It was obvious, even to Oren, who'd only just come up from the guild's lower floors after a fruitless search for Gideon, that no one had been expecting such a declaration from their flighty guild master. She smiled airily at them from her perch atop the thick branch, chin still propped up on her hands, feet kicking in the air above her. She was barefoot again, the soles of her feet caked with soil and stray bits of plant matter, but she either wasn't aware of it or simply didn't care.

Hawthorne was the first to break the quickly encroaching silence.

"Uh... Master? You haven't been sniffing that weird plant again, have you?"

Varya pouted, childishly indignant, but the expression disappeared as quickly as it had come, and she was soon beaming once more. She twirled a lock of dove-gray hair around her finger, cheeks dimpling with her cheer - which, much to Oren's displeasure, was practically palpable even halfway across the guild.

"Nope! Not this time, Thorny!"

She slid forward on her branch, glancing down at the leaf-strewn floor for several heartbeats before she rolled to the side and straight off the branch. Oren's heart leapt into his throat, his feet glued to the floor in panic, before he mentally chided himself for overreacting. Lock was there, the master already safely in his arms. He set her down carefully, a mildly reproachful furrow between his eyes, and she giggled up at him.

Lachlan Zaveri, or Lock to his friends, was one of the only S-ranked adventurers among Starry Rose's ranks. He'd been affiliated with the guild for over a decade by this point, and he took on some of the more dangerous job requests they received. They took him all over the kingdom, far away from the guild and its riotous, rabble rousing members — something Oren was unreasonably jealous over.

When Lock had gotten home, though, Oren didn't know. Probably that morning, he supposed. Varya often made the man sleep as soon as he returned to the guild, seeing as he was known for running on only a few hours of shut eye while out on jobs. Sky made the announcement more than once that she'd had to (heroically) force him to sleep while they were out together so that he didn't collapse the next day. Oren doubted Lock wasn't made of sterner stuff than Sky seemed to assume. Because it was Lock. The man was Starry Rose's personal legend.

"Thanks, Lock! Now" - Varya clapped her hands together excitedly, snapping Oren from his thoughts - "I'm sure you all know what the tourney is"

"Suicide," someone muttered bitterly. "At least, the guild equivalent."

Oren could just make out the familiar tufts of red hair that stood out against the earthen-toned guild; Ilias stood in the shadow of the wisteria, hands shoved into his pockets. From what Oren could see, he'd blindly chosen his wardrobe for the day again; today he wore an offensively purple shirt and emerald-green trousers (two-sizes too big, judging by the length of rope he'd knotted around his waist), with his messy crimson hair held back by a bandana that could only have come from Cross. Ilias frowned, a muscle ticking along his jaw, teeth likely grinding together. The metallic talismans dangling from around his neck twinkled in the spotty sunlight of the guild.

"Why do you say that?" Varya wondered, cocking her head to the side, genuinely bemused.

Ilias ducked his head. "The others," he murmured. "The guilds that don't make it to the second round. You know what happens to them..."

"But that wasn't because of the tourney," Sia pointed out. "They disbanded because their members weren't pleased with their earnings anymore."

Which was only debatably true. The tourney was a chance to test your guild's mettle and prove your worth to the kingdom, ostensibly to the crown but to anyone wanting to post a job, really. Guilds that fail to stand out aren't likely to attract as much attention, and with their world being as competitive and oversaturated with adventures as it is, that might as well be the death sentence Ilias claimed it to be.

"Still--"

"Who'd be going?"

All heads swiveled to face Oren. He blinked under their scrutiny, scuffing his heel against the wood flooring, but refused to turn away.

"We can't all participate, right?" he asked, louder, trying to infuse some backbone into his words. "It's eight to a team. So. Who's going?"

Varya's expression clouded over with confusion, and - not for the first time - the majority of the present guