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(Pre-Show) The Lobby

Jon remained intently silent as the man Snow could only describe as a 'sorcerer' without knowing his proper name and identity precariously and briefly explained what it was Jon had just witnessed. His brow waggled in places between the gaps of the answers he had to offer in response to his questioning, but Jon felt excessively comforted in the fact that, out of all the things he'd seen and went through this past day, this one was the easiest to fathom and swallow, and had the most valid and thorough explaining behind it.

When the sorcerer had spun around to face Jon, the sense and aura of dread and rage that had hung around him had dispersed entirely. It struck Jon back a little bit, admittedly. Snow had taught himself to keep his emotions under control and take things under the chin for all but his whole life now, but even then, how quickly this man went from pissed to calm still both equally surprised and somewhat impressed him both at the same time.

Now that he'd fully turned to face the sorcerer, he got a much better view of him; and Jon's prior assumption that the man was wearing armour beneath his robes was indeed correct. He wore a solid-looking chestpiece that seemed supported and crafted well enough to hold off against a blade or an axes blow, though his arms were unarmoured, and therefore direly unprotected. A white bandage was wrapped across his forearm and stretched across his wrist. An injury? The man wasn't carrying it around as though that part of his body were in pain. Peculiar.

As the sorcerer came to conclude his explanation and came to a halt in his speech, Jon's expression softened somewhat from it's usual sombre and hard frame. In the mist of this whole mess, he'd forgotten that he was in a different with different kinds of people whom were probably in a similar predicament, if not a worse one, that he was.

It was good to be considerate of such a fact.

"Interesting..." Jon let the words roll out from his tongue. After some moments of considering his wording choice, he flashed the man stood across from him a faint smile; something a rarity coming from the somber, sullen Lord Commander of the Nights Watch. He spared smiles for few people apart from his sworn brothers.

He had smiles all around for his real brothers, a long time ago...

"I, ehh... should apologise for prying" his face hardened up a tad once more as he spoke, though he kept a much more neutral and detectable expression on his face, now. "There's little magic or sorcery to be preached where I come from. I'm sure you can understand my curiosity, with that sentiment in mind".

Even if he was a bastard child, Jon was still brought up in a noble setting and household. His father had done well to teach him common courtesies and basic manners, the same he had done for his other five children. This man appeared to Snow as no lord or king judging by the way he dressed and acted, but Jon couldn't help but feel a certain sense and level of respect for the man already. In his own, it wasn't just the blood that flowed through your veins that made you noble. It was what lied deep in your soul that truly mattered. And despite knowing little of him, the auburn-haired wizard struck Jon as a good, honourable soul already.

Kindred to what he strived to be.

When the man inquired on Jon's name, the bastard took a few steps closer to him, no longer using the wall as a support anymore. "My names Jon Snow" he made quick work at introducing himself, though he stared at the sorcerer silently yet expectantly, as if waiting for him to return the same gesture.

"Gildarts. The names Gildarts" the cloaked man introduced himself in a relatively plain fashion, grinning all the while, shooting an extended hand forward. Jon stared down at the hand offered to him for a few moments, before slipping his block glove from his fingers. Holding it with his free hand, he moved his arm forward, shaking Gildarts's hand in a fashion of formal greeting. "Well met, Gildarts."

Snow's hand shot backwards again after a few moments of exchanging the handshake, clearing his throat quietly. His arms slumped back at his sides as he pulled his fur cloak back over himself. "So..." he spoke up quietly after some moments of brief silence. "Gildarts... what brings you here, to the Abyss?"
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What the heckskies is going on here?!

Every Prime here—aside from himself—seemed determined to make quite the flashy entrance. Between Wartortle toting his guns around and generally just causing a violent commotion and the weird stretchy guy who had just launched himself into the lobby, Mickey started to wonder if maybe he should be making grand displays of his abilities, showing off his prowess in front of all the competition.

He watched the thin-figured, black-haired boy struggle with the elevator guards, trying his best to bust through the elevator door for a reason that escaped the mouse. Sometime during the fight, the big men knocked the boy’s straw hat clean off of his head, and it floated down the hallway, landing serendipitously in front of Mickey. He picked it up, not wanting anybody else to steal it while the guards distracted the boy. He put up a good fight, for being so young and scrawny-looking.

Of course, no matter how hard he scrapped, the little fighter lost the brawl; not only did the guards outnumber him, but the doors seemed to be made of something extremely resistant to the boy’s powers. Try as he might, he would not make it inside.

That intrigued the mouse, though. The elevator, he had been told upon entering, led up to the barracks, where the Dante’s Abyss producers kept the approved contestants. But why, he wondered, did they not allow potential contestants to go up there and have a look around? Only once a participant had been locked in did they let them travel upstairs. Were they hiding something up there? Something that might discourage the competitors for competing? Certainly they had done a noble job of making sure that nobody got through, but… why? The idea peaked Mickey’s curiosity—and took his mind off the mysterious silver-haired boy from before, to boot.

The doctor from before once again checked up on him. “Yeah, I’m fine,” Mickey responded, before leaving the man behind to conduct an investigation into the mystery of the Dante’s Abyss elevator. Well, perhaps “investigation” was a strong word.

He headed toward the elevator, inspecting the situation despite his better judgment. This whole time, he had been floating around, trying his best to get a feel for the facility, but all of a sudden he did not know why. After all, unless his guesses were way off, the competition itself would not take place inside this facility. So why had he wasted time exploring Olive Garden, or the movie theatre, or even this lobby? No, he had to get his head in the game—even if that option proved considerably more dangerous.

As Mickey approached the elevator, a man stepped out in front of his path. “Oh, no,” the guard scowled, waving a hand in the mouse’s face, or, well, slightly above it, “No, no, no. I don’t want no more primes tryin’ to get up to the barracks. You’ll be notified when you’re allowed to head up there, sir.”

The mouse’s expression must have reflected how puzzled he was—he apparently could not keep a poker face—because the guard explained further:

“Security reasons, sir,” he continued in the absence of an actual response from the King, “We’ve got some volatile contestants and we’d like to make sure they nobody gets hurt… before they’re supposed to, anyway.” The guard chuckled at his little joke, but the idea of unnecessary violence remained unamusing to the keyblade wielder.

“Okay,” Mickey nodded, “Thanks anyway, pal.”

Upon turning away from the elevator, the mouse saw the black-haired boy still slumped on the ground, staring at the silver doors. Mickey’s gaze wandered down to the straw hat he continued to hold in his hand. He had almost forgotten that he had picked it up. Well, he supposed he should give it back, so he took a few steps toward the boy, but stayed at a safe distance in case he decided to scrap with the mouse. The boy didn’t look like much, but Mickey had seen him fight those guards and did not really want to mess with him.

“’Scuse me?” the King called, bending down to try to catch a glimpse of the boy’s face. He did not look up at Mickey, so the mouse continued, “’Scuse me, ya lost your hat.”

At that, the guy’s head snapped up, and his eyes fixated immediately on the straw hat in Mickey’s hands. “YOSH!

After a beat, one of the boy’s arms stretched forth and snatched the hat from Mickey’s gloved fingers. With a little bit of a grin, the boy plopped the hat back onto his head and stood up, brushing himself off.

“Hmph, still no dust,” the boy mused absentmindedly, before turning his attention to the little mouse before him. “Thanks,” he stared down at the mouse, “but don’t touch my hat again, okay?” The boy nodded once abruptly, and then closed the gap between he and the mouse, crouching down so they were on the same level. He reached up and touched one of Mickey’s ears, seeming strangely fascinated by them. “Coooooooooooool,” he beamed.

“Um,” Mickey shuffled away and the boy returned to his normal height, “I won’t touch your hat if you promise not to touch my ears, pal.” Mickey smiled as best he could, despite the boy’s slight weirdness. Though, seeing a walking, talking animal could be pretty weird, too, and this boy had yet to judge him for it. “But… uhm… it’s nice to meet you,” Mickey offered, holding his palm as high as he could manage.

The boy observed him for a second, then quickly took Mickey’s hand and shook. “I’m Straw Hat Luffy,” he smiled, shaking more vigorously than most people the mouse had ever met, “You might have heard of me, I’m kind of a—”

“I guarantee I haven’t,” the King laughed, cutting him off, “I’m kind of new here. My name’s Ears. Nice to meet ya, pal.” Mickey flicked one of his ears, and Luffy giggled at the appropriateness of the nickname. The mouse turned his gaze on the elevator once again. The pirate boy’s glance followed, and he squatted down behind Mickey, all four of their eyes trained on the mysterious silver doors.

