Battle Without Honor or Humanity!

Battle Without Honor or Humanity!
Date of Scene:	21 May 2013
Location:	Bodhum Beach
Synopsis:	For the honor of insulted Ivaliceans everywhere, Avira has a duel with Ophelia! Things end poorly, as expected.
Cast of Characters:	Avira, Morrighan Alazne, Ophelia

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Ophelia has posed:
The wide gentle crescent of sand that forms the Bodhum beach is a popular place for tourists and residents alike despite the lack of sunlight that typically draws crowds. The darkly tanned skin of surfers and sunbathers is noticably absent among the people that gather here though that doesn't stop the bolder beach-goers from dressing in skimpy swimsuits. Other attractions are available besides the golden glow of daylight: fireworks are a common occurance for the elaborate resort and several cozy wooden shacks provide ample amounts of alcohol to take the edge off a hard day.

Today, a different sort of attraction has drawn the sizable crowds. Word of the heated face-off between the Valkyrie's popular commander and the unknown but exotic woman culminating in their mutually agreed upon duel has spread among the small town like wildfire. Though the community here is fairly small and tight-knit, the speed at which this has happened may have been due to a little outside assistance. Afterall, what's the point of rubbing someone's face in the mud if you don't have witnesses to see it?

Ophelia waits at the center of a large patch of sandy beach away from the docks and the main buildings. The crowds have formed in a cirlce around her, a thick buzzing din of conversation providing a steady background radiation as she waits for the arrival of her opponent. Despite clearly looking forward to this event, the young woman looks rather perturbed about something. That something happens to be named Alexander.

Standing at her shoulder with a scowl that could curdle milk, an old man in a worn-out duster jacket glares at her pointedly with his arms crossed. The wide-brimmed hat on his head obscures his hawkish eyes in shadow but the piercing stare of his beady black eyes is almost palpable on her back. She does her best to ignore him, casually filing her nails with what looks like a popcicle stick with a rough pattern engraved into one side but the rather commonplace utensil is clearly made out of some sort of crystal and decorated with golden trim.

Avira has posed:
Word travels fast in Traverse Town, especially if it's one concerning someone indirectly responsible for a good deal of collateral damage within the city. It was probably some consolation that this duel would be occuring in a place free of buildings and fountains to crash into. Only the bystanders would need to concern themselves with getting too close to the action.

The short, scarred woman arrives promptly though one could hardly tell since the woman she has challenged is already there waiting. It actually comes as to a bit of a surprise to Avira since she'd honestly expected the woman to blow off a "peasant" like her. But, she had also gambled on the chance that someone so haughty would enjoy the opportunity to publically humiliate someone. That is, assuming that Ophelia managed to best her in this duel.

She hardly arrives alone, Alma trailing and quailing far behind her with the intention of remaining beneath Ophelia's notice. She is here, of course, to provide healing afterwards but will certainly not interfere.

"So you are here." Avira greets evenly as she strides into the circle of onlookers to meet her opponent. "Good. I doubt either of us need a reminder of the stakes?"

Morrighan Alazne has posed:
Considering that she was currently staying in Traverse Town for a much needed break, it was no long before Morrighan had heard of this particular face off to be. Naturally, she could be found amongst the crowd of onlookers, having told Rosemarie that she was going to be attending something...entertaining.

Whether or not Avira or Ophelia won, it was sure to be wildly entertaining, thus, Morrighan held absolutely no intentions to cheer. She would just...watch. And see just where this was headed. There were no words to be given to either contestant either. Playing favorites was baaaad. ...Not that Avira was a favorite. Of course not! Never! It's not like Morrighan cared about her at all! ...Or even a little.

...Yeah!

Ophelia has posed:
Ophelia casts a lazy glance sideways as the crowd parts to make way for the other contestant. She does not answer immediately, returning to the obviously far more important task of ensuring that her painted nails are neat and even, filing away for several seconds before she gets to her feet.

The old man behind her grunts before she can get the first words out of her mouth, which immediately twists them into a scowl to match his own. The woman turns and glances back at him and the stranger steps foward to stand beside her.

"This is my mentor," she says without enthusiasm.

"Alexander Cromwell." The man inclines his head to Avira before Ophelia can comment further, extending a hand her way. "I hear my apprentice has gone and shot her mouth off again. I've come along to observe and make sure she doesn't do anything... foolish."

The samurai lets out a derisive 'hmph!' but doesn't attempt to say anything back. Instead, she turns and waves an arm at the crowd, giving them the order to step back and make room for their bout with a wordless gesture.

