Javelin held a hand out, refusing the offered bottle of rum, much to Vodny's disappointment. The yellow-skinned captain smirked, laying her two right arms on the mess hall table.

"I am forbidden from drinking this evening. Harrison knows what alcohol does to the senses."

Her gray-skinned comrade from another squad, one of the few she personally knew from the gathering team, gave a horribly fake look of innocence, taking the seat beside her. "Whatever do you mean? It is nourishment for the soul."

The yellow-skinned captain gave an unserious stare, trying not to chitter at the other's bias towards the drink. "Of course… And I thought males were supposed to partake in such drinks first."

"Yes, usually. The Creator—Mountain Lord bless his benevolence—offered me and Morskoy the first drinks. Now, I'm sure you are allowed to partake in a sip if I am offering."

The tall glass jug was placed on the table, made of the clearest material the promoted guardswoman had ever seen, and filled with a liquid just as translucent. The bottle took on a fiery design, with licks of flame partially thickening the sides in tendrils that reached to the top, where small star-shaped embers made up the neck, used as the handle—a clever design to assist holding. This was undoubtedly Cera's professional work.

"I think I would prefer to sample our settlement's alcohol once the games are finished," Javelin conceded, returning her gaze to the ongoing spar between a bulky miner and a more agile farmer.

The match was a bit difficult to see, since she was sitting two tables back, away from the main mass of onlookers. She did not actually care too much for it, given that neither of the combatants were from her squad. The concept of metal gauntlets used in the games had initially interested her, but the material evidently changed nothing of the game compared to that of stone, wood, or bone equivalents, given rule restrictions on accessories.

Vodny rested her own thinner, gauntlet-fitted arms onto the dining surface, stealing a swig from the bottle. "After the games? I thought you said you were not intent on finding a mate so soon?"

"I am not. I simply wish to be prepared for my next rotation."

The fisherwoman looked down at the captain's charcoal black and fiery orange kimono and shrugged. "I suppose you are not… I do not know if I should envy you for your position or not." Another swig poured down her muzzle without so much as a grimace. "I believe I am leaning toward not. But such is the path of the guardswoman. You hold more honor in your determined frills than my sinful tail has ever experienced."

Javelin kindly looked at her out of the corner of her eye. "You say such as if your place amongst the Mountain is all but decided. Were you not speaking of your gratitude for another chance the other day?"

"I said nothing of climbing the Mountain. Your adherence to your post only reminded me…" The gray-skinned female smiled to herself before giving her full attention to the guardswoman, away from the bottle. "It reminded me of when I asked you about our elder's lack of a mate. I believe I understand your plight and desire to defend those you love."

"What's brought this up so suddenly?" the captain questioned, starting to suspect her conversation partner had more than just those two sips to drink.

Vodny leaned in closely, directing her intent. "Never speak of this to another soul. But, earlier this afternoon, I found myself awfully curious of Medic's whereabouts after the announcement. I found him with Oliver in the workshop, producing two metal-necked blouses!"

Javelin's eyes widened, a smile growing along her lips. "He intends to propose this evening?"

"I see it in his eyes, it's true!" the fisherwoman touted, nodding joyously.

"Then you are set up for success, no matter the games' outcome. Where is he now? What of your sister?"

The gray-skinned female looked the other way, toward the kitchen. "He was assisting the other males in cooking, of course, but I do not see him now. Perhaps he is with Morskoy. She went to complete tasks for Akula… And yes, I am assured of the outcome, but I do wish to entertain him when he comes back. I plan to participate in the spear games next."

A loud 'SLAM' stole both of their attentions, drawing the eye toward the spar going on in the center of the room. The miner hunched over the squashed farmer. Javelin scoured the floor for her gauntlets, finding all four to be held onto the ground… A decisive win for the harvester, that was for sure.

That was Javelin's cue. She stood up, drank the last of her plain hot water, and tightened the obi holding up her kimono by her stomach. She made sure the bow on her back was kept perfectly level, the gray haneri around her neck also needing to be pulled out a little.

Vodny clicked her tongue twice. "Is your match next?"

