Astrid would’ve run up to bump Brisa, but as things usually went, there was nothing left in the tank. Tough challenge after tough challenge came with the territory of being a self-appointed gladiator; in the dirt was how she usually ended up, expected to end up, and sometimes ended up for the very sake of victory. Like today. But she raised her head just a bit, and heard the crowd, heard Brisa, saw the score, saw the look on her face, took it all in… and could find solace once again that it was worth it.
When she had the strength to stand, she gave Potluck her best compliments and then approached her friend.
“Wow! That was…” she began, voice ragged, “hhharder than I expected. But super fun! Gosh. At the end there, Brisa, I caught glimpses of you, doing your, ahh, what… what was that? Whatever it was, way to finish.”
She cast a glance at their special audience. Her smile became weighted slightly. They were watching for a reason—because Brisa and herself had grown strong enough to make a fight with Potluck interesting and competitive, but also because their final act was surely approaching. They were on the verge, supposedly, of nabbing that final parasite, and they would need this very same strength to do that successfully. If she were in Maple’s shoes, she’d want to watch too. Astrid wasn’t sure how she felt about that type of pressure.
She supposed it wasn’t hers to deal with alone, and that brightened her up almost instantly.
“Victory spoils?” she jibed, clearing her throat to unsuccessfully mask her rumbling stomach. “After that final exchange, I bet you’re righteously hungry.”
