The two months, on and off, of working at Drom's had been eye-opening if the red-haired Miralukan had possessed the eyes to be opened. The little blood-sport loving hell-hole in the cesspits of Nar was dangerous, but Aran - Artia or more generically the 'Doc' on payroll - had earned a reputation of being too hard to hit. She never played in the ring, either, just made herself invaluable patching the fighters up with a never-ending supply of kolto-soaked bandages. Some of the injuries were too much for just kolto but there was when Doc was most beloved - she was known for 'taking a look' and reminding people only a real professional could pick out what was or was not a life-threatening injury. Of course using just enough Force to heal the grievous injuries and then patching the rest - but no one would believe a blood-sport club could have a healer on staff, and Drom didn't know, so of course that wasn't the case.
It was confusing, all the nicknames she had kept picking up. Doc was Llinos whom she employed but it was also herself, at the Box. She was very careful to leave the bloodied clothing someplace none of the employees found but this was just about above her ability to handle.
Something big was happening for Drom's. Security was tight, seamless. If she hadn't sunk days into being a fixture at the Box she was certain that she'd have been barred entrance. And the two fighters on the 'stage' were different from anything else that had ever been present.
Without turning her head she could feel the pin-pricks of real Sensitives in the crowd. Betting on the two barely-legal youths. She could scent spice in the air, spice and other drugs now. Maybe V-DEX even, given how wild some people were seeming to crash around in their emotions. The crowd tonight was different. It was malicious and malevolent, aching for pain from the fighters who had been given dulled knives. And watching them fight Aran, the plain Doc of the club, pulled her arms in, a gesture not unnoticed by the bruiser near her.
"Y' ain't like watching fights like this, do ya Doc," the man asked softly, words pitched for her ears.
"Summa think this would be..." Aran paused, her attention diverted as she saw one fighter stab the other through the ribs, "... barbaric," she ended lamely. Her hands curled into fists but unlike other people she knew who would charge down to stop the wrong now, she waited. Because something larger than blood sports happened at Drom's Box, and tonight it felt like she'd finally start to figure out what.
"This 'ere?" The man gestured at the floor, the fight, the bidding Sith and assorted other who were watching children fight to the death below. "This is what Drom's really is Doc y' just never worked this shift. Drom's Box," pride warmed the guard's voice up and Aran kept the fascination and amused humor on her face so he wouldn't know what she really felt, "Home of the Blood Ring."
Well, she had a 'what' now. She'd spent days at the Box sleeping on shift to get this much. Her head turned, spotting some knots of pure Dark - Sith? - and shifting on her feet. "Interestin'," she offered.
Now this was something she wanted to shut down. Before she found her bodyguard requested to take part in the Ring fights. Or before more children were forced to fight.
Time to call people in to shut this ring of nasty corruption down.
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