[h1]Yen[/h1]

[h2]Rio de Janeiro[/h2]

She could feel the sunlight playing on her face as she made her way through the crowds outside the venue, but by the noise from inside and the high charges of fighting spirit already going, Yen knew she had missed registering for this tournament. A pity, but she still had enough cash saved even after buying the plane ticket here to survive until the next opportunity. Still, the missed chance stung her pride, and for the second time today she cursed whichever god had struck her with blindness. Most of the time, she didn't really think of herself as disabled, but times like this, when she was forced to move slowly and carefully through litter-coated streets, it was evident that she would have been better off with sight. At least she didn't have to see what she smelled, though. This whole area was [i]ripe[/i] with refuse and the basic stench of humanity.

Yen took note of several high-ki individuals dispersing, some at high speed, from some sort of huddle. Fading energy nearby meant someone was dying, or at least wounded. And even more rambunctious individuals had just stopped a fight and sped away into the arena areas, it seemed, where the flares of combat intrigued her. At this distance, though, she couldn't really get a sense of what was happening, so she picked her painstaking way through the mass of people and along the hallways. She found herself abruptly halted by a beefy hand on her shoulder, though. She tensed, but this wasn't a fighter by the feel of him.

He said something in the native tongue of the area as she turned, but switched to English upon seeing her Oriental features. “Miss, you didn't pay for a ticket. I'm going to have to eject you from the building.”

She smiled at him. “I am sorry!” she said, adding just a bit of panic to her voice. “I didn't see the ticket area! How much is it?”

“You didn't- Ma'am, you walked right through it.” She felt him stare at her for a few seconds. It always took a bit for people to realise her eyes didn't move to follow them. “Oh, [i]dios mio[/i]. I apologise, ma'am, I didn't notice! Of course, of course, you don't need to pay. Do you need....” He paused, thinking almost hard enough she could [i]hear[/i] it.

Her smile split into a grin. “You are wondering why I am going to watch a fighting tournament if I cannot see?” She leaned in near him, even though he seemed beefy and almost six inches taller than her. Putting a hand to the side of her face, she whispered conspiratorially, “I am actually a Nomad, and have a good sense of what is going on.”

She was not prepared for his manner to suddenly go chilly. “You can't register. It is closed.”

“No, I knew that. I just want to observe.”

“Ah.” She felt him cross his arms and warm up again. “Oh, I see! A clever joke, miss. I will find you a seat, yes?” If she could, she would have rolled her eyes.

Five minutes later, she was sitting near a doorway leading into a booth. They had set her into some sort of VIP area, though she wasn't entirely sure why. Some people tended to treat her like she was made or porcelain, though, so she chalked it up to that and settled in to 'watch' the fight. Some crude-mouthed pair, it seemed, of men, though they both had good spirit. She recognised them both as having been the ones fighting just moments ago. Apparently the anxiety that came with being in the tournament was causing tempers to flare. She could get that.

Two other people were in this booth, having just paused their conversation as she was led in. After a few moments, she heard on of them turn in his seat and whisper something to the other in Portuguese. [i]I really should have taken the time to get a phrasebook or something,[/i] She thought as they asked her something. She politely shook her head and shrugged, to indicate that she couldn't understand.

“English?” one asked quizzically. His accent was very slight.

“Yes, actually.” Her internal sense of alarm woke up to the smell of gun oil somewhere in the vicinity.

“Ah, good. So, me and my friend here were wondering how much?” Her eyebrows creased.

“How much? How much of what?”

The man laughed. “Nonono. How much for you?”

[i]Oh god, he thinks I am here to advertise as a hooker. He must be white.[/i] “I am afraid I do not do that, sir. I am simply here for the tournament.” [i]Where did that security guy go?[/i] Oh shit, [i]was he even a real guard? Really wish I could see uniforms, now.[/i] She adjusted in her seat fractionally.

“Haha! Very good! In that case we don't have to pay, eh Jorge?” The other man laughed too, and his voice sounded much less pleasant.

“I must warn you that if you should try anything of the sort, I would be more than happy to punish you appropriately.”

“Oh shit,” the second man said. “She's blind! This is hilarious.” [i]Damn it[/i] “Bitch, you're threatening us and you can't even [i]see!?[/i]”

Yen smirked. “That's what it looks like.” [i]Damn, I need to use that less. But it's so easy to do.[/i]

She moved as the first one stood up, whipping her fan off of her back and swinging it out to level the pointy end at his neck. “Last attempt. Please be reasonable and allow me to-” The second man had pulled something out, probably the gun she had been smelling.

Without another word, she dropped the end of the fan to stick into the seat in front of her, an awkward angle at best. Heaving herself forward, she used it like a pole vault as she sensed his arm come out straight and take aim. Her foot lashed out, and her toes knocked the end away as he fired. The first man crumpled as he was hit. Carrying through with the kick, she spun herself and brought the end of the fan crashing down on his gun arm, but barked her shin on he back of a seat. The gun fell away somewhere.

Her opponent cursed in Portuguese and swung a wide punch out at her face. Using her imbalanced position to her advantage, she braced one foot on the seat back and twisted her torso down, easily dodging the swinging fist. Coming back around, she kicked her fan out from the bottom end as it dropped, sending it flying to strike him in the upper arm, the points burying into his tricep. He howled in pain as she pulled the four inch blades back out from the ruined meat, flipped it end over end, and smashed the grip into his face several times. He went down hard and didn't get up again.

She felt her way over to the first one, grimacing as her bare toes touched something warm and sticky. He wasn't fading, but it seemed like he had been shot in the stomach. She clubbed him into unconsciousness as well, then tracked down the gun and placed it in her pocket. [i]Just in time,[/i] she thought, as the announcer called the fight to begin. She settled down in a new seat, straight backed and proper, wiping the blood off of her foot and the points of her fan as the fight started. She idly wondered if the gunshot going off was going to bring more unwanted attention.