“So… what exactly did you think they had up there?”
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The stunt coordinated by the man in a fancy suit sent the lobby into chaos. Media members stupid enough to go for the ‘money shot’ were, ironically, shot themselves—half of them left sprawled on the floor with fatal wounds, near ground zero. The prospective entrants smart enough to avoid the conflict stood frozen, semi-circled in front of their massacred peers, staring at the pools of blood and chunks of meat that remained.

As the man in a fancy suit slid into a wall of withdrawing soldiers—Syntex, Deadpool saw stitched into the breast of a vest—the mercenary’s cheeks elevated; his body tingled as a rush of adrenaline shot through his veins faster than Viagra would into a certain appendage. The man’s stunt contained more action in its brief span than Deadpools entire stint in the Omniverse thus far. And it was welcomed, like a much needed bath.

But his gingerbread friend’s visage did not harbor the same sentiment. “I-I don’t think this Dante’s Abyss is about healthy competition,” Gingy uttered with trembling lips. “That g-guy in the suit . . . he just had a couple dozen people slaughtered, for a stunt.”

”I know, awesome right?!” the mercenary replied as his eyes followed a drone wielding a push broom smear brain matter across the floor. He could hardly withhold his enthusiasm; this was precisely the kind of adventure Deadpool so feverishly sought since discovering what the Omniverse was truly about. Gore, outrageous characters, a mysterious boss figure, and (of course) a solid writer/author to guide it along—it encompassed everything a good adventure embodied.

Yeah, now that I know Alex is orchestrating this thing—the guy that beat us (really you, because you’re the writer) in the Ice Climbers event on AD . . . with the same character who just slaughtered about one tenth of the lobby’s population—I’m even more psyched.

Gingy slowly tilted his head to look up at the mercenary. “Awesome?”

Deadpool returned the gaze and said, ”Yup. It builds drama! Whos’ the guy in the suit?! What is Syntex?! So many questions left unanswered!!!”

“As long as my ass makes it through this . . .”

”You will,” the mercenary replied. His words conveyed much more certainty than he actually held in them.

The media sources that remained unscathed darted to the far corners of the lobby, hunkered and cradling their ridiculously expensive camera equipment. All except for one media crew, which tailed their mustached reporter through the bewildered crowd. He sauntered through using nothing more than his broad shoulders to clear a path; some people refused to move at first budge, but with a glance at the reporter’s burgundy suit they immediately made room for the man to advance.

”Ron muthafuckin Burgundy,” Deadpool murmured. The combination of pornstar mustache and outdated dressing easily deciphered into the words he spoke; Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy was one of his favorite movies, of all time (not so much the second film).

“You mean the guy that releases a news report every so often?” Gingy inquired.

Ron Burgundy reporting news for the Omniverse . . . greatest fucking thing the mercenary has heard since being snatched from marvel. An image of the anchorman leaning back in a cherry leather armchair with glass of scotch in hand—keepin’ the Omniverse classy—instantly illustrated in his mind.

”I gotta meet him. The dialogue . . . oh the dialogue!” Deadpool cheered. ”We could probably spend an entire post talking about Sex Panther alone!”

“What the fuck are you talking about now?” Gingy retorted. “I don’t know Ron much, but I doubt he would wanna be bothered by someone like you.”

”Oh, I couldn’t disagree more, my sugary friend.”

Dante's Abyss Placings
2015 - 4th
2016 - 2nd
2017 - 4th

PVP Combat Record
3W - 0L - 0D
4W - 1L - 0D
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Jon Snow certainly had proved to be a man of his own. Gildarts was reminded of his adventures to the other side of the continent, back in Earth-land, where he had met many notable soldiers but they always seemed to have been adorned with a well-pronounced and completely shamless pride, a trait the man before him wasn't flaunting. Snow sent his apologies for the intrusion and later introduced himself. Gildarts greeted the man with mutual respect as he extended his non-silver shackled hand to the warrior.

Snow seemed much more well mannered than any of the kids he knew that were the same age. So much so that Gildarts had to reconsider his original impression of his age; sure Jon looked young enough, but with his serious expression broken only by a slim smile and a maturity that balanced in his equally calm demeanor, Gildarts had the distinct impression that he was an heir to some sort of throne. Yet the clothing was not of a king's nor a soldier's, leaving his impression of a knight unanswered and dangling on a cliff.

At the mention of the same 'Dante's Abyss' that the reporter had spoken of, a twitch of fire-infused anger itched in his eye. White teeth clenched, yet the veteran was never one to flinch at his own rage, "So that's what they're calling this place?"

His voice, no longer amicable, but freshly determined, was instilled with the growing growls of hostility capable only by a man who had been betrayed. As though Gildarts was keeping the smoldering flame of retaliation at bay, an ounce of restraint was evidence enough for Jon to plainly see the resistance on the wizard's newly hardened face.

Gildarts reminded himself of the potential casualties in the room and avidly restrained the sharpness on his tongue. It had not breached his words with a callous nature, but moreso of a man who had been pitted against his mortal enemy. With a still-bitter squint, Gildarts grumbled with his complaint, "A man told me that instead, I was to be delivered home so that I could save the lives of my guild. It seems the same man was lying."

Jon allowed moment of silence for Gildarts to gather the potential loss and plan his next move. There weren't words that could ever harbor enough sincerity to make up for another man's fault, nor amend the same grievance caused by it. The veteran's mourning struck a chord and Jon was able to put two and two together. He reflected on the wizard's reclusive next move after the news had oddly enough been delivered to the unsuspecting Prime, by a newsman. Gildarts had then moved away from the very people that had cornered him in this room, meant for gathering each and every competitor. Anyone who had agreed to join this battle to the death, in Gildarts' eyes, had certainly become part of the trap he had been ensnared in. Enemies he faced, Jon too could have been suspect, and yet Gildarts never treated him as such.

Uncharacteristically, he overturned another thought. The Ace smirked in his own demeaning strife. "The only reason I don't cause a bit of commotion at the door over there, is because all those people would get in my way." He spoke of escape in his gruff voice, "Trying has crossed my mind, but you see, I'm a man of doing."

Jon took a glance back at the metallic doors he had entered through.

"I'm not sure I could break it down without someone getting in my way." It seemed, had anger gotten the best of Gildarts, an unstoppable rampage would have inevitably ensued. Not only was this Prime powerful enough to break the earth beneath his feet, but he was also practical about it. Gildarts seemed intent on proving to those who had captured him, that they could not steal him away with lies, seal him away in a room, and call him tame; no matter the size of the cage, he would always find the will to fight.
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"I have never met a strong person with an easy past." -Atticus

Karl watched from a room as the crews worked to construct the pair of small, elevated stages. There was one at each end of the Lobby. The one near the Barracks elevator would be used a little later in the day, but the other one would be in use soon enough.

"How's the cleanup?" The man asked as he leaned onto the intercom button.

"We'll be done by the time you need us to be done..."

The executive producer groaned as he glanced at the countdown clock. They had to be ready to funnel all the competitors into the Barracks in a few hours, but in the meantime, they'd have to deal with the circus that was going to flood the facility. "All right, you can go ahead and let them in. Just keep the damaged areas covered up until you've patched all the bullet holes and bleached away all the blood."

"You've got it, Sir!"

Quote:Two stages are being put together in the Lobby area at opposite ends.

The facility has also been opened up to the general public (instead of just businessmen and VIPs) so you can expect the place to feel a little more crowded as 'normal' 'people' have been granted access to walk around and talk with everyone. Expect the media to be a little more active, especially with construction of the little stages. A further announcement will come once Retane's done his little thing.
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Okor chuckled, throwing his pestilential arms over his brothers' shoulders. "This would be... ideal. Sadly, it seems like we lack the... opportunity to do so now." He nodded in the direction of the construction, and the slowly ticking countdown clock. There was little time left. He cast his gaze around the room, skimming over the amorphous blob of the crowds, but, most importantly, the lone individuals separated from the herd. Those were the ones to watch, the ones who knew they were destined for more. At their lowest, they were nothing more than an egotistical killer, such as Victor. At best, they were worthy of a place in the Legions, willing to sacrifice their very souls for what was rightfully theirs. "But... The other competitors will have to... slumber, somewhere. Communal, without a doubt, as we will not be expected back for some time, no... sense, investing in personal rooms for all of a night.. No, we will be... stationed in some kind of barracks." He removed his arms from his brother's backs, leaving a thin film of slime where they were lain. Galel promptly wiped the filth from their body. "There is no... purpose in a frantic search for our foes at this point. We will all meet in the barracks shortly. Why don't we take this... opportunity to learn." He gestured towards the library, and began to shamble forward. Discovering the history of this weak realm would give them the all they needed to conquer it. These people's weaknesses, their vices, their foes. It was astounding how much the living could learn from the dead. And the Legions had learned oh-so-very-much.
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"Lots of pirates keep their spoils locked away in vaults, I thought there'd be gold n' stuff, but it's just a dumb . . . uhm, elevator, whatever that is," Straw Hat grumbled in chagrin, his expression drooping into a pouty scowl.

