand now," Sitri said as she finished off her notes, signing the bottom of the page with her delicate and elegant signature. She was neat and precise in everything she did-- and now Marc clearly wanted her help, so she's be allowed a brief moment in time where she could help destroy something. That particular task didn't have to be neat.

     "I say, I'll help you. But only because there's been one particular illegal fucking up my system and I want them gone. It could even be the same illegal, for all we know. And even if it isn't, I still want them gone. I want them humiliated and then destroyed slowly. And I want the whole public to know about it-- you know, setting examples and whatnot. So what do you want me to do?" 

          Fights in the Arena were equal parts exhausting and exhilarating. Her bones were still singing with the adrenalin, with the energy she had pushed through her veins, down her arms and exploding from her hands. The mark of it was evident in the slight stain of her knuckles where they had collided into cheekbones and jawbones and the nose. It was grim music, the cracking of bones to the rushing of breath to the dull roar of hundreds of voices surrounding them.

          Her limbs felt a little heavy as she took heavy steps towards Snake Eyes. She liked the lights of this part of the city, especially at night. She appreciated the way they cut the dark of the sky mercilessly, enduringand unforgivably alive. The rich interior was a different story, but that mostly faded to the background of her mind. It was just another landscape to wade through without losing. The lounge was close to the Arena, the promise of spirits to unwind her mind and relax her muscles like a beacon with the added flashy neon.

          Shayne wasn’t interested in gambling, though it was a little interesting to watch the way people placed money on the line for something that was already stacked against them. Judgment was pointless when every person—every human—was taking their own measures to survive. If gambling was part of that, then gambling was part of that. 

          She heaved herself onto one of the stools in front of the brightly lit bar. She offered a smile that only sat on the edges of her skin to the bartender, exchanging short words and money for the central purpose of coming here. The glass is cold against her action warmed skin, seeping through the epidermis.

          The idea of using one of the slot machines for the hell of it is crossing her mind when there’s another presence at the stretch of the bar. Casually, she swivels her eyes to the other body and is met with a familiar if still strange face. She was the one responsible for rations, so Shayne knew of her, but it was a shallow understanding. Her face meant food and that was all she currently meant to Shayne. Still, the corners of her lips turned up in greeting, polite and brief, and then she was refocusing on the amber liquid of her drink.

          Her appearance is probably less than refined, her lip is split and she has bruises on her skin practically like tattoos, various shades of purple, reds, yellows, and browns. Its living art, proof of her survival and strength. She isn’t ashamed of her appearance, and if it disgusts others, well, they can deal. Its the manifestation of her efforts, personal trophies and medallions of her triumphs.

     One of Sitri's favourite ways to pass the time was to enter the casino and just observe. She found that watching others lose their money while she kept hers safe and secure, hidden away in her home, brought more pleasure to her than it should do. There was something in the way their faces fell and their voices became roused with anger and desperation that tickled her. The way they tried to claw back their luck and win another round of poker or blackjack or roulette, but rarely ever succeed in returning their money to their pockets, made the elusive blonde woman smile with glee. Schadenfreude was probably the correct term to describe how it made her feel; pleasure derived from another's misfortune.

     As cold and almost heartless as she was, Sitri very rarely entered into any of the gambling. As much as she'd love to win, she also knows that the odds are rarely stacking in anyone's favour. Instead, she sat at the bar, watching the world go by within the Snake Eyes establishment. That particular evening she was nursing a bottle of whiskey that the bartender had left her with, knowing that she was good for it. She'd opened a bar tab here a while ago and never left it unpaid. The bartenders all knew her name, and knew why she came here as well. None of them minded; as long as she kept buying drinks, they were all making money regardless of whether she gambled or not. She sipped slowly on her alcohol, laughing ever so quietly whenever someone lost some money nearby.

     After a short while, Sitri felt someone's eyes on her, and turned a little to see another woman at the bar-- obviously a fighter. She looked a little bruised, a little tired, a little worn out. Perhaps she was a winner. Sitri did like to frequent the Arena as well, to indulge herself in watching the violent shows of physical strength. In any case, whether this woman won or lost in her fights, it was always a good idea to make allies who could turn out to be useful to Sitri at a later date.

  Jackson entered the arena that was covered with sand but weed grew a bit from here and there. Also there seemed to be statues with steel lances. He took a step in wearing only jeans and a buttoned tee shirt that was getting tighter with all his muscles growing in, unprotected. As he went deeper into the arena’s field of sand, the crowd began to make a mixture of boos and cheers. The loudness of the people that night could’ve been equivalent to the arena shaking. Jackson didn’t pay any mind to the crowd’s opinions. ‘Alright, Jackson. This is a matter of life and death,’ he told himself. 

He was there for a fight obviously. Jackson only knew the time and place for this fight so the circumstances was to know the name of person and type of fighting style he’d have to use. As the huge cage slid up to reveal the rival, Jackson cocked his head side to side. The cage shown a silhouette figure but he couldn’t see for two long minutes who was behind it. The people grew quiet. So quiet Jackson could hear his heart beats beating faster because the atmosphere was making him both afraid and excited. Then suddenly a human male, whom seem to be younger and scrawnier than he scooted out into the arena. His gaze couldn’t meet Jackson’s as he stared pass the peasants in the arena similar to he. He nodded to a fellow peasant then made a run to one of the statues. 

This shocked Jackson as he was unaware of the situation. Pitying that guy slowed him down, Jackson almost wanted to have mercy on him. Jackson rushes to another statue and slid the lance out. He started to spin them around his shoulders incredibly fast hoping it intimidates the challenger. Though Jackson wasn’t looking when the challenger slashes through his legs. This burned so badly through sweat and openly wounded, Jackson got pissed. 

