Out Damn Itch

[Jaycy Ashleana]

The door to the basement Arena opened and the woman eased through the resulting space, stepping just enough in and on the landing to allow it to shut behind her. Green-gold eyes shifted down and around, surveying the common area before finally nodding slightly. She began the journey down the stairs and, perhaps surprisingly, not toward the bar but rather the center ring her lover had occupied the night before.

Also perhaps surprising was an addition to her outfit. While the Real Rhydin t-shirt, jeans, and low boots were normal attire... today a peculiar object (at least, peculiar when connected to Jaycy) settled at her hip. A plain, simple hilt of a sword (likely a short sword by the size and shape of it) peeked from the unadorned and worn scabbard that hooked to the belt that circled her. Fingers curled around the hilt as she strode inward, tips pressing into it lightly.

After she broke the plane of the perimeter, she paused to pull a deep inhale. "Been a while," she murmured to herself. Her hand didn't leave the hilt but she slowly turned, taking in the banners that hung both in the rafters and otherwise.

Her perusal... no, study... of the honors lasted long minutes and she reveled in the silence, allowing lids to drift shut. Every so often her head nodded faintly, perhaps either in time to some unheard melody or even perhaps in response to some long-lost friends and advisors.

"Alright. Let's get old-timey, Jaycy." She allowed herself a minute grin at the encouragement/playful mocking, drawing deeper into the ring. "Skill and honor," she whispered as her form folded in half in a short bow. Once tradition had been satisfied, even to the air, she drew the short sword and eased a foot back into a ready stance.

Her movements began sluggishly, slow and awkward, and she stumbled a step or two as she tried to manage the forms that would take her around the ring and reacquaint her with the old friend in her hands. She'd almost always used a particularly interesting two-handed grip when wielding the blade and such was the case this eve. Grunts, mutters, and other sounds escaped as she roved the ring, testing and searching the balance on the weapon she'd held so long. The weapon itself had been cause for many of the formative and influential moments in her life, from providing a profession to exposure to loves great and small within and without the duels, to the destruction and death of the one person who had become like a parent in her life.

She'd set the blade down after that hellish night, and had refused its call for several years.

She'd come back, years later, to this very Arena and had finally allowed herself to heal from the torture of guilt over her actions. Eventually, though, she'd set the weapon down once more but it was in favor of a new one - her fists. She'd found that the Mistress of Blades - as she'd been called with the merc company - was even deadlier with her hands and feet than she could be with any steel. So, it'd returned to disuse and she'd managed her career facing weapons with her bare hands.

It took time but with motion and practice, precision began to return. Feet glided through the sands, parting them sweetly in the circular patterns of her formations. Speed, too, increased as the dance crescendoed. Cut to parry to strike again, simple maneuvers, characterized her practice. A light sheen of sweat graced her brow and caused wispy red and silver hairs to cling to her forehead.

Repetition and the return of muscle memory allowed her mind to begin to wander even while she continued her physical exertion. That was, in a way, her goal for this little excursion, to think. The dance in the sands served merely as a conduit for her thoughts, a fitting backdrop after last evening.

That damn blonde.

That was the crux of it, aye? Hope had come back to the Arena and, as usual, taken control and taken a title as if it were candy. And Jaycy had been there for it. Jaycy, who hadn't wanted to bother coming (not that she'd ever tell Hope that) but would always support the woman she called the love of her life. She even dressed up! In a dress! While that wasn't exactly unheard of, she'd had so few reasons - and so little interest - in the social lives and events of those around and thus avoided any occasion that called for dressing up.

But ... she'd had fun.

She'd happily lay the blame for that at Jewell's feet, of course. Her steps faltered and she almost tripped entirely as the musing brought a grin to curve her lips upward and distracted her from the motions of the form she'd been practicing. "Oof!"

The blade almost tumbled from unprepared hands and she scrambled not to abuse the steel that had been so much a part of her. "Damnit," came the curse as she reset and rubbed first one stinging palm and then the other on her jeans, trading the hilt from one grasp to the next.

"Hmph," she grumbled both to the weapon and to the musings at hand as once more the woman settled into a ready stance and movement. She'd begun again, slow to start and only with the rhythm did she speed up.

Having fun was a problem.

Having fun lit that itch again; having fun made her want to find more "fun." Back when Hope had first gained Overlord and the redhead had been her loyal Baroness, not only had Jaycy felt sure of her place in the world and by the side of her new love and leader but also she'd enjoyed the internal sense of power that came with being half of one of the most decorated couples to ever grace the basement and sports beyond. Title after defense after accolade had landed at their feet, including her own feat of gaining titles in all three sports simultaneously and serving as Governor.

But power and prestige weighed heavily and the pressure mounted as politics drew sharper, nastier, and what once was pleasure turned to turmoil and pain. She'd given it up once Hope did, retiring her Barony almost simultaneous to the blonde's own decision. Likely they'd both hoped for quiet, a respite from the last year, but not long after Hope fell into another Barony. Jaycy'd almost gained it, only a point behind her lover in the contest.

Jaycy, ever her love's creature, had followed suit and claimed another Barony not long after in challenge. After all, where that damn blonde went, so did the redhead.

The dance slowed as she panted, then drawled to a halt. One hand held the blade limply while the other swiped her forehead to clear it of sweat and hair. Her chest lifted and resettled, slowing, until she'd finally caught her breath.

