An Interlude With Everett

"Okay, that's enough," said Faydra, and Ellen felt the other woman pulling at her shoulder. "You get one look, that's all. You want to know the Hole from the inside, you do it the same way as everybody else. Bleed for it."

Shivering, Ellen stepped back and let Faydra drop the massive grating over the entrance to the pit arena. This was... she was doing her best to put a brave face on it, but this was beyond a doubt the worst, stupidest decision of her life. This was worse than the time she'd agreed to drink the Treeminders' sap of purification without finding out what was in it. She'd only glimpsed the lumpy, irregular floor of the Hole briefly, but that had been long enough to spot bloodstains and worse; what had she been thinking?

Well. She knew what she'd been thinking, more or less. But... there had to have been some other way, and now there wasn't, and if there was any way out of this situation or any future beyond the next fifteen minutes, she for one couldn't see it.

"How-" She swallowed. "How long before it starts?"

Faydra shrugged, one metal-spiked shoulder lifting briefly. "The fuck if I know. Depends how long it takes the regulars to get here." She glanced past Ellen towards the stairs that led up into the Mill. "Oh, hey. Speaking of regulars."

Ellen turned to see what Faydra was looking at and groaned inwardly. It was the man who'd made those comments at her- Everett. "Hey," he said to her, and then to Faydra: "Mind if I get in some time with her?"

Oh, Jesus, Ellen thought, and it didn't help that Faydra nodded and stalked off, leaving Ellen alone with Everett. She tensed involuntarily, wondering how quickly she could get a weapon out of Karkat's storage deck.

Everett didn't make a move, though. "So," he said instead, "you're really gonna do this, huh? Got your eye on the big leagues?"

"I have my reasons," Ellen said warily.

"Sure, sure," Everett said. He leaned back against the scabrous grey concrete wall. "Don't blame you, kid. We all got ambitions. Can't say I'd'a pegged you for a pit fighter, but hey- you saw an opportunity and you grabbed it. I can respect that."

He wasn't leering, Ellen realized. There wasn't even a hint of anything lecherous in his tone. She wasn't sure what to think of that.

"Which, eh, brings me to why I'm here," he said. "Like I said, you don't seem like the pit fighter type. You got any clue how to survive something like this?"

She rolled up what remained of her Red Rocket Fuel jumpsuit sleeve to show the old scar from her first bad encounter with a mirelurk. "I've survived my share of close-quarters fighting," she said. "Not always with humans, but."

"Yeah? Ain't that something," said Everett. "Okay, you maybe got more of a chance than I thought. Which is good, 'cause the fights are real damn boring when the new meat dies in the first thirty seconds. That's where I come in."

Ellen suppressed the urge to gag, instead saying, "How do you mean?"

"Well." Everett jerked his head back towards the door. "I don't know if you know this, but I'm kind of a collector. Armor, weapons, you name it. I buy it from the living or I take it off the dead. Whatever's easier. I'm also a dealer. Some of my stuff goes to the guys and gals in Uptown, but my really good pieces, well... I got a good market in the gladiators."

Ellen frowned a little at that. "There's a difference?" she asked.

Everett stared at her, then let out a whoop of laughter. "You bet your ass there's a difference!" he said. "Jeez, you really are new here, ain't you? There's only one guy I can think of who was crazy enough to fight his way through the Hole and win and come back after. Most of the people you see in there? They were scabs, like you. They volunteered, and they fought good enough to live, but they didn't fight good enough to win."

"You mean it's not all to the death?"

"Nah! Well, okay, most of the time it is," Everett said. "But sometimes you get a situation where a fight's real close and somebody surrenders. If the other guy doesn't take the chance to kill 'em, they get sent back to the stables, and they fight again next time they can hold a weapon."

So surrendering was an option, Ellen thought. That changed things a bit. "I see," she said out loud. "Does that kind of thing happen often?"

"Not really. We go through a lot of scabs who think they can get away with giving up," said Everett. "That's why there's a rule. New meat don't get to surrender in their first match, even if they want to. They try, and we start shooting."

Ellen blanched at that.

"Used to be they'd drop barrels full of river water on the scabs if they didn't play along," Everett added. "Changed the rules a while ago, though. Got too hard to clean the place up between fights. You still get people shooting into the arena if the fight gets boring, though. So you wanna keep an eye out for that."

"Why are you telling me all this?" Ellen wondered. "I mean-"

"Hey, it's like I said," said Everett. "The fights get boring when the new meat dies too fast. I mean, yeah, the other fighters'll throw down with each other, right? But that gets old after a while. That's why I'm gonna make you an offer."

"Whatever it is-"

Everett held up one hand. "Hear me out," he said. "You don't have a whole lot of time before they bring in the others. What you also don't have a lot of is protection. You go into the Hole dressed like that, you're gonna get your ass handed to you on a plate. So what I'm gonna do is, I'll spot you a little protective gear. Nothin' fancy, but enough leather to keep the first guy's Ripper out of your ribs, you know what I'm saying?"

"And in return... what?"

"In return, you fight like hell," said Everett. "And you make sure and tell anybody who asks where you got the gear. There's no advertising like word of mouth advertising, y'know? I'll make sure to have something better ready for you if you live past the first match, too. Make sure and grab the other guy's stuff when you kill him- I got very reasonable rates in trade."

Ellen eyed him narrowly. "That's all?"

"That's enough," said Everett. "I'm a businessman, kid. I like my deals fast and clean."

"No, I meant-" She waved a hand, tried to think of how to phrase it, failed. "The way you were talking before-"

"Why?" said Everett, shaggy blond eyebrows going up. "You offering?"

"No!"

Everett laughed coarsely. "Damn, and here I thought I had a chance. Nah, kid. Gladiators're off limits unless they ask for it. Most people figure it ain't a real smart idea to put the moves on somebody whose day job is figuring out how to kill people real fast and close up. And you don't want to see what happens when one of the women gets pregnant, neither. That don't end well for nobody."

"Oh," said Ellen, and did her best not to gag at the thought. "That's how it is, huh?"

"Yeah," said Everett. "That's how it is. Now, you want that leather or not? It's a good suit. The last owner lost it on account of decapitation, that's all."

The Hole

You know how things have a way of happening whether you want them to or not? Yeah. This is one of those things, for both Ellen and Voodoo. (Nobody cares about whether Dave wants it to happen or not.) The spectators are starting to pour into the Mill, 'worker' and boss alike, and the crowds are flowing up to the Hole to get the best possible places to watch the incipient fights.

It's just about showtime.