The Quasar Plaza is much more quiet tonight than it has been in the past, making it seem like one of the most peaceful places in the Beacon in spite of its neon lights and overall grandeur. The usual nighttime crowds that bustle from street to street, skyscraper to skyscraper, have all been cleared out. The only things present in the central plaza now are a taco truck, rows of picnic tables lined with food and drinks, and one Sun Devil in a messy apron and plastic sunglasses, sharpening one of his cooking knives while he hums a tune beneath his breath and waits for his guests to start arriving.
The Carna Asa-Dude taco truck normally finds itself followed by long lines of hungry Cosments and plenty of publicity, and El Torto hardly minds the fame that his cooking has earned him, but it's no small part of him that's enjoying this peaceful change of pace. He's content enough to work in the unnatural yellow light of the glow that emanates from his own stripes and the flame atop his head.
Torto looks up from the knife he's sharpening just in time to see a portal to the Valorous Arena opening up, and not a moment too soon-he was worried his tacos were going to start getting cold. He catches sight of Solturion all but sprinting through the rift to keep up with one of several guests—a tall, pale, long-haired scythe wielder who looks like he just lost a match and isn't too happy about it. Torto opens his arms wide to welcome the group of fighters and his friend alike, accompanying the gesture with a smile that's somehow even wider.
Even if Solturion was a little worried he'd lose track of one of the guests he'd been put in charge of overseeing for a second there, seeing Torto beckoning him forward with that classic stupid grin of his puts a smile on his own face to match it. Shame and hesitation alike are forgotten in this moment-it's been too long since he's seen his friend, and he intends to greet him as any Sun Devil should greet a brother they haven't seen in ages. Sol points his clawed finger towards Torto with a flair that's dramatic enough to make even the god he serves proud.
"IN THIS CORNER OF THE RING, WE GOT THE IMMOVABLE EL TORTOOOOO-!"
Torto catches onto what Sol is doing almost immediately, now pointing his sharpening rod at him with an equally dramatic gesture. "AND ON THE OPPOSITE SIDE, WE GOT THE UNSTOPPABLE SOLTURIONNNN!"
The two of them burst into laughter at that, already coming up to complete their greeting with one of Torto's world famous bear hugs. Sol doesn't really mind that he's being lifted off the ground, even if he is a little glad he's put down right after that.
The vibes these two are giving off are even warmer than the fires burning both in and around their stardust-formed bodies. Coupled with the warm lighting, the good food, and the city lights, they're already shaping this dinner up to be something just right for taking the edge off of the gladiators coming through the portal.
"Guess I don't really need to introduce myself after that," Torto says with a laugh, still grinning like an idiot even when he faces the guests. He gestures to the picnic tables that have already been set with large plates of soft tacos, bowls of chips and queso, and plenty of margaritas for the tired and hungry fighters to fill up on.
"What are you all standin' there for? Dig in! And don't worry about runnin' out-I'll be cookin' for as long as you're here."
Don't mind if Death does exactly that.
He picks out a spot for himself to sit, and doesn't hesitate to go for... what he can only assume are the tacos, since the other food items seem to be nachos, if what he's learned of Earth-style cuisine from Strife holds any water. Even if he came here to this interdimensional celebration without any intention of entering a gladiator arena challenge, he still took the opportunity when it presented itself, and his pride is a little damaged after the loss he just sustained. Now he intends to eat, drink, and avoid speaking to anyone, even if it's near impossible not to hear the nearby conversations as a result.
… Okay, this food is... actually impressive in its quality. Huh. It's a good thing he saved room.
That doesn't mean he's going to stop making attempts to eat it while faced away from anyone who'll immediately recognize him, though. He's certainly not going to waste time downing the drinks on offer. He's pretty much taking a gulp in between every bite and hoping it works despite his supernatural resistance to such things. It takes a strong drink to affect a Nephilim's body.
With the guests now occupied with eating, Sol and Torto walk back over to the counter of Torto's truck, where two tacos piled high with meat are waiting just for them both. The taller of the two Sun Devils reaches a little ways behind the counter and comes back with two beers, one of which he hands to Sol. They both clink them together before opening them and downing their first sip, opening the gateway for their conversation to begin.
"Alright, spill it," Torto demands in a slightly quieter voice than the one he greeted the guests with. "Y'know I love seeing you, but renting out the whole goddamn plaza? That's bold, even for you."
