Match of the Millennium

Things were all starting to come together again. Keep calm, stay the course, and things will work out okay. Just like he'd always told her. It was hard for Chevy at first. The oppressive heat, the fire, the shouting and fighting. Everything had happened so fast, even the part where she herself lost her temper and said some things she'd rather not have. In practically the blink of an eye, a three-hour tour had turned into a three-week stay -- maybe even three months. But while the flame curtains encircling the island may have gone away, the tempers of the castaways had cooled. Which is good -- waiting for a catch on one's fishing line requires steady nerves and lots of patience. Chevy's seated upon an overturned five-gallon bucket on a pier outside the Moonlight Reef hotel. A long monofilament line trails from a makeshift fishing pole, angling into the shimmering expanse north of Bass Island. Beyond, she can see the caldera of the volcano rising overhead. And if she squints her eyes just right, the curtain of flames blends right in with the orange of the late afternoon sky. She's alone right now, with plenty of time to think and reflect. But, one of the things she reflects upon is the adage, "many hands make for light work." She's grateful, really, that this moment of solitude has been a rare one; that she hasn't been the only one to cast a line for a fish dinner. Her gaze drifts down to the fishing pole resting on her thigh: a long tree branch, splintered in some places, about to split apart in others. Another thing she reflects upon is how similar it is to the very first fishing rod her Paw had made for her, way back when. Times had been tight then too -- though it was for a lack of money rather than a lack of stocked merchants as it is now. Her reverie is cut short by the tugging of her line; she tightens her grip about the tree branch in response. Chevy then stands up with a smile, pulling the line in. Almost simultaneously, the waterbender reaches out with her left hand, calling on her ability to chill the water; this calms the surprised fish into accepting its untimely fate. In just a few moments, she hauls the fish right out of the water and onto the deck beside her. The fish flops around for a moment -- and Chevy calmly places her sneaker tread upon it, holding it down. Just like she'd used to do. She laughs softly to herself. "Sorry, pal -- I hate to say it, but y'all are gonna be dinner." Chevy lets out another sober chuckle as she reaches down to pull the fishhook out of the fish's lip. A moment later, she tosses the captured fish into a second sunbleached bucket, where it joins a half-dozen of its asphyxiated brethren. She lifts the bucket, causing the latest capture to flop around with another futile surge of energy. The brittle, sun-bleached plastic won't last too much longer -- but it's holding for now, and that's good enough. It won't be much longer before the sun goes down. She starts to leave -- but hesitates, stopping short of a rope that lowers into the water. "Hmm... let's check on y'all afore we go..." She sets the bucket down and reaches to pull the rope up. A moment later, she finds the crab trap on the other end of the rope. And she frowns slightly, seeing that it is empty. "Nothing now, aww well. Maybe tomorrah!" She then hauls both buckets up by their handles -- both the one with the fish, and the other that had been her seat. Before turning to leave, though, she stops to take another look at the water's shimmering surface. "Oh, yeah, one more thing..." It's all coming around again. If it weren't for her Paw, she wouldn't have had the memory of fishing with him. And her Momma wouldn't have gotten into making crab traps. This... trip would've gone much differently if that were the case. She smiles. "Thanks, Paw," she says, with a wistful sigh. "Happy Father's Day."

