Splice Blurbs

Jabberwocky

{Reed}

It had been a parking garage way back when, but now it served as one of the largest underground parties one could imagine.

The Circus was aptly named, in Reed's opinion. A big, loud spectacle with the added advantages of drugs, alcohol, pounding music and dim lighting. The atmosphere itself was reminiscent of a drug trip and, like carnivals had funnel cake and cotton candy, you could buy just about anything at the Circus, or at least find someone who sold it. There were even animals, of a sort, and live entertainment.

Holes had been made in the floors to create arenas, sometimes 3 floors deep and edged with questionable railings. These staging grounds hosted actors, of the physical sort, who were always ready to put on a show. As they carted off the latest bloodied mess of a performer out of a rink, the crowd roaring in excitement or anger or just for the heck of it, Reed pocketed his winnings and wondered how many stitches he'd be sewing tonight.

"You're a cheat!"

"No, you're a sore loser." Reed replied, turning from the rink to face his accuser. He felt only a marginal reduction in confidence when he realized the wired man he'd just relieved of 150 dollars was not the only one glaring at him. Reed offered a wry look that bordered on a grimace, but it was lost behind his mask. "Don't bet anything you're not willing to lose."

The man squinted, gesturing towards one of his companions with an awkward neck movement.

"Philly informed me that you're a 'doctor' here." He made exaggerated quotation marks with his hands. Reed would guess he was smiling.

"I patch up what they rip open," Reed conceded, narrowing his eyes.

"You know the fighters personally." Philly said, raising an eyebrow.

"If they're regulars."

"You know how well they do." He persisted.

"And so can you, if you check the posted roster. Your lack of research is no fault of mine." Reed said dismissively, turning to go. Every other night, some graceless loser tried to start something, just because he was good at reading matches. It was getting annoying.

A hand latched onto his arm, and yanked him back.

"You know what, I'm not sure I like your attitude." The man said slowly, tightening grip on Reed's forearm as he leaned in. It was a clichè line, and likely an empty threat. Nothing he hadn't heard before, but there went the rest of Reed's patience.

"Well, I certainly don't like your breath." Reed made a show of "plugging" his nose. Not that he could smell anything but his mask, the man was probably too high to notice. The man's eye twitched, and he as he cocked back an arm, Reed ran through the situation in his head. He could probably take 3 guys at once, easy. Sure, they weren't so old, and not-Philly looked like he could bench him, but head honcho was definitely an addict and Philly wasn't too impressive either. Easy.

"All fights must be reported to the Rinkleader. Unless you don't want any cut of the wagers we get from it?" A familiar voice said from behind Reed. The men's eyes widened. Reed didn't need to look to confirm, but he did anyway. There stood Di, the gaping eyes of her disconcerting mask a relief. Reed could take them, of course, but he'd rather not get punched in the face if he didn't have to.

"Actually, uncleared fights aren't strictly allowed at all, especially not with a member of our staff." Di's elder brother added, trailing the usually two steps behind his sister. His eye sockets, unlike Di's empty pits, had a screen that displayed a real time heartbeat, one that was pittering along at a slightly escalated rate.