Avira has posed:
At the clearly preplanned rudeness, Avira rolls her eyes and inwardly reflects that she seems to be rolling her eyes a lot around this particular woman. In fact, she does it nearly as much as when Morrighan is about-oh, well what do you know. She IS about. Brown eyes flash in her direction, assuming her presence is due to some poorly understood friendship with Ophelia.

"Your mentor?" she says in a guarded tone as she looks to the older man. She clearly expects double the condensation now that this haughty woman's superior was here. Instead, she receives a polite greeting.

Naturally, she responds in kind, meeting his hand with her own in a handshake. "Avira." she introduces, not really trusting Ophelia to have shared her name with this man. "Her sharp tongue not only lashed out at me, but several friends and my countrymen." Avira releases his hand and takes a step back herself.

With her right hand, she smoothly withdraws the Spine, that "terrible" weapon that Morrighan will no doubt recognize. "Contrary to your beliefs, I am not a barbarian, so we shall fight to the submission."

Ophelia has posed:
Alexander's hands are rough and cracked like well-worn leather but his grip is extremely firm despite clearly pushing the end of his lifespan. Stark white hair streams out from under his hat, pulled back in a loose ponytail. Like Avira, his face is a network of old scars, though the wrinkles of age and a hard life are present as well.

"Let me guess," he says with a gruff chuckle. "Ivalician?" He nods to himself without waiting for her reply. "Some rather bad blood between her land and yours. Well, worry not, she'll fight you fair and square. I've made sure of that." Alexander tips his hat to the mercenary and then moves to join the crowds.

Ophelia sneers at her as the old man takes his leave. "Ofcourse. How am I to properly humiliate you went you are naught but a pile of bloody meat?"

She circles around to the opposite side, taking her place in the impromptu dueling ring. A carefully manicured hand rests on the ornate hilt of her sword, each long finger wrapping about it one by one. "And contrary to your claims, only a barbarian would wield something as unsightly as...whatever that is."

Avira has posed:
Silently, Avira nods in affirmation that, yes, she was from Ivalice. Alexander strikes her as interesting since he's obviously quite aged and quite touched with 'experience' (in the same way Avira's face clearly had 'experience'). "Thank you." She says, sounding genuine for the notion that Ophelia will be kept in line. Of course, she assumes this is just referring to Ophelia's attitude.

Apparently not, "You are just dead set on insulting -everything- about me, aren't you?" Avira sounds exaspirated. "Well. Go on. Draw."

Ophelia has posed:
"You seem 'dead' set on being completely insultable."

That terminology seems to amuse her more than it should and Ophelia gives her opponent a wry smirk. She takes her time getting prepared. Joints on her ornate armor are flexed and worked to ensure maximum operational freedom. She draws the katana at her side and flourishes, slicing elegantly at the air before her a few times before sliding it smoothly back into the scabbard, all in the span of a single second. Apparently satisified, she flicks a thumb at the corner of her bangs, sending them fluttering in the soft ocean breeze for a moment.

"Very well. It seems you are in a hurry to face your defeat. Perhaps once you have been forced back into that servant's dress there might be atleast a single redeeming feature to praise, ohohoho!"

Ophelia covers her mouth as she laughs. When her hand come down it alights on the hilt of her sword, fingers once more delicately wrapping about the soft woven cover. When the last finger has closed tightly down, she moves.

Ophelia launches herself forward in a burst of intense speed. The armor on her body seems not to hinder her movement in the least and she closes the gap between them in a flash. The katana is drawn out but oddly she waits until they are much too close for it to be properly wielded. The purpose behind this becomes clear a moment later when the hard metal knob of the hilt comes crashing in towards her gut.

The samurai immeidately takes a step backwards, drawing her blade properly and cutting a shimming arc through the air in a single motion. The katana returns to its sheath just as quickly, attacking and then disappearing with serpent-strike swiftness.

Avira has posed:
Avira rolls her eyes again, looking mightily nonplussed. While it is mighty irritating to watch Ophelia preen like a peacock before their fight, this is not time spent wasted for Avira. She carefully watches her opponent-to-be, noting the flexing of her armor and the movement of her sword. The style strikes her as slightly familiar though she cannot place where exactly she's seen it before. It could be that the sword itself reminds her of something.

"No. I am in a hurry to defend those you have callously insulted!" she shoots back with ease, assuming a two-handed grip upon her weapon.