"It is sometime after. I would like a few minutes to prepare myself before," she returned politely, making sure not to get her dress caught on anything as she left.

The fisherwoman held her bottle up in a toast. "I wish you luck in your match. I shall be cheering you on."

Javelin smiled. "As I will for you."

She made her way around the tables toward the group at large, squeezing between some bulky miners toward Rook, who stood just outside the sparring circle. The Head Harvester was busy checking over the gauntlets of a machine-gunner that the captain had become quite familiar with over the last few weeks.

The green-skinned spear noticed her approach, raising her chin in notice. "Greetings, Javelin. Are you up next? The other spears have been waiting for someone to put the harvester in her place."

Rook finished her inspection and turned around fully, the smallest grin on her maw at her squadmate's success. Yet, she let Javelin respond. "No, not for a few matches."

"That is a shame. I would have liked to see her thrown over your shoulder like our shields-woman the other day."

Rook gave the machine gunner a pat on the shoulder to let her know that her gown attire was legal, stepping away from the conversation and toward the sparring center. It was only then that the captain realized that her squadmate's necklace was made from harvested abhorrent teeth. Furthermore, the silk of her arm fans was made thick and imbued with some unknown material. Was it perhaps chitin? Her greaves were definitely made up of the abhorrent-sourced material, opposite of her metal gauntlets.

Javelin raised a brow, baring her teeth in a wide smile. "You shall see me trounce my opponent soon enough. I assume you are unaware of who is stepping up next?"

"That, I do not know," the shield-sister admitted before looking toward the Head Harvester. "Rook. Who is participating next?"

"The paladin is next," Rook returned, glancing back over her shoulder. She crouched down and offered a canteen of steaming water to the sitting fisherwoman from the last match.

Shar'khee? Javelin raised her head to look above the other females, failing to spot her squad leader's towering form above the rest. The captain tilted her head. "But she is not present. Are we waiting for her?"

The orange-skinned miner spoke as she helped the losing fighter up to her feet, holding her steady and looking her over. "We are… I have faith she shall be back soon. Last I heard, she intended to fetch our Creator and entice him to watch."

"I was beginning to wonder when a few certain participants would arrive." The yellow-skinned guardswoman held a palm underneath her snout in thought. "It has been at least twenty minutes since the games began."

"Indeed. I assume they are planning something, most likely bringing it here."

As if on cue, the double doors at the end of the room burst open. Everyone collectively turned around, facing the arriving characters and their wooden crates in hand. All the missing settlers came through and dropped wooden containers by the entrance… and revealed their peculiar dresses.

Javelin sifted through the group around the sparring circle to get a better look. She had already seen Shar'khee's designed gown and all its pristine white glory, down to the expertly exposed scars across her muscled and toned arms, gossamer-covered belly, and exposed leg. The same went for Akula, given all of her squad similarly wore coral or wooden and floral accessories.

However, she had yet to take in what the star-sents would wear. Some part of her hoped to see Tracy mimic the standard female attire and have Harrison take on the most elegant, masculine gown.

But, in true star-sent fashion, they introduced something new. The Artificer donned a beautifully deep green-toned and tightly-fitting dress that extended from her neck down to her knees, while the Creator wore what appeared to be the top half of what was expected of his sex, but removed the wide skirt and its silhouette, leaving a simple but thick, draping cloth that fit him neatly.

The arrivals swiftly finished setting their things down, splitting up and approaching the main celebrations. Tracy walked right beside Harrison, softly pushing into him, whilst Shar'khee stood tall over both of them, her tail resting atop her soon-to-be mate's shoulder. They made for Rook, assumedly for the paladin's match, but the fair-skinned Artificer stopped entirely, staring right at Javelin.

The captain could not help a sudden smirk. The star-sent noticed it. She broke away from her chosen male, her eyes wide with a surprise and excitement.

"Jav! You did not print out Kiki's summer festival kimono!"

The tiny female scampered up to the yellow-skinned guardswoman, walking a full circle around her.

"You even included her giant orange obi bow?!"