Sol nearly snorts as he bites into his taco, now swallowing his first bite a little quicker than he normally would for the sake of firing back. "This ain't bold, I just wanted to do somethin' nice for everyone! Varróne and Auriga have had almost every other part of this party locked down, so this-" he gestures to the rest of the plaza, "-is what I got to plan."
"That so?" Torto's sure that wrestling control of anything away from Auriga must have been no small feat, even just to hire him for a catering job. "Who am I to complain, then, if this is comin' outta Auriga's wallet and not yours?"
The laugh that gets out of Sol isn't one that he tries to hide.
"Yeah, that does make this a helluva lot easier."
"Y'know what also makes it easier?" Torto nudges Sol with his elbow, taking care to do it lightly enough that it doesn't spill his beer. "That you're not hirin' me out to impress a date this time! Before you told me this was for the party, I thought for sure I was gonna see another instance of you failin' to-"
"Hey, hey!" The shorter Sun Devil nudges him back with just a little more force and fury than he was nudged with. "Would it kill you t'let me forget about that?"
"I mean this lovingly, but yeah, it would."
If Death was in a better mood, the exchange between those two might have gotten him to crack something resembling a smile. Not that he's trying to eavesdrop, but they're both very easy to hear.
"Whatever," Sol mutters as he bites into his taco again, but even having his mouth part of the way full doesn't make him fully drop the subject. "Least I don't use my own truck for dates!"
It's Torto's turn to laugh now, loud enough that he might turn a few heads, but he doesn't really care if a few people he's never met hear him or not.
"Alright, alright, you got a point. You know the truck brings in all the hot people, though." He downs another sip of his drink, now having polished off about three quarters of the bottle. Drinking doubles as his excuse to stall for a better comeback-a tactic that ends up working. "At least I'm gettin' dates, period."
As mean as that might seem to someone else, Sol knows Torto well enough to know he doesn't mean that maliciously. He's too stubborn to admit it, but his brother is right. That doesn't mean he's down for the count yet, though.
"You gotta actually keep a date for it t'count, dumbass! You and I are both just as screwed as the other."
"Well played, shortstack," Torto concedes, still smiling warmly in spite of the traded insults, "well played."
"Wh-I'm not fuckin' short!" the blue-flamed Sun Devil protests.
The pure genuineness of Sol's reaction to being called short, especially after the rest of all that, makes Death start to move on from his sour mood a bit faster. He actually has to raise his head and take a breath to hide his own amusement. He didn't know dinner included a show tonight, but he's not complaining. He moves on to his second margarita, and tries dipping one of the tacos into the queso.
By the Creator, this is good.
The Sun Devils are soon locked in a not-so-vicious duel that really just consists of Torto managing to cover Sol's entire face with just one of his hands to push him backwards, which lasts all the way up until Sol licks his palm. This, understandably, succeeds in making Torto recoil.
"Oh my Prime-How fuckin' old are you again?" Torto wipes his hand off on his apron to clean it, but he still manages to look amused.
Solturion crosses his arms and puffs up his chest, proud of his ill-gotten victory despite the means he used to obtain it. "As you and the other Suns like t'remind me, pretty young for a Champion!"
Torto doesn't have a verbal response for that, but he does have a very large bottle of hand sanitizer behind the counter in his truck. Since Sol feels like being nasty, he's just going to have to counteract that by pointing the bottle at him and squirting him with a jet of the clear, chemical-scented liquid.
Judging by how Sol hisses and recoils when it hits him dead in the chest, another point is going to Torto.
If Death were to keep up with what's going on with those two now, he would have to actually turn around and look instead of just listening. As entertaining as this is, though, he's doing everything within his ability not to laugh in any audible way, so maybe it's a blessing in disguise that he's going to miss a few details.
A few margaritas from now, though, he might be humming a different tune. He's on this third, and he's to the point of visibly tensing to stop any sound from leaving his throat. It doesn't stop his shoulders from shaking, though.
Perhaps sensing his master is in a better mood-or perhaps smelling the scents of the wonderful food available here-Dust arrives, landing on the edge of the table and folding in his wings. The crow tilts his head this way and that, regarding the food items with interest.
Sol was content to trade insults, but now he's been hit, so clearly there's only one path left for him to take-the path to war. Sol begins to bounce up and down in place with his fists raised, as if he's a boxer in a ring preparing for a match. Hopping in place seems to help his cyan-blue flames burn brighter and brighter the more he moves.