The sudden shift in speed was entirely unexpected. That armor had looked heavy and though she tries to get out of the way, Avira fails to do so entirely and the pommel of the sword digs into her gut. Yet, despite her size, she doesn't seem all that effected by it. Indeed, Ophelia would quickly note that Avira has been conditioned to take blows to the gut and does not double over.

Metal on metal rings through the air loudly as Avira steps forward, one of the serrated edges of the Spine fending off the follow-up strike with a diagonal upward slash. Avira continues moving forward, pivoting as she suddenly slams into Ophelia, leading with the double-handed grip on her weapon. She doesn't actually strike with the blade as much smash into the haughty woman with the extremely heavy hilt.

Ophelia has posed:
Ophelia looks unperterbed that her surprise attack wasn't as effective as she wanted. Clearly this brutish dwarf was relying on her muscle to protect her. No matter, superior skill honed through decades of practice would win in the end. Even without her supernatural powers and speed, she had been trained by two of the best figthers in the world.

The samurai's ornate sheathe comes up to intercept the counter strike, easily knocking her aim off-center with a well-timed tap. Reaching up over her shoulder, Ophelia draws another of the many blades strapped to her back even as the one at her hip lashes out to strike at her again. Dark mist flows from this new weapon, black fog attempting to seep into Avira's body and drag her down with cloying weight.

Ophelia makes a final strike with both blades, carving down and then up with her twin weapons held at the ready to deflect any attempt to strike back. Despite her usual haughty backtalk, she seems to be all business in combat, flowing between movements with the grace of a dancer.

Avira has posed:
For Avira, she had less of what would qualify as "training" and more of what fell under the realm of "repeated trial by fire." Though Ophelia had already surmised that earlier by looking at her face. She was not one of the lucky ones with teachers and years to work.

Rather than remain in this close quarters with the woman, Avira takes a step backwards and circles around to Ophelia's flank. A shiver is suppressed when the second blade is drawn as she can feel the strange darkness seeping from the blade-though it is a lot weaker compared to what she's been forced against in the past. Its effects are resisted.

With ease she deflects the first strike. Suddenly beset with two blades, she shifts her weapon to a one handed grip, twisting the Spine with a well-practiced windmill-like motion that slaps both blades just out of the way enough for Avira to sidestep. The other, currently free hand, swings around and slaps a low-level ice projectile upon Ophelia.

Her opponent isn't talking much now and Avira is alright with that. The insults were distracting and the scarred woman was clearly concentrating as her other hand rejoins the first in gripping the Spine. With it, she brings some residual ice magic that is all too quickly creeping along the blade. With two upward strokes, the ice magic seems to follow along with each slash, discharging the magic with contact.

The more dangerous strike comes last as Avira hops backwards, clearly out of physical range. She slams the Spine down in an overhead swing and the rest of the ice is expelled, weaving itself into a temporary wolflike beast constructed of the bright blue magic.

Ophelia has posed:
The arrow of frigid magic strikes Ophelia clean in the chest. She grunts, staggering a little from the impact but the sturdy layer of lamellar armor seems to absorb the worst of it.

The samurai frowns at this, clearly not expecting magic from her scar-riddled opponent but the distraction is only momentary. Her blades recoil fluidly from the deflected attacks and she takes a few steps away to get her bearings which seems to be the same thing Avira is thinking.

The first wave of ice is neatly sliced in half with a swift horizontal cut, scattering the magic into harmless crystals and bits of glittering dust. The second meets a similar fate from the other sword though she quickly sheathes it and draws forth a different blade to accomodate her off-hand, it's polished length glowing with a sickly purple light.

"Legendary sword that kills freely! Ashura!"

Ophela holds the katana before her, wielding it like a talisman as she calls upon the spirit residing in the blade. There is a ghostly wail as she cuts through the air and a dozen ethereal slashes suddenly bisect the frozen wolf, shredding it apart with incredible ease.

"Hmph. Your barbarian magic cannot hold a candle to the skills handed down by my anscestors!"

More blade switching. She seems to have quite a few of these. Another sword is held up and brilliant green light spirals outwards in waves of soothing color. The light infuses itself with Ophelia and seems to leave shimmering sparkles of power lingering about the edges of her silhouette though they are hard to see if focused upon.

Avira has posed:
Shortly after the final strike, Avira circles off, which puts her easily out of the way of the additional etheral blades that, no doubt, travel past the limits of the ice magic. She frowns in disappointment, realizing she's going to have to get a little more creative with her ice magic if she wants it to be effective today.

