The Ball: Age of Ishtar Part 4

As they pulled up to the venue, Skye was uncertain whether he was hoping more in vain that there would be no alcohol at the ball, or that as soon as they walked in large amounts of it would be poured down his throat so that he could enter an uncaring stupor for what was undoubtedly about to unfold. He drew himself up into a dancer’s posture, plastered a charming smile on his face, took his sisters arm, and through the door they walked. Breathe in, breathe out, in, and out. It’s just another battle; There’s nothing worse to lose than my life. Skye lied to himself. Truthfully; there are many fates worse than death, and quite a few of them were well within the power of the women in this hall to bestow upon him. Truth is not what he needed right now though; reassurance and confidence were what he needed, and those seldom have much to do with truth.

His center and self-control were returning as their names were announced. They glided down the stairs majestically. He was a young and beautiful god of war with the deadly grace of a slithering viper, but the calm inevitability of glacial ice. It didn't matter if confidence was born of truth or falsehood. It was there, and it could stop the stars. Evangeline was there at his side with her confidence that never failed. She may seem self-absorbed and oblivious to others, but that was born of a self-possession that most could only dream of. She could ramble, and she could prattle, but when she orated you listened, and you would be moved. She wasn't just any lobbyist; she was a political juggernaut. Those who opposed her would argue to no avail. They conceded one point, then another, and then before they knew it they had surrendered their entire position and she had taken them beyond even her initial stance into something entirely new they would not even have acknowledged with a retort before. Now, it just made sense though, and they had no idea how it had happened. This world, this age, was hers. Here and now she was a titan, and she had descended from on high to part the sea before him.

She started working the room like a whirlwind, the few world-stage power players present already knew her. Soon everyone of note knew who she was, who mother was, who he was, and that he was the big ticket item of the upcoming auction. She was offered drinks, but with a dazzling smile she declined saying, "I would love to have a drink with you sometime. Tonight; though, beautiful as it is, is about business. Sadly, I don't drink when discussing business." The one who had offered would then look almost sheepish about the glasses in their own hands, as if they had been the ones outside of the social protocol by offering. Skye wondered how he could ever have doubted her.

It can be disorienting to observe someone you know from watching their gangly first steps into adulthood, an unsure teenager struggling under the shadows of their parents, and finally see them as adults in the full glory of their element. These people did not know her faults. They didn't remember her crying after she fell from a height, or after her first failed attempts at love. They did not know her as he did. It was open to debate which perspective saw more of the real her.

After Evangeline felt Skye had been introduced to most everyone of consequence, he was dismissed to go ply his charms as best he could on the dance floor. On his way there he encountered a smiling, familiar face: Semias Montoya, the man who had defeated him yesterday. "How's your arm and head?" The older man inquired good naturedly with a nod.

"Oh, I'm fairing well," Skye replied almost giddy with how well the night was going, "If that was the worst I ever get in the arena, it will mean my career has been much shorter and uneventful than I'd like it to be. How are you fairing?"

"Oh, I'm doing great. You seem to have one quite amazing sister. I wish I had someone half as convincing to talk for me first time I went to auction."

"I have six"

"What?"

"I have six amazing sisters; if the stories I hear of the other five are anywhere near as true as what I had heard of this one." Skye clarified with pride.

"Then I have to congratulate you on having two of the finest blessings a man can have; good family, and good women in his life."

"Hopefully; wherever I go next, I'll continue to see them."

"That's a good hope to have, but it shows wisdom that you know the difference between what to plan on and what to hope for."

Skye had to think a short while before responding, "I just have a pattern of my plans not working quite as I'd set out. So, I try to look for what I'd like to happen, but allow for whatever else could come to be."

"Seems to work out rather well for you so far. It's not everyone who could have a full dosed berserker on them as long as you did and walk away with fight still in 'em."

"Excuse me? Berserker?" Berserker was the name of a dangerous performance enhancing, rage inducing drug given primarily as a form of bloody execution. A full dose multiplied your strength, made it so you were unphased by any pain, and turned your entire world to murderous rage. It was also the name of someone dosed with it. Usually it was given to a group of inmates sentenced to death before they were sent into the arena together. They tore each other apart. Even if one of the condemned somehow made it through the battle in one piece, the drug itself would knock them into cardiac arrest before it left their system.

"Yeah, it’s kind of hush-hush, but the guy who decided your arm was a snack injected himself with a full dose right before the battle. They're still trying to figure out how he got the syringe into his gate room. I figured you deserve to know why he was able to treat you like a rag doll. I know it would bother the kimchee out of me if I had that happen and didn't know why."

"So that's why he snapped and his heart stopped."

"Well, now at least you know what it looks like, you can see it in their eyes. If you ever see it again, go for the throat. Asphyxiation, bleeding out, or taking out the brain are the only quickish ways to take a berserker down without dismembering them."

"Thank you, I guess you saved my life even more than I'd thought."

"You’re welcome, and thank you for keeping him distracted for so long. I would have had the darndest time trying to choke him out if his attention was on me. I guess we haven't properly introduced ourselves. I am Semias Montoya, son of Elaine Argent, husband of Estelle Montoya, father of Kukri and Kris Montoya, Gladiator Captain of Grigori Stable."

"I am Skye Dumas, son of Victoria Dumas, graduate of Monsieur Van Dam Charm School, rookie gladiator, obtainable." After a moment’s hesitation he commented, "Your Lady took you as your husband, bore two daughters from you, and made you captain of her stable. She must be quite taken with you."

"No more than I am with her," he grinned, "It's not just loyalty to Milady when I say I believe she is the most beautiful, courageous, caring, and downright wonderful creature on or off the face of any world." It had the ring of something lovingly reiterated many times over. "I could never hope for a higher honor than she gave me the day she asked me to take her name and father her children."

"I should congratulate you then. Not only did you find the two blessings you congratulated me for, but also the rarest blessing of all in finding love in the eyes of your Lady."

The old man chortled for a moment then asked, "Do you know what the Grigori are that my stable is named after?"

Skye had to think for a moment before answering, "No. It seems like a familiar name, but I can't say that I do."

