fandomhigh | Tournament, Danger Shop, Day 2

Tyler	The Nemesis side of the Danger Shop Coliseum might have seemed brighter this morning, with the record of five wins and three losses the day before. The judges were again at their podium, and Tyler poured soda into a conspicuously logoed cup before talking. "I don't see why we have to go through a whole day more of this," he said idly. "We're just kicking their asses. I feel embarrassed for them."
Deathstroke	"It's not over yet, Durden," Deathstroke replied, ignoring the lounging like a pro. He had his own match today. Hopefully it would be better than yesterday
Tyler	"You're saying you think there's going to be any challenge for our side?" Tyler asked, lighting a cigarette. "Unless somebody wants to lose." Which was, in truth, always a possibility with him. You learned stuff when you lost.
Ghanima	"If it's a challenge you're looking for, perhaps Miss Watson would be happy to enlighten you," Ghanima replied dryly. "Either of them. Nemesis is only ahead by two, and we have two more days to go."
Tyler	"And thank you, Paula," Tyler shrugged, leaning forward to read the list of events. "Looks like I'm up first, so I'll rejoin this fascinating conversation in a few." He pushed back, gulped some more soda, and headed to the competitors' locker room.
Deathstroke	Slade watched him go, not saying anything to the contrary. Once Tyler was gone, he looked at Ghanima out of the corner of his eye. "Interesting that you don't have an opponent like either of us."
Ghanima	Ghanima rolled her eyes and looked over at her remaining co-judge. "Is he always this annoying, or does he just hate women that much?" "I have no opponent because I have no nemesis," she replied, looking out at the rest of the Danger Shop. "Despite what some would-be challengers might think, I have only ever had one. Myself."
Deathstroke	Slade hummed thoughtfully. "As for Durden... he can explain himself. I'm not his keeper." That was totally a yes on the annoying part.
Ghanima	That was totally a yes on the annoying part, and Ghani smirked. "And you?" she asked, tapping the list before her. "What's your stake in all this? Forgive my presumption, but you don't seem to approve of the tournament." The tau whispered at her for a moment, and Ghani tilted her head to consider him. "You're a professional, not a fanatic."
Deathstroke	"Exactly. I'm a professional."
Ghanima	Hired, then. Ghanima did, actually, respect that. "Then let's get your professional opinion on this one," she said, smiling as she lifted her hand. "Time to make Durden earn his keep."

[OOC: OCD up!]

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Now Korr faltered as anger surged up in him, making his steps harsh and stilted.

Jan lengthened his stride, all grace and youth, and positioned himself at Korr's side. No longer was he following, he was anticipating. Korr moved and Jan was moving with him.

Their hooves beat the ground in time, two shadows circling the arena, splitting apart then coming back together, neither leading, neither following. It was irresistible, the sense of fellowship that was rising in him, the feeling of once more being part of a herd. It pushed aside everything that had gone before, the enmity, the confusion, and he forgot about the audience.

Jan curved an ear towards Korr.

Korr watched his son dance the steps of the ancient pattern, as they moved in tandem as never before. Maybe he could learn after all. Maybe after his time trapped on this island full of humans, away from the enchantments of the wych-mare, he could learn his place and be Ringbreaker no more.

Together, they sped up, breaking into a floating canter, perfectly matched. Jan's tail flagged, his neck curved, and he brushed his shoulder against the other unicorn's.

Korr could stay. They would finish this contest, and it didn't matter which of them won. The invaders would be thrown off and once Jan explained how good these people were, Korr would stay. It was no wonder he'd attacked Molly, if he'd been all alone on the bad island, no one to show him kindness as they'd shown Jan.

Korr startled but didn't break stride. One of his ears curved towards Jan as they trotted a complicated pattern, circling around each other.

He would keep Jan alive. Perhaps he could be salvaged, remade in Korr's own image to become a fitting Prince of Fandom once its current inhabitants had been disposed of.

Jan's heart leapt and he surged forward to take the lead, breaking into the most ancient of their dances, steps measured and precise, each movement exactly as it had been for a thousand years.

With a glint in his eyes that could almost have been approval, Korr followed easily, pace and canter and swirl and break, and their hooves slammed into the ground simultaneously.

In his joy, Jan broke free of the pattern. Korr could not have meant the things he had said in the park. It was the isolation and the company he'd had that were responsible. After this, all would be well.

The ancient dance wasn't enough, not even close, and he bounded sideways, legs crossing as he curvetted across the arena, head down and ears forward, lost in the movement.

Edited 2008-09-20 07:45 (UTC)

Korr did not follow. He slowed, stopped, and the glint in his eyes faded. Rage replaced it as he watched Jan. It was blasphemy, this corruption of their ways, an affront to Alma and a mockery of all that was sacred.

It was an abomination. Jan hadn't changed. Jan would never change.

Jan didn't notice he danced alone. He was joy and freedom and pure movement, lighter than air. He was the wind and the sun, and he kicked out with his back legs, spun on his front, hooves flashing.

Only the knowledge of what they'd do to him if he lost kept Korr still. If he struck Jan down he would no doubt lose the contest. Losing the contest would mean losing his life, and he intended to live.

Jan danced, mane flying, tail streaming out behind. He was the vault of the sky, the drifting clouds. Soon, he would know who he was; soon, he would once more be part of a herd.

Korr contemplated murder in all its various possibilities, and ground one hoof into the earth.

Smooth and fluid, Jan slid to a stop and reared, perfectly balanced, to fling himself into the air, as if had suddenly sprouted wings. Forelegs tucked beneath him, rear legs lashing out, he hung there for one heartbeat, two, and then he was landing as lightly as a feather, head held high.

It was then he realised the only hoofbeats he'd heard had been his own.

Korr was a statue in the centre of the arena, radiating both anger and contempt.

Confused, Jan dipped his head, sides heaving, and took one tentative step towards Korr.

"Cheat." Korr proclaimed, throwing the words out into the air. "Cheater and corrupter and abomination. You broke the circle, broke the Ring. You mock our ancient traditions, corrupt the dance."

Stung, Jan threw up his head. "I only--"

Korr cut him off with a scream of rage, white foam flying to spatter his black coat, and spun to face the judges. "I claim this victory!"

With a sinking heart, Jan, too, turned towards the judges to await their verdict, his hope and his joy crumbling away into dust.

Tournament, Danger Shop, Day 2

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