All she got from him was a pained expression at her freaking out, as though she should have known all along what was coming and/or being burned alive was no big deal.
“As you recall I did ask you numerous questions about your interest and talent in Murderball. And they were very specific, especially regarding your pain threshold.”
Pain threshold? No he hadn’t, had he? No, not that she remembered.
Tina pointed to down below where one of the players screamed like a lobster in a pot of boiling water, then was doused in water, which boiled over him in a gout of steam. The violence did hold her attention before Tina turned back to her boss.
“That isn’t murderBALL,” she told him with her emphasis on the ‘ball’ part of the word. “Devon that’s MURDERball!!”
“Again,” the consul asked, “Are you sure she has even the adequate temperament to even last three rounds.”
Devon tried a grin, the space between him and the Consul filled with an awkward silence while the two men appeared to reassess each other. As far as Tina was concerned, this was all just nuts.
“As you can see, she has a fiery temper that will serve us and your crowds well,” the dwarf offered.
“Perhaps,” the Consul said glancing over at her again. “But only if you can convince her to put that fire to good use. And, with all due respect Jarl Olafson, I really don’t see that happening, do you? She does not seem...”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
“I’m right here!” Tina protested, caught between arguing against how the Byzantine nobleman was dismissing her and the fact that arguing against him was in favor of being barbecued.
“It will take a little time to get her into a fighting, but only a little, I assure you,” Devon replied. “She is a player, and of your Lioness’ caliber. She’s just new to your city. You want a good match, an entertaining match, right?”
“No,” Tina stated flatly. “I don’t want to play a game where I am going to be literal toast.”
“But you have an affinity with fire,” Devon said out of the blue. “You like fire! You always have.”
Where the hell did that come from? Yeah, she’d played with matches as a kid, who didn’t? But she’d learned that wasn’t a good idea by the time she was seven. Yeah, she liked campfires, the crackling, the dancing lights, the glowing embers and even put her TV on the Christmas log channel... but she didn’t think it was a good idea becoming a human torch herself. And how did Devon even know she was a teeny tiny bit of a long, long, long reformed firebug?
“I am not some entertainment for arsonists. And I’ve had enough of this.”
Tina turned on her heels and stalked out. There was no way she was going to get burned to a crisp, not for anything Devon could possibly offer her.
“Tina! Tina, be reasonable,” Devon called from somewhere behind her.
It sounded like he was catching up to her. Damn, there was nothing reasonable about kidnapping her, bringing her a thousand years in the past and trying to get her get barbecued for some dick measuring contest.
Damn, he was going to catch up to her. She glanced back but couldn’t’ see him through the uneven row of columns in the hall she’d found herself in. Worst it was getting dark and there were people lighting torches. Whoever had built this arena hadn’t been too concerned over aesthetics, at least any more so than the people who built the Rogers Skydome. She wasn’t finding the way out of this maze at all. How did the fans of these death matches manage to find their way in or out?