"It's ice magic. How ridiculous do you need to be to wage class warfare on elemental magic?"

Putting the exaspirating woman out of her mind, Avira concentrates on a different sort of magic she'd been working on the past month or so. A brief cantrip is murmured under her breath, ending in the word "Haste." In response, a red glow overcomes the girl.

Ophelia has posed:
"Clearly, someone as common as you cannot grasp the intricacies of more advanced magical theory. It's a wonder that you even managed to wield such a simple element."

Ophelia resumes talking during the short lull in combat, resuming her attempts to belittle the other woman. By now the crowd is getting really into the fight. The short exchange between the two of them, blades and magic flying, is met with cheers and hoots. Alexander looks as grumpy as ever.

Sheathing her protective blade, the vampire decides to stop toying around and get to work on properly humiliating her victim. Wielding only her primary blade, Ophelia once more lunges to the attack. The sand under her feet hardly shifts as she runs, almost as if the woman is weightless and indeed she practically seems to fly across the beach.

Once more her blade snaps out of the sheathe in a flash of quicksilver. It rises and falls, carving a deadly V into the air, a manuever designed to both push aside any attempt to block and then strike on the rebound. Ophelia follows this with a blinding series of strikes lashing out so quickly that the air seems to blur with the lashes of her katana.

Avira has posed:
"You make snobbish assumptions about everything, don't you." Avira says, forcing herself to be calm about these infuriating words. Maybe Ophelia will go back to not saying anything, Avira would like that. It's hard enough as it is to fight and talk at the same time because she needed every breath of air and every moment of action.

Mentally, she shuts out the noises of the crowd around her and focuses on Ophelia, taking in each feature and aspect of the oncoming attack. This time, Avira doesn't try to dodge out of the way or really parry-she DOES send what seems to be a wave of force or gust of air out ahead of her that really doesn't do much besides kick up sand beneath Ophelia's feet. She meets the strikes head on, taking each one, armor mitigating some of them, but skin being sliced open on many, many more. To Avira's credit, she doesn't as much cry out from this assault as much grunt and cringe from the pain.

"...is that it?" she asks before she suddenly rams the Spine at Ophelia's gut with an aggressive lunge, fresh ice magic filling the length of the blade. Following that, she unleashes her own flurry of fast strikes, a slight silvery aura building around her as she does so, which gives off the faintest feeling of light magic.

With an upward stroke, she finishes the fast assault, then leaps backwards. The Spine is inverted and jammed down into the sand and Avira adjusts her grip again so both hands remain clasped around the hilt.

Without warning, spires of ice emerge from the sand and curl inwards like claws, converging upon the haughty woman.

Ophelia has posed:
Ophelia laughs as she carves away at the exposed flesh of the diminuative woman. "Here, let me add a few more scars to your collection! Ahahaha!"

The unexpected durability displayed by Avira forces her to withdraw quickly, however, unable to press her advantage without taking a hit in return. She leaps to the side as the initial lunge drives the spine-blade into her stomach and only her swift reflexes keep it from biting deeply into the armor. Instead it deflects sidways off the ornate plating, leaving a streak of blue-white ice marring the surface.

The subsequent flurry of attacks is met each time by an equally quick stroke of the katana. Sparks fly between them as metal clashes. The crowd's enthusiasm begins to peak in the tense moment as they wait to see who will come out on top. In the end, neither of them manage to land a solid blow.

Their blades cross a final time, each leaping away from the other. Avira's icy claws tear up the sand but Ophelia leaps over them with an acrobatic display, landing in a graceful threepoint crouch a few feet infront of the mercenary.

"Hmph. It seems you hardly even know how to wield that eyesore. Come then, I shall make it fair. Let us see how skilled you are with your body! Ohohoho!"

True to her word, Ophelia sheathes her sword and rushes in to take a swing at Avira. But it's a feint! She stops short, kicking sand at her face while continuing to laugh in her annoying fashion. She's clearly stopped taking this duel very seriously.

Avira has posed:
The joke is on Ophelia! Thanks to the nearby Alma, none of these wounds from the fight would scar. In fact, none of the marks on Avira's body are very recent at all, most from a time before she had access to white magic.

In her wake, Avira leaves behind a strange distortion in the air that looks like it would belong to something off of a heated object. Sweat breaks out on Avira's forehead as she pushes herself to try and wound the vampire, but even with ehanced speed and her determination, she just can't seem to land a blow. Inwardly, she starts to blame that sacrifice again. She hadn't been as strong since Manhattan came back.