"Alright, you want a brawl? I don't need a fuckin' arena t'make you eat that bottle of hand sanitizer!"
So their Sun Devil natures are going to be put on display in front of his tacos, are they? He's never one to turn down a good scrap, so Torto begins to mimic Sol's movements, though his are a little slower. "Bet! I'll make you the one doin' shots with it!"
With no regard for who's watching, Sol lunges for Torto, only to be grabbed by the horns and tossed a good ten feet away from the truck by his impromptu dueling partner. He lands gracefully on his hooves, so it seems Torto has only managed to piss him off.
The stripes lining his body begin to glow a bright violet as he taps into his divine power, fully ready to draw Ultima's blades in the name of a brawl witnessed only by the patrons of a taco truck who are probably veering away from being sober. That light begins to gather at his hooves and travel upwards along the stripes criss-crossing his body, all the way until it reaches his eyes, tinting them the very same ultraviolet color that Ultima's shine with, making it seem for a moment as if the god himself is peering out of Sol's body...
...only for his pupils to flash white, and for his stance to go limp as something else takes a hold of him, stripping him of his vision. The plaza fades away to be replaced by a grainy, unfocused vision of rolling plains that can only be located in the Outer Rings.
But the plains are not the focus of his vision. It's the unnatural crater left in front of him that has his full attention, and the lack of color surrounding it that makes his skin crawl—the lack of color that characterized the Antiprime's influence in his reality.
Something black in the center of the crater stirs, sluggishly at first. It struggles to push itself upright even with arms of multiple sizes extending out from its mangled body and trying to push it upwards. The figure is lined with gashes that glow with pale light too bright to look at directly. Whatever the creature in his vision is, it's clearly hurt.
The being falters, but gets itself right just enough for the eye in its chest to lock onto Sol, filling him with a chill so jarring that his body responds to it by jerking him out of the vision, almost as if in defense.
When his vision clears again, Sol is crouched on the pavement, with Torto knelt down in front of him, frantically trying to wave his hand in front of his face to get his attention. He only stops once Sol's eyes visibly focus on him again.
"Sol—? Fuck, what's the matter with you? Your eyes just went white!"
From his perspective, there was no change of scenery—only a friendly brawl dashed to pieces by watching his friend go limp under the influence of a power he hasn't seen him invoke before.
… And the bird is gone again.
That doesn't sound like banter anymore. The Horseman half-turns to face the commotion, perhaps a bit more slowly than he might have a few drinks ago. He thinks for a moment his involvement may become warranted. It's mostly instinct, but something about that felt... off.
Sol blinks, unsure of how to handle whatever that just was, on top of Torto's panic. All he was trying to do was summon his blades, not ask for a hallucination he can't explain. He's not even sure if he should try to explain it.
"Shit, uh...look, I'm fine." He forces himself to stand, but whatever he's just experienced seems to have taken its toll on him. Sol ends up swaying a little bit when he attempts to right himself, forcing him to grab onto Torto's arm for support. That's definitely not helping his case. "I think, uh, I mighta just stayed awake too long or somethin'."
This has to have something to do with seeing a corpse yesterday morning, or with how he drank before that, or with how little sleep he's gotten beyond resting off his hangover...
Torto really doesn't know what to make of all of that either, but he knows it can't be good. "Man, I don't think you should be out here anymore. Y'want me to help you get back home?"
Embarrassed as he is to be in this mess now, he's still just a little too concerned to just shrug it off. Maybe Torto is right about him needing to head back to the temple...
"Yeah, uh...sure. Let's go."
Torto turns back to the guests as he hooks his arm over Sol's shoulder, pulling him in so he can fly without expending too much effort on steering himself. His tone is much more stern than anything he's used thus far, but he's attempting to keep his worry out of it in front of them.
"I'll be back in a bit. Don't mess with my truck while I'm gone."
With that, flames glowing both blue and gold engulf their bodies, and Torto lifts Sol off of the ground, slowly easing the two of them into the air before taking off in the direction of the Ultraviolet Temple.
As bad of a first impression as some of the other hosts running this event have given him, that display between Sol and Torto does have Death a little concerned. At the same time, this isn't his business, and right now, he has no idea how he could help anyway. Meddling would be unwise, no matter how good his intentions or well-justified his worry may be.
He'll just... have to keep an eye out, if he's still sticking around after tonight.