“Very well.” After answering Fantasy Sky Breaker, Seraph briefly stepped around him to address the other two egos. “I expect you'll both be participating in the games tomorrow?”
The gentleman shook his head softly. “Last time got so competitive. I think I'll sit this one out.”
Without so much as looking up from her book, the young lady scornfully chimed in, “Not on your life. I don't have anything to prove, and if I did, I wouldn't have to win anything to prove it.”
Seraph rolled her eyes and turned around to leave, the only sound of her movement the soft swish of cloth. She looked back to make sure her guests were following. “That's Mim for you. Always so full of herself.” Though she spoke in a low voice, there was more bitterness to her words than friendly chiding. “Shall we press on?”

Next stop, on the other side of an entrance to a grand, square-spiral staircase, was the food court. This fairly large chamber, with rows of stone pillars, wooden benches, and torches beneath a low ceiling, was unoccupied. Some clanging and hissing from behind a nearby oaken door, however, indicated that preparations were being made for dinner. One wall was dominated by a long, spotless counter, totally devoid of anything but light. Another side of the chamber seemed devoted to various barrels of all sized, from casts to jerkins, laid on their sides and tapped. The whole structure evoked a semblance of crispness, order, organization, and partition, not unlike the function-over-form divisions of a military setup. “We don't really do snacks,” Seraph admitted. “Aside from the whole frugality aspect, there's health to be considered. Of course, some egos still find ways to pack on the pounds.” It was fairly obvious who at least one of these gluttonous egos was. “Drinks, however, are free for all. Help yourself.”

Seraph did so herself. Leading the way over to the wall of drink, she steadily became aware of a low noise that increased in volume the closer she drew. Upon arriving at the stacks of liquid containers, she found Midwinter's Envoy sound asleep, slumped against a pillar, flask in hand and clothes in disarray. It was difficult to tell if he was passed out from overindulgence to alcohol or simple fatigue. Sera ignored him -plainly this had happened before- and opened a nearby value. Cool, refreshing mint tea poured from the spigot into her ceramic drinking cup, uneven stacks of which were interspersed at regular intervals along the wall.