A female voice with an Irish accent begins talking over images of Hawksley Moore on the screen. "Concern grows for the welfare of NFG fan favourite, Hawksley Moore. The Irishman and his fellow fighters haven't been seen since they departed The Mermaid Cruise Ship a few days ago to embark on a tour of a nearby island. Attempts to communicate with the competitors have failed and rescue missions appear doomed, since the island seems to be surrounded by fire." The focus switches to a pretty dark-haired woman with the same tanned complexion as Hawksley. "My name is Sammy Moore and Hawksley is my little brother. We've all been worrying our arses off back here in Cork and the local pub have even been hosting a vigil till we know he's safe and sound. I asked our mammy to come and talk in this video but she's after crying herself dry, so I'm flying solo. I have got a few clips from his family and friends though." The inside of a cosy looking pub can be seen with several young men around Hawksley's own age, crowded around a small table. A handsome but somewhat gangly fella with thick strawberry blonde hair speaks up. "Your man Jimmy here. Whoever has fecked with the Hawkman is gonna regret it. If any of you bastards are watching, then you better beware because he'll be after giving you a battering and his boys will back him up if we can get a hold of you too." A shaven-haired lad with a cheeky smile leans in across Jimmy to capture the attention of the camera. "Mikey Mac here. We fecking love you, fella. You better come back to us or there's gonna be trouble. When you do get your good self back here, it's your round, so don't be ducking out on us." The camera swings over to the bar, where a couple of buff middle-aged men are supping from some pints of Guinness. The taller of the two clears his throat before starting to talk. "Liam Moore here. Hawksley is my son and while he's always been a bit of a handful, so he has, I wouldn't wanna see a hair on his head harmed. If anyone can help get my lad back to safety then sort it out, will you now?" He clinks glasses with the other man and then the camera cuts to the exterior of a terraced house, close to the Victorian Quarter in Cork City. Sammy starts to speak over the image. "This is the family home where myself, Hawksley and our four siblings were born and raised. The place hasn't been the same since he offed and went to Japan last year. He was always messing with me but feck I miss that. It was alright while we knew he was off having fun but now we don't know what's going on, it's scaring the shite out of me, so it is." Sammy turns the camera back on herself and it's clear her dark eyes are filling up with tears, which she rapidly wipes away, smudging her mascara in the process. "Would you look at the state of me now?" She tries to laugh it off, tucking a wavy strand of hair behind her small ear. "I bet you'd be laughing at me looking like a panda, Hawksley Moore." She composes herself and continues. "The last time I actually saw his stupid, gorgeous face was in the recent commercial he filmed for 'Lucky's Fiery Ale.' The video cuts to the commercial. Hawksley is walking along a beach, which may be recognisable to some as Marsalforn Bay on the island of Gozo. He's topless and wearing emerald green shorts on his lower half with bright flames depicted up their sides. As he gets closer, it's clear that he's holding a can of 'Lucky's Fiery Ale' in his right hand. "Hello there, everybody! You've caught me catching some rays between brawls and what better way to relax than with a can of my own 'Lucky's Fiery Ale?' Not only does it hit the spot on a sunny day, it's soothing when you need something to warm your belly, should the breeze turn cold on you." He swigs from the can and his dark eyes twinkle with delight. "It's got some fire in it. A bit like myself." He winks to the camera and then walks past it, leaving a final shot of the beautiful beach visible. The words, 'Also Available in Bottles' flash up on the screen. When Sammy appears again, she's holding up a handmade sign saying: 'SAVE THE NFG CAST AND CREW!" This is the final shot before things fade to black.

A DAY OR SO BEFORE THE TOURNAMENT FINALS: Exhausted physically, mentally, and even emotionally, Iris Osterlund has been... "convalescing" might be too strong a term, but "resting" is probably sufficient. Sure, there's a ring of fire around the island, everyone's starving and sick of each other, and apparently there's more existential threats involved here than "no hope of rescue" and "angry supernatural being," but at the very least, Zack Island's plush hotels are still standing, along with their comfortable furniture. A seat in one of the lobby chairs turned into an unexpected near-nap for Iris; sitting there, heavy-lidded, she teeters in that twilight space between wakefulness and slumber. There are people around her; fragments of the PFW staff who are subject to the same life-threatening pressures as the fighters but far less equipped to fight back against them. Sipping water, thinking about foot, and complaining at each other about the situation. "What I really hate," says some production assistant, scowling, "is we got that problem kid in the first season, and now she's... what, flying around up there? Like this whole place is her... her DOMAIN." The resulting snap to wakefulness, and flurry of sudden motion from Iris, is so abrupt and violent that all eyes in the lobby turn to her, the rainbow-haired Brit leaping up from her chair and stomping over to the assistant who just spoke. "You!" she demands, blue eyes wide. "Say that last bit again." More than a little intimidated and a LOT confused, the underpaid assistant looks at Iris. "Like she owns the place?" "No!" Iris suddenly shouts, forcefully. "The last bit." "Like... it's her... domain?" "YES," the wizard says, with sudden vehemence, before slapping a palm into her forehead, surrounded by an audience of people who are both confused and perhaps understandably nervous that a person who can make a double-handed battle axe appear out of thin air might be having a psychotic break. "I cannot believe I didn't think of that before now! Domain! That's the answer!" Snapping her fingers, Iris turns to a random second assistant at the table. "You! Get me, uh..." She continues to snap repeatedly, clearly trying to remember something, before brightening with recollection. "Tourist map! Of the island. There's one of those in these tourist traps all the time." "I... think there's one in the gift... shop, miss?" the accosted assistant says, haltingly. "Well?" Iris demands, sitting at the table and staring at him. "Go get it!"