"It means watcher, but what they were said to be was angels sent down to watch humankind at the dawn of time. They were so entranced by the beauty and wonder of the mortal women they watched over that they willingly chose to fall from heaven so that they could try for their love."

"Fallen angels, so they were demons?"

"No, no, no, no. They didn't rebel, they merely fell from grace. Even though God created humans in his image doesn’t mean he didn't give his other creations some degree of choice. Plus, they acted out of love; not pride, or wrath, or anything like that. They weren’t evil, but they couldn't be angels and live in heaven anymore, so they became the Grigori. They kept on watching over humankind, teaching us, guiding us, protecting us.  At least that's how the story goes."

"Huh. I never heard that story before."

"Teaches a good lesson though. These angels, they knew the perfection of heaven. They still thought it was worth giving that up for the love of a good woman. I don't know if they were right or wrong with what they chose. If they were even close in thinking love of a woman was worth giving up heaven for though, then there sure as hell isn't anything in this life not worth doing for it."

"I'll try to keep that in mind."

"Your sister’s speeches though are being kind of a mixed blessing for us, though."  Semias said as they started meandering closer to the dance floor.

"Why's that?"

"Well, Milady is rather picky about what gladiators she wants to buy. After yesterday, the only one of the rookies that she felt was worth looking into was you. I may or may not have helped bring that opinion about, but it isn't a great idea for me to overestimate my influence on Milady." Semias ran his fingers through his hair, seemingly at some exasperating memory, before continuing, "We began looking up your appraisal, and we're a small stable, so she was uncertain whether our investors would be willing to front the amount of credits you're likely to go for. Your sister has certainly had an inflating effect on your final price. Instead of Milady having to talk you up to her investors though, they've started badgering her about how if she doesn't buy you, they'll lose all faith in her. Hopefully they're willing to actually booster up the credits you'll cost. Otherwise they'll blame milady for themselves being stingy. You did not just hear me say that, by the way."

Skye nodded. He was little bit stunned by Semias's frankness, but continued following the scarred arena veteran around the edge of the dance floor. At seeing the young man’s assent the older fighter continued, "No matter which stable you end up in, there will be a great deal of pressure from some woman or group of women for you to give an immediate return on the large sum they just paid for you. Some would be more understanding than others that a high price tag doesn't make you any less human. Milady is more understanding than most. She asks for our best, but knows she can't ask for more than we can do. Her investors aren’t all so even headed, but she does a good job of keeping their heads planetside."

Semias stopped and looked Skye straight in the eye as he explained, "Now I'm telling you all this so you know where we're coming from. Milady Estelle is looking to take a big risk on you, that if it doesn't pan out, her investors will not have to try hard to convince themselves it's her fault. I think she's going towards the right decision. We have only seen you in one fight, though. A good deal of it wasn't exactly normal run of things; and most problematically, impressive or not that you survived, you didn't exactly win. Judging by the size of your eyes right now I can see you probably would understand her wanting more reassurance of your strength as an investment. I like the way you are keeping the stress out of your posture by the way. I have been sent over to find you and request a dance with each of my daughters so they can see what they think of you and report back to their mother."

Semias started leading him again, this time with more direction, "Both of them have grown up around the arena, surrounded by gladiators of no small skill. They have been instructed first in dance and combat, and have now begun schooling in business as well as learning how to instruct both dance and combat. One or both of them will inherit the stable someday, and they have both inherited their mother’s passion for the business. Now, while I would normally pat you on the back for showing you get the real dangers of our job, (a pretty girl with a smile is way more dangerous to us than the wildest man with a sword) you need to woo now, and eyes popping out of your head rarely help that... Good; yes, your prana technique is good and you found your center quickly. There they are. I have spoken highly of you based on seeing not much; please don't embarrass yourself or me.”

Semias then stopped and bowed before the three most beautiful women Skye had ever seen.

Good Morning Sunshine: Age of Ishtar Part 3

Showering and dressing oneself with an injured shoulder presents far more challenges than one would think of initially. Add in an injured forearm, extensive bruising of the other arm, and bruising of the shins and feet, and you will be imagining the difficulty of Skye getting ready in the hour allotted him between when the sedative wore off and when his sister Evangeline was supposed to arrive. His makeup was not up to his usual standards, but for a one handed rush job it was rather good. His left eye did sting from being accidentally poked with both a mascara brush and an eyeliner pencil though. He hoped there was time for a full body wax in his schedule before tonight. While he had gotten his face, shaving his legs and chest in his current state would be a nightmare, and there was just no way to shave his arms. A prickly arm at a ball would just be a disaster.

He was glad to see that the treatments to minimize the color of his bruises had worked well enough. Nothing a little concealer from his stylist before the ball couldn't fix. They still hurt and made his movements a bit stiff, but he needed to be able to show as much unblemished skin as possible tonight, especially if the view was going to be obstructed by some ghastly sling on his arm. After all the work he had put into developing his pectorals they would be partially hidden, his abdominals and back would just have to pick up the slack.

Evangeline arrived with not one, but two of her assistants in tow. "Oh, my sweet, little baby brother! What have they done to you in that arena? Are you all right? If I could get my hands on that Neanderthal that did that to you! That beast really needs to be put down I say. I doubt it's really his fault though, the poor thing... just negligent poor training. Now he's the one who needs to be put down for incurable viciousness. There ought to be stricter laws on who can own men, you know? Firm love and kindness is the key to good training of a manpet. That’s what we did for you, and look what an adorable gentleman you turned out to be! Some of these women just about let their men run wild. They starve them for attention and discipline, and then look what happens! When I bought my Clarence I took a whole months’ vacation to make sure he acclimated properly to his change in environment and be certain he had bonded adequately before I left him at home alone. That month was the best investment of time I have ever spent. Oh, and for ensuring loyalty, the extra cost of one who still has their certificate of virginity is worth every credit. Just a little bit of attention and they will follow you into a black hole and back out. I need to make sure to bring it up at every opportunity tonight that you still have your certificate. You and Clarence do play so nicely together. I do hope that your new Lady is amicable to the two of you still having play dates, and you being able to attend family functions once in a while. You get along well with all the families manpets, and it would be a shame to waste that good socialization."