"But of course I did!" Javelin returned, matching her anime-watching partner's mirth. "What reason would I have to do anything but match her wind-blessed and fiery illuminance!"

Tracy made her way back to the front, beaming up at the captain. "It's actually perfect for you! I never would have thought to put a fucking kimono on a shark girl, but wow, I wish I had thought of it before. How'd you get the blueprints for Kiki's specifically?"

Javelin looked down at and pulled some of the fabric out, being extra careful with her talons' points. "I saw a base within the clothing folder and thought to request the sewist and seamstress imbue it with an enchanting orange." She returned her focus to the start-sent. "Now, I did not know your kind's lips changed hue. I have never seen it in such a glossy black color before."

"Oh no, that's just lipstick," Tracy corrected, pushing her bottom lip out to show where the black ended and slick pink began.

The yellow-skinned female's brows raised as she nodded. "I see. Is it common for you to apply charcoal to such places? Is it… a part of your pairing rituals?"

"Well, it's not charcoal. But for a pairing ritual…" the Artificer's eyes wandered toward the rest of the crowd. Harrison had been obscured entirely by females and various colors of gown cloth, though his position could be easily estimated by the massive paladin towering above the others, her gaze always affixed on him.

The female star-sent took in a deep breath, drawing her confidence and pointing a finger to her lips. "I'd say that's pretty accurate. You'll be seeing this same black on him later tonight."

Javelin raised her brows in a subtle show of shock. She knew not what that meant, but its implications were clear. There was once a hesitance, or maybe a fear, in Tracy's eyes at truly showing what she wanted. The star-sent held a deep desire in her heart, but allowed it to be restrained and weak. She never had the gall to truly fight for it. Hence, Shar'khee, and all her strength, fortitude, and determination to claim her male, especially as of recently, was simply the only choice for Harrison in Javelin's mind. The courage of another stronger female would simply decide his second mate.

Now, in the wake of the abominable mimics' burning, the astounding effectiveness of the drones, and Tracy's fervor…

The captain offered a toothy grin and placed a hand on the Artificer's miniscule shoulder. "Then do not let me keep you here. You have a much greater goal to pursue this evening."

The star-sent shot a finger gun and made a clicking noise. "Right back at cha. I'll catch you around, yeah?"

"Of course. May your feet find sturdy ground."

Tracy hastened off around the sparring circle, the parting of females showing her course toward Harrison. Javelin rejoined the same crowd with a renewed curiosity. There would be much to keep track of this evening.

Shar'khee stepped into the center of the 'ring,' eying down the current victor of the last fight. The miner's chest still heaved in exhaustion. Yet, she still stood, eyes wide and muzzle quaking in the shadow of the paladin.

The revered squad leader looked back at the Creator, who sat at a bench on the edge of the circle, and bared a wide, toothy grin at him. Her eyes were alight in a blazing orange, begging him to watch and saying, 'Stare at me. Look only at me. Be assured of my greatness amongst the rabble. Gaze upon my strength and know the safest place in all of Ershah shall be my arms.'

Harrison may just be the luckiest male in all of the four wide seas.

- - - - -

Javelin groaned, curling up on the floor and holding her stinging shoulders. She prayed to the Mountain lord they were still in their proper sockets, laying down in the hopes of not making the pain any worse. Every string of sinew along her arms had been pulled taut and made raw in two simple moves.

…Why did she even bother stepping up to challenge Shar'khee? She knew what the end result was before she even entered the ring. The paladin had won four straight rounds!

A palm gripped her bicep, forcing her to flinch.

"Are you harmed in any way? Forgive me for being too rough… I had not meant to throw you in such a way," Shar'khee apologized.

Javelin grimaced and sucked up her pain enough to roll over onto her back. She glared incredulously at her kneeling, twenty-second-long opponent. "…You meant not to rip my arms from my torso and flip me over your shoulder?"

The squad leader at least offered a remorseful look. "Well, I had meant to, yes. But, not with force to twist your arms in such a way. I hope you do not hold onto this event as a benchmark of my character."