EIGHT MINUTES LATER Placing salt shakers, brochure holders, and other nearby objects at the corner, Iris smooths the map out in front of her. "Okay. Little creeks and things won't be on here, but there's running water there... and there... and that waterfall there..." she mutters, as the fascinated assistants stand around her in a rough semicircle. "Ley lines tend to follow waterways, so you could put one here..." A pepper shaker marks a spot. "And here... and here... three or four should be enough..." More improvised markers point out spots not too far from the center of Zack Island. Iris's brows furrow for a second, as she looks at the map. "Ink wouldn't work, though. No ritual properties, and we wouldn't have enough anyway. We'd need, uh..." Squinting her eyes shut, the magus presses fingers into her temple in concentration, before shouting "AHA!" so loudly that the handful of people watching her process actively take a step or two away from her, like Iris is a bomb that might go off at any second. "Coral! Plenty of coral. Crush it up fine, use it to... yeah. Yeah! And, uh... Hey! You lot!" Her sudden spin toward the ring of onlookers makes them all take yet another step backwards. "Something from the ocean! That isn't coral. Something portable." "A fish?" ventures one assistant, before someone smacks him on the shoulder in annoyance. "Something *durable*," Iris continues, brow knitting again. "Something you could make like... a necklace out of." There's silence, before the shoulder-puncher from before ventures: "...a seashell, miss?" A grin spreads across Iris's face. "Yes! Perfect. Congratulations, you're on seashell duty." A pause follows, before Iris, staring back, snaps, "Go and get me a seashell! A good one, nothing chipped. Go, go, go!" With a start, the idea-haver dashes out toward the beach, while everyone else continues to stare at the wizard. Eventually, as the Brit rises from her chair, a hand gets raised. Blinking, Iris turns to the person in question. "...yes?" "Can you explain what's going on?" the assistant meekly asks, with various nods of assent (and looks of expectation) following from the other observers. A pause, then Iris clears her throat and sits back down next to the map. "Alright. I don't know much about Japanese gods, but I DO know about the sort of gods my ancestors worshipped, and even if they're very powerful, there are..." A pause. "Magic has rules and even very powerful beings are subject to some of those rules. With me so far?" "Not really," says someone from the crowd, "but keep going anyway?" A smirk, then Iris turns back to the map full of improvised markers. "One of those rules is how elements interact. Fire and water exist in opposition. That... ring of fire out there is probably a magical domain." More blank faces. "Think of it like... an invisible field where the rules work a little differently than normal. Nothing fancy, just enough to keep us here." "But!" Iris says, suddenly and forcefully, grinning a little. "This 'Suzaku' is a god of fire, right? Her natural opposition is water. So we can't break the domain apart, but we could channel the water energy on the island to a particular point. Empower something that might give someone else a chance to fight back properly." Silence reigns for a moment, before another hand goes up. "Like... rerouting power to the shields? On Star Trek?" Faces turn to the speaker, who looks annoyed. "What? I'm not a wizard!" "That is an excellent analogy for understanding the situation, at any rate," Iris responds with a faint, almost sardonic smile. She turns back to the map. "I'll go and trace runes at different parts of the island where that energy would be greatest. Crush up coral and use that, because it comes from the sea, so it's the right material. It'll take time, but that's probably more useful than me showing up in person and flailing around in a fight." 'That's right', Iris's inner monologue reads. 'You're an enchanter, a seidkona. Fighting's not the only way you can help. This... this might actually do something USEFUL for once.' The Brit gets up. "I have to go get the coral and get going. I'll be back for the seashell." The crowd turns to her. "Miss, what are you going to empower? A sword or something?" Halfway out the door, Iris grins. "Come on, you lot," she says, almost playfully. "If I wanted to use water against this fire god... where would YOU send that energy?" And then she's out the door.

It's some time before Roxana is able to talk after she comes to. The ordeal with The Croaker King, The Killer Queen and their minions has left her traumatised. She was somewhat keeping her cool until the male monarch decided to have her for dinner. After that she went down and now, well, she's clearly shaken. Sitting in her acid-damaged bikini, the black-haired beauty is staring into space. Now back in her human form, she's already starting to heal physically, but she just can't seem to compose her thoughts. ABBA is playing on a loop in her brain as the backing track to a montage of muddled moments. Her and Coco fighting a giant snake, competing in a keijo competition with Shock and Roll, roleplaying Greek mythological characters in the Mediterranean and arriving on the Mermaid, dressed in her glittering gold ensemble. She'd felt so excited then about starting a new adventure, and even now there's still something of that, but she can tell that some of her fellow fighters are weary and the atmosphere on the island hasn't been great. She knows how much many of the other competitors would love to go home and see their family and friends, but for Rox that isn't an option. Which brings her to the other thing that's bothering her. There is some weird science going on, and it's scaring the Gear-girl. It's been at the back of her mind since the Emergency Dance Party at Zack's residence. The reason she fled the only home she's ever known was due to 'science.' Her 'parents' Kelly and Kamran are both scientists, and she and her siblings their creations. Although they were never cruel, they did keep their 'children' captive, causing the scorpion-fighter to flee. Now here she is again, in the vicinity of a laboratory that is for some reason making monsters. Like her, they are bred to fight, so maybe they are not so different. She has a feeling they are far more dangerous, though. Deep down inside, she knows she has to face her fears and push forward with whatever battle is in front of her, be it at the laboratory or the volcano. In one direction lies science, the other nature. Either way, it's time to put an end to this.