Evangeline's ramblings were like the Word of God her name meant as far as Skye was concerned. You listen, you let it flow over and through you, you obey, and you do not interrupt. Unless she stops for an answer the question was rhetorical. She does not stop for answers from men. With other women she was a brilliant conversationalist. Men, she believed, should embody the virtue of silence unless their voice is asked for.

Their first stop of the morning was to the tailor to have his outfit for tonight adjusted to suit his injuries and Evangeline’s tastes. She and Evangeline decided that since his chest would be obscured at best, they needed to focus on his other attributes. It was decided that his ensemble for the evening would be skin tight black leather briefs with a built in studded sash over the left shoulder that would have a matching sling. For accessories, he would have a studded black hide bracer on his right forearm and matching shin guards. It was classic gladiatorial eveningwear, no real risks taken. Classic, however, meant that his garment would serve as a frame for his body, not a distraction from what they would be bidding on.

After the hours spent figuring that out, and having the necessary alterations made, (Skintight leather is rather unforgiving if you want it to look just right, be able to move in it, and not loose circulation to any marketable parts.) Evangeline and Skye had a light lunch. His sister spent the time traveling between locations, as well as between bites while they ate, having her assistants look up all they could find on the potential buyers and any marketable traits that she might forget to bring up while socializing. She was especially pleased to hear that he had gotten exceptional marks in his marital arts classes, (Not to be confused with martial arts, which he also excelled at) as this would be a great segue to go from discussion of his exceptional training at a prestigious charm school to the benefits of a man with his prior mentioned certificate intact.

Even if he was purchased by a stable and not an individual, such things were still of great import. Most stables made a substantial secondary income by offering many of their men as courtesans, and there were few stable owners and staff who did not sample the attentions of their own gladiators. You have to keep morale up, and if everyone can enjoy it, all the better. As Evangeline said, "Firm love and kindness is the key to good training of a manpet." Some stables were more brothel than gladiatorial team, and even had men in their ranks that had never fought a single time. Stables were where women who did not want, could not afford, or were blood related to their own manpet went for masculine company. Women with their own pets even came to the stables in search of variety.

Also, some women wanted to try a man before they bought him. Not just physically, they wanted to see how he behaves in various situations; take him out to social events, see if he played well with their friends’ pets, check if he could fulfill their needs, and watch how he adapted to her lifestyle. Many of the better schools have strict policies against rental or trial periods. Most stables; however, were in the business of renting out their men for any reasonable purpose, and if a woman offered a reasonable price would be more than willing to turn a profit. Being bought from the stable didn't mean his career would have to end, either. Ishtar’s Planetary Government had laws against the cruel practice of stopping a man from participating in the games. If an elderly, retired, serving boy, invalid, who had never been trained a day in his life, and who's Lady was opposed to any form of violence decided he wanted to fight; he would be placed in the first battle that allowed for one of his combat appraisal. It would most likely be unpaid, and at the hour before dawn, but no one could legally stop him from going onto those sands. That is the right of every man on Ishtar.

It was also important that a stable gladiator be capable of mingling in a broad variety of social settings. First, he would be expected to go to them to make appearances and thus increase exposure for his dual careers as a gladiator and a courtesan. Second, there was no telling what type of events a lady who had rented him to accessorize her arm might take him to. Balls, galas, clandestine gatherings, high class restaurants, rustic local events, star cruises, exotic safaris, concerts, shows, or just a lonely night; it was all possible as long as the stable owner agreed. Sometimes, instead of an individual renting a gladiator, a group or event would rent anywhere from one man to an entire stable at once. The contract for such a thing could be for any number of tasks, but standard would be for them to accompany and provide for the needs of any of those they were hired to attend to.

Niche specialties also could be quite a selling point. For example, a pair of men whose affection was for one another could go for quite a high price. The ladies who liked watching that were always ravenous for more. Unusual skin, hair, or eyes could knock up the price some, but by less than the cost of attaining that trait through surgery or cosmetics. Outside of the skills already mentioned, the only area Skye had particularly excelled in at school was dance. He wasn't sure which he liked better, fighting or dancing. Really, the two were closely related when it came to the skills involved. A ball, of course, is a reasonably good place to showcase that talent, but limited in that most of the dances at a ball are rather structured and moderately simple. There would be times however, when free dancing would be accepted and he would need to capitalize on these. Sadly, any improvised dancing he did would have to be solo as he had no partner. Also, it would all have to be done with one arm.

The car pulled up to Studio Jorje, Skye and Evangeline got out with his new outfit and her gown, and her assistants drove off to do whatever it is that they do. They walked in and the transformation began. Skye had only once been to this stylist before, and that was a simple hair and makeup for the battle yesterday. He had always before gone to one of the school stylists they kept on staff whenever he needed to be prepared for a special event. Jorje first helped him remove every stitch, even the sling, so he could see what needed to be done. First, he was steam showered and dried.  Then the waxing came next.  He hadn't had any type of permanent hair removal done in case his new Lady thought he should grow out any given area of hair. Jorje was very thorough, saying, "Just because clothing is supposed to cover it doesn't mean it will the entire evening, best to be safe; just in case." Skye wasn't sure which strip of hair removed was the most painful, but he had several nominees in mind for the award. This was being a much more complete makeover than yesterday. Yesterday had been to look good from a distance. This was to look good from up close; and based on Jorje’s comments and attention to detail, Skye was no longer certain there was any portion of his anatomy that would be safe from minuscule examination by any of the five senses.

He was buffed. The numbers that were dyed into his skin were bleached and scrubbed away. He was polished. He was deodorized and fragranced in areas he had not been aware could be deodorized. Then the makeup began. It wasn't just on his face.  Every muscle was highlighted, low-lighted, and shadowed. As if worried Skye was not nervous enough about tonight, Jorje informed Skye of the subtle flavors each of the cosmetics would lend to his body, "Just in case."

