Private Tales Into the Fighting Pits

[Isla]

"I'll do a lot more than bite." Isla scowled at Hazen. Though blood dripped down his face, the punch seemed to have the opposite effect on him than she had hoped. Maybe something was wrong with her, for she recalled the Prince who had taken her in like a stray dog had been greeted similarly with a slap to the face. Is that really what men liked?

She did not give him a response for the rest of his comments. Staring at him, brows furrowed, she waited until he seemed to concede.

Though, a voice caught her attention. Looks like Cross lost his charm.

Arryn? Was Arryn okay? Isla's face paled and she tried to push her way back into the crowd that blocked her view. They roared as the fight came to a climax. She hadn't made it to the front, but through a small break in the screaming mass of people, she could see that Arryn was still standing. He looked like he was in pain. She could tell his breathing was more shallow, likely from an injury to his ribs. She was no stranger to those unfortunately.

But his head was still attached, and he seemed to be thinking, contemplating his next move.

Someone pushed Isla out of the way, slamming her into another body. The man turned around and Isla managed to duck out of the way before the drunkard tried to throw a right hook towards her. The voices no longer cheered for Pretty Boy or The Hammer, but rather towards each other. Hands were thrown, people tossed, glass broke.

Isla had managed to weave out of the most dense part of the crowd, but found herself in another world of chaos. There was no where to go. Not unless she wanted to take a barstool to the face. So she stood where she was, a deer in headlights.

"Ouch!" She yelped when her wrist was grabbed and she was yanked, hard, out of harm's way. "What the f-"

Oh for fuck's sake. This dickhead again.

"Lucky?" She wished she had something to hit him with to get him to let go of her. "I would hardly call that luck. Where the hell are you taking me?"

 

[Hazen]

Hazen gasped, clutching his chest with his free hand as if she’d stabbed him. “Hardly call that luck?” he repeated, scandalised. “Sweetheart, I just saved your very pretty face from being rearranged by a flying barstool, and this is the thanks I get?”

He pressed a hand to his bleeding lip, pouting dramatically. “You wound me.”

His grip on her wrist loosened, though not enough to let her bolt into the madness. “As for where I’m taking you…” He dodged a swinging punch from some poor bastard who was too drunk to know who he was aiming for. “Somewhere less likely to get you killed, obviously. Which, by the way, you seem to be very bad at avoiding.”

He shot her a teasing smirk, giving her a little tug forward. “Now, unless you want to take your chances in this fine establishment of civilised gentlemen, I’d suggest you hold on tight and try not to get us both killed, yeah?”

He ducked another flying chair, pulling Isla with him, weaving through bodies as the brawl escalated into something that would probably end with half the men in here either unconscious or missing teeth. A bottle smashed just inches from his face, spraying shards of glass into the air. Hazen barely flinched, only laughing as he yanked Isla sideways, narrowly avoiding a stumbling drunk who nearly took them both down.

"This way, love!"

With a sharp pull, he steered her towards the edge of the mayhem, weaving through overturned tables and unconscious bodies until they reached a door tucked behind the bar. Without missing a beat, Hazen slammed his shoulder into it, sending it bursting open into a narrow, dimly lit corridor to the back stairs.

Their footsteps echoed as they climbed, the shouts from the tavern below growing muffled behind them. A single lantern flickered at the top of the stairwell, barely lighting the next door as Hazen shoved it open and pulled her outside into a dark, mercifully quiet alleyway.

With a final slam, he threw the door shut behind them, bracing his hands against it for a moment as if expecting the entire bar to come barreling after them. When nothing happened, he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his already-messy hair before turning to Isla with a slow, lazy smirk.

“Well,” he drawled, hazel eyes glinting in the dim light. “That was fun, and you're welcome."

 

[Arryn Cross]

The roar of the crowd had barely begun to fade from Arryn’s ears when everything erupted. One moment, the pit was electric with cheers, the next, the tavern descended into pure, unfiltered chaos. Shouts turned to snarls, fists flew in every direction, and the sharp crash of glass breaking punctuated the growing violence like a drumbeat of destruction.

He barely had time to pull his shirt over his head when the realisation struck him like a fist to the gut— Isla was gone.

His heart slammed against his ribs.

“Shit,” he muttered, jerking his head around, scanning the sea of writhing bodies for any sign of her. The place was a mess of swinging limbs and overturned tables, men colliding into one another, chairs being wielded like weapons. The whole place had turned into a brawl that even he—who had been in his fair share of reckless, stupid fights—was impressed by.

But there was no sign of her.

A wild punch swung in his direction, and he dodged it just in time, his ribs screaming in protest. He caught himself against a table, shoving some poor bastard out of his way, his breath ragged as he turned on his heel. “Isla?!!”

His stomach tightened as he pushed forward, weaving through the chaos with single-minded determination, shoving past bodies without care for who he knocked aside. The thought of her anywhere in the middle of this madness made his blood run cold.

Lynus was going to kill him.

He grit his teeth, dodging a flying bottle that shattered against the wall beside him, shards cutting into his forearm as he lifted it instinctively to shield his face. Pain was secondary. Finding her was everything.

 

[Isla]

She tried to snatch her hand away from the wild-eyed maniac who was now dragging her across the floor through the absolute fuck-fest this place had transitioned into. Had she punched him so hard that she'd given him some sort of brain injury? He was going to wish for a brain injury if Lynus found out what was now happening in this establishment that he would have forbid her from ever stepping foot in. If it was a secret for Arryn to be here, Isla was completely and utterly fucked.

"Bad at avoiding?" She snapped at him. "I was avoiding everything, but you are incapable of taking a hint." Or a hit, apparently.

Isla stumbled as he tugged her arm, avoiding the shattering glass by little more than luck and clumsiness. "Let. Go. Of. Me!" Was shouted, though barely heard over the chaos. Multiple times.

"Ouch you fucker." She, yelped as he yanked her arm once again. Fucking brutes, all of the people who came to this place. No wonder Nathaniel seemed to enjoy his time spent here. Like minded, or whatever.

It became painfully clear that he was not letting go, and Isla was not getting away from him as he slammed open a door and led them up, up and...outside? Isla seemed puzzled that he'd actually gotten her out of harms way, but judging by her arms crossed over her chest and a scowl Lynus hadn't even been victim of the day they had met, Isla was pissed.

"Thank you, but I'd like to go back inside. I need to make sure my friend is okay." She stepped backward, away from Hazen and away from the door he blocked. Gods. Please Arryn. She prayed he would find that door, that something would draw him to the stairs and up to the eerily quiet alleyway. She'd had one day of training with Arryn. Her muscles were sore and she had thrown all of her power into that one, admittedly, well-placed punch.

She glanced back towards the door, hoping to hear footsteps. Nothing. There was nothing. "Do you abduct every pretty girl you meet?" She took another step back to increase the distance between them.