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A spike of laughter and chiding caught Dot’s attention, and she glanced over to see another quadrant of the arena had been occupied. In it stood a Valeforian boy, tall but not particularly imposing—neither by build nor demeanor. He was wiry like the blond kid, but markedly more nervous; he held his sword like he was afraid of it, like it might decide to turn on him. 

His opponent entered soon after. He was announced as Carrot, or Cheros, or something of the like, and though he was shorter than the Valeforian, he was sturdier, and completely unfazed. Eager, even. 

But Dot’s eyes went to the heckling crowd, and was disappointed to see that the lion’s share of jeering came from other lowborns. In a way, she understood; not all of them would move on to fight the nobles, and those that did would probably face some sort of disadvantage or another. Getting an easy opponent early just meant that they’d save more energy for the real challenge.

But still, where was the sympathy? The camaraderie? The Solidarity? For every ounce of enjoyment they got out of the poor kid’s distress, she could be sure the nobles got a pound. What did they gain now that wouldn't be lost by the end of the day? 

She made a silent wish for the Valeforian’s victory as her own opponent stepped up. 

“[color=92278f]Oh fuck’s sake…[/color]”

The boy was an inch or two taller than she was, but couldn’t have been older. He had the awkward hunch of someone growing, and a face utterly wrecked by the forces of puberty and poor hygiene. Big eyes poked out beneath a greasy mop of hair, and his mouth was pinched shut. He held his wooden short sword with both hands and still it managed to shake like the blade was made of paper. 

She didn’t hear his name, but when the call to begin came, he startled and held the sword up. He wouldn’t look at her directly. Had she been found out? Dot glanced up at the spectator box with a scowl. No, couldn’t be, not already. She wouldn’t be up here with blondie and sticks if she had. This was just...well, bad luck. 

Dot shrugged the sword from her shoulder and held it level. She stood up straight, legs together, feet crossed in an altered third-position, ready. Waiting. 

And waiting. 

Someone shouted: “[i][color=gray]Do something already![/color][/i]”

The boy would not move. Would not look at her. Would not stop [i]shaking[/i]. Fuck, if this was all the opposition Grayle’s nobility faced, it was no wonder things were as bad as Verite said. What was there to be afraid of? What reason was there to change anything when no one could demand it with more than their words? It wasn’t just baffling, it was frustrating. It was [i]maddening[/i]. 

And it wasn’t his fault.

Dot sighed, dropped her stance, and really looked at her opponent. He didn’t seem happy to be here, but perhaps that was because he wasn’t [i]prepared[/i] to be here. Just because he was afraid didn’t mean he didn’t deserve better, and beating a lesson into him wasn’t going to do him or anyone else any favors. 

Shouldering her weapon again, Dot marched over to him. He startled, reeled the sword back, and his arms rattled like the last leaves on a tree, but he didn’t move. Eventually she came to stand right in front of him, and though she angled herself to look in his eyes, he still couldn’t meet her. 

“[color=92278f]Gonna swing then?[/color]” she asked. To her surprise he did, but it was half-hearted and had the carry-through power of someone half their ages. She caught it by the wooden blade, held it tight and wouldn’t let him pull it away. That got him to look at her. His were sharp green and would have been intimidating if he used them right.

With a hard yank she wrenched the sword from his hands, and he flinched, expecting a strike. Instead she tossed it out of the arena. “[color=92278f]Gotta look’em in the eyes,[/color]” she said softly. “[color=92278f]Don’t mean nothin’ if you can’t look the bastards in their eyes. You’ll do it next time, yeah?[/color]”

The boy nodded.

“[color=92278f]Go on then.[/color]”

He scurried off the quadrant and back into the crowd. Once the match was called, she stepped down as well, though she kept her waster shouldered. Not exactly the start she wanted, but she hadn't come to Grayle to put the beatings on people who didn’t deserve it. A few of the other aspirants gave her odd looks, somewhere between curiosity and disappointment, but Dot focused on the other matches. Specifically on blondie and the Valeforian.