There is a small period of peace where the three can talk normally, as the arena below is cleaned and prepared for the next onslaught. Uriel hurries to get his unwelcome word in, “This is hopeless. Ten minutes, and I’m out of here.”

Magnus rests his elbow on the table and smirks. “I’ve heard that one before.”

“I’m serious. Maybe this time I won’t come back.”

“Yeah, I’m on my knees trying to convince you otherwise.” Magnus eyes a particularly large body being dragged from the ring, a very thin but certain trickle of blood pulled across the sand. It is soon brushed by a broom, and swept over.

“And what about you? Aren’t you supposed to be busy? I’m sure there’s a whole mob for a million causes trying to make a meeting with you, and here you are every day, an imaginary appointment with someone who never turns up.”

“This is an investment now. The cost has sunk, I’ll wait it out.”

“Oh, hah. Don’t bullshit me, you know that phrase usually ends with the word ‘fallacy.’ You know what that means. Or do you?”

“Give me a break.” Magnus turns to Ritz, who he had been waiting to jump on when he uncovered the next dish. “May I have some of that?”

“Yeah. Don’t like it anyway. It can’t be good for you, look how burned it is. But if you really want…” 

And so Magnus acquired a foil pocket of smoked bacon.

“See that?” Magnus says, nudging the hideously greasy tub’s edge against Uriel’s sleeve intentionally. “Our man Ritz doesn’t know things for sure, but he’s got the instinct, and he keeps coming back. And I’ve got brains- enough of them to live, anyhow - and I’m here. And you’re here too. At the expense of your talents, whatever they are.”

“I’m drowning in your bullshit, here.”

Ritz gives Uriel a dirty look, as if he's the one to take offense.

Magnus doesn't stop. “Don’t you think it’s almost divine or poetic that we’re here? It makes it seem like things will work out.”

“You’ve lost it. And we’ve all been wrong before. If any of us really had decent judgment, we would have kept those two far apart at the first chance.”

“You’re talking about the start of it all. That was poetic too. And come on, we got a show out of it, at least.”

Uriel’s brow closes in on itself. “No respect for others, or yourself. This is promising.”

On that note, the next rows of contestants begin to gather, pressed against the wooden gates. The audience rumbles forward like the tides, greeting them with bright eyes and squirming hands and mouths whispering all kinds of things, no names, but a lot of expectations.