Ah! Of course! Treasure was the lowest tier of hierarchic ambition which led him to such an ostentatious dick-measuring contest. Hefting himself up from the stainless floor, Luffy's emblematic, aloof grin returned as he surveyed the lobby.

"I jumped into this looking for information, but while we're here, may as well have some fun. How 'bout it panther guy?" The pirate captain proposed, proffering a hand as aid in lifting the stumpy critter to his boots.

Oh boy! P-panther? Seriously? Not even remotely close . . The mouse ruminated, fuddled by his new acquaintance's astounding lack of zoological diagnostic prowess. Nonetheless, he smeared a fallacious smile and accepted the youth's invitation, "Right! Let's be off."


Gromnomnom! Shlurrrp!

The bizarre doublet packed themselves to the brim with scads of fine cuisines and sparkling libations within the gratuitous recreation saloon. Less fortunately, when Ears began hacking on a jammed chunk of bone, Luffy displayed savvy medical expertise as he ceaselessly rammed the mouse's head into the table's skirting marble edge until the hunk jostled free.


Fwip, Flutter, Fwip.

Straw Hat lazed back in his cushioned chair to enjoy a snooze as Ears flipped through page after page, bitterly tossing yet another tome of irrelevance upon a swelling pile of hardcover literature.

Plucking the heaviest novel he could muster from the heap, the mouse pitched it right into Luffy's lax mug, bursting a snot bubble and rattling the pirate awake in a frantic scramble. "I'm studying this darn tootin' research for your benefit as well you know!"



Jumping to the Central Park quadrant, both thrill-seekers zipped down a frigid snow mound on rental skis, with the more aerodynamic Ears taking the lead. Not to be outdone so effortlessly, Luffy stretched his arm and grasped an exposed tree branch, acting as a makeshift clothesline.

Thinking brashly on his boots, the pint-sized mouse tucked his head, eluding the saboteur's appendage by the fur on his dome. Vengefully, Ears swiveled his legs and skid along the brisk white powder, casting a billow of icy munition into Straw Hat's kisser.

"Oooowoawoawoaw" He shrieked with hindered sight before tumbling over. Mugiwara hurdled down the mountainside and rolled into a mammoth snowball before inevitably slamming into the enclosing barricade. Minutes following, his impish assailant arrived to tug him out of the compacted mass. Ensuingly, the duo giggled in hysteria.

"Ohohoho, this place is a hoot, where to next?" Ears petitioned, sweeping frosted particles from his smock.

"Kahahaha! Let's check out the dojo next!"


Smitten with elation, Luffy sustained satirical ignorance of this game's true purpose of ill intentions. Contrarily, deep within the recesses of his subconscious mind, a sinister force had taken root, burrowing into his psyche. The dauntless pirate's abrupt shift in countenance evidenced his subliminal arrest.

Daft half-wit, you truly believe this to be a game? Frolicking around carelessly as others prepare for the bloodshed that lies ahead. Soon that bitter crimson shall forever stain your hands, and I shall relish in knowing there is nothing you can do to prevent it. I am you, and soon you will be me. I will foster your negative emotions, nurture them, mature them. You cannot see me. You cannot touch me. You cannot stop me. Gehgehgehgeh!

"Guhh! . . . huff . . huff . . the heck . . . what . . was that?!"
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With the turtle gone and the cleanup crews racing to make the place look unblemished as other groups were throwing together some sort of stage, Proto Man found himself once again anonymous amongst the growing throng of people entering the facility. Everyone who had tried to prevent the spread of the killing spree had dissipated, leaving the preteen machine to stand by the wall in silence.

“Are you a contestant?” A voice asked from a few feet away.

The robot glanced over to see a small news crew—reporter, cameraman, and a third person with a more ambiguous role. From their clothes, they had to be from either Coruscant or a more modern settlement in the Vasty Deep. People from Camelot weren’t the type to throw on suits and wear such clearly manufactured shoes. “I don’t know,” Proto Man replied as he twisted up his lips and tried to remember if he had ever agreed to anything. “I just ran after that guy after he shot up the little registration camp I was at.”

At the mention of ‘that guy,’ the news crew all seemed to light up, and before Proto Man could protest, they all slid in a little closer. Although the female reporter didn’t thrust the microphone into his face, she certainly held it somewhere firmly within his personal bubble. A glimpse showed that the cameraman had started to record, and the third guy was looking at some handheld equipment. “You were on the other side of the gate when Wartortle arrived? Can you tell us anything about him? Did he say anything to you or give any reason for his actions?”

“I don’t think he had any motivation outside of causing a scene and hurting people,” Proto Man muttered as he glanced down at the scorch marks from where he’d been hit by the forty-millimeter explosive rounds.

“Surely he had to have a reason,” the woman asked, trying to pry more words out of the preteen android.

Proto Man shrugged his shoulders. “I think there are a lot of monsters out there who just want to hurt people and try to drag the world into the flames.” Before the woman could ask him another question, the Prototype Robot Master beat her to the punch. “Where are you guys from?”

“Coruscant, Tier 5,” she replied with a smile. “My name is April O’Flanagan, and my crew guys over there are Bob and Rock.” The two bulky crewmen waved their hands when their names were spoken, allowing Proto Man to determine who was who. “Where are you from…”

“I’m Blues,” the android replied after he realized she had trailed off under the assumption that the rest of her sentence was rhetorical. “I’m also from Coruscant, but you’ve got to head a little further south to reach my house.”

“Tier Six?” April asked, eliciting a little nod from the machine. “How, uh… how’s that?”

“I haven’t been home in a while,” he responded as a frown crept across his youthful features. “I left to go find someone, and since then, I’ve been chasing shadows and monsters across the Omniverse.”

Before April could ask another question, Rock the tech guy interjected into their conversation. “Hey, I remember you!” He declared, prompting April to scowl and glance over at him. If the man was supposed to feel bad for violating some sort of interview protocol, he didn’t show it. “You were one of the primes that took down those dragons in Camelot…”

“Yea,” Proto Man said with a smile as he thought back to when he’d slipped out of Camelot. “I’ve been to a few more places since then and stopped a few more monsters.” The machine dug into his side bag and pulled out the scale he’d collected after the defeat of the Tarrasque. “This one’s from something called a Tarrasque,” he explained as his age started to seep through into his tone and mannerisms. “The stuff that happened afterwards wasn’t quite as pleasant, but I think we all did a good thing stopping the monster from ravaging the Pale Moors.”

“Care to give us the dish on that story?” April asked with a grin as she leaned a little closer to the machine, who leaned backwards to get some breathing room.

“Maybe a little later,” he replied, feeling slightly uncomfortable as the crew slowly closed in around him. “I’m starving!” He declared as he slipped underneath Bop and vanished into the crowd of visitors.
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Dante's Abyss 2015

The anchorman and his crew were beginning to settle at the far end of the lobby. Behind them, a squad of uniformed men and women—gray jumpsuits with matching caps—scurried around to set up a small stage.

The Lead Anchorman of KVWN channel 4(Deadpool remembered from the movie) Ron Burgundy straightened his tie and pushed his mustache hair into alignment with a couple swipes of the tongue.

“We’re gonna be rolling in a few minutes, Ron,” the cameraman said as he kneeled down and perched the camera on his shoulder.

“Rrrrroger Rrrrrabit had the hhhabit of eeeating caaaactiiiii for prrraaactice.” Ron said, reciting one of his articulation exercises. “Someone hand me a quick glass of scotch. I need it to get my voice clear—to say my ’ph’ sounds and correctly pronounce silent letters.” A crewmember hurried over and handed him a glass; with a gulp, Ron downed it and handed it back to him. “That’s better.” He smacked his lips a few times and combed a hand through his brown hair. “How much time?”

“Ten to fifteen seconds, Ron,” the cameraman replied. As he went to look back at his monitor a firm finger tapped him on the shoulder opposite of the camera.

* * * * * *

“Hola!” Deadpool said.

The cameraman’s head whipped over his shoulder and peered at the mercenary; though his brown eyes originally capsuled anger, the emotion quickly dissolved into confusion as he glanced over at the pastry sitting on the mercenary’s shoulder. “Can I help you with anything?”

