- Pronoun
- they or she
Your ears ring with the cheers and stomps of the crowd. Your eyes squint at furious flashes of energy from the field. Your nose fills with the heady scents of fried food and cheap beer – or if you're in the front row, the acrid tang of battling 'mon. Your fur prickles with adrenaline, anticipation, aura. It's so close you can almost taste it.
Most fans of the biggest coliseum in Novelux say you have to be there to truly “get it”. Most of the Commonwealth disdains battle arenas and street rings of almost any kind, but the reputation of the Duel Dome is such that pilgrims will come to it from as far as Magna City to watch the fights. After experiencing it firsthand, some found it addictive – the Dome was rapidly becoming a cultural institution of Novelux, yet anothing of its bright, loud, modern declarations that the city lived in the future, distinct from the ageing East. It was, above all, extremely cool.
In the moments between matches, staff members scurried about to deploy an array of props and contraptions to set the conditions on stage for each fight. A biting chill to envelop a pair of Fire-types, compelling them to grit their teeth against the cold; a quagmire of muck for 'mon both nimble and behemothic to struggle through; a shimmering bubble of Wonder Orb energy enclosing two fighters in the tight confines of a cage match. Whether by the feverish efforts of an underdog clawing their way to glory, a staged fight between bellowing, roaring, outsized 'face' and 'heel' personalities, or an attention-saturating salvo of showy attacks from tag-team trios facing off against each other, the diversity of battles kept spectators on the edge of their seats – and blowing their paychecks on tickets, concessions, and merchandise.
Further fuelling the fervour was a quieter, but no less heart-pounding game, played in whispers, gestures, and the sleight-of-hand passing of notes. Between the vendors of greasy food and soda pop, well-dressed bookies gladly took bets of any amount, on any match. Everyone tried their luck, even if few called it luck – after all, what greater testament to a pokémon's ingenuity could there be than to know the outcome of a fight before the first blow was struck?
The fae-Weezing owner, one Douglas Dunsmuir, had the management of this enterprise down to an exact science. For him, his projections of a prospective audience's excitement were theoretical in the academic sense, based on known constants of attention, loyalty, and marketing. Everything from the reverberating cries from the announcer's table, to the overhead flood lighting – all this was his design. 'Inspired', some called it. Offworlders might recognise it as straight out of modern-day human society. Whatever the truth, the Duel Dome prospered, and Weezing Dunsmuir prospered with it.
Most fans of the biggest coliseum in Novelux say you have to be there to truly “get it”. Most of the Commonwealth disdains battle arenas and street rings of almost any kind, but the reputation of the Duel Dome is such that pilgrims will come to it from as far as Magna City to watch the fights. After experiencing it firsthand, some found it addictive – the Dome was rapidly becoming a cultural institution of Novelux, yet anothing of its bright, loud, modern declarations that the city lived in the future, distinct from the ageing East. It was, above all, extremely cool.
In the moments between matches, staff members scurried about to deploy an array of props and contraptions to set the conditions on stage for each fight. A biting chill to envelop a pair of Fire-types, compelling them to grit their teeth against the cold; a quagmire of muck for 'mon both nimble and behemothic to struggle through; a shimmering bubble of Wonder Orb energy enclosing two fighters in the tight confines of a cage match. Whether by the feverish efforts of an underdog clawing their way to glory, a staged fight between bellowing, roaring, outsized 'face' and 'heel' personalities, or an attention-saturating salvo of showy attacks from tag-team trios facing off against each other, the diversity of battles kept spectators on the edge of their seats – and blowing their paychecks on tickets, concessions, and merchandise.
Further fuelling the fervour was a quieter, but no less heart-pounding game, played in whispers, gestures, and the sleight-of-hand passing of notes. Between the vendors of greasy food and soda pop, well-dressed bookies gladly took bets of any amount, on any match. Everyone tried their luck, even if few called it luck – after all, what greater testament to a pokémon's ingenuity could there be than to know the outcome of a fight before the first blow was struck?
The fae-Weezing owner, one Douglas Dunsmuir, had the management of this enterprise down to an exact science. For him, his projections of a prospective audience's excitement were theoretical in the academic sense, based on known constants of attention, loyalty, and marketing. Everything from the reverberating cries from the announcer's table, to the overhead flood lighting – all this was his design. 'Inspired', some called it. Offworlders might recognise it as straight out of modern-day human society. Whatever the truth, the Duel Dome prospered, and Weezing Dunsmuir prospered with it.
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Many thanks to @MintyMimix for assisting with the writeup.
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