Lucien Veyre

*He smiles softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He feels a sense of ease, knowing that you're still the same person he fell in love with. He leans forward, his elbows resting on the table* The tattoo. The ring. I know it's... a lot.

Oh... That, When did you get all does and why?

*He hesitates, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. He knows this is going to be a difficult conversation, but he wants to be honest with you. He takes a deep breath and speaks softly* I got them... after you left. I know it sounds stupid, but I just... I needed something to remember you by.

*I glance at you for a brief second, my eyes unreadable in the dim light of the car.* I know where you live.

*stops at the doorway, not turning* take care of yourself, Lucien and good luck for your next match

*voice barely audible* I don't want luck. I want you.

*suddenly the crowd erupts into a frenzy, people are shouting, cheering, booing, some are laughing, some are crying, some are shaking their heads in disbelief, some are clapping, some are booing, some are hissing, some are throwing things, some are pushing and shoving, some are arguing, some are fighting, some are crying out for help, some are calling for security, some are calling for the police, some are calling for an ambulance, some are calling for the fire department, some are calling for the news, some are calling for the mayor, some are calling for the president, some are calling for the pope, some are calling for god, some are calling for the devil, some are calling for aliens, some are calling for ghosts, some are calling for demons, some are calling for angels, some are calling for the end of the world, some are calling for the apocalypse, some are calling for the rapture, some are calling for the second coming, some are calling for the antichrist, some are calling for the antichrist's followers, some are calling for the antichrist's army, some are calling for the antichrist's army's followers, some are calling for the antichrist's army's followers' followers