”I want an interview with that guy,” Deadpool replied, pointing over at the anchorman.

Lead Anchorman. Don’t forget it again. This man is a fucking legend.

“We’ve been taking interviews all day.” The cameraman’s voice was tired, but after a sigh he said, “Alright, we can get another one in before we cover the staged event coming up.” He looked back forward and greeted Ron Burgundy’s watching eyes with his own. “That cool with you, Ron?”

“Sure, why not?” the lead anchorman replied with a voice more exuberant than the cameraman’s. “I haven’t interviewed many men in latex fetish outfits today, and none with a cookie. Send them over.”

“You heard em’.” The cameraman refocused on the monitor on his camera. “Start it quick—we’re on in ten.”

The mercenary proceeded around the kneeling cameraman and over to Ron Burgundy, to stand at the lead anchorman’s left. The cameraman raised three fingers and then began to fold them. “Three . . . two . . . one!” He threw his remaining finger towards Ron and the show was on.

“Greetings, from Omniverse News Network,” the Ron declared into the camera. “As always, I’m Ron Burgundy.” A charming smile curved his lips under his mustache. “Once I again, I come to you live from the Danteverse. We’re now here by the entrance to the barracks, where a stage is being set up for something.” He looked over his right shoulder at the constructing stage and paused, then saying. “My guess is some type of dance-off event, or maybe a talent show? Either way, it looks like it will be loads of fun.”

Deadpool wrapped his arms around his chest. Come on, Bryan is gonna be posting his little ‘Retane makes Lobby happy again’ post sometime today, and I’m supposed to have a cameo in it, he thought, while his foot began to tap against the marble floor. Patience was never the mercenary’s strong suit. If it were, he never wore it.

But just before Deadpool’s impatience boiled over into words, Ron glanced back at the camera, striking another charming smile, and then looked over at the mercenary. “In the meantime, we have another prospective contestant here. Why don’t you tell the viewers a little about yourself? “

Finally. As the mercenary’s eyes drifted over to the camera’s lens, he extended a thumbs up. ”I’m Deadpool, and this guy on my shoulder is Gingy. I like to break the fourth wall and make quip remarks.”

“You make stupid remarks,” Gingy interjected in a mutter. “Like the one you just made.”

“So what brings you here, Deadpool? Is it the competition, the free liquor (I wouldn’t blame you), or just the festivities in general?”

”I just like adventure,” Deadpool replied. “Anything I can acquire Omnillium from. “[/color]

“Fair enough,” Ron responded. “With the amount of Omnillium Karl possesses you can make a whole warehouse of scotch. Good scotch. The type you could dip your cookie friend into and enjoy, while enjoying a nice bathing water in the islands of Italy. “

A breezy feeling crept up the mercenary’s back; Ron Burgundy trailed off topic as much in the Omniverse as he did in his movie. It was a pleasant, alleviating feeling. Dipping Gingy into a glass of scotch did come across as a wise idea, but he knew his gingerbread friend would beg to differ. He even paused for a moment to allow Gingy to interject again, but he didn’t. ”Yup!”

“So, I’ve always wondered . . .” Ron began. His lips bowed into a pondering frown, and his cleft dug deeper into the center of his chin. “Why do so many wear masks? You should know, since you wear a mask yourself.”

”Well, I guess most comic book guys do it to ‘conceal their identities’,” Deadpool replied, throwing up finger quotes. ”I do it because my face—and entire body—is covered in tumors. It’s a long story, but yeah.”

“Interesting,” Ron replied as his brow furrowed. “Would you be willing to show the public?”

Deadpool’s face looked like an ass check riddled with a nasty rash. It was one of his only insecurities. So much so he often had sex with the mask on. But he only had one chance to make Ron Burgundy remember who he was, so he took the plunge and reached a hand back to clench the rear of his mask. ”I guess so,” he replied in a shriveling voice as he peeled his mask over his cranium and from his face.

The cameraman almost let his expensive equipment slid off of his shoulder, but immediately grabbed caught it under the lens with his free hand. Ron’s mouth slowly retracted from the curtaining of his lips as his eyes exploded open.

The lead anchorman went to speak, stumbled over his thoughts, but then found the words to say: “I’m not going to lie to you . . . your face looks like a herpe’d asshole.” His adam’s apple pulled high into his throat then fell back into place. “I wish there was another way I could put it, for the sake of masses watching, but I . . . I just can’t. It looks like your face was crushed by a monster truck tire, splintering with glass.”

The words sank further into the mercenary than his katana did. Ron Burgundy was one of his idols, and he just roasted him like a turkey. His head fell past his clavicle as the lead anchorman finished talking, and before Ron could ask another question, he pulled his mask back over his head. ”Yeah, I know. Anyway, I have to go to the bathroom.”His words were bullshit—just the best excuse the mercenary could conjure up on the fly to escape the rest of the interview.

Ron stared at the Deadpool and nodded. “A trip to the ole porcelain throne.” He looked back at the camera and found a way to switch attention back on the looming event.”

“Hey, what’re you doing?” Gingy asked as Deadpool began to walk away. “I wanted to answer a few questions too.”

”Fuck it, dude. Post is long enough anyway.”

Fuck Ron Burgundy. That's why his second movie was garbage.

Dante's Abyss Placings
2015 - 4th
2016 - 2nd
2017 - 4th

PVP Combat Record
3W - 0L - 0D
4W - 1L - 0D
[Image: Deadpool_Funny.png]

Jon's lips peered into a slight frown as Gildarts offered over his explanation of what had brought him here in the first place. In more ways than one, the bastard Snow felt as though could sympathise with the sorcerer. He too longed for home, and being here only delayed him from seeing his sworn brothers and the Wall again, and if anything at all, set him back further in his tracks.

Jon silently cursed to himself on that mental note; he truly was considering whether or not laying his sword at Hammond's feet and vying to come here was one of his brightest moments.

As the sorcerer began to mull over the suspect of breaking down the door from whence he'd came with his "powers", Jon inclined his head to look over at them, squinting. They looked breakable and as though they could wither, certainly. And if Gildarts's magic was strong and powerful enough to crack the tiled floor beneath the, Snow didn't doubt that he could bust and break through metal with just as much ease.

Gildarts was right about the fact that it was probably more trouble than it was really worth, though. There was also the off-chance the sorcerer could injure someone in his blind rage and desperation to break out from here; not something he seemed intent on doing, Jon judged from his more than friendly demeanour and laid-back (yet still prone to temper) attitude.

"No, you couldn't" Jon inhaled sharply, speaking in agreement with him. "To many men posted around here, besides. I'm sure they'd take less than kindly to you breaking their wall down to make a run for it" Snow lowered his tones as two security men wandered by them, giving a swift yet sharp glance over. These peacekeepers weren't as armed to the bone as the Stormtroopers of Corucsant had been, but armed none-the-less they were. They adorned a pretty solid looking amount of bodily armour, visibly plumpened by a thick layer of under-padding beneath. The crest of the Dante's Abyss contest emblazoned their chests, which clearly signified them as men under Karl Jak's belt and contract.

A bzzzzt sounded from one on the guardsmen's radios. Arching his head down to listen, he let out a simple grunt, nodding to his companion before they made further haste down the hallway, past the elevators and towards two wider, stronger looking doors that appeared to be quite amply barred-up.

One of the men grasped at the bars, yanking it off as the other began to unbolt the door. Instantaneously, they slid the metal doors open, holding them apart as heaps and flocks of squealing fans moved inside, barely able to contain their excitement and anticipation.

Jon groaned, turning back around to face Gildarts.

"Where you headed anywhere before I stopped you?" the bastard inquired with a slightly raised brow. The man across from him squinted a little bit, his arms wrapping around his chest. "No, actually... not anywhere in particular, at least. I didn't arrive here long before you did, thinking about it..." the sorcerer's lips curled slightly in thought, a hand moving to itch the back of his head. Jon took one more glance over his shoulder before speaking up once more.

"We... should get moving, then. I'm sure there's more to see and enjoy beyond this place, anyway" Snow stifled a slight chuckle. He went to move past Gildarts, his long, black fur-cloak trailing after him in his steps, but he paused as something else caught his attention.

Off to the side of the lobby, a stage of sorts was being set up by a few of the competitions crewmen. For what? Jon began to ponder to himself. Narrowing his eyes a tad, he turned his gaze steadily back toward Gildarts.

"Want to go check that out?"
[Image: tumblr_nzzfidB5IX1tcnpluo4_1280.png]

“…hey, pal? You alright?”

