Fae always hated lines. An entire city's worth of people and stalls and shops and drink halls and the one closest to her had to be backed up in the dozens of people. Taking repeated, cursory glances over her shoulder to see when she had to move up, her focus was primarily on the large warehouse converted to a signup center for the tourney. Looking over her opponents she looked bemused at some of the scrap some contestants had cobbled together in order to sign up. Of course it was dangerous to dismiss those kinds of opponents outright, but it was hard to imagine anyone winning a tournament in something other than the polished craftsmanship of a proper war machine. 

Which reminded her, Pagan needed a few adjustments before she took him, ...it over to the registration booth. Turning as the 'gentleman' in line behind her gave her a nudge and gestured to the stand with drinks, she sighed and stepped up, quickly glancing over the options. "Give me one of the local specials, particularly if it's native to the planet here." she asked, "And go light on the alcohol. I do have a bit of heavy machinery to operate." she cautioned the barista in a thick accent. As she was handed some fruity colored drink blended in with ice, she smirked and passed over a credit chip for the purchase. Turning with her beverage she took a sip as she walked. Bitter. Well if nothing else it would wake her up. She always found it hard to sleep on the edge of battle... even if it was orchestrated in a stadium with non-lethal rounds. 

Moving over and setting down on top of the armored foot of her 'mech, Fae imbibed her drink, watching the others filtering in slowly. She had just finished off her cup and crumpled the disposable beverage-holder into a ball, tossing it into a nearby wastebin before climbing up the Pagan's leg. She clammored on top of the main chassis up past the open canopy and called down into it as she rummaged for her toolkit, "Pagan, settle into a stable posture then lock joints, bitte- I'm going to adjust the ankle coils a few degrees to adjust as per our findings earlier. What was the exact number..?" she querried.
"Vier punkt sieben" the masculine tone replied factually. 
Smiling softly, she picked up the proper ratchets and started to climb back down. "Danke." she chirped, to which Pagan replied "Bitte."

Fae couldn't help but chuckle. She came from a very purist family. No cybernetics, no robot servants, just good honest folk and hardy machinery. Adjusting to having a mech talk back wasn't horrible, but it did take a bit of getting used to and it amused her how hard the virtual intelligence tried to mimic human behavior and speech patterns. As she knelt down next to the foot of her mech, she undid the bolts holding the covering plate over the joint on slipping it off with a heave. 

It was about then when a loud voice beckoned the crowd's attention. She couldn't see the hologram well through the windows- but squinting she thought she saw the source standing near the entrance up on top of a very impressive looking black mech. As the local lord introduced himself and made an offer specifically to her and all of the other contestants, she arched an eyebrow. There must have been nearly a hundred people signing up by her guess, possibly more, to invite all of them was bold. She liked it. She set about making the adjustment of 4.7 degrees to the internal coil that acted as a shock absorber for the ankle and then bolted the plate back in place. Satisfied, she climbed back up, set her tools away, then hopped down into the cockpit. 

Pagan's internal lights lit up and the displays came online as it's voice announced to the internal speakers, "Zugangscode, bitte." 
Fae sighed and rolled her eyes as she spoke in flawless German, "Nicht jetzt, Pagan." or 'Not Now, Pagan.'
A soft approving bloop sounded off before Pagan announced "Identifizierung bestätigt. Willkommen zurück, fräulein." 
Fae glared at the screen for a moment before shaking her head and dismissing the thought. Pagan must have been running diagnostics and rebooted while she was adjusting things. Her suspicion was confirmed when she saw the updated screen with all parameters in the green. Rolling her head side to side to crack her neck she slipped the heavy helm back on over her head and cleared her throat, "Alright, let's get over to registration and then see about finding our way to the lord's keep. Oh, and... switch to mixed dialect, Pagan." she gave a few orders. The speakers in her helm blooped at her before Pagan announced, "Understood, Fraulein. Setting mission parameters." 

Fae snickered as objective markers popped up on the right side of her HUD with empty boxes. "Get Registered for Tournament" and "Travel to Local Keep" both popping up. She shook her head and fired up the power core in her Mech, grasping the control sticks and setting her feet firmly on the pedals as she felt it rumble to life. With a quick adjustment of the right stick the torso swiveled to the right allowing her to see out into the alley that ran down along the warehouse to the registration station. Pressing the right pedal in, Pagan turned with two heavy thumps against the concrete before she pushed her left stick forward to set the throttle to 5%. The heavy machine plodded forward as she guided it gracefully over to the station, leaving the canopy slid forward and open. 

Stopping next to the station, Fae spoke with the registers, feeding over information, receiving a contestant number and badge, and arranging for non-lethal rounds for both main guns and missile pods. She assumed they'd simply be dud missiles that would impact armor harmlessly and rubberized rounds with half powder that would register on hit sensors on each opponent, though she wasn't sure yet. She also imagined they'd have her dial back the power on her laser so that it would only scorch paint rather than melt into armor. She then leaned over the edge of her 'mech and asked, "Hey- one more thing. Could you direct me toward the local keep for the Lord's invitation?" she asked, again her accent quite heavy.