"This is a foolish venture."
Beyond the small fighter respite area, the Imperial Arena was in uproar. Already, the screams of a bloodthirsty crowd were ringing through the halls, barely sated by the opening fights and events, the entry way was almost impassable due to the sheer volume of people trying to get in, and even with all this chaos, the voices of criers rang clear throughout, harking merchandise and placing bets.
It was as fascinating as it was vulgar. Perhaps, if the circumstances were different, Lian might've even enjoyed the event; certainly, the history of the Arena was fascinating enough, and championship bouts are a deep-rooted part of that history. Chances to observe history happening in a way such as this were rare.
Yet, there was perhaps only one other place in the Empire she'd dislike being in more right now.
She hated being here. Her stomach was churning violently, twisting and untwisting, yet she didn't feel nauseous, more... hollow. She had caught herself indulging in nervous habits- picking at the armour on the back of her hands, tapping and lightly scratching at her collarbone- when she had entered. Which was absurd. Crowds do not make Lian nervous, they never have. She learnt to control them, and then to hide within them, at a young age. And yet, she could feel sweat beading at the edges of her hairline, down to the curls on the sides of her head, that had nothing to do with the resulting heat of the mass of bodies packing into the Arena; it was cold. So were her hands. It doesn't make any sense-
"Mmhmm, just as foolish as the previous three times you told me. I don't think it's getting better any time soon," Ling says, mild amusement in her tone.
"I was more hoping you'd come to your senses with repeated reminders," she retorts, but it's half-hearted. She had accepted- albeit reluctantly, and very recently- that there was no way of talking her out of it, or persuading her otherwise. And really, she shouldn't have expected anything else. It was too dangerous to continue their efforts with the Inquisitors with Guild thugs after their heads, for one. And then the Black Whirlwind, tangled up in this mess for longer than either had been alive- she hadn't been too surprised when Ling had been unable to even consider the idea of not helping him. The mountainous man was, in her eyes, a friend.
At the very least, Lian could tell he was grateful. There's only so much one can hide under bluster and drunkenness, especially from her.
He has better well be. She was going up against the Ravager.
The fighter's area is crowded, enough for the two of them to sequester themselves away near Doctor An with little hassle or interruption. Fighters enter the arena in a steady stream, and limp out just as quickly. She had read about previous championship matches; they are, of course, huge affairs that last for near the entire day. She wouldn't be surprised to see half of the Imperial Court up in the highest seats.
"Even I did, I'd wager that pulling out now would just end with me getting torn to shreds by a furious crowd," Ling continues, idly stretching in preparation for her fight, which was drawing closer every second. Lian could nearly calculate exactly how long they had by number of fighters leaving the ring and the amount entering.
It wouldn't be long now.
"We could easily fight our way through the initial wave. From there, it's simply a matter of escaping the arena, which would be easy enough."
"Sounds like you've cased the place pretty thoroughly," the taller woman replies with a laugh, "you must get pretty bored during my fights."
"I always watch your fights," she replies, and immediately knows she did so too quickly; Ling tilts her head and smiles at her, the way she always does when she's too honest and too open, and it only encourages her further, to trust and be trusted in a way she's never been able to, never been safe enough to-
"What I meant was that this place is not hard to escape," she replied quickly, "and if it became a necessity-"
"Phoenix!" Comes Qui's shrill voice over the din, which has quietened down significantly, and Lian curses herself for not noticing, "Silver Phoenix! Get over here!"
Ling gives her a sympathetic look, which does absolutely nothing to slow the blood flooding to her head all of a sudden, the drop of her stomach and the quickness of her breath. The fact that she looks as nervous as Lian suddenly (or not so suddenly) feels is of little reassurance.
"Well, I guess I'm up," Ling says, swallowing hard, rolling her shoulders and neck, bouncing a few times on the balls of her feet, "Wish me luck?"
Luck? Luck would not do a thing here, not against the Guild, and certainly not against the Ravager. Unbidden, the twisting, nervous feelings that had riddled her since they had entered the great building solidified, turning into icy, blood-stopping fear.
Lian shoves the feeling away as she always does, but it stays, cold at the back of her throat. She casts a look around the room, pausing briefly to glare at Qui for half a second, before turning back to Ling.
"Come here."
Ling looks at her with a mixture of amusement and confusion, but complies, stepping a little bit closer and leaning down slightly, so they're nearly eye level, but not quite.
Before Ling can ask what's going on, and before Lian really recognises what she's doing, she unhooks one of the corners of her mask, pulling it away briefly, just long enough to lean up onto the tips of her toes and place a brief kiss to her cheek.
Lian pulls back swiftly, re-adjusting her mask just as fast in an attempt to hide the bright red blush spreading across her face and up to the tips of her traitorous ears.
Ling blinks at her. Once. Twice, as a similar blush colours her face, struck dumb as it is.
"What? You asked me to wish you good luck," she blurts out, far less dignified then she would've liked.
Ling is silent for a moment longer, before a wide grin spreads across her face, crooked and pulling to left the way it always does, brighter than the sun, and despite her embarrassment and the cold fear coiling in her chest, it makes Lian's heart flutter.
"Phoenix!" Comes Qui's shrill cry, making both of them turn their heads, the bright grin never leaving Ling's face, "finish up whatever pre-encounterisms you need and get over here, please!"
"That's your cue, Silver Phoenix. I'm..," Lian clears her throat, not bothering to fight off the smile underneath her mask, "confident… that you'll be impressive as always."
"Of course I will be," Ling states, more confident than she was a minute ago, dropping her voice to a half-whisper, "after all, the Crown Princess just gave me a good luck kiss; there's nothing under Heaven that can beat me now."
"Go attend to your promoter before he has a panic attack," Lian says with a roll of her eyes that is entirely too fond, "I should join the others in the stands."
Ling smiles at her again, something soft in her eyes, like she wants to… well, Lian can't actually place it, and perhaps that's a good thing; she doesn't really want to thank about those feelings at this current moment, especially not with the stakes as high as they are.
But she holds onto it when she leaves, heading to her place in the seats among the rest of their motley little group, even as the anxiety and fear could tighter and tighter.
And idly, above the roaring of crowd, she thinks about kissing her again.