Mickey leapt as high as he could—admittedly, not very high at all—and waved a gloved hand in his new buddy’s face, but Luffy just continued staring off into space, unphased.

The unlikely duo’s escapades had taken their toll on the pirate captain, it seemed.

“Guhh!...huff…huff…the heck…what…was that?!” the boy grunted, breaking from his trance.

“I dunno,” Mickey shrugged, “you just kinda checked out there for a sec, bud.” Luffy scowled, and the mouse thought he might have caught a flash of embarrassment flash across the pirate’s face.

Up until that point, though, Mickey had been having a surprising amount of fun exploring the facility with the boy. Between their little skiing accident and stuffing their faces in any restaurant that looked mildly appetizing, their adventures had not only been a shockingly good time but had also served to relax the mouse, who up until that point had been nothing but stressed about this awful competition.

The good times did not seem to be lost on Luffy, either. Even when Mickey’s antics on the mountains had sent him violently tumbling down in a big ball of snow, he had laughed it off. At this point, the King shuddered to think that any of the people signed up for this competition were his friends, but… in Luffy, he might have found something like a friend.

Their adventures, it seemed, were not meant to take up all that much time; as the pair crossed back into the Lobby from their last little detour into the dojo, they were greeted by a bunch of Dante’s Abyss grunts setting up two stages on either end of the hall-way. Mickey didn’t have an inkling what the stages might be used for, and if his puzzled expression was any indication, his pal didn’t have a clue, either.

“They sure like pizazz here,” Mickey commented.

“Everything’s so shiny,” Luffy added. Nothing got past that boy.

The pirate captain tilted his head to the side as he stared at the stage being set up near the elevator. “Something fancy’s about to happen, I bet,” he nodded matter-of-factly, “what d’you think, panther guy?”

Once again, Luffy’s gross incorrectness astounded Mickey. But, in the interest of friendship, he determined that he wouldn’t correct him. So what if this guy thought he was a tiny panther? Better than being recognized as Mickey Mouse, King of the Disney Realms and Ruler of Disney Castle. That type of attention was not something the mouse wanted—ever.

“I dunno,” Mickey shrugged, “Probably gettin’ ready for this shindig to start, I s’pose.”

Mickey turned and looked up at his lanky compadré. “Wanna go check it out, pal?” Luffy nodded, and the pair pushed into the crowd, heading toward the far stage and what would certainly be the center of the next bit of commotion.
[Image: 2agonyw.png]

Gilgamesh raised his eyebrow as the man in the flashy suit had just pulled of an amazing feat. "Oh? I see you are quite skilled." He raised his head to look at the man and a smirk was on his face and he chuckled a bit. He stood up and placed his cue stick on the ground, leaning upon it like a staff. A glimmer of ambition and defiance stood in his eye as he grinned at the King. The very cockiness of the mongrel upset the King and causes him to seethe in his spot.

"I'm not too bad at this game. Want to play again?" His body leaned over the table as if he owned the place. Gilgamesh couldn't help but to wish to end this dog's life. A man came in with all white suit with a black tie…he oddly resembled the Nexus…as if the Nexus were human. The man appeared to be in his twenties, skin absolutely flawless, grey eyes, blonde hair. He almost didn't seem human, it offset the king as the man looked around the building for someone. His eyes skimmed pass the King and locked in right at Gilgamesh. A smile of relief came upon his face as he rushed to meet the group at the pool table. Gilgamesh could tell that he had an enormous ego just by looking at him.

"Ah yes, you I assume you're Gilgamesh. I've heard stories about how…decorative you are." The man looked down at the King and back up, sizing him down with his black leather shoes, his dress pants, and his fine satin shirt. The King nodded with a glare and the man rolled his eyes. "Well I need you. Come along." The man sighed and turned around and began to walk. Gilgamesh however did not follow him.

"Who are you to tell me what to do? I am King Gilgamesh! I follow no one's orders." The man turned around and glared at him. Gilgamesh advanced towards the man and looked into his eyes. He was about to speak but the man cut him off. "Karl Jak has requested to see you, and if you care about your life or your Kingdom you would come along. Alone. Do I make myself clear?" The King's face was livid. He was absolutely pissed, his face began to fill up to the brim with lava and steam almost came out of his ears, but a meeting with Karl Jak was something he couldn't pass up.

"I shall come along with you, but not for any of your pathetic interest. I shall go on my own accord, and let this be known. If you dare speak to your King ever again, your silver tongue will be on the floor and fed to my lion. For every word you speak, I shall cut off a finger without mercy. I am not afraid to stand against the Empire, why would I be afraid of you? Do I need to repeat myself? The man seemed to shrink back into his cocky little shell and shook his head no as he grumbled. "Now lead the way, Mongrel."

Gilgamesh forced a smile onto his face as he turned back to the people at the pool table witnessing this event. "Alas I have some business to attend to! I shall have to be off, Crona, Seraph. See you in the Abyss." His face turned and it was back to the scowl. He shoved the man forward, almost causing the cocky man to fall onto the floor. The two exited the dome with haste and entered the main lobby where he saw the large mass of people and other contestants walk around. The man walked to the wall, an elevator of sorts was there and the man clicked the button and put in his keycard. Bernard. Huh, what a pathetic, and common name. The King scoffed and "Bernard" turned around to glare at him. The doors opened to a tube-like elevator, the walls were very nice and at the top, a large television monitoring the various facilities of the Abyss.

Bernard clicked the button at the top, instead of a number it was replaced by the letter B. The button lit up and the elevator doors shut and it began to rise. Dull music came out of nowhere and it was sleepy and comforting, like a warm glass of milk when one cannot sleep. The melody was almost hypnotic and the man in front of him seemed to groove to the beat.

Dun-da, du-dun-da---Du-da-dun-du-dun-da The elevator stopped abruptly and a bell, resembling the sound of a dinner bell, rang. The door opened into a giant lobby, the entire room was warm and luxurious. There was a nice, crystal chandelier and a large table of food next to him. Gilgamesh glanced at the table with the chocolate fountain and the numerous platters of fruit, sandwiches and other delicious treats. This didn't impress him, the damned thief Karl Jak. Gilgamesh looked down and he saw the entire playing board beneath him, the contestants, the fans, the entire show beneath him. Hmmm…Curious. Bernard led him towards the middle of the room with a curious man there and bowed to the man before taking his leave.

The supposed Karl Jak in front of him waved to Gilgamesh to sit down, and Gilgamesh did so, taking note of the luxury that Karl was able to enjoy. Oh there would be no greater satisfaction from keeping his joy from expanding, but that would have to wait. The sofa was very comfy and Gilgamesh sank in and looked at the Oak table before them holding the man's coffee. The man sat crossed-legged and confidently looked at the man in front of him. He picked up the coffee casually before sipping the hot beverage, while looking Gilgamesh straight in the eyes. He let out a satisfying "Ahhhh" as he set down the cup and leaned back into his chair, putting his fingertips together as if he were in thought. He leaned forward and peered at Gilgamesh.

"Now here's what I want you to do." Gilgamesh looked furious, his brows furrowed and his gaze narrowed. His face turned into a scowl and Gilgamesh leaned forward in turn. "You do not tell me what I need to do thief. I am here to reclaim my prizes and that's it.

Kark Jak just sat there, his face holding back an enormous laughter but failed miserably. "You still think you're in control don't you. Bernard, play the footage." His gaze diverted to the man towards the corner, while Gilgamesh just leaned back in his chair, studying the man carefully.

"With pleasure." The man said as he flipped a light switch, the room dimmed and right above the two primes the ceiling opened up to reveal a small projector. He could hear almost as if it where a movie wheel spinning as the machine sputtered to life to have blue holograms come out of it.

Gilgamesh's heart dropped, and his face turned into a expression of panic. He recognized the two holograms. It was himself…and Guu. "However, I may spare you if you continue to humor me…" The figure had wicked grin appeared on his face and he crossed his arms. The footage was clear and perfect and right as Guu was about to punch the King the footage cut off. Gilgamesh rubbed his eye in remembrance and he looked up at Karl in panic. "Where did you get that film?"

Karl Jak chuckled as he leaned back in his chair and gazed upon his new pawn. "Now you see, Gilgamesh that I'm in control, and if you don't do as I say," the man leaned forward with a sly smile, "this footage gets released." The King looked forward and put his hands in his hair.

The King quickly stood up and drew a sword out of his portal and put it to Karl Jak's neck. "Delete that video or else you shall perish at the hand's of a true King." His breathing became heavy and labored and his sword poked into Jak's neck. Karl just smiled and laughed and pushed the sword away from his neck with his bare hands as he spoke.