What kind of a ball is this going to be?" Skye wondered to himself, What are they going to do to me? Surely, with how she was going on about how important my certificate is, Evangeline isn't going to let any prospective buyers have their way with me before the auction? Then Skye remembered that there are loopholes to keeping one’s certificate. Even if the certificate’s validity is brought into question, an investigation into whether one should be revoked can be stretched out under political pressure. Evangeline also does not hold alcohol well. With her being ten years Skye’s senior he had had plenty of opportunities to notice at family holidays that when imbibing she became noticeably less than prudent.

If he remembered correctly, liberties taken with their sister Carmen's manpet, Jimmy, one New Years Eve brought about the purchase of Clarence due to Carmen's recommendation that, "If you need to do that every damn time you get tipsy, you can damn well get your own!" If Evangeline ended up drinking, not only would his virtue be unguarded, but with Clarence absent, his sister was quite likely to bring under duress the virtue of at least one of the other attendees. Hopefully, it would be one who wouldn't mind. While he was at it, he hoped her indiscretions wouldn't start a feud. Some women were rather territorial about their manpets.

By the time Jorje started working on Skye's hair, terror had taken a nasty grip on his heart. This was going to be a disaster. They were going to go there. He was going to make a fool of himself on the dance floor, and while he is doing so his sister was going to go get sauced and start telling stories about the "face diaper incident", that is if she doesn't come up with something worse. Then, while she is distracted, some obese stable matriarch was going to drag him off to some dark corner and taste test his cosmetics, after which she will tell him she was just browsing and had no intention of even bidding on anyone. As a review she would announce to everyone present she was thoroughly unimpressed, but that although his performance qualified only technically, his certificate should be considered voided anyways. Then to top off the evening, Evangeline would find the favorite manpet of the most influential person present and proceed to enthusiastically ravish him in the middle of the dance floor. That was this evening’s forecast. Then he started thinking of scenarios that were somehow worse.

Waking Up: Age of Ishtar Part 2

That evening Skye woke up in a hospital bed. His head felt groggy, but his arm was completely numb and in a sling to immobilize the swollen shoulder. He reached over to the telescreen by his bed and logged in. First there were a few messages from friends he had left behind at school, telling him they thought he did great from what they had seen in recordings of his fight. One of his mother's assistants had sent him his new schedule. It had been adjusted according to the doctor's recommendations. He would read that later.

The assistant had actually left him the decision whether to let the wound scar or not.  I suppose she really has completely lost interest in me. His mother had chosen to have a son. She had actually wanted him once upon a time. He wasn't sure whether he had done, or not done, anything to disappoint her. Perhaps she had decided a son was not what she had wanted in the first place. He remembered one time sitting on his mother's lap, his sisters gathered around, with her singing to them all. His mother was a busy woman though, and he was not the only person in her life.

When he was five; his mother, Victoria Dumas, had sent him away to school. His sisters stayed with their mothers. Skye's mother had two wives, Elizabeth and Margery, and each of them had carried one daughter sired by each of the two others. Six sisters, only four of them were blood related to him, but all six were his sisters. Lilly, Judith, Sara, Carmen, Evangeline, and Cleo had thought he was a wonderful pet. Of the three mothers, only his had chosen to have a son. He didn't know who his father was, how he had been chosen, or if his mother had felt anything for him. His mother and both his step mothers had all had male lovers. Sometimes they even shared them. His mother; however, had decided that she wanted a son after all of the girls had been born.

Skye knew there were women who just had sons with the intention of selling them. Some even lived entirely off of the income they made turning out boys. The serious professionals knew their own genetic profiles and bred with men whose genes were likely to produce certain traits when combined with their own genes to produce designer men. Long ago, direct genetic manipulation would have been used, but almost every major religion on Ishtar now spoke against it for one reason or another. Direct genetic manipulation was now only used to treat disease, and often not even for that. There were some who said that many traits now relatively common to humanity would not have come into being if not for this meddling. They claimed luminescent skin, most hair colors, ability to breathe water, and all sorts of other traits had come into the gene pool by direct manipulation. Maybe this was true, maybe it wasn't. The thought made Skye's skin crawl.

Skye's mother had never really wanted for money though. She was a brilliant business woman. Usually a boy who was intended to just be auctioned off would be sold at an early age either to a school or directly to the customer; to maximize profit. Perhaps she had intended him for some other purpose that he just hadn't lived up to, or the need for had fled. Sometimes boys were raised so that they could be used to unite two houses through blood without the mother having to marry anyone herself. Sometimes they were intended as gifts. Giving a man as a gift was a rather extravagant gesture. Giving a man of your own womb was incredible. If you wanted to train a man for espionage you had to start from an early age to ensure his unquestioning loyalty, and if you had him even from before birth you could ensure that he could not be poisoned against you. He had always thought his mother had wanted to keep him though.

Some women chose to have sons even when they could just purchase a pre-trained man because they wished them to be undoubtedly loyal bodyguards for one of their daughters. Others had strong positive feelings for the father and wanted a son who would take after them. Of course, there were the fringe cults from off world who made claims that man and woman were meant to be together as equals, and that children should only result from their union whatever gender the child might be. (Skye had watched a documentary about one of their societies and the bizarre lives they led. "Equals" was an interesting term for a cruel society that wouldn't even let their men fight in the arena, or know their worth by being appraised.) Then there were those women who had sons because they genuinely wanted to love them. Some ladies took it to an unhealthy degree; yes, but they said that there could never be a better manpet than one you carried in your own womb.

Whatever reason his mother first birthed him, when he turned five he was sent to the Monsieur Van Dam Charm School for Boys. That wasn't ominous in of itself. Quite a few of the other boys there were wards of individuals, be they their own mothers or someone else who had purchased them. The boys who were wards of the school itself had been purchased for particular traits the school specialized in helping blossom.

At first he had visited his family every few weeks. His sisters still doted on him, but his mother became more and more distant. He never really remembered his step mothers being anything but distant. They were never cruel to him though. They treated him more like someone who is not fond of dogs treats a terrier that their spouse brings into the home. Maybe she really had loved him, and maybe in her own way she still did, but there was no longer any place in her life for him, it seemed. He was no longer even worth having a member of her staff decide what direction should be taken with his medical care. It was his decision now, until someone else purchased him and he became their ward.