She shrugs off the insult, not saying anything as she catches her breath and cracks her shoulders. Dull pain throbbed throughout her body, but like the crowd and this woman's prodding, she was ignoring it. Normally, she would be insulted that this woman is handicapping herself, but hey if she wanted to be arrogant like that, it was fine. She could lure her into a false sense of-

Arghsandintheface.

Avira sputters for a few seconds, shaking the sand off her face and shifting the Spine to one hand. Then, as her opponent laughs away, she lunges in with the Spine raised-only that's a feint too. Her real attack comes in what looks like is going to be a punch until a sharpened katar-like blade of ice forms over her wrist. Then it becomes more of a stab.

Ophelia has posed:
Ophelia continues to laugh until almost the last moment. She isn't terribly surprised to see Avira still using her sword, after all, she clearly needs the handicap. The vampire gives her an amused smirk as the distance between them closes rapidly, intending to strike her when she gets close but her precognition sears the image of the ice katar into her mind.

Narrowing her eyes, the samurai woman leans to the side, once again barely avoiding getting skewered as she grabs Avira's wrist and deftly twists it away. The frozen blade scores a grazing blow across her shoulder, marring the pristine surface and spreading its cold touch through her flesh but she hardly feels it.

"And now you resort to trickery. Pathetic."

Ophelia leans in, locking her knee underneath the shorter woman's leg and using the leverage to pull their bodies together. She smiles, almost sweetly and leans in close. "You know, you could spare yourself the humiliation by surrendingering to me right now. I won't even make you wear that dress in public. We could have a private little show in my room, non?"

Her eyes flash a little. Or was that just a trick of the light? Either way her offer seems /extremely/ compelling for some reason. Wouldn't it be nice to just stop fighting and go have fun instead?

Avira has posed:
Like hell she would just toss the sword away for 'fairness'! Though in this moment, it was just a ruse and meant to cover for her real attack-yet even that was anticipated, the blade dragged across armor and not hitting anything. A frustrated noise escapes her as Ophelia seizes her wrist.

Dragged in close, Ophelia can practically feel the anger radiating off her as heat, even though her face hardly shows it right now until she glares up at the taller woman. Baring her teeth, she hisses at her, "There was never anything mentioned about wearing it in public."

There is a long pause, though, after Ophelia's eyes flash and the anger seems to drain away from the mercenary. Could it be that she really was compelled by this offer to spare her further humiliation? Avira lowers her gaze and her head in what looks like definite submission-

-only she jolts upwards and smashes the crown of her head onto Ophelia's face.

While the vampire (might) be stunned, Avira suddenly presses forward, trying to knock her over onto her back and fall on top of her. Once there, she simply starts wailing down on Ophelia with her fists.

Ophelia has posed:
That anger only serves to spur her on. Breaking the will of difficult opponents is always one of the sweeter thing she enjoys in her unlife. She allows just a little of her vampiric power to bleed out, channeling her domineering spirit through the short moment of eye contact.

Avira's reaction puzzles her, however. Usually it took a little longer than that. Her brows furrow for a moment but then an idea comes to her that makes her grin.

"Ooooh? Perhaps the little girl wanted to play with me all along? How--nrghk!"

Ophelia is cut off midsentence as the thick wall of Avira's forehead smashes into her nose. The impact snaps her head backwards, blood spewing from her nostrils and the momentum pulls the both of them over into the sand.

Completely shocked by the retalitory strike, the vampire can do little as her unprotected face is pounded upon like a batch of uncooked dough. Avira gets in several solid hits, futher bloodying her opponent. But when Ophelia recovers her own rage bubbles to the surface.

"YOU BITCH."

She reaches up and grabs for Avira's hair, yanking hard to the side even as she squirms out from under her wailing fists. The Ordallian's other hand comes around in a wide swing for the unprotected flank of the other woman, aiming a viscious punch to her side designed to inflict pain rather than damage.

Bolstered by a suprising surge of strength for one so slender, Ophelia reverses their positions, pushing herself on top and attempting to get a strangle hold on Avira. The crowds go wild at this. This is the kind of stuff that they wanted to see. Now if only we could get some shirt ripping in here.

Avira has posed:
If Ophelia knew Avira a little more, she would have caught onto that trick much faster too. That comment the vampire starts to make only urges Avira to headbutt her way out of this contact even HARDER.

