Phoenix Feathers, Part II

Chapter 13

From original post: Happy September 30th! Wow, a year ago I started this story, and now it’s starting to heat up!

Disclaimer: Joss is Boss, and…and…and all these ideas floating around in my head are mostly his doing. So it’s really just a lesser version of something that he could do much better. And I personally wouldn’t have any complaints if he did…

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As much as it appreciated the business of the public, the Dyton City Arena catered primarily to wealthy clientele. These interested men and women, hailing mostly from the Core, were treated to the finest shows and services the establishment had to offer. At great expense, the management had worked to overhaul the Arena, making it the jewel of the Colony, a must-see for anyone who was anyone in the celestial neighborhood. They installed top-of-the-line facilities that were reserved for these very important persons, and in return, most of the business, illegal or legitimate, passed through their hands. All that their guests asked in return was some action.

Right now, a room full of them had seen enough.

Sir Stefan Grenville was one of them. He had watched through the massive glass windows as the two Alliance gunships had swooped into the stadium, and had seen the lone figure break from the crowd and dash away from them. Grenville had been sickened at the death of the prize bull, and, even in the safety of the Box, he felt exposed.

His group’s guide, a man paid through the nose to babysit and to look good doing so, pleaded with the two dozen people who wanted out.

“Gentlemen and ladies, please, calm yourselves…” He waved his hands in a half-placating, half-flustered manner and moved to head his charges off before they reached the door to the Box.

A man wearing a collar that had been honed to a razor’s edge sniffed at him. “Young man, step aside this instant!”

A tight-lipped woman bit out a few words into her phone, then snapped it shut and glared at her host. “That was gross, sir