The captain hissed at a stinging coming from her side, rolling her eyes. "You need not apologize. I understand why you are showing off."

A blue flush crept over the maroon-face staring back at her. Of course, this was all for Harrison to see. Hopefully, Shar'khee's prowess would make his proposal come swifter. Javelin did not want to see the paladin in any more games going forward.

She held out a hand. "You may atone by assisting me here."

The paladin took it and hauled the aching captain to her feet. Javelin patted her squad leader on the shoulder.

"May you find sturdy footing along the ground for your next spar."

The captain walked away from the sparring circle with only the slightest limp, her hazy vision clearing just enough to take in the crowd's reactions. There was no shame in her defeat, and no disgust in their eyes at her quick failure. She went up against Shar'khee, a paladin. The fact that the yellow-skinned guardswoman actually accepted the challenge and tried to use her gained knowledge to even the odds gave her honor.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

An open seat on the same bench as Harrison caught her attention. She let her weight down between a friend of hers in the same squad and a miner. Another pained half-sigh, half hiss escaped her when she rested her back onto the table behind her spot. She shut her eyelids in the hopes that a lack of lighting would make the throbbing in her shoulder bones dissipate quicker.

"How bad is it?" A gruff projection of intent pulled her out of the immediate daze—Rook's, by how deep it was.

Javelin opened her eyes to find Head Harvester's wide frame blocking the white lights. She held out a thermos and looked the battered captain up and down. The yellow-skinned female could only lower her head in a half-shrug, doing her best to hold her afflicted limbs still as she accepted the warm offering.

Rook crossed all four arms over her chest. "Your shoulders and side, I presume? Will you need further treatment? Our female medic is present and available."

"I only need rest. I appreciate your concern." The captain took a sip of the heated water, looking over toward the kitchen. A few of the males were around there alongside Akula, who was taking her apron off. "Where is our male medic, then?"

The Head Harvester's brows shot up, a skeptical tone in her voice. "I was not aware you held aspirations for this evening's hunt. He is not in the kitchen, and he is not with his usual pair, so you would have to look elsewhere… You are aware he has attempted to mate with the twins, yes?"

Javelin did not have the energy to try and fully clear herself of the misinterpretation. She weakly waved a hand. "It was simple curiosity."

"…If you say so. Do let someone know if your pain worsens. It would do us no good to put our good captain into a cast," Rook warned, taking one last look-over before departing.

The yellow-skinned guardswoman nodded, once more appreciating the sentiment.

A sudden hush went over conversations of intent and food preparation. Akula stepped into the sparring circle, head raised high. Her dress was pitch black. Black like her poised frills and splayed hands. Black like the shadow underneath her sneer. It was only the various colors of coral around her necklace and gauntlets that broke up her insidious form, each of a green or bluish hue.

Shar'khee simply stood still, staring down the challenger through heavy breaths. This would be her sixth fight in a row.

Akula strutted up to the center, stopping not two paces away. "You appear quite assured in your abilities."

"Indeed. Unlike you, I am able to prove them," the paladin retorted with a deep growl.

"We shall see about that."

Rook approached the center of the circle, purposefully making louder stomps. "Do you wish to spar next?"

Akula bobbed her head once in the affirmative.

"Have you requested to be exchanged with the next opponent?"

"I have accepted Akula's request," answered a fisherwoman from the surrounding circle.

"Understood." Rook held her hands out expectantly. The dark green-skinned overseer offered her arms, allowing the match conductor to hold them. "You shall be made aware that any additions to pure gauntlets outside base thickness, carvings, or paint are restricted. I will ask you to remove yours."

Akula kept her eye contact with the Head Harvester, holding onto a conceited grin as she took her coral veneer off and handed the remnants off to a summoned farmer. "There. Am I prepared to dethrone the tyrant of this sparring ring?"

The orange-skinned harvester gave another look at the gauntlets and greaves of the overseer, confirming their legality in combat. Somehow, she maintained her indifference to all but the rules in the face of Akula's sickening ego.

"You are free to spar once the match begins."