A voice of his which he didn’t know growl through his own throat. Jackson swung the lance up and stabs the peasant in the throat. There way was he making money today which clearly explains the peasant’s actions before the match. He was no match against him anyhow. Jackson left the stadium but wondered where he could accept the money/favour thing as he was making his way all the way upstairs.

     Sitri enjoyed violence as a sport. It added a little 'oomph' into her otherwise rather stationary lifestyle. She did not participate in the fighting, but she did love to watch a good battle in the Arena. Every now and then, she'd place a bet on a random fighter, hoping to win a little extra cash, earn a few new allies here and there. It couldn't hurt to make friends who are physically strong and relatively brave, as they seem to be if they're fighting in the Arena. Some of them even fight to the death, which Sitri found impressive, although a little unnecessary. If she was going to kill someone, she wanted it long and drawn out and painful, not quick and over too soon in the battle zone.

     Anyway, as she watched this man fighting,  she realised how big he was compared to the other in the ring, and felt undeniably proud that she'd bet on him rather than the other, more scrawny guy. When he won the battle, stabbing his opponent through the throat, Sitri grinned wider than she had in a long time. She wasn't often seen smiling rather than smirking, but she had just won a lot of money. As she collected the money after the match, it dawned on Sitri that she should take the young man out for a drink, seeing as he'd made her night worthwhile. She wandered to the exit of the stadium and waited at the top of the stairs, until she noticed the man walking up there himself.

Astaroth knew that violence thrilled her, it was common knowledge, but the fact she wasn’t afraid, it was a little disconcerting to the Prince. Most were terrified when he got angry, he often wondered if the other Prince’s were scared of him. He would never mean to hurt his makeshift family, but his mind wasn’t all there and he often did things he didn’t remember, things he regretted, and some of those always ended up with bloodshed.

His eyebrows narrowed, a bit perplexed by her reaction, but as she said he already had her respect, his face slid back to a more stoic expression. “I suppose I do..” he mumbled slightly, his gaze going around the room, glancing to the paperwork on Sitri’s desk and wondering how long it would take her to get through all that, and how much of it was already full of inequality. He was going to go with, all of it. Knowing Sitri’s she’d have the humans fighting over scraps and the Prince’s, along with herself, dining on the finest Purgatory has to offer. Astaroth just wanted to make sure she was making the humans scrape the trash cans.

“They deserve far less than my job demands that I grant them; it couldn’t hurt to bring them a little pain and misery, right? Although, I don’t appreciate your insinuation that I’m not doing my job properly.”

Astaroth gave a rather nonchalant shrug, not bothered by her hurt feelings, not in the slightest. It might of been humans that he hated, but the only people he really cared about, were his fellow Princes. Sitri although he liked her, was still below him, or that was how he saw it. “Dedicated as you are my dear, it is a Prince’s duty to make sure Purgatory is running the way Lucifer wants it.”

When she asked about specific targets he grinned “Oh my dear, so many have wronged me, and yet I cannot kill everyone.” he sighed, rather dramatically before he was laughing “How about we start with my tenants, I think most of the little rats could do with a lesson on priorities.” Astaroth ran a hand over his face before tapping his fingers to his temples, massaging like he was getting a headache. Images of the other day flashed in to his mind, and yes, it ached.

All these violent images of blood, of glass, sharp and wet, dripping… As soon as they came they went, his mind clear again and he smiled to Sitri. “Do you know, I came across a fat man in one of my apartments the other day, behind in his rent, and yet in his refrigerator, he had steak, he had vegetables. Now…. I tell you, is that right? To withhold money, MY money, and yet splash out on luxury dinners?” his head shook, his expression becoming furious “NO!” he growled “And I will not have it happen again!”

     While Sitri knew that Astaroth could often fly into rages and become quite unpredictable, a part of her relished in those moments. Of course, she had concerns like everyone else, but she was so cool and collected that she could most of the time evade his wrath. She even found it amusing to watch him in such a way. Sitir had a morbid fascination with anger and violence, and could watch it occurring with an incredibly straight face. She wasn't squeamish in the slightest, and often found herself out in the streets watching a brawl or a murder in the streets and being surprised--- even now, after all this time-- at just how little she cared. Not one bit.

     "I am truly dedicated. And you are right, of course, as you always are. You must be absolutely certain that Purgatory is just so," she agreed with him. "We all want Lucifer to be happy. I would do whatever it takes to ensure your satisfaction-- I hope you know that, Astaroth. Whatever it takes." Sitri wasn't lying either; her loyalty was unfaltering and would never fade. Not unless they did something truly horrific to her, which they'd never do because she was irreplaceable. She shuffled her paperwork off to one side of her desk, making sure it was out of the way and yet still neat. Her attention was solely on Astaroth now, and thinking of ways she could fulfill his requests.

     "Darling, we don't have to kill everyone, no. We could make them all suffer, which lasts longer, and strikes fear into their hearts..." Sitri paused in her speech while Astaroth seemed to be rubbing his head, his face looking pained and troubled. Sitri remained silent until he spoke again, not wanting to provoke him. He was getting angry now, Sitri could tell, and it was unnerving how quickly he had shifted.

     The accountant nodded at him, her expression sympathetic although she felt nothing. It was true that this fat man had to be stopped-- he was clearly crossing a line here and Sitri would be the one to put an end to his gluttony. "Don't you worry. Don't you get all worked up--- we could have him killed for this. I could have someone on that right now, and he'd be gone within a few hours... Or we could play the long game. I can withhold his rations in the same way as he withheld your rent. That way you'll have time to extract more money from him before he dies. It's up to you, my dear. I'll do whatever will be satisfactory. I don't like seeing you upset, you know."