The crowd roars in anticipation for the match to start, the grand watery bubble that will be the scene of the Blitzball tournament rising up from the machine below. The announcer garbles something at the crowd, getting them even further riled. As the players walk out onto the field, "...the Ronso Fangs!" Can be heard, followed by, "...the Luca Goers!" Years after Sin's destruction, the people of Spira can still enjoy a good Blitzball game. Nothing brings them together like competition, and this year's tournament was going to be good, from start to finish - opening with the Ronso Fangs and the Luca Goers already made sure this was going to be an incredible thing to watch. The port city of Luca - once a lot smaller than it seemed - has grown into the grand capital of the world. There's nothing you can't find in Luca, and it has risen in many ways - many technologies, thanks in part to the Al Bhed and Grand High Summoner Yuna's gentle pushes. It's been thanks to this new technology that people have been able to go where they hadn't before, discovering new technologies out of the scraps of old technologies, uncovering races that survived in loneliness since directly after Sin's appearance. New Yevon has done their best to bring them into society, though some still remain cautious of humanity, preferring to deal with the more 'understandable' Ronso or the beastman races. ------------------------------------------------------ For one member of the new races, it was his first time seeing a Blitzball game at all. Not that he could really see it, being this high up - he had given his own seat to a young human who couldn't see, and discovered too late his eyes not well enough to see from the distance he now sat. It wasn't so bad, though, as he could clearly make out the announcer's voice, even among the din of the crowd. He leaned against the wall - a creimire, slightly shorter than human norm, and ivory in color. His white hair long and free, down to the middle of his chest - eyes closed, ears twitching each time the crowd grew too loud. His clothes were fine, and highly decorated - though that wasn't that strange among the creimire, who had grown among a rich vein of material on an island chain far west of the continent. His bare feet scraped claws along the ground (though his ankles were wrapped in cloth). With a sigh, he convinced himself that a drink would make this whole ordeal better, and opened his eyes, turning to walk to the concessions - and bumped into a duo of humans, stumbling backwards. "Hey, Rat-face, watch where you're going!" Was their reply to this. Ears folding backwards at the racial slur, his shoulders tensed... before relaxing. His silver-harp voice formed, "I apologize," before turning from the two and attempting to walk off. One of the two grabbed his shoulder, "That's not good enough." The two grinned, "Our girlfriends are in the audience, drooling over the blitzball players. If we show we're tough enough to take down a creimire, then they'll know we're tough, too." The other taps his friend on the shoulder, "I don't know, man, this one's kind of scrawny." The other responded with a push, "Well we don't tell them that, duh!" The criemire man frowned, shaking his head, "When you're done arguing amongst yourself, I'm going to go get a drink. You probably shouldn't try to pick a fight. You'll get hurt." The two humans chuckled, "What, you're going to hurt us, Rat-face?" "No," he remarked with a shrug, "...but do you really think a fight will go unnoticed in a blitzball tournament, with a bunch of humans riled up from watching the game?" The two humans faltered a bit, before scowling and taking a step back, "We'll see you again, Rat-face." The two turned, walking off. Ears dropping low, he shook his head, mumbling to himself... he wasn't thirsty anymore. He turned back to watch the game, mind fuzzy at the recent events.