Javelin sat up straight on her chair, ignoring the pain of motion. This would be exciting. She could see the others lean in, giving their full attention to what would be undoubtedly the most interesting matchup of the night. Finally, the rotten fish-gargling overseer would be made a fool of, and her arrogance curbed and squashed into the floor.

The anti-tank specialist next to Javelin poked her with an elbow, nodding toward the mass of fisherwomen, farmers, and gatherers. "Do you see it? Their confidence? Their squad still believes their prowess in war is secure."

The captain eyed the blood-moon-recovering, coral gown-wearing females. "I do. I suspect their will has yet to be shattered by the difference in our blood-moon kill count. Perhaps they believe their bandages appear attractive to the males as well."

"Surely they realize that such damage only outlines their failures. Those are not representative of successful battles with ocean predators."

Javelin allowed herself to become more comfortable in her seat. "Let them think so. Their haughty overseer shall be needing more soon. Being thrown by Shar'khee was no pleasure, I assure you."

The anti-tank specialist smirked. "You are also forgetting that Shar'khee holds no ire toward you. I am sure the damage you received shall be doled out sevenfold to her mortal rival."

"Then we are in for an exceptional fight."

Two sides had formed behind their leaders, with others from the rest mingled in between the array of gowns and skin colors. Javelin found herself with the others of her squad and the star-sents, whilst the other side formed somewhat opposite to her, mostly to her right, with the Kitchen largely behind them.

Lines were drawn, and the titans in the center stared each other down. Shar'khee crouched lower, prepared to use her exceptional upper body strength whilst Akula stood up fully, holding her hands out wide and making her next move unknown.

Both were still as statues. The entire world was silent, even the music having been paused.

"Opponents, find your ground," Rook ordered.

The paladin dug her legs in.

"Prepare yourselves for a standard spar. No talons, horns, or tails."

The overseer reined her splayed claws into mitts, set to grip and pull.

"Begin!"

Akula launched off the ground like a bolt of lightning, soaring into the air, legs first. Shar'khee swiftly crossed her gauntlets over her chest, taking the brunt of the kick. One of her hands jolted outwards, just barely grazing the overseer's foot as it pushed off.

The two warriors separated momentarily, only for the fisherwoman to dash forward again, arms held out to strike.

Foolish mistake.

Shar'khee snapped her hand over the other's gauntlet and yanked her into a spin, letting go and propelling Akula off to the side. The overseer erratically flailed her tail, rotating midair to land on her hands. Her claws dug into the wooden facade of the floor from the force, revealing the pseudomycelium bricks beneath as she made for another attack.

The offensive Malkrin lunged forward. Shar'khee tensed, shooting an arm out to catch it but missed. Gauntlets clanked against each other as the overseer parried a second one out of the way, leaving an exposed side.

Akula connected a fist, digging her gauntlet's metal top into the flesh beneath her opponent's arm drapes before she hopped backward. The two separated a few paces, encircling and glaring at their opponent with the intensity of a mining laser. The paladin withheld a wince, and the fisherwoman's fingers shuddered in pain from the impact.

A few chitters and growls of approval filtered from the opposing squad. The anti-tank specialist beside Javelin growled, muttering her intent, "A cheap shot, that one."

Shar'khee briefly looked back toward Harrison. Her snarl faltered, yet the determination in her pinched brows heightened. A patter of footsteps was all the paladin was given before the vicious Akula launched herself. The paladin whipped her head around, snagging the attacker's arm and thrusting her momentum into the ground with a 'SLAM.'

Heads from all around the crowd recoiled back at the new dent left in the floor, and eyes widened at the dark green-skinned female managing to slink out of the massive defender's grasp and roll away. Shar'khee tried to grab her once more, but her opponent was quick to her feet. She jabbed another fist into the paladin's side, eliciting a grunt of pain this time.

Akula greedily went in for a second strike, managing to thrust it into the same spot. The overseer's eagerness for damage blinded her to the fist above her, crashing down into her shoulders and sending her careening into the ground again.

A round of chitters echoed from the spears in the crowd, opposed by growls from the opposite side.