The bleeding seems to spur her on as she slams her fists into Ophelia's face repeatedly. "That's not ladylike at a-OWWWW!!" She yelps as Ophelia grabs a big chunk of her long brown hair and drags her down, leaving her open for a vicious punch to the liver, which Avira can even feel through her armor. She falls sideways and her opponent climbs on top of her, trying to get an arm around her throat.

But unexpectedly, Avira bucks her hips, destablizing Ophelia and enabling Avira to roll over and regain the top position. Her hands grasp for the vampire's neck, squeeze, lift, then slam.

...this might be a little more effective if it wasn't against /sand/ though.

Ophelia has posed:
Ophelia shrieks as she is once again put on the defensive. Her head lifts and slams into the ground several times but the soft sand does little more than get her hair dirty.

Fortunately for the vampire, her need to breathe died along with her many decades ago. The pressure on her neck isn't terribly painful or damaging and it gives her a moment to think. She reaches upwards, feigning weakness but her fingers scoop up a large wad of beach and fling it into her face.

"Hmmhmmhmm. I know I am irresistable, my dear, but do CONTROL YOURSELF."

Ophelia squirms a bit, twisting her legs and reaching them up from behind to wrap them about Avira's neck. Once she gets a full grip, she yanks her down facefirst into the sand and starts to squeeze.

Avira has posed:
If only Avira actually knew about that whole 'no need to breath' thing! She might have gone for some eye gouging instead of a choke. If anything, she is a demonstrably vicious fighter when on the ground. She recoils suddenly when sand is flung into her face.

Ophelia takes advantage of this moment to pull her legs around to wrap around her neck. Her head is shoved downward and pressed against the sand-right away, she begins to squirm and wiggle. She tries to roll Ophelia off, but can't seem to go anywhere. Seconds pass.

"MMMPH! MMMPHH MMMPH!" she vocalizes as her struggles grow weaker. Seems she's trying to say something.

Ophelia has posed:
"What's that, dear? I can't seem to make that out."

Ophelia smirks evilly and drives the small woman's face deeper into the sand. The crowd continues to hoot and cheer, though as the struggles of Avira grow weaker it turns into some murmured hints of concern. The vampire seems oblivious to this, merely content to continue humilating her opponent.

It is not until a looming shadow appears overhead that she snaps out of it. Alexander glowers down at her, looking particularly unhappy. "You plan on letting the girl breathe?"

Ophelia begrudingly loosens her grip and kicks Avira over onto her back, sliding her legs out from around her neck as she sits up. She runs a hand through her hair, brushing it casually back into place as she peers over at the mercenary.

Avira has posed:
While Avira might not be squirming as much, she's still trying to shout something. It's probably was something along the lines of 'I can't breath!' or 'Enough, enough!' But since Ophelia won't let her head up, she'll never know.

Fortunately, it's Alexander that comes to her aid in this case. Once she feels the grip loosen, her head pops up and she immediately sucks in a breath of air. Uncerimoniously, Avira is kicked onto her back, but she hardly seems to register this as she continues to gasp for air.

Several long seconds pass as Avira gets her lungs filled with air again. Alma manages to intervene at this point, providing Avira with some much-needed healing. All the little cuts from Ophelia's katana seal up, leaving no scars behind.

"Alright." Avira grumbles, "You win."

Ophelia has posed:
"Hmph. Naturally."

Ophelia continues to brush sand from her hair. She looks quite pleased with herself if the smile on her face is any indication. There are a few groans and cheers in the background as wagers are won and lost but the crowd quickly begins to break up now that the show is over.

The samurai gets to her feet and dusts herself off. Ugh, there's sand in places she doesn't even want to think about right now. But she's not going to let that dampen her mood. Ophelia glances over her shoulder, peering down her bloody nose at the two girls.

"Now then. I shall be waiting for you at the hotel. Do be sure to look your best, non?"

The is no attempt to hide the sarcasm in her voice. Alexander grunts but doesn't intervene, turning to march off into the city proper with his apprentice in tow.

Avira has posed:
"Ugh." Avira scowls at Ophelia for a moment before looking away, "Sure, whatever."

She remains sitting on the sand, ignoring the crowd and their reactions as they leave. Rather than getting up she remains sitting there, seemingly spaced out. When enough of the people have left, she angrily punches the sand at her side. "Damn it! I should have crushed that pompous bitch! What the hell is wrong with me..."

Reaching over, she grasps the Spine and drags it back into its sheath before flopping over onto her back.