[h2][center][color=f6989d]Ashley Wyatt Harper[/color][/center][/h2]

The rest of Harper’s day was the largest test of self-restraint with which he had ever dealt. His new team’s owner had made it clear that he would not tolerate any underhanded business, and Harper had extended that from fixing games down to even playing games. The market that he was now walking through, forced to be nothing more than a window shopper unless he began pawning off his equipment, was pulling him every which way. Here were some woven scarves from Tyren, there were some necklaces from Ashar. Any discerning eye could see that they were likely counterfeit, cheap knock-offs given exoticism to bump up the price, but even with that thought in mind Harper still coveted them.

However, he was broke. They was nothing worse than being broke, forced to watch the roasted kebabs with the forlong look of a distant lover or simmer with jealousy at the large man going for his third, his third, turkey leg. It was so unfair. Even worse, still, was the implicit knowledge that in such a crowd one could easily find a group of unsavory looking characters huddled over a pair of dice rolling for a few extra coin and that Harper, now an upstanding member of a gladiator team, could no longer rub shoulders with them. He could only huddle up next to them now, peering sideways at their game while watching and waiting to see if anyone pulled a knife. He sighed and moved away as a man rolled a seven to the cheers and jeers of his peers, fearful that the temptation to join in would be too much for him to handle if he remained.

He had questions to ask Ignis. He had them early, actually, but knew that it was uncouth to bring up the issue of money (especially around those who clearly had it). How were they to be paid? How often? Were they only to be granted payment upon a victory, or would this be a salary situation? Was the prize pool being split evenly between everyone on the team, or would Ignis be taking a bigger cut for himself and then dividing the rest amongst the others? Would it be too much to ask for an advance on the first paycheck? And would it be considered a violation of their agreement if Harper were to spread rumors that their team was absolute trash to increase the odds when it came to betting for his own team to help supplement his income? He felt that they were all good questions as he neared the arena, bumping up and worming his way through the crowd until they began to thin out as he neared the gladiator’s entrance.

Yet before he stepped out of the crowd he hesitated. The last few times he had gone to an arena had been, at best, disastrous, and if seeing Angus was any hint of things to come Harper was certain that there may be other gladiators that would recognize him. He shifted uncomfortably at the embarrassing thought of being chased out of the arena in front of his new compatriots. After all, they would have no reason to back him up, as the last thing any new team needed was unwanted attention and the ire of their fellow gladiators. Harper grimaced and closed his eyes. He normally wasn’t the praying type, but now he felt as if he had to reach out to the Mistress and strike a sort of deal: [i]keep me from being beaten to death now, and once I’m back in the arena I’ll take all sorts of falls for you.[/i] And, as the crowd faded away, he heard nothing in response. Still better than a no, he supposed.

The crowd faded back in, and then he heard an eruption of cheers and gasps as the corner of his eyes caught a puff of fire. Harper looked back over to the lone Ignis and then back to the crowd that had circled around the flame and drums and pipes. Well, as long as he wasn’t the last one there he wouldn’t be seen as unreliable, he justified to himself as he slid his way into the thick of the crowd. Ashar dancers moved to and fro, spinning and twisting while they swung around slings of fire to the beat of the music. It was much different than the traditional dances held in Noctis, which were slow and somber, and Harper almost found himself nodding along to the rhythm before he noticed the source of the flame cloud. Kailea, wasn’t it? One argument with a teammate and already she had found another gig, it seemed.

Harper stifled an outburst of laughter as she clumsily wrapped up her otherwise fine dance before applauding with the rest of the crowd. He had to give the woman credited, she was not one for shyness. He could see her faring well in the arena when it came to warming up the crowd—he smirked at his little accidental pun and pocketed it away for later—as long as her magic went beyond parlor tricks that impressed simple townsfolk. Mages were always a fans favorite, and a smart team knew to build their composition around setting them up so they could deliver an explosive finale. Swords and bows were nice, but immolating a minotaur with a single flick of the wrist would always win out. 

She was leaving, and it looked as if she was heading towards Ignis. Good, that little spat earlier had not dissuaded her after all. He tried to fight his way through the crowd to catch up to her, but soon gave into the ebb and flow and let himself be eased out towards the other side. By the time he had finally broken free and made it over to her she was talking to Ignis.
 
[color=firebrick]"...Come on! I don’t see your nursemaid about, so why not have some fun before the others arrive? You look as if it would do you some good!”[/color]

[color=f6989d]“You might consider taking her up on that, milord. I can stand around and look pensive while waiting for the others in your stead,”[/color] said Harper, a shit-eating grin on his face.