Shar'khee did not wait for her rival to slither away, latching onto the other's gauntlets and harshly shoving her back to the ground, supine. The paladin leveraged her strength to plant herself on the other's legs, sealing the match's fate.

It was over. Akula's only strength was her speed. She would not win a snapping contest as the bottom.

Akula thrashed and kicked, her brows furrowed in a rage like no other. Shar'khee responded with a growl and a snap of her teeth toward the fish-licker's gills. The overseer defended with a gnash of her own, biting the air at every angle the paladin tried. She was locked into a losing fight. There was no escape.

Their maws went back and forth, spawning marks and bites along the other's face, seeping droplets of purplish-red that flicked onto the floor with each strike. Growls, clasping teeth, and heaving breaths echoed throughout the room, only dulled by the encouragement and clamor of the settlement intently watching every move.

Akula's ears folded to her head. She pushed her chest out and lashed her head upward in a desperate bid to deal a match-changing bite. Shar'khee seized the overseer's teeth with her own. Her jaws clenched, powerful muscles within flexing and pulling the skin taut in their might.

The dark green-skinned female's eyes widened, a muffled yelp escaping the clasped maws. Shar'khee cared not for her pain, her intent bellowing out like thunder. "DO YOU YIELD?"

Akula's back bent in agony, yet she glared at the female overpowering her. "Not to the likes of—"

The paladin clenched harder, a dribble of blood seeping down her writhing prey's lips, by her ears, off her frills, and onto the floor. Yet the overseer had fight still in her, wincing through the pain and whipping her head side to side. Shar'khee forced Akula's head into the floor, pinning her fully to the ground.

"YIELD!" the paladin ordered.

The overseer hissed through her muzzled maw. "You would have to take my life!"

"End this at once!" "STOP!" Rook and Harrison shouted, both entering the central circle.

"What the hell do you mean 'take my life'? Are you insane?" The Creator chastised the two, still mouth-interlocked, females.

Rook placed herself beside him, holding a palm on her hip-mounted kukri as if the fighters were wild, unpredictable animals. "Your match is over. Stand up."

Javelin blinked, the momentary silence taking her out of a focused daze and reintroducing her to the world around once more. The gathering squad scowled, while the few females present from the strike team kept a calm demeanor with a few smiles. All the miners scattered through the circle appeared tense and primed to strike. They must have expected Shar'khee to actually take Akula's life if they were truly prepared to bear the sin of intervening with another's sparring match.

The final, miscellaneous squad of logistics workers, construction managers, and mech pilots appeared indifferent, save for Oliver and Cera's worried expressions and Tracy's grass-pink flush over her cheeks. What an odd reaction for the star-sent. Was it a blush of fear, perhaps? It was a close match, down to a snapping and maw-locking bout at the end. Nothing besides the tense ending could reasonably cause such.

Motion from the center stole her attention again. Akula had been freed of Shar'khee's oppressive strength and allowed to sit up. She cradled her maw, spitting a glob of blood and teeth out into another palm.

"Christ… Do you want to hit the med bay?" Harrison cautiously asked, reaching for his back to find no aid kit present. He hissed in regret.

Akula shook her head, wiping blood from her cheeks. "I need no such thing. A brutish match will not wear my form down."

Shar'khee was off to the side, checking her gown for damage. "I had hoped it would—"

"Shar!" the Creator snapped. The paladin shrank backwards, her ears drooping.

Harrison continued his triage, finally confirming that she was in no harm, and sent her back to her squad. Javelin knew her snapped and torn-out teeth would regrow soon, so there was no need to truly worry.

All scars healed with time. The script-keeper once told the captain that.

Of course, the damage of said scars would linger. Some people argue that having the sparring contests at the end of the games is best; why gain wounds before struggling through other bouts of strength? Yet, those individuals are always the ones who lose them. They spar first to use their strength for the most impactful event. Even better, competing in the following games with competition-borne injuries drew the masculine gaze. But, those latter contests were more for one's ego and honor in their skills rather than garnering attention to themselves.

…Javelin may be biased after her guardswoman training. Nevertheless, she still had another sparring match set up, facing another who also had to face Shar'khee.