Their second reigns had been relatively uneventful - at least compared to the first - and they'd retired in tandem once more, an act that serendipitously followed her accomplishment of overtaking G for the record of having held Baronies the longest ... just over 7 years of her life, in fact. That retirement brought quiet for a full year and Jaycy had felt she was finally done with the cesspool of the Arena and the Duel of Swords; there was absolutely nothing else for her to accomplish within these walls.

Then. Then, Hope Naharis challenged again, for a Barony. That challenge had been seen through, and the blonde won convincingly last night.

And Jaycy had been there, and had fun.

And that was dangerous. "Fun" had brought her back here tonight, a day later, with a weapon in her hand and an itch to occupy the rings. "Fun" had her look considering at both the corkboard and the hanging banners of current dignitaries. "Fun" had her questioning if she had enough, if she could, if she should, try and take her place next to the woman she belonged to.

Her gaze found the banners raised again as she simple short sword slid into its plain scabbard. "Ugh." A faint chuckle escaped, and she scooted from the ring, padded intentionally to the stairs, and stepped up and out.

[Jaycy Ashleana]

Jaycy avoided the Arena in her descent to the Arcade ne Annex, easing into the mostly quiet space with a little sigh. Her gaze drifted to the empty rings and she made her way closer. Sounds from the games beeped and chirped and twittered softly as they lay in wait for patronage. Normally she'd avoid this place but her desire for contemplation in solitude for at least a few minutes precluded a return to the basement Arena just upstairs.

She needed to think about what she'd done.

She'd scratched that damn itch.

Quick strides took her to the edge of the nearest empty ring and she stood outside it, shoulders lifting lightly as she took a deep breath in. It released slowly, the faint whisper of air on the exhale. "Damnit, woman." A tiny chuckle followed the upturn of the corners of her lips, mild exasperated amusement suffused in those two words. It wasn't easy to completely discover who exactly she was cursing; for all anyone knew, it could have been herself!

She stared into the sands a few more moments before taking her shoes off and easing into the ring before her. Bare feet shuffled through the sands toward the center of the ring. Once there, she slowly drew the short sword from its scabbard at her hip and slashed a salute to the air. Honor done, the woman knelt in the sands and set the blade atop them, hands moving to her knees after placing the weapon before her. Her head bowed but eyes remained open.

"Not going to lie, I didn't expect this," she finally vocalized, musingly. "I also admit, I didn't expect to ever try again." A soft chuckle escaped and she extended a hand to trace two fingertips over the flat of the blade itself. "It's not surprising, though, that I've fallen into old habits, aye?" There didn't seem to be any disfavor in her words, nothing to indicate that she was upset by the development. "I don't use it to fight anymore but I did bring it with me ... in case." In case she'd needed to make a petition, that was. While it may have seemed that Jaycy only did someone else's bidding, it was more truth that so often their moods and missions paralleled.

Jaycy's loyalties in the Arena rested on a simple, singular query. Would she be willing to give her life for a reigning Overlord, in or out of the rings. Teammates - family - were of course an affirmative to that question. Lovers, partners, loves, too, obviously. Former paramours also often fell into that category (likely depending on their parting terms) and tonight's challenger had been one such. However, Reign had defended and any question of divergence with the blonde (and possibly Michelle) had been moot.

She had no quarrel with the incumbent; she simply didn't know her enough to call her friend and certainly not one she'd give all to protect. Reign's request, though, had given her pause and set her mind whirling. Do the Renegade thing when it's needed. Jaycy had quipped that she was lazier than Hope even while she inwardly flinched at the favor. She'd been mostly able to pretend to avoid Arena politics the last time she'd held a Barony but Reign was asking her to do the seeming opposite this time.

Her gaze turned upward to the ceiling as her hand returned to her knee, the blade before her. "Grant me the wisdom to stay out of trouble, aye?" Even with the vocalized question her lips twitched, knowing it would be much harder than a simple question to the air could imply.

The Arcade remained as quiet as before; if any answer came, it wasn't visibly or audibly obvious to either the redhead or any other casual observers. Such was often the way, aye? "Of course you're no help," she huffed, without rancor. Her brows shot up a moment later and she frowned, faintly. "Oh, hush." Words and tone shifted to a not-so-friendly mien, shaking her head. "I didn't ask you." A peculiar gem, caged, sheened a little at her neck before fading lightly, a weak ripple on the surface before subsiding.

A hand came up to scratch at her cheek before resuming its position at her knee. "Just grant me the wisdom to honor the ring and the district well," she finally said, resuming her conversation with the air. "... please," she added. A beat. Then three. "I don't know what to do with the warehouse, at least while I have it. I want to do something that'll help Dockside, but...." The thought drifted to the air, unfinished, and she affected a shrug. "I wonder if there's something we can do with both districts, especially as hers is next to Dockside."

"Old-timey." She scoffed at that, having mentally moved on from plans, distracted as ever by the blonde's invasion to her thoughts.

Okay, she was old-timey, really. She still followed the traditions of pomp and circumstance in the famed sport, needful to complete the rituals of salute and honoring the rings and the people that participated in them. Loyalty wasn't taken for granted, it was petitioned for. A tiny, fond smile crossed her face as she reached out to caress the blade once more. "We've been through a lot. I'm sorry for many things, but I hope to honor you, too, and our time here and elsewhere. May I honor your memories.... all of you."

Speech lapsed again and her head bowed, lowered as eyelids fluttered closed. She remained that way for long minutes, her left hand on the knee while the right pressed palm to steel. Finally, though, without more commentary, she grasped the hilt and drew herself up, sheathing the blade in a smooth motion. Out of the ring she collected her shoes, donned them, and then slipped out via the elevator.