"Do you really think killing me will get anywhere? I'm a prime, I will continue to live, and when I respawn I shall post this video and it will be the end of you and your Kingdom." Gilgamesh's eyes widened as he lowered his sword and it dissipated into the million golden specks. "This, This is great, your personality will make for great entertainment. Now for what I want."

Gilgamesh peered at the man as he began to list his demands. "We need to continue this rivalry between you and Guu. If you meet Guu on the battlefield you must make a giant show out of it, for the audience. I know you two are buddy, buddy now but the audience doesn't know that. You need to create a spectacle of it, a big rematch, you know."

Gilgamesh smirked, "Oh no, that won't be a problem." The King relaxed and Karl smiled and put his hand to the King's face. He moved it around almost inspecting Gilgamesh as if he were a dog in a sort and his hand was left on the King's cheek. Gilgamesh's cheeks ran red with fury and he had to stop himself from strangling the man in front of him. The man however, had too much leverage on him.

"Oh I can't wait to see your face when you die. That will be satisfying for the audience and myself." Karl patted him on the cheek before sitting down. "Now get your Kingly bitch-ass out of my office and into the barracks. We need to prepare for the Abyss."

The King crestfallen and withered, turned abruptly and into the elevator that brought him to hell.

Retane stepped bac k into the lobby and took a turn towards the barracks. He let out a low sigh as he heard a familiar voice. He felt a familiar presenceone from before. He shook his head as he realized who it was.

A stage was there at one end of the lobby. There were people sitting in seats, filled and even more standing up behind them. Soon tohugh, the lights went out and the area was pitch black. "Ladies, and Gentlemen..." The voice was dark and ominous. In the back ground you could hear children laughing in the play ground. "I Present to you... From Random Bullshit Incorporated, paired up with Pepsi.."

From the backstage speaker a slurred figure laughed and shouted, "Yup I'm drinking pepsi."

Another, older man shouted back at him, "Shut up you damned dumbass! We are about to go on stage!"

"Oh Sorry!" The slurred speaker gave a hiccup and laughed.

"I would like to give you..." The announcer paused for any more interuptions, but after a few seconds hollered, "Batnut and Gang!"

A few cords struck from a guitar, lights started to swirl around and smoke filtered the stage creating a silhouette of a small bat like creature, "Time to play the game..."

The crowd began to cheer. A few more cords were struck, " It's to play the game!!!!! Hahahaha"

A few more cords were strung followed by another evil laugh. Finally the speakers all around blared out playing, an actual hard rhythmic tune full of bass.

Quote:"It's all about the game and how you play it.
All about control and if you can take it.
All about your debt and if you can pay it.
It's all about pain and who's gonna make it.

I am the game, you don't wanna play me.
I am control, no way you can change me.
I am heavy debt, no way you can pay me.
I am the pain and I know you can't take me.

Look over your shoulder, ready to run.
Like a good little bitch, from a smoking gun.
I am the game and I make the rules.
So move on out here and die like a fool.
Try to figure out what my moods gonna be.
Come on over sucker, why don't you ask me?
Don't you forget that the price you can pay
Cause I am the game and I want to play...."
A guitar squeeled as a seperate guitar was strung hard twice, over and over at a constant rhythm. soon though, it died into a low strum as the smoke settled and a spotlight settled on character. He was dressed almost as a bat, but had green hair sticking out the top of his head, had a 'B' on his chest, and almost looked like a puppet. "Are you ready???" He asked in his in his dark voice as another guitar strummed hard

The audience screamed in excitement....

"Are you hungry???" The costumed character asked. Again the crowd screamed.

"Do you want some gingerbread?" The dark voice continued, but shook his head, haha "Naw I'm just kidding. But well I do know what I like... It's a little bit better then pepsi though... It's nutty... and creamy...It's called Peanut butter.... And Jelly!!!!" THen the dark knight imitation yanked off his mask and shouted to the top of his lungs, "It's peanut butter jelly time!

Another spotlight turned on shining on and elder man the same size as his purple companion and repeated "Peanut butter jelly time!"
Finally a third spotlight appeared on another short character. This one was staggering wore a blue hat that said 'Pepsy' writen in black marker. He took a swig of a blue can that had white tape across it that also was marked 'Pepsy'. His gut stuck out from the bottom of his shirt and he gave a goofy assed grin, "Deeeerrrraaaaa", he belched, "Haha. I'm drinking pepsi... Oh I mean, Peanut butter jelly time!"

A beat hit and all three, the third one off key, kicked there legs out and had their arms stretched out in a 'v.' They bent at the knees
Quote:Where he at?
Where he at?
Where he at?
Where he at?

A jalepeno on a stick was seen hopping across the stage. The crowd cheered

NowThere he go
There he go
There he go
There he go

Peanut Butter Jelly !
Peanut Butter Jelly!
Peanut Butter Jelly!
Peanut Butter Jelly!

Do the Peanut butter jelly
Peanut butter jelly
Peanut butter jelly with a baseball bat

The old man pulled a miniature baseball bat out of, who knows where, showed it real fast, and tucked it away.

Do the Peanut butter jelly
Peanut butter jelly
Peanut butter jelly with a baseball bat

Again, the oldman pulled out his bat and showed it and replaced it.
Quote:Now where he at?
Where he at?
Where he at?
Where he at?

Again the crod cheered as the jalepeno hopped across the stage.

Quote:NowThere he go
There he go
There he go
There he gaahahahahahah

The older man had stopped, pulled his bat out and used it to trip the jalepeno as he crossed him, "Thats for not having arms and legs, you damned dumbass!" Quickly they all recovered and continued their dance , the jalepeno standing next to his attack just hopping around.
Quote:NowPeanut Butter Jelly !
Peanut Butter Jelly!
Peanut Butter Jelly!
Peanut Butter Jelly!

Do the Peanut butter jelly
Peanut butter jelly
Peanut butter jelly with a baseball bat
Do the Peanut butter jelly
Peanut butter jelly
Peanut butter jelly with a baseball bat

Now break it down and freeze
They all froze, the music stopped and the lights soon turned black.

"Hey Jose", the purple singer called out, hardly able to cantain his laughter.

"Jalepeno!On a steek beetch!"

"You going to let Walter do that to you?" The leader continued in the dark.

"I didn't feel a Fuckin' THAAAANG!" Someone called out from somewhere.

"I didn't feel anything either derrrr. I'm drinking pepsi." The slurred one called.

"Thats cuz you are drunk, Bubba J! And Pepsi is spelled P-E-P-S-I, youu redneck bastard! Oh look! He's making a left turn!!!" The voice mocked the drunkard.

"What? NASCAR's on? I'm missing it? Oh! I need another pepsi anyways, I'll let you guys know who is winning!"

"Hey Jose! Do you guys eat jelly where you are from?" It was the lead singer.

"No Peanut, they don't. They have a different, pallette of taste buds. " It was Walter, the old man.

"Yes we do. We have jalapeno jelly." Jose answered.

"Dahfuq? That doesn't sound good at all." Peanut shouted in protest.

"I'll go make you and Walter some right now, senor! I'll squeeze it out of my ass and down my steek, and I hope it burn's both your asses when it's done. You damn bastards!"

Suddenly, a spotlight appeared on three beings. One was smaller then everyone, was nearly flat, and was actually a gingerbread cookie. The one in the middle was tall and dressed in a red and black suit, with a neon sign above his head that flashed, 'Deadpool'. The third character, Retane knew all too well and looked to his arm and face palmed. Of course this would be where he went. It was Arith, his ally, wearing his golden dragon armor.

"NOW STOP!" The Speakers blared. "HAMMERTIME!!!"

A beat started then and the three simitaneosly moved from left to right their feet wide out and moving quickly.

"How dare you bastards try to bomb our show ,you asshole jews! That's my job." A skeleton character flew in from out of no wear, in a miniatire aircraft , he tried to shoot at the trio, but realized there were no guns. "DAMMIT! I don't want to suicide bomb again!"

The GIngerbread man started a beat then as the skeleton circled above. "Du du du-du, du du du-du. Du du du-du, du du du-du.Du du..."

Deadpool started as soon as the beat hit though,

Quote:Some legends are told
Some turn to dust or to gold
But you will remember me
Remember me for centuries
And just one mistake
Is all it will take
We'll go down in history
Remember me for centuries
He-e-e-ey ya, oh he-e-e-ey
He-e-e-ey ya
Remember me for centuries

Arith broke in then, laughing as his beat interrupted the crimson and raven suited warrior. As the skeletal circled around waving.