There was no point in fighting for first. The real challenge was fighting for second behind the paladin.

…Unless someone were to dethrone her.

Cera entered the circle and waved Rook down, giving a small wave and an unassuming smile to Shar'khee. The maroon-skinned warrior turned to face her, stretched her arms, and rolled her neck around.

Another interesting twist.

\= = = = =

Harrison raised a brow at the approaching red-skinned fisherwoman. She held a bottle of synthesized rum and was accompanied by a familiar, black-skinned farmer. Their faces were somewhat obscured by the floodlights placed on the sides of the dormitory's exterior.

"Hey, how's it going?" he asked kindly, sitting up on his bench by the heater.

The engineer had been sitting outside, alone, for a minute or two while the others took the crates from the mess and went to set up the foam-dart battle soon to rage across the walled settlement. It was a game he had an interest in participating in, but the others really wanted him to be an observer-slash-judge, which was fine. He was curious how Tracy's mech pilots would fare against small teams from the others squads anyway; this would be the first game where people wouldn't have to fight for second place behind Shar. Then again, Cera whooped her ass one-on-one after the Akula match.

Never mind that, Harrison wasn't truly alone outside. Oliver and the shop-keeper finished their meal preparation a bit ago and sat one table down with some of the females not participating in the next game. Not to mention the patrolling guards making their rounds, and Cera appearing in and out of the shadows to check in on him—And presumably the craftsman too.

"Greetings, Creator. We are doing quite swell," the fisherwoman purred, stopping just in front of his legs and forcing him to crane his neck up.

The other Malkrin female took a seat right beside him, resting her arms over the table behind him. She tensed up for a moment when her limb accidentally touched his bare skin, but quickly allowed herself to take his warmth "You were sitting by your lonesome, without that… *paladin… We came to ask how your evening has been. I understand you have yet to celebrate such an occasion before. What do you think of the games?"*

"The games? They've been pretty damn entertaining," he answered honestly, staying amicable with how close she was…

Well, it was half honest. Watching Shar rip Akula's teeth out fucking hurt to watch, but he couldn't take his eyes off of it for a singular moment. It was like seeing an actual dog fight. He always knew the Malkrin were kind of… like that, but still…

At least he didn't misinterpret the brutality for a make-out session like Tracy.

Outside the technician's newly found fetish, a joke he would never let her see the end of, there was spear-throwing, a weight-lifting challenge, and some other small duels using specific muscle groups. Those were definitely interesting, kinda like arm-wrestling but with tails or legs, and kept him entertained the entire night. Shar begged him to follow her to each game, as if he wasn't already going to do that anyway. Her insistence was adorable, though unnecessary.

There was no way he would miss out on Sharky in her white dress, dominating the competition with her strength. The elegance of the cloth draped under her arms and around her waist waved in the air with her deft movements. Her unyielding power flexed her muscles beyond anything her opponents could imagine. And her bright, toothy smile seemed always to be directed toward him after every victory.

His heart would stop in those moments, as if the world paused to let him look at her joy a little longer; other times his skin, and especially his face, felt ten times hotter. It was impossible to take his eyes off her, making him miss her sweeping, irresistible presence already, even if it had only been a handful of minutes since she last spoke to him.

A tail pressed over his shins snapped Harrison back to reality and the uncomfortably close mass of fabrics and muscle confining him… When did the fisherwoman sit down on his other side?

The red-skinned female wore a dark gray gown that accentuated her natural colors. There was a shining orange in her focused eyes as she craned her neck down toward him, raising a brow of curiosity. Her breath coursed down his neck; he smelled no alcohol in it. "Have you yet to try the rum?"

He didn't want to be rude and scooch away, but even if he did, he was trapped by the black-skinned farmer, who added onto her partner's question with a low hum. "Indeed. All the other males have begun to drink their shares. Do you not wish to enjoy the fruits of your labor?"

