Sooo....no contest entry from me, unfortunately. I may keep the idea around for future use, but I'm not going to make the deadline. It turns out that when your father finds out you made a D in English last term, he tends to ban you from everything, including computers with writing programs. Oops.
"Now this is a match all those bloodthirsty ones Papa mentioned can get behind." The grim thought turned over and over again in Siri's mind as she watched the savage display unfold on the arena floor some fifty feet below her perch on the arm of said man's chair. The three Beacon students so hasty to declare their unwillingness to fight against teammates were quickly starting to realize their mistake as their fourth tore into each of them in turn. She was really something else, that one. While the others had quickly thrown down their weapons in a brave show of rebellion, the silver latticework that wound around her wrists and ankles had remained firmly in place. Instead of determined petulance, her expression had been one of blind panic as the starting bell chimed. Leaning forward so as to get a better look at the girl who'd likely be hers in a few moments, Siri felt a steadying hand on her hip. "Careful there, Night-Light." Her father's voice, low so as not to disturb the other audience members in the darkened viewing box with them, was both a reminder of the sheer distance to the stone floor below and a word of caution regarding her decision to sponsor the victor of this fight. In response, she only reached over and rubbed the skin of one of his pale blue coyote ears between her thumb and forefinger in the way she'd done ever since she was old enough to reach them. Though...there many more rips and scars through them now than back in those days.
The dull thwap of a stun dart finding its mark ended both the match and her train of thought. Returning her attention to the center of the arena, Siri found that the frightened girl had indeed managed to win a near perfect victory: all kills to her, minimal damage taken. Well, physical damage anyway, judging by the shattered expression on her face just before she collapsed in a twitching heap. Wanting to have a peek at her new charge, Siri turned to her father as he stood to leave with the rest of the crowd and whispered "I'll be with you in a few moments." He gave a short nod of understanding before vanishing into a clump of Mirage benefactors.
...
It was remarkable how different everything looked from the arena. The seats Siri, her father, and his close associates normally occupied were a far cry from the plush sanctuary where she got to spend time with him. From down here, they looked like the thrones of judgmental kings, overbearing and ominous. Instead of a bright stage, the arena itself felt like an over lit pen. Siri gave a slight shudder as she approached the small group of medics tending to the surviving huntress. Her view from above really hadn't prepared her for just how strongly it smelled down here. The air was saturated with a metallic odor, no doubt due to the thick swaths of blood smeared on nearly every marble tile.
"Excuse me." her voice echoed back at her, and she winced at its reediness. All sets of eyes fell on her. One of the medics, a young man with charcoal black hair, stood and looked her up and down, a slightly disapproving frown forming on his face. "Where are your shoes?" he addressed her bluntly. The others stared at him in mute surprise.
Siri looked down at her feet, then to the trail of smudgy pink footprints that led up to her. "Right outside. They're nice." She responded, ears drooping as she realized how absurd her reasoning must seem.
The medic only rolled his slate grey eyes, a slight smile tugging up at one of the corners of his mouth. "Well, I suppose there's nothing I can do about it now. Just don't tell your dad I didn't make you go put them back on." Kneeling to resume his task, he continued "So, what brings you down here anyway?" The question hung in the air for a moment as he produced a small, curved needle, a pair of forceps, and a length of nylon from the kit at his side. "That chain of yours is supposed to keep you on on floors more appropriate for twelve year-olds such as yourself, or so I hear."
Even if she hadn't grown to expect his teasing in the time she'd known him, Siri would have been able to hear the humor in Soot's voice as clear as the nighttime air. "It would have a hard time doing that now." she responded impishly, holding out the short length of phantom loops from where it normally trailed off of her neck and rested against the middle of her chest. The severed end crackled every now and then, electric blue sparks flying off of it at random. "Papa said the fact that Orthrus's chain could break it was proof I didn't need it anymore anyway." Siri really tried not to brag most of the time (she saw enough of that in the hired fighters to last a lifetime), but she figured that genuinely impressing her father, and with a weapon she'd put together herself no less, was as good of a reason as she was likely to ever get to be a little proud.
"Well-" Siri heard Soot make a small sound of agitation under his breath. "Kid, I think I need a pair of female hands in here." Peering around him, she got her first good look at the Beacon student. She was on the floor, but was sitting upright and seemed aware enough. The young woman's most striking feature was her silvery-white hair, just brushing her shoulders in all places save for the thick, twisting ponytail tied low on the right side of her head. Threaded in it was a white and purple-streaked flower that's shape gave the impression of a trumpet's end. Her clothes, once something light and lacy, were now weighed down with and stained by blood. Siri dreaded looking directly at her face due to the small chance they would make eye contact, but her curiosity got the best of her. As she drew closer to help Soot, she summoned her courage and lifted her gaze up. Well, now her fears just seemed silly. The bloodied student's violet eyes were pointed downwards, looking vacantly at nothing. "Alright." Soot's voice reminded her of why she'd come closer in the first place. "She's got a cut on her chest. It doesn't look like much, but I'd feel better if it was checked out." She was about to ask why he needed her for something that fell so squarely in his expertise when a strange realization came to her: every single one of the present medics was male. She almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation. This girl had just been thrown into a fight to the death, and now they were worried about her modesty.
She merely nodded, however, and moved to the woman's side. She felt her tense as she went to pull down the top of her dress. Well, it seemed their concerns weren't misplaced after all. "You know, I can handle what's probably a tiny nick on my own." she spoke pointedly. Soot sighed and walked away, motioning for the others to follow him. Just before he vanished through the doorway, something in his expression slipped, and Siri could've sworn she saw him set his jaw.
...
A few long minutes passed in silence. As it turned out, the blood on the student's shirt sourced from the multitude of buckshot punctures sprayed across her chest. Just under the skin, the pieces of metal needed only to be removed with tweezers and the holes left behind by them disinfected. Really, Siri was glad she decided to do this. It was giving her an opportunity to talk to the other girl, assuming she was currently capable of responding. "May I have your name and age? For records, that is." Easy to answer and essential to know. Perfect.
If she was surprised at being addressed, the student didn't show it. "Datura Platinum. Seventeen." Her voice was pleasantly low, but had a strange, scratchy quality to it. "What kind of records?" It took on a hostile edge.
That was reasonable to ask. "Permanent residents all have records for multiple reasons. Medical information in case they need a transfusion or something, physical descriptions if they run away and a bounty needs to be put out for them." She plucked out a particularly deep piece. Datura hissed, her hand jerking up as if to cover her chest before falling slowly back into place at her side.
"Permanent residents? What, so you're not going to kill me?" she sneered.
"No, so please don't run away. My father's bounty hunters can't always guarantee a live recovery with the desert how it is." She responded quietly. Datura had no reason to accept her word, she knew, but she really meant her no harm. If it had been her decision, she would have let all of the students live.
The girl made a small "huh" sound of dismissal. "Father? I suppose that makes you real important around here. It explains why you can wander around wherever you please, anyway." Her gaze flicked over Siri. "I don't know your name either, or am I supposed to call you 'Mistress'?" She taunted.
Siri couldn't stop a small giggle from escaping her at that one, despite its intended venom. "No, you can just call me 'Siri'. It's short for Sirius Corona. Although-" she paused, remembering something her father had told her about respect. "You will have to add 'Miss' before it."