Quote:'Cause we could be immortals, immortals
Just not for long, for long.
And live with me forever now,
You pull the blackout curtains down
Just not for long, for long.

We could be immooooooo- immortals,
Immooooooo- immortals,
Immooooooo- immortals,
Immooooooo- immortals.

Sometimes the only pay-off for having any faith
Is when it's tested again and again everyday.
I'm still comparing your past to my future.
It might be your wound but they're my sutures.

The music stopped then, and the lights shut off "Does everyone want it to happen? Does everyone want Achmed to Suicide bomb these three?"

The crowd cheered as loud as they could. And a spotlight showed on Achmed as he went directly at where the three should be, "Die you jew bastards!!!"

The lights went off then, and a dark voice boomed "Now do the Halrem Shake"

Flashing colored lights appeared, a disco ball was there spinning colors around the arena. Deadpool and his gingerbread freind were found riding off, somehow on the mini-red barron plane. Walter was riding around on Jose, smacking him on the 'steek', and hollering "dumbass". Achmed was drinking a 'pepsy' while Bubba J rolled on the floor crying about alcohol abuse. Peanut was humping on Arith's leg, but wearing Arith's mask, while Arith used a green top hat to cover his face and had his hand on the purple creature hand trying to force it towards the crotch.

The lights went black. Retane wondered what the hell he had just watched, and why he had just watched it....
[Image: hchh.png]

I refuse to lose this battle,
Let whatever come my way.
I am stronger then my rival,
No, I will not fall today...

"All right, Sir, it looks like that... comedy thing is just about wrapped up," the producer's assistant remarked as she glanced up from a timetable of the remaining preshow festivities.

"Splendid," Karl remarked, feeling quite on top of himself after just having wrapped up a 'business discussion' with 'king' Gilgamesh. "Get the other stage ready. Are the bands prepared?"

"Yes, Sir, although I don't quite understand this lineup... are they from your world?"

"Nah," Karl shook his head as he made his way to the elevator. "Just from around... tell the press people that their time here is nearly up. In three hours, I want all of our contestants up in the Barracks. The cameras are all functioning up there, right? I want to start streaming that stuff immediately."

"I'll have the crew go over them again, Sir."

"Excellent..." Karl muttered as he boarded the elevator back down to the facility.

Quote:The stage near the Barracks will be hosting a revolving cast of musical acts -- if you roleplay anywhere in this area, you can have whatever or whoever playing there, whether its Frank Sinatra, Pitbull, Nirvana, or space music. In-character, there are only three hours remaining until the Barracks phase. Out-of-character, this will begin in approximately 21 hours.
[Image: KarlSig.jpg]

Something was wrong here.

Well, okay, to be fair, most big events Fairy Tail had gotten themselves involved in back in her old world were either part of yet another insidious plot to end the world or otherwise somehow malefic. Even then, though, everything had usually seemed alright up until the big reveal. S-Class test? A pretty good time, up until Grimoire Heart decided to interfere. The Grand Magic Games were good fun until the dragons attacked! Even the search for the Infinity Clock pieces was interesting enough until the writers ran out of ideas and brought back all the same characters from Edolas and the Oración Seis...

But this was different. Erza had stepped through the rift and arrived here, in this giant open area, and before she could even truly get her bearings was confronted with the murderous rampage of a very tall turtle. Okay, whatever, we all feel like going on murderous rampages once in a while, and a two-legged turtle was no weirder than the catlike forms of Happy and Charlotte. The thing that stood out wasn't the homicidal (bordering suicidal, considering the company) outburst of the thing. It was Security's response to the whole ordeal.

A flamboyant man who was ostensibly in charge and bore an impeccable resemblance to Sugar Boy had stepped from the shadows, laughing and clapping, as his minions began sweeping away all the dead-people bits. "The show will go on," indeed. And just like that, the gathered warriors had returned straight to casually conversing in seemingly random groups about the room. No shock, no outcry, at least not to the degree that generally happened in Fiore, and the people of Fiore were certainly used to unnecessary violence.

The sweepers had removed from the room the majority of the blood and guts, the proof of the violent ordeal, but the stench of death pervaded, a subtle mist over the bog that was the combined odor of a room full of men who'd spent too long in their armor and not long enough in a bathtub. Erza felt a particularly pitiful twang towards the disproportionate number of very young girls who'd not only had to witness the gory display, but were not tall enough to escape from the pervasive must's most tangible layer of funk. Then again, they signed up for this too, didn't they? A big group fight on an island. This feels somehow familiar.

Then there was the concert. And what an event that was. It was, in fact, very similar in nature to Fairy Tail's own festive gatherings - Rowdy, lacking in organization, and overall mostly just a headache. One of the singers even sounded like Gajeel.

And even then, the crowd was eating it up. Perhaps they were simply looking for diversion? Maybe they just wanted a distraction from the admittedly disturbing... disturbance from earlier, or even the giant deathmatch they'd already locked themselves into. Maybe I'm just taking this too seriously? Nah, I'm never too serious.

It was not common that Erza was well and truly lost in thought. Generally, the solution to a given problem was either to summon a fuck-ton of swords and stab it to death, or the dragon slayers and Lucy would figure out something better. In this case though, she was already a good 500 words in and hadn't yet realized that she'd been wielding a meatless chicken bone instead of her sword since hopping through the portal to this place. Taking note of this, she made use of her newfound powers to transmogrify it into a napkin. Somehow the night's organized entertainment had ended without her notice, and the air had quickly taken on an additional scent which attempted to mask the musk in "Wild Violet," or something like that.

Her shoulders and neck finally began to relax as she wiped the now-pungent fried chicken grease off her fingers and chin, taking the opportunity to turn her head down for the first time since arriving and relieve a cramp that was beginning to form. Unfortunately, that was all undone in a sudden flash of familiarity as the image of a friend and ally once presumed abandoned flew by in her peripheral vision. Was that... Now that Erza had caught a glimpse, she was utterly dumbfounded she hadn't noticed it already. His power was palpable in this place, just as it had been at home. Perhaps it had been masked by all the unfamiliar scents and the pure energy radiating already from everyone in this place, but now that she'd caught a whiff, it was undeniably him; One of the guild's very few other S-Class wizards, and the only one Erza was sure she couldn't take on alone.

Gildarts was here. Somewhere. She caught a glimpse of a familiar cape swishing around beyond the thrall that was the center of the room, suddenly populated by far more civilians than at her arrival, but it was soon obscured by the writhing mass of fans and participants. That wasn't him, was it? Damn my short legs... Erza began to push through the throng, moving faster and faster as the Lobby grew more and more densely packed.

"Gildarts? Gildarts! Gildarts, of Fairy Tail! Where... Are... You!?" Erza was calling out at the top of her lungs, but her cries were muffled by the sheer density of the crowd. This particular strategy wasn't going to work. She wasn't even getting much attention from those she wasn't looking for, let alone a single spacey buffoon on the other end of the room. She continued pushing through the crowd, but stopped wasting her breath. She'd need it if she were indeed to catch up with her old comrade, and it didn't seem to be helping her much here.
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Snow had proved to be more intriguing than Gildarts first thought, not that the utterly oblivious wizard noticed much in the first place, but he had a vague sense of what he wanted to do if he wasn't able to break down the door to his freedom. And Jon seemed to sympathize with the veteran's struggle.

In context, Jon had made a good point. But could Gildarts really let off the same people who had deceived him? Even if his goal had been to immediately escape, enjoying the place hadn't been an option to be considered. But it would spite the makers of the show. Time could only tell, and the Prime had other things on his mind, for the fighter more than welcomed the challenge of the many competitors' willingness to fight. Some enemies would even prove admirable, some could have been in the same coerced boat as he was, and some, like Jon, could prove to be friends after this was over.

The Syntex employees were speckled amongst the crowd, interwoven with their blue and white company t-shirts as they directed some distinguished people away from the rest. Gildarts took note of this, yet his attention remained steadfast on something that only could be seen in the glimmer of his eye. There was so much to see, and the people that had conglomerated in the room were a spectacle all their own. There were more short people in the room now, all wearing common clothing and blended in with the masses. On the far side of the room, Jon had mentioned taking a look, while on the other, lights had gone out which had originally alerted Gildarts to danger. He was pleasantly surprised to find that only the microphones were the only things screaming and he could make out amplified sounds resembling humble music. These lyrics were tuned out by his tunnel-like focus as the idea of a threatening enemy evaporated with his freshly sharpened caution.