Harrison hesitated to squeeze out of their embrace to let his shoulders breathe. The large, cloth-draping arm around his back took the initiative and held onto his opposite shoulder, talons softly coercing him to stay. As restrictive as it was, he wasn't exactly uncomfortable and there wasn't anywhere else for him to go, so he let himself decompress. "What do you mean 'all the other males?'"

"It is custom for the males to enjoy such first. It is the fruits of their labor, after all, as they are the ones to brew the ale or grog. Which, for our settlement, would be you, Creator. Not to mention how such ambrosias make the games all the more entertaining," the fisherwoman explained, her tail's tip resting by his lap.

"A custom? So it's a part of the holiday?"

The farmer nodded, using a hand not over his shoulders to grab the bottle from her partner. "It is. Males simply must drink first, lest the females down the rest. It would be best for you to allow yourself the pleasure before the games finish; those exhausted and ravenous beasts will consume all your liquor."

Harrison stared at the rum bottle. It was still full. He bit his lip in contemplation. "Would it be rude to say no?"

The red-skinned female's eyes widened, a surprise on her face halfway between playfulness and genuine offense. "It is unthinkable for a male to decline, is it not, sister?"

"Unthinkable," the farmer confirmed, pushing the fire-themed jug into his lap.

He held onto the frigid glass awkwardly with two hands. It was too big for him to hold, given it was essentially made for Malkrin females to use as a cup. The engineer let out a soft huff, his breath turning into smoke under the night's cold, despite the nearby heater.

Why not? It would be just one drink. It couldn't hurt, what with the chilly night, the subtle tenseness still plucking his nerves like strings, and the fact that he went out of his way to make the stuff. Not to mention minefields he tiptoed across with Tracy and the lingering dread over Shar's imminent relationships. He would've liked something to soften his thoughts, even if it tasted like rocket fuel… In fact, he could even water it down.

He looked back at the canister of glowberry juice he'd been enjoying but wasn't in a position to grab, as he was still locked between two sets of nine-foot-tall alien muscle. "Uh, do you mind…"

"The canister? Of course not. Here," the farmer replied warmly, grabbing his object of desire and delivering it to his lap. The fisherwoman took the rum jug from him for a moment upon realizing his lack of hands.

He twisted his canister's cap until it popped off, revealing its secondary purpose as a small cup. The smaller container took on a third of its volume with glowberry juice with a swift pour.

The red-skinned female took a whiff of the air. "What are you pouring? Glowberry juice?"

"Yup. Could you put some in?" Harrison pushed his cup toward the bottle of rum she held.

"Interesting," the farmer commented, watching the alcohol be poured in.

He raised a brow, both at the question and the fact that the fisherwoman filled his drink to the very top—a bit too much, but whatever. "Never seen a mixer before?"

"Mixer? As in mixing something with the ale? …Or, rum, I mean? Usually, there is only warm water for such a purpose, but why anyone would water down their rum is beyond me. I assume the glowberry juice accentuates a sweetness to the drink?"

"That's the idea, yeah… And to mask the taste of alcohol, of course," he added, sipping the half-sweet, half-pungent beverage to prevent it from spilling over the edges.

"What an excellent idea, this 'mixer!'" the fisherwoman praised. "I am surprised none have thought to use juice in such a combination before."

Harrison smirked, taking another swig before offering it to the female. "Yeah? It tastes pretty good. Wanna try?"

"Oh n-no, I could never partake in your drink. It is for your enjoyment."

He gave her an incredulous stare. "Doesn't really matter to me. If you care that much, go and grab some cups and more glowberry juice for yourself and—" he rubbed his shoulder into the big, black-skinned woman on his other side. "—the farmer. I can't be the only one drinking here."

"You would like us to drink with you?"

The engineer nodded.

"You are full of surprises, dearest Creator. Never have I sworn fealty to such an interesting chief… and a male at that," the fisherwoman complimented with a toothy grin. She happily stood up and sauntered her way into the mess hall.

The farmer softly squeezed his shoulder, chittering. "That heat-strucken fool. She is right. With all your eccentricities that bewilder, impress, and bring me awe…

"…there is not another soul on Ershah I would rather serve than you, Chief Harrison."

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