Skye looked through some more of his messages. There were a few advertisements for hair care products, cosmetics, skin dye and bleach to turn his epidermis any shade that took his fancy (Guaranteed to catch a lady’s eye!), and of course "Ten secrets you must know to make her weak in the knees!" (All ten secrets and a day planner to keep up on your workout, diet, and beauty treatments; as well as a subscription to their articles and recipes for one low monthly price!) How would he ever live without any of these products? Delete.

His sisters Cleo and Sara had each sent beaming messages about how proud they were that he had made it to the final two in his first professional battle. Evidently Evangeline would be congratulating him in person tomorrow. She had decided she would be able to be there to be his presenter at the rookie coming out ball tomorrow night. There had been some debate as to who would present him. At first it was assumed that, since Lilly lived the closest to the venue, she would. That had been a rather scary thought for Skye.

Lilly was by far the most socially conservative of his sisters, including her views on the "proper" way to train a man. It tended to include significant, and often creative, use of the LASH (Lingual Aural Synaptic Harness) chip. She believed that if our forbearers saw fit to decree that all men be implanted with a chip in their heads that made it so that hearing certain words would inflict certain amounts of pain, up to and including enough to knock them unconscious, these chips should be used for as much as possible. It wasn't like men felt real pain anyways. The idea of her finding a like-minded stable owner and convincing her to buy him was not pleasant. The times when he was growing up that she decided to take an "interest" in his behavior had been less than enjoyable in an extreme way. It had taught him significantly more tolerance for pain than many of his more pampered fellows, but it was not an experience he wished to repeat; ever.

Lilly's mother in law; however, had some kind of gala the week of the event, so she would not be able to attend. For a while it seemed that one of mother's assistants would have the duty. Evangeline; however, would not have it. She felt that for such a big event for him, someone from the family should be there. Although she would definitely not be able to get off of her work in time to be there for the fight, she was going to try her best to be there for the ball. It seemed her scheduling had been successful.

Having gone through all of his new messages he decided to look up news on the fight. The man who had won was a guy named Semias Montoya from the Grigori stable. It was some little stable that had recently moved to the City of Gascon from some small town on the other side of the planet. Semias had been the first gladiator purchased by Estelle Montoya, the owner, when the stable opened about twenty-five years back. He specialized in unarmed and light blades. The stable had only four gladiators, all older guys well past their primes, but evidently all of them had competed in one fight or another yesterday. Grigori was one of the stables that had registered as potential buyers for the ball tomorrow.  He would have to keep a lookout for the Grigori representatives. Semias seemed to be a more than alright guy, and there were advantages to being bought by a small stable that is looking to expand.

There was little said about the madman who had gnawed half way through his arm. His name had been Kayvan and he was listed as a casualty with a cause of non-injury cardiac failure. He was credited with the KOs of four who had died of their injuries in that fight. He broke one man’s neck, and the other three had cause of death listed as exsanguination. The intercontinental mega-stable that had fielded him was called Legion. They also would be potential buyers at the ball, and Skye would want to avoid them if Kayvan was an example of their gladiators. Even if men all were slathering beasts deep down, Skye doubted that kind of viciousness could have developed overnight.

This wasn't the first time he had woken up in a hospital bed after a fight, and if his career continued it wouldn't be the last. He sent response messages to his friends and sisters, looked up how the other fights had gone, and read all he could find about the stables that would be represented at the ball tomorrow. After a while though, one of the nurses noticed he was awake and gave him a timed dose of sedative so he would sleep until his schedule said for him to be up in the morning.

The First Fight: Age of Ishtar part 1

Breathing in, breathing out, in, and out. That was the first and most important lesson Sifu Jerrin had taught Skye Dumas when he was five years old and came to Monsieur Van Dam Charm School. Fourteen years of tutoring and training, and still it all came back to breathing in and out. Skye tried to wait patiently for the gate to open and the fight to begin. Waiting was always the hardest part. He had started stretching out and warming up over an hour ago, but to calm himself he performed one more slow repetition of Salutation of the Sun.

Anxiety would do nothing for him out in the arena; focus was key. In he breathed, and then out, with perfectly controlled breaths. He could hear Sifu Jerrin's voice in his head, "In combat, as in life, the only aspect you have control over is yourself. To control the situation, the control of self must be absolute." Nothing about himself, not even his breathing, can be allowed to leave his control. Breath controls the flow of energy through the body. Breath that is focused leads to a body that is focused; clumsy breathing leads to a clumsy body.

He must be focused for this fight. Skye had fought in many of this format, but not at this level. Never had he been in a professional fight before. There was little chance he would be standing at the end, but to win a 30UKOFFA (Thirty-man-Unarmed-Knock-Out-Free-For-All) his first pro match would be amazing. It would help ensure he would get into one of the better stables.

His mother had made it perfectly clear that she had no intention of starting her own stable. Her hope was that, after the first fight, she might be able to make a small profit on the cost of putting him through charm school by selling him to the highest bidder. First, that would require him to do well his first fight. Second, he will have to present himself well to the potential bidders when he is introduced to them at the ball. Then, no effort could be spared to present him well on the auction block. Who knows, perhaps he might capture the heart of a wealthy mistress who will decide to buy him outright herself. That was all further down the road. For now, he needed to focus, and breathe.

A few more minutes passed, and Skye heard the anthem of the planet Ishtar playing out in the arena. Not long now; his fight was the opening act. The anthem came to an end, his gate slid open, and sunlight poured in followed by the roar of the women in the crowd. He stepped up the ramp and stood on his mark in the meticulously raked sand outside his doorway. As the door behind him slid shut, he studied his opponents stepping out of their own doorways around the circumference of the arena. Most of them would be rookies or other relative unknowns in this fight; no one would be paying much attention to any particular one at the beginning. He could wave to the crowd if he won; for now his opponents received his attention.