In other words, it wasn't an attack. Those chosen to compete, who once stood out from the crowd, had thinned out or disappeared. As though their immediate presence had been smothered, many of the visiting Primes ventured off. The two cloaked warriors made their way forward and a hand intercepted the auburn-haired mage. He felt a chilled sensation against his raw skin, as the smooth caress of a woman's fingertips had brushed against his neck.

"Gildarts!" A faint voice called to him from the distance, but was drowned out by the lull of the crowd, as well as the blast of the speakers. His attention would have turned to the familiarity, almost identifying it over the unrecognizable crowd. But then, there were those fingertips that had sent a shiver through his senses.

Jazz music would have played to match the mood as the Prime's eyes turned to the source and met with the striking physique of a woman dressed in bright red. The distraction could have been set up by the schemer Karl himself, but her presence was merely a coincidence and her allure only swept his mind further away. He had been in front of Jon, dodging through the crowd of senseless reporters, hyped up fans, and the occasional 'disguised' contestant. Yet now, the powerful oaf had been stopped in his tracks as the women's lips cradled toward the stubble on his cheek. Static thrilled in the air and Gildarts welcomed the surprise as he fell hook-line and sinker for her elusive seductive charm.

Snart and I entered the Lobby to see carnage. People were dead on the ground, and whoever was smart enough to avoid the attack were petrified with fear. "...The heck happened?" I asked. "Well, this turtle thing with guns came in and shot at everything..." a random Secondary replied. "...Yeah, right." I said before Snart and I walked along. "When you stop lying like a lion, call me."
I then continued towards the Dojo, Snart following.

Jon Snow was beginning to regret many things since coming here to the Abyss. Right now, though, he truly was trying to discern why he thought "checking out" that big show stage would be a bright idea.

Because it was something that caught his eye? Because it had been slopped together by the staff's handiwork so suddenly? Because he was interested as to what purpose it would serve for? A slew of answers rushed through the bastard's head, but that wasn't his main concern right now. I need to get out of this fucking crowd... his head reminded him. He began to shove through the flocks of screaming, excited fans that submerged him, giving little regard for how much force he was applying in his barges.

Jon wanted nothing but to get away from all of this. To get out, to escape.

Things were going smoothly enough, beforehand. Gildarts had taken a mutual curiosity in finding what the stage was all about when Snow had pointed it out to him, and they both made the short walk over. Reaching the stage, they looked up to see... musicians? Of a sort, at least. They looked little like the bards or minstrels of his own world who would play a soft tune or a melodically ballad for a few coppers. No, these men looked much more... rugged. They sported some odd and crazy looking hairstyles, the likes of which had never seen a sane man wear with as much pride as they did. One of them carried an instrument which closely resembled a lute, albeit longer, with strong strings attached and clearly not made of a wooden material. It was plugged into some sort of socket which clearly pumped power or electricity, also. Another guy was seated behind a set of peculiar looking drums, two small sticks in his hands as he was prepared to get playing. The last man, a lead of sorts, stood before the group. He clutched onto what Jon knew to be a microphone, the amplifier supported by a long, metal stand which sprouted high from the stages floor.

Something about these fellows must have caught the attention of the fans, clearly, as when they emerged onto the platform, they all went wild, pouring in at the foot of the stage by the dozens. Before he knew it, Jon had been completely swarmed, and he'd lost sight of Gildarts completely. He stumbled awkwardly through and past all the people, trying to looking for any opening or partway of which he could make a quiet exit.

Jon winced. The band on stage had been playing an absolute cacophony, with the drummer bashing madly against his drums and the singer yelling some gibberish nonsense into the microphone.

It was just about beginning to make his fucking ears bleed.

Just as Jon thought he saw a parting in the sea of people and a chance to make it out, he felt someone grasp at his wrist; gentle enough so that it caused him no pain, yet still tight enough so that he stopped and noticed. The hand touching his carefully spun him around, Snow's jaw going a bit open in surprise of who faced him.

A short brunette girl. She had eyes the colour of chestnuts and a heart-shaped face. Her lips were peered into a wide yet sweet smile, as though she were pleased and happy to see him. Her chest was ample from what he could see, though Jon kept a locked gaze onto her face. Being a man of the Nights Watch, he had to deal with resisting such temptations.

He'd learnt to not allow his own lust and desires to beat him out so long ago.

"Hiya" she greeted him with her wide grin, though Jon could barely hear her over the roaring of the fans and the thunder of the drums. Jon just stared at her silently, dumbfounded and speechless. She still managed to keep the conversation flowing naturally without his own input, though. "You're... Jon Snow, right? she questioned him on his identity, giving him a slightly quizzical look. "That grumpy guy that everyone seems to be raving about?"

Jon grunted mentally. Grumpy? I'm not that dull, surely.

"I... suppose?" Jon was unsure of how exactly to answer that question. Had he been being watched and viewed this entire time? From what she was saying, it sure felt that way. Jon bit down hard on his lower lip as her grip on his wrist tightened slightly. "You're just as dashingly handsome as my friends had warned me" she let out a slight giggle, purring softly as one of her hands moved toward Jon's waist. The bastard flinched with uncomforted, though still kept a rather silent and passive disposition about him.

"Why don't you... hang with me for a little while, hrmm?" the woman asked him with sultry and purely seductive tone, licking her lips faintly. "You've got a few hours until you have to report to the Barracks, after all... that's more than enough time for us to have a little fun of our own, don't ya think?" she grinned and winked, coming closer to Jon. The bastard flinched and reared backwards in response, the woman pouting a bit.

"D'awwwwwwwh... not up for it?" she arched her head to the side a little, looking up at him with pleading eyes. Jon shook his head slowly. "No. I'm not" Jon spoke through gritted teeth, his gaze fixated to the floor. The woman's lips parted a bit in surprise, and as she tried to weakly pull him back toward her, Jon ripped his hand free from his grasp, holding onto his wrist with his free hand. Spinning on his heel, he made quick pace to walk away from her, pushing through the crowds as his cloak trailed behind him.

Even as Jon had made it out of the moshpit, he didn't stop walking. He moved blindly down the hallway, the band's playing behind him becoming more and more of a distant blur to his earshot...

He was just glad that he didn't have to listen to whatever that nonsense was, anyway.

"Contender Jon Snow..." a voice sounding from in front of him brought Jon back to alert, prompting him to look up. Two security men; their faces and identities were masked by the circular riot helmets they wore. They strolled toward him at an equal pace, batons buckled safely at their belts.

"The Barracks are just up ahead... are you ready to get there?" the one on the left spoke up. Jon's facial expressions hardened as he glanced over his shoulder. He hadn't seen Sasuke at all since he had made it through the portal... where was he?

"I'm still waiting on someone" Jon answered bluntly as he turned his gaze back to the patrolmen. One of them tutted slightly.

"If it's a fellow contender you're waiting for, the two of you can catch up in the Barracks. Our main priority is the round you all up and get you there, though. Would you please follow us?"

Jon figured he didn't have much of a say in the matter, on that note.

The bastard nodded silently, and the security guards turned on their heels as they began to lead him down the hallway. There were notably less twists and turns to face in this complex and structure than there had been in the Corucsant jail. The hallways they treaded here were much wider and more open, and Jon didn't feel so cramped and closed off from the world.

They eventually reached the end of the hallway, and Jon was faced with, much to his own surprise, an elevator; two metal doors were parted open and wide, ready to accommodate him.

Just as Jon took a deep breath and stepped forward, one of the men cleared their throats with intention. "Before you go up there... we need your weapons" the security guards lips pouted outward, eyes flashing over the bastard's belt, most of his tools and arsenal very fully on display. The other guard pulled over a small, empty box with his name inscribed onto it. "Jon Snow; Combatant Number 33".

Jon grunted as he began to slung his bow and his arrows from his back. This was one minor detail that Hammond and his pack had forgotten to inform him of. How was he supposed to fight and hold his own without his weapons?

Jon didn't protest, though. He'd play their game, at least for now. He placed his longbow and quiver of arrows carefully down into the crate, his dagger and sword soon following. He felt much more reluctant to surrender Longclaw to them, but after a few moments of staring down at the wolf's pommel, he dropped it into the box with the rest.

"That's all of it?" the guardsman questioned him. Jon nodded silently in reply. "Alright, good. Head on up there, then. Look out for the room numbered 33; that's where you're bunking. You have some time to rest up there and do what you need to do before we transfer you onto the Island". Jon didn't utter a word in response as he made for the elevator, but the security man's hand shooting and resting itself upon his shoulder made him pause.

"... Good luck out there, son. You'll need it..."

Jon nodded grimly as he stepped inside the elevator, the metallic doors closing over and sealing him shut within.

And in that moment, his fate was truly sealed.
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