It's difficult not to notice the crude structure, even from a distance. Lexa wastes little time in seeking out whatever information she can glean from this place, and this seems a good spot to start. It's quiet in the early morning air, a cold bite to the breeze as the sun begins to peak over the horizon line.

The spotted girl trots quietly up the jagged slopes until she has reached the drop-off, her gaze curiously taking in the sight of the beaten and bruised earth below, stained with the blood of many battles. Right now, there is no one else here -- it almost makes it seem eerie, like some sort of morbid ghost town, and Lexa finds herself sighing wistfully and wishing for some great battle to unfold before her very eyes.

@Roarke

high achiever, don't you see? nothing comes for free

table by sentinel / art

He is no grand battle or furious army. Not anymore - likely never again. And yet, he’s attracted to this place. Yearns for a battle like the ones that have come before. Wants to stain the ground with his own blood, earn the right to this land as others have. It is the way of the world. He will never truly be part of it until then. The fight at the Mire challenge had only been a taste of the prowess of Amaryllis. Roarke wants more.

But to what end, now? There is no clan to have a base ready for. He’s found himself searching the horizon more than once, some part of him desperately insisting they are still out there. It’s a fool’s search, and he knows it. Fighting has never not had a purpose behind it - bloodshed for the sake of it leads to nothing - and to take from another without reason brings bad fortune, or karma. Whatever you wanted to call it. He was hardly the most superstitious in his clan, but he had seen the aftermath of the greedy for himself. He had no intention of becoming that.

And so that leaves him here, a giant pacing the colosseum of kings, testing his injured paw. Pushing it further than his nurse would like, he’s sure, but Roarke would go stir crazy, remaining still any longer. He winces when pain spikes through his limb, half-mended bones protesting under his great weight.

“Fucking hell -” Roarke’s leg almost gives out under him, and he curses it and every goddamned little bone that hardly seems worth even having in his paw. It’s only then that he senses eyes, and years of experience has taught him to trust that instinct and he follows the feeling up - to find a speckled creature reclined on the spectator’s stand above him. “Here for a show?” He demands, irritated immediately that his weakness should be on display.

Well, he's no war, but she cannot deny her intrigue to see anyone make their way into the pit, and she watches on with a quiet sense of curiosity. The petite woman leans onto her haunches beneath the long shadows of the rising sun, her small and unassuming frame meaning that she often goes unnoticed at first. He seems to be no different, overlooking her mere existence and allowing Lexa to be a fly on the wall -- able to watch when one does not know they are being watched.

He seems frustrated, and as the time passes with the herculean beast pacing the arena, she can see evidence of an injury he looks to be trying to hide. Or perhaps pretend it doesn't exist at all. Stubborn, as most men are.

And of course, she has seen the whole damn show when he finally notices her, a slight smirk touching the edges of her lips when his gaze at last wanders skyward and locks with hers. "If I'm lucky," she purrs back, seeming the furthest thing from worried about his presence, despite the truly massive size difference. From up here, she doesn't seem quite so small. "Are you going to give me one?" Her head tilts, a brow quirking somewhat expectantly as she peers down at him.

high achiever, don't you see? nothing comes for free

table by sentinel / art

The lioness isn’t as young as she’d first seemed. Her voice is older, and despite her size there’s maturity in her haughty gaze. Roarke glares. “Not without an opponent, lass.” How unlucky, his tone says, with enough sarcasm to make the words drip from his lips. “Unless you’re offering, there’s nothing to see.” As much as he attempts to dismiss her, there’s the distinct feeling that the tiny woman is far from ready to depart. It's a standard script, really. His heart isn't in it. While Roarke could certinery exit stage left himself, he’s far too stubborn to be chased away by anyone, let alone the creature on her perch.

Lexa is used to men with bad tempers, begrudging manners -- it seems to be the way that so many of them are. If they don't put on a brave face, they'll be seen as weak. Truthfully, she likes the cold exterior of a gladiator; it makes them all the more interesting when she finds out what lies beneath.

"Well now, that hardly seems like it would be a fair fight," she quips, and though one may immediately assume she is referencing her minuscule size compared to his, a smart lion may consider the alternative -- that he is clearly wounded. It is evidenced by her cool confidence that Lexa is much older than she may first seem, a woman of poise and stature, who merely happens to be challenged in the height department. Somehow, though, she is quite good at making herself the most noticeable thing in the room.

high achiever, don't you see? nothing comes for free

table by sentinel / art

If there is an upward twitch of the lion’s black lips, it’s hardly noticeable. At least, he’s sure it's not noticeable to the woman, up far too high to see such a small flicker of amusement.

Irritating as it is, the insult to his own ability is hardly a new experience - he did not become a skilled warrior overnight, the moment he reached adulthood. That was a long and frustrating journey. And he still learns, even now. His paw is proof of that. Though he doubts he’ll ever find another boy willing to lose a tongue to shatter his paw.

“Aye, you’d have to go easy on me.” Roarke returns with that same sardonic drawl as before. “A fearsome warrioress as you could flatten me immediately, I’m sure.”

"Oh, I don't know about all that," she responds with a bemused laugh and a quirk of her lips. Lexa is much better with words as her weapons, though she has been known to use her claws a time or two, when she must. She has found that a tongue can often cut just as deeply as a knife, if one knows how to wield it properly.

She reclines comfortably onto her belly, still reclining well above the soldier in the pit and peering down at him with curious, hooded eyes. "Did your opponent come out equally wounded?" she queries with a slight tilt of her skull, idly wondering to herself what kind of creature could manage to seriously harm such a beast.

high achiever, don't you see? nothing comes for free

table by sentinel / art

Her laugh is lovely, one of the ones that is hard not to follow with his own. If he weren’t focused on keeping his injured paw pressed against the earth and forcing it to hold him up, it might have been impossible to resist it. But her question, although teasing, draws Roarke up short.

“I shredded his tongue.” He says simply, flatly.

He told no one what happened to the boy. It is safer that way, perhaps for both of them. The consequences for the fight may come back against him one day, Roarke is more than aware of that. If the boy has family, or allies, and they’re as insane as he was - the giant can only fight off so many at once. He is not invincible. No one is.

“An eye for an eye, as they say.”

One forepaw crosses calmly over the other, a content state of poise as she observes her current company below. So serious. Jaded. Hiding another self beneath the stony chain-mail exterior. His deadpan voice prompts an arch of her brow, and while some may recoil at his blunt morbidity, Lexa does not seem phased -- nor particularly worried.

Her tail curls idly against her side, the tasseled tip swaying slowly to and fro beneath the sun's lengthening rays. "Hm, he sounds unlucky to have met you," she muses, not without her own sort of honesty. She can only imagine that such an injury would be far more tedious and painful to heal than his damaged leg. "Though I imagine he was lucky to leave with his life intact." She tilts her head slightly as she makes a bold assumption; somehow, she doubts that much mercy is often offered from such a seasoned warrior.

high achiever, don't you see? nothing comes for free

table by sentinel / art

“It was his choice, not his fate, that ruined his mouth.” Roarke replies, voice as void of emotion as his expression. Luck had nothing to do with the little bastard’s actions. If he grew and continued picking fights as he did, he’d end up dead. But not by Roarke’s doing. Not today. “Perhaps.” Is his answer, however, because he’d rather be assumed far more willing to kill than weak. It’s suited him fine so far. “But luck had nothing to do with that, either.”

“You make a lot of assumptions of a stranger.” He adds after a moment, almost accusing. A brow arches over his eye, and his tail flicks at his heels. His paw screams to be let off from his weight, but he refuses to budge.