Tyger Tyger
The Clinging Fire
Theed, Naboo
Edge of a Theed waterfall
"Business or pleasure?," inquired the friendly portmaster, way too nosy for his own good.
The question threw Milo for a loop -- How would he answer that question? What do you call it when a name, not your own, saw you automatically contractually obligated to fly halfway around the galaxy, to the height of civilization, to beat down a stranger for the entertainment of others?
Business for himself, perhaps? Pleasure for the home audience? Business for the tournament organizers? Pleasure for the sociopathic?
"Yeah. That," Milo chose to respond.
And now he was at the edge of a waterfall, nature structured into the metropolis of Theed by way of a green-minded urban planner, staring across its mirror-like stream at his opponent.
@[member="Morna Imura"] appeared to be a teenager. That was the first thing he had noticed. He had painted himself up like a Sith, or a savage, or one of those delinquents he'd see sleeping in the gutters and subway stations of Nar Shaddaa, of Coruscant. The time to gussy up his hair and face had Morna already achieving leaps and bounds beyond the preparation for this fight that Milo had personally invested.
Holding his blaster rifle at the "low-ready," Milo took a few more seconds to soak in the surrounding city, mire in the hypocrisy of its hosting this brawl.
The announcer made their introductions, once more surprised by the titles ascribed to the name he'd accidentally inherited.
"Well -- I suppose we'd ought get to it, then."
Edge of a Theed waterfall
"Business or pleasure?," inquired the friendly portmaster, way too nosy for his own good.
The question threw Milo for a loop -- How would he answer that question? What do you call it when a name, not your own, saw you automatically contractually obligated to fly halfway around the galaxy, to the height of civilization, to beat down a stranger for the entertainment of others?
Business for himself, perhaps? Pleasure for the home audience? Business for the tournament organizers? Pleasure for the sociopathic?
"Yeah. That," Milo chose to respond.
And now he was at the edge of a waterfall, nature structured into the metropolis of Theed by way of a green-minded urban planner, staring across its mirror-like stream at his opponent.
@[member="Morna Imura"] appeared to be a teenager. That was the first thing he had noticed. He had painted himself up like a Sith, or a savage, or one of those delinquents he'd see sleeping in the gutters and subway stations of Nar Shaddaa, of Coruscant. The time to gussy up his hair and face had Morna already achieving leaps and bounds beyond the preparation for this fight that Milo had personally invested.
Holding his blaster rifle at the "low-ready," Milo took a few more seconds to soak in the surrounding city, mire in the hypocrisy of its hosting this brawl.
The announcer made their introductions, once more surprised by the titles ascribed to the name he'd accidentally inherited.
"Well -- I suppose we'd ought get to it, then."