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Tiso rested upon the bench in the crossroads, leaning forward at the front of the seat in a not so relaxed manner. He gazed towards the ground in thought, pictures of the anticipated Colosseum flashing in his mind. The rewards, the challenges, the monsters … that he would definitely beat! Not to mention the glory he would surely have. Definitely worth the trip from Drift Hood.
He abruptly sits up, stirring a head turn and a surprised grunt from the old stag to the side of him. The warrior had a vision. I can already imagine the looks on those fools’ faces when I return home with the prizes of the Colosseum. I’d be the best in town. The remains of his wings twitch somewhat, movements spurred by his thoughts. He then looks down towards his shield. It looks a little dirty…
I might as well clean this. I can’t be looking poor on my arrival. Tiso picks up his shield with the hand closest to it, the other reaching up to untie the cloth covering his head and face. With simple movements, the blue cloth slips away from his horned head. A light Forest Green covers the large horn extending from the back of his head, and by extension, around his face. Red stripes and scars wind down to the patch of an almost mud brown color covering his face. He wasn’t exactly the brightest amongst the blues of the station, but no one could possibly ignore it if they were here. It’s better when around plant life.
Using the cloth that once covered his head, he begins to rub away the dirt that settled on his shield. The warrior made sure to clean inside crevices and even the back. Time slips away easily, and he is startled back into reality when he hears the unmistakable rumble of a stag. When did it leave? Turning towards the platform, he notices that short, pale being.
The tiny bug approaches.
“Ehh. Pale thing. You use these old lines? Pathetic. A real warrior carries himself to combat. He has no need for such convenience.” Is all he says, eyeing them with disdain. The tiny thing seems to stare a bit too long before looking down at his shield, then back up again. “What’s with that look?” Mimicking their movements, he looks down, and sees his reflection in the shield.
Surprised, he throws the cloth back over his head, tying a knot under his chin. He coughs, “if you wish to gawk at my scars— which is very rude, I should say— then I will take my leave.” He stands up, shield already prepared for potential combat, but is stopped by the Pale Thing. “Leave me be. It’s the arena I seek. I've already wasted far too long on these cursed roads.”
The little bug holds out a finger before reaching into their cloak. They pull out a single blue map marker in the shape of a scarab. They hold it up as they point at Tiso.
“What? Are you talking about my hood?” He instinctively puts a hand towards the front of it, pulling it even more over his face. The Pale Thing nods. “I was using it to clean my shield.”
They shake their head then, pointing more assertively at Tiso now.
“Ugh, I have no time for this.” Swerving around the tiny bug, he speed-walks towards the exit and out of sight.
The other bug stares after him, left wondering about the colors of his shell. None of their other encounters with different bugs featured such lovely colors.