“No, I'm here to fight but not yet.” Scorch shifted her attention to the dummy calculating how many strides it would take to reach it and where best to strike the dummy with the sword.

Before she can make a move however she is distracted as the arena comes to life. Out there things are beginning. She hears the roar of a crowd though familiar it isn't quit what she was use to.

It sounded like fans cheering or jeering at a sporting event rather than leery eyed beings with an appeal for flesh. Suddenly a monitor flicks on drawing her attention there as she catches it out of the corner of her eye.

This is different then what she usually encountered. Two aliens. At first she thought that they might be opposing one another with a third party being involved like a gladiatrix, something for them to fight over and against at the same time. That would have been different, though it became clear that the two beings would battle one another.

“Mercer!” That had been her first impulse when seeing the lupine-like alien. No, it wasn't him. She caught another camera angel and shook her head but found herself gazing at the two combatants before glancing to him.

“It's just the two of them? That's different. Is there a shortage of gladiatrixes in these parts?” Shortage of the sort that could put up a decent fight she meant since any slave could be tossed into the arena. Such mismatches could be boring for an audience after a time she supposed. Scorch never really thought much about it taking the occasional match, usually out of blackmail by Mercer's doing.

Vemacitrin shrugs. Politics are not his interest nor does he interact with the Arena authorities - the particular ring he usually fights in is closed to audiences, in fact, after the last time a boorish fan had shouted an insult, and he'd torn the fool's head from his shoulders in response. "I would estimate gladiatrix battles are down by a third over the last six months," he says, though his memory is in fact exact - it's closer to twenty-nine percent. "Blood sport matches such as these have replaced them, their tickets bidded on by audience members or animal trainers. Both parties must agree to the bout and their opponent beforehand, and the Arena doesn't care nearly as much about preventing death or injury for these. There are less gladiatrixes, but it's easier to replace these warm bodies, I would presume."

A basic problem of gladiatrixes is that they have to remain defiant, relatively attractive, and with some degree of combat skill - all qualities which require investment. It's easier to focus on keeping a few healthy, mutinous, and eye-pleasuring than keeping a bevy of beauties locked up and in good form. It's a matter of logistics, really, which is the only reason that he can bother to pay attention to it. Logistics is the art of war writ large, after all.

"They'll both die. Or be ruined in the fight," the Asura predicts, voice monotone with boredom. "The jellyfish can float but not stay out of the lupine's reach, and neither has the talent to land a killing or disabling blow without exposing themselves to the opponent. Neither has a defense against the other's weapon of choice."

There's a barking roar as Vemacitrin turns his back to the screen, no longer interested. Animals are child's play. "You saw where I was testing your blade? The point at which it doesn't vibrate is termed the center of percussion; a mathematical term meaning the point on a lever arm at which force can be applied without dislodging a fixed base. All swords are, essentially, lever arms; they add reach and a bladed edge to your hands. Striking at that point will keep your hands steady, prevent your grip from faltering, and reduce stress on your forearms and wrists."

“Down that much?” Scorch shakes her head a bit. Not that she was doing this for pay now or being blackmailed to fight to save her sister.

She knew the things that awaited for her at Vesperia's club. These bouts served to get her in better condition to deal with her time there. Not the physical side of things were she fought back but in order to test her sexual stamina when she lost. Getting use to a greater variety of aliens helped too.

Perhaps ticket sales were down in just this sector. It had been a number of months since she had last visited an arena. As he comments about the fighters in the arena she sizes the two aliens up as he reveals information. Part of her wonders if these matches are grudge matches fought to the bitter end or first blood. Then she answers her own question given what he had to say about the fighters being ruined.

Second blood, if memory served that was to the point of severe injury. Third was to the death so it was one or the other. As he showed a lack of interest in what was going on she dismissed the matter seeing that she was not out there.

“Took his head off ...” She trailed off not surprised that he could but he did. The arena must have come down hard on him for that unless …

He had his own arena separate from the main one. Her eyes go wide for a moment. He was the owner? Or a backer of some sort in a prominent position but before she can mull that over he brings attention back to the sword. She looks at the blade flexing it with a hand giving it a bit of a wobble before she finds the place where it's most rigid as if confirming just where again before dropping into a stance her feet parting, her focus on the dummy.

She breaths a few times slow and deep. Then dashing ahead she makes a diagonal slash at the dummy as she passes it, turns when she is clear, looks first to the sword then moves back towards the target to see how effective she was. Her blow had been aimed low chopping at the knee as if to hamper a foe granting her additional options in a real contest.