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As the matches continued on around them, Dot was pleased wit what she saw, at least for the most part. The blondie, Baker, was proving to be an outright menace to the whole event, and while his tricks were certainly entertaining, it was nothing compared to the incredulous scowls plastered onto the faces of the noble pricks watching. Hang their stupid ceremony, show them all what life looked like outside of their towers and their parties. A handful of matches down and only now were the blue-blooded spawn starting to trickle in. 

A pair of them were squaring off in one of the arenas; some pale, lanky fucker who conjured water into a knife for the gobsmacked quartermaster, and then a boy who looked like a full-course meal of insufferable nobility, from the cool cockiness of his demeanor to the saccharine condescension in his tone. Season with foppish good looks. Arrogant grin for garnish. The whole crowd seemed to be drooling over him. Dot found herself hoping they might find a way to lop each other’s heads off, but failing that, she bitterly rooted for the ghostly boy.

Another noble made for the stage, as did the Baker kid. Well, no contest there who she sided with. Only difference now was that the people Julian might hurt [i]deserved[/i] it. They might not be allowed to do any real damage here, but when it came to reputations, she hoped there’d be a healthy amount of bloodletting. 

For her own part, she was sad to see herself matched against the Valeforian boy. He was tenacious, and crafty as well; she wouldn’t be able to talk him out of the arena and frankly, she didn’t want to. Whatever his skills with the sword were, this was going to be a proper match. As she stepped onto the stage, Zenshin smiled and raised his blade. He looked nervous. [i]Less[/i] nervous, sure, but still nervous. Dot smiled back, gave him a respectful bow, and shouldered her waster. 

“[color=92278f]You too. Lets put on a good show, maybe these bastards let us both in, ah?[/color]” 

Part of her wanted to let him go ahead when he was ready, but she’d been in his shoes before. Verite most often initiated their spars when she’d first started training, and she’d found that helpful. So, gripping the handle with both hands, she walked briskly forward, gait level and measured. Halfway across she shrugged the blade down, twirled it back up and lunged to swing it down at him. It wasn’t a particularly fast move, but it did quickly close what distance remained.