The first detail that jumped out at him was that the average size of his opponents was larger than he was used to. No one of them was the biggest he had ever faced, but the average size of the men on the field was more than he was accustomed to. By a quick visual scan, only two looked smaller than Skye. Welcome to the big time. It did look like he had one of the more creative stylists of the bunch. About a quarter of his opponents had basic buzz cuts, and another quarter had shaved their heads entirely (most likely in imitation of the World Champion who had managed to remain undefeated for over three years: Oric Dis). Fortunately; his gravity defying, free flowing ebon locks wouldn't be a disadvantage as long as he could see through them. Grabbing or pulling an opponent’s hair carried one of the more severe penalties that stopped short of criminal prosecution.  Once again he heard Sifu Jerrin’s voice, "If you accidentally rupture an inner organ that is forgivable, but if you ever want to be in the good fights, do not touch the hair."

None of them would have any advantage from equipment. Unarmed meant that they walked in wearing a threadlet. It was just enough fabric to contain their manhood and nothing else. It was designed to ensure that, even if you took it off and attempted to use the thin string that held it on as a garrote to choke an opponent, it would tear and you would be penalized for corrupting the younger ladies in the stands. The uniform for the games helped ensure they were fair, and helped ensure the ladies in the stands or watching from home could ogle all the eye candy they wanted. "Give the women a good enough show," Sifu Jerrin had often said, "And you can lose every battle, but still be a star."  Not that his fight was likely to be watched by many from home. These weren’t a major games, and large free-for-alls were primarily used to warm up the live crowd and to sort the potential arena stars. Winning one could still be impressive, though.

He was shorter and of slighter build than almost all of his opponents. In a free for all battle, that was a mixed blessing. Those looking to take out obvious threats early would ignore him, but opponents looking for an easy early KO would target him. If you want to win a big free-for-all like this, endurance was everything. You want to keep yourself fresh while your opponents wear each other out. Also, the crowd is more likely to remember impressive maneuvers later in the battle, when there are fewer men conscious on the sands.

Only five had their skin dyed with a stable's symbol and colors. All the rest had the same black font as Skye, just declaring their number in the fight on their chest and back. He was number thirteen.

The bell tolled, and the time for strategizing was over. Instead of waiting for an opponent to choose him he spotted a mid-sized opponent, number five, who didn't seem able to move too fast. He was thick around the mid-section, which meant easier to hit, but harder to shock his innards. With any luck, Skye could spend the next few minutes working him down without getting worn out himself, and not attract attention from anyone else until the sands had been depopulated some. He ran over to the thick bellied man and opened with a right back fist to the face that rebounded off the man’s forearm block to swing straight into a shot to the crotch. His fist connected solidly. Then Skye's left fist shot out for a jab to the throat. There was a moment of surprise as he realized the second and third blow had both landed, resulting in his opponent already going down.

Skye had little time to decide what to next; however, as one of the shaven headed men (number twenty-six) tried rushing him from behind. Luckily; the angle of the attacker's shadow gave his approach away in time for Skye to react. He dropped into a low stance with his left foot stretched out away from his the charge, to give maximum stability, and drove his right shoulder into the surprised man’s midsection while the assailant swung wildly at where Skye’s head had just been. As momentum carried the bald pugilist ever forward, Skye shoved upwards with his shoulder, flipping the man so that he upended halfway over to plant head first into the arena sands.

Before the bald man could react to his new situation, lying face down on the ground, Skye grabbed his foot and twisted, hard. He felt more than heard the tendons and ligaments snap as the crowd's screeching roar drowned out the sound. Whether it was the ankle, the knee, or both that had been disabled didn't really matter. What mattered was that it was repairable and the man was effectively out of the fight. As ever, Sifu Jerrin’s advice rang through Skye's skull, "Giving injuries that can't be easily fixed is always to be avoided in the arena.  It can cost your Lady or stable money, and make it so you can't rely on the professional courtesy of others not doing the same to you." Really, with the state of medicine, as long as you stayed away from the brain and the heart, enough money could fix almost anything if the medic got to you in time. Scars left afterwards were a matter of taste.

Skye stepped away in a ready stance and surveyed the sands. There were five doors open with medics running out to take the critically injured out of the way to be treated. One team was coming for his first opponent; crushed windpipes tend to be high priority. The bald guy with the twisted leg would be rather low on the triage list. At least ten were out of the fight, and the other combatants were occupied with one another. He scanned for a favorable target.

In a free-for-all he couldn't just consider the one he was striking, because their opponent was also his opponent. The enemy of your enemy is also your enemy in a free-for-all. If you take someone out from behind, in all likelihood their current opponent will try to take you down as your only thank you. The best case scenario is to strike someone who is in the middle of finishing their opponent off. Failing that, the next best scenario is to find someone who is winning easily and hit them from behind, but just enough so that their current opponent has a chance; not hard enough to take them out, and not enough to be worth losing focus on their current target over. Let them fight each other; you just make sure that when they are done and one comes for you, they are as tired and bruised as possible.

Skye spotted a pair who had made the mistake of entering a grapple. Wrestling is all well and good if there are only two fighters on the field, otherwise it’s suicide. It leaves all parties involved vulnerable, and even if you disable the one you are grappling; disengaging, standing back up, and even pushing your unconscious foe off of you can all cost precious seconds that you would not be able to afford. He ran up and kicked the lower one of the downed pair in the soft part of the side with the ball of his right foot, then jumped into the air and slammed his left heel down on to the right side of the higher grapplers back, which of course transferred a not small part of the impact to the lower man. As often happens when an attack involves jumping, Skye was not able to keep his footing and fell, but he rolled with the fall back onto his feet. He was out of the way just in time, because two more saw the error of the wrestlers, and both of them had the colors of minor stables on their skins. They each kicked the two fools on the ground a couple of times, to ensure that they were out of the fight, before joining in melee with one another.

So far, Skye had been lucky, and the battle was going much faster than he had anticipated. Over half of the fighters were either unconscious, writhing on the ground, or somewhere in between. Two of those who had fallen were men from the stables. Somehow, he had not taken a single hit, and hadn't really had to exert himself either. Now, though, was where it would become less about luck and started getting tricky. While most of the men were injured at that time, those who were likely to go down easy were already down. The initial rush was over, most of the guys left would be thinking before they advanced. Most would be defensive now that they had lasted this long. Most would be thinking they have a real chance to win this if they played it smart.

The man dyed with red and black jagged swirls, who was charging straight at Skye, evidently did not think this way. He was at least in close competition for being the largest on the sands in this battle. Maybe he didn't have much endurance and wanted the battle over with as quickly as possible. Maybe he was in some sort of blind battle rage. Maybe he was big but not too bright. Whatever the reason, blood and spittle slathered from his bared teeth as, at the end of his sprint, he leaped at Skye with his rippling arms outstretched.

Skye pivoted and ducked to the side, jabbing at the flying madman while evading his grasping hands. The crazed male landed in a crouch and immediately turned to lunge. Skye blocked for a hit, but the crimson and black swirled monstrosity wasn't trying for a hit, he was grabbing for his arms. He yanked Skye over to him, face to face. Skye saw the dozen burst blood vessels in his assailant’s eyes, turning the whites of his eyes more red than the color they are called after. He looked into those eyes and saw death. This man was not trying to disable. He was not trying to knock out. He was out for blood and to kill. The bloody teeth were bared again and he bit for Skies throat. Skye's free arm came up and he slammed it into the crazed man’s maw. Teeth sunk into his flesh, and searing pain shot through his arm, but the teeth could have been in his throat. The bloody teeth were not from being punched in the mouth, it was blood from those the man had already faced.

Men died in the arena, especially in the battles with weapons. The goal was almost always to disable, but even in unarmed matches, death sometimes happened. Fights to the death were rare, though. Unsanctioned death was always investigated and penalized; sometimes charges would even be raised depending on the investigation. Everyone knew that men were murderous beasts at heart, which was why they could not legally carry projectile or energy weapons on Ishtar. That was why they no longer had governmental privileges. That was why they were each required to have a Lady to oversee them, or become wards of the state.

Skye had never seen this, though. He had never looked into the eyes of one of his fellows and truly understood the unthinking slathering beast that everyone knew dwelt in the hearts of all men, just waiting to be set free. He saw and was horrified. The teeth were grinding deeper into the flesh of his left arm until they hit bone, his right arm was being crushed in a vice grip, and his left shoulder was being gripped by the madman's right claw until he was sure the thumb was separating the joint. Those eyes, those mad unthinking eyes, bored into his skull; they taunted him with the knowledge that this was inside him to: he was also one of these creatures.

Skye's feet swung back and forth, ramming into the crotch of his attacker, but the man was unphased. He tried kicking the gut, the knee, anywhere his feet could reach, but there was no response except for the seething rage in his captor's eyes. Skye's feet had not touched the ground since he had been bitten, but he reached a new level of fear as the madman began to run while still holding Skye in the air.

The wind was knocked out of Skye's lungs as the two slammed into the arena wall, and the deranged man he struggled against kept trying to run. Lances of pain shot through his arm as the teeth gnawed into it. Blood streamed down the man's chin and between them, coating both of their chests. Skye didn’t know how long they were there against the wall before something slammed into his captor, grabbed the cretin's windpipe, and squeezed. It continued for a little while longer, but slowly the madman's eyes rolled up, he passed out, and let go. Skye slid down the wall and stood facing one of the two men who had been fighting over the pair of grapplers. He was dyed in patterns of navy and burgundy. A fully mature man, he was probably a semi-retired fighter by his looks. He had more than a fair number of scars, and they all looked real.

The stable man looked at Skye for a second and asked, "Can you continue, or do you yield? You look in no state to fight."

Panting with pain, Skye replied after a short pause, "If you don't mind, I'd like to finish this. If I'm not going to win, I at least want to be unconscious when the winner is declared."

The man patterned in navy and burgundy laughed, "Then meet me at the midpoint, so we can square off and give you your wish."

They walked to the center of the arena, and Skye's head was starting to swim from the loss of blood. He held his focus though. He noticed that the older man was slightly limping; not with a limp of a new injury though. The older man moved as though the limp were a part of him. They squared off. The older man pulled his hands together in the sign of the crescent enclosed fist and bowed. That was a bow of definite respect for one’s opponent. Skye willed his mangled arm up and into the sign then bowed a few degrees deeper, despite the tidal waves of agony he managed to hold back from all his face but the eyes. A look of pleased surprise crept onto the older man's expression as he moved into a ready stance.

Skye knew that with how much blood he had lost (and was still losing) all that his opponent had to do, honorable as he seemed, was to wait for Skye to pass out. The young man made the first move. He advanced in a side stance that kept his injured arm behind him and tried to use the same maneuver he had bested his first opponent with. His back fist swung towards the old man's forehead, and after being blocked away swung for the sweet spot in the crotch; only to find the other hand waiting there in a block. Then the old man wrapped his foot around the back of Skye's advancing leg and gave an open palmed blow to the chest, thus knocking Skye over backwards.

Skye stopped himself as best he could by putting his good hand out for a one armed back-bend, but that left his back open to the old man's knee which sent Skye sprawling. He fell on his left arm, grinding sand into the wound and making him gasp in pain. Skye tried spinning on that side to swing his leg around for a sweep kick. Sand, however, is not conducive to such a maneuver, and he succeeded only at grinding even more grit into his wound while the old man was able to position himself for a solid kick.

Skye saw the foot swinging towards his face. His head resounded with pain, and the sun faded dark.

The Difference Between a Bad Day and an Adventure

Something I feel the need to tell myself, and others around me, on a regular basis, is the difference between a bad day and an adventure.

Think of an adventure story you love, think of a few of them if you can. How many adventure stories can you think of that could not also be described as a very bad day for the central characters. It may be a bad day that ends well, but it is almost always a bad day for most of the duration. They are being chased, they are going to lose their job, their ship has wrecked, they are on the run for their lives, they are being threatened, they are falling from cliffs, and people are often dying all around them. If you need to reflect on this more, take some of your favorite adventure stories, and describe them the way you describe a bad day you’ve had to someone. It isn’t nearly as fun of a story that way, is it?

Now, think of a few bad days you’ve had recently. (Let’s stay away from genuinely traumatic events right now, better to process those with a real-life therapist who can interact with you. This post is not likely to be anywhere near in depth enough to get you through the loss of a loved one, huge life changes, or a sudden loss of innocence. This is not medical advice or clinical therapy. I’m not saying it couldn’t help, but I’m saying not to just rely on a blog if you need serious help. Please, if you feel it is too much to handle on your own, get help. It is there, and professionals really can help you if you let them.) Not life changing bad days right now, but just a stressful day that everything seemed to be going wrong, or at least kept looking like it was going to go wrong.

Take this bad day, or days, and try describing it to someone the way you would tell an adventure story. If you can, tell it to someone out loud, or at least read it to yourself out loud. Get excited. Take the big crescendo of failure or final success and give it the energy it deserves in the telling. Build suspense, weave through every twist and turn that day took. Let yourself feel a little bit silly, because the spirit of adventure is a silly thing at its heart.

At this point, give or take a little based on storytelling skill, you will probably have noticed that there is no quantitative difference between a bad day or an adventure. The only real difference between the two is how the story is told.

The only difference between a bad day and an adventure is how you choose to tell the story.
An adventure is a bad day told well.

You don’t even ever need to tell the story out loud to make that huge difference. Just change the tone when going over what is happening in your mind. If you can, try to have your internal monologue be in an awesome movie trailer voice, or the suave descriptions of a noir film detective. You will be able to face worse challenges with more energy and zeal, because, really, the worse life throws at you, the more epic this story becomes.

Don’t call it a bad day either, actually call it an adventure. Even if you are sarcastic, that sets the mental tone for you being the plucky hero (or antihero) instead of the browbeaten background character. Everyone is the hero (or heroine) of their own life story. Remember that every day. There are only so many things you can do to keep bad things from happening and to keep good things happening, and sometimes the only thing you can do is to decide that if bad things are going to happen, you are not going to give them the power to make you have a bad day.

This helps even if you never say any of these stories out loud, but really shines when you feel the need to unload your day to others. Bad days are usually no fun to listen to, adventures can be. Supporting and seeking support from your friends and relatives through hard times is a necessary thing. Seeking social support is healthy for a long list reasons. Telling the story as an adventure can help make the experience less draining on everyone involved; sometimes it could even be invigorating. I’m not saying you will be able to stay energetic and happy about your misfortunes all of the time. That would actually be a problem, because you need to stay motivated to make things better. Addiction to bad experiences can be a real thing; let’s not go there.

You will still need to cry sometimes; you may still need someone to hold you while you cry. From personal experience, even if you couldn’t feel the energy before the cry, sometimes that self-conscious time towards the end of a cry can be the easiest point from which to see the bad day for the adventure it is.

Take the power back over your life. Stop having as many bad days. Start having more adventures.

Fact vs. Truth

This is a post for definition of the terms 'fact' and 'truth' as I often use them.
When discussing subjects of philosophy, very minute differences in word usage can make a large difference. I often use the words fact and truth as differentiated terms. When I do so, I am going to try to keep linking back here so that I do not have to repeat the same explanation over and over, and thus bore everyone.

Fact is the word I try to use for something that is verifiable, objective, and/or quantitative.
Truth is the word I try to use for something that is amorphous, subjective, and/or qualitative.

For example, it is a fact that stealing food is against the law in most places. However, it is true that it is wrong to steal because it hurts those you are stealing from. It also could be true that it would be wrong to let your children starve if you could save their lives by stealing from someone who would be hurt very little by being stolen from.

In these usages, there is usually only one factual answer to a question, but could be many different answers that are all true.

If it is a fact that Jim has five apples, it could be true that he has many apples, but it also could be true that he has few apples. It depends on perspective, how many apples others have, what the apples are for, how big the apples are, and even how much Jim likes the apples.

Perspective, feeling, and uncounted variables are part of truth, while fact is hard and unyielding.
Some questions can have both a factual answer and a truth answer. “Is this soup good for me?” Is such a question. The factual answer would contain the nutritional information of the soup, the nutritional needs of the person asking, and whether it met those needs or exceeded them in any ways that were problematic. The factual answer in this case would not be a yes or a no, because it is unlikely to be as factually clear cut as would be necessary for a binary answer to that question. The truthful answer in this case could be just a yes or no. The truth could be yes because it has many things the answerer views as healthy in it, the truth could be no because it has a large amount of salt and the answerer feels that overrules any other nutritional value it may have, the answer could also be no because the soup has quite a few carbs and the answerer feels that carbs are unhealthy, or it could be yes because the answerer feels it is low in total calories and the answerer feels that caloric content is the primary indicator of the heath value of food. It could be more responsible for those giving the truthful instead of factual answers to explain their reasoning, but they can just truthfully state their qualitative conclusion.

Fact is easier to use accurately when the question is something that has a set, objective, answer. In cases where a qualitative answer of good or bad, worse or better, healthy or unhealthy where there are multiple variables that have unknown weighting against one another, and quite likely includes some variables that are purely arbitrary, factual answers become less and less useful. The fuzzier an issue becomes, the less directly facts figure into our decisions. The more muddled the facts become, the more people tend to rely on truths. Truth is fuzzy, and so it covers fuzzy situations well.

One problem with this dichotomy is when people reject either fact or truth. Both are necessary.

People who insist that just because there are some unknowns, or that there is some fuzziness to an issue, that the facts are all meaningless and arbitrary will make poor decisions. An issue being complex and requiring some subjective judgement does not mean that facts do not matter. Just because you can’t prove that a back-rub won’t help your cancer does not mean that having a backrub means the scientifically verified treatments your doctor has prescribed can be safely ignored.
At the other end, one cannot just ignore truth in the face of facts. No matter how similar the muscle tissue of humans and pigs is, it makes a great deal of difference whether that is a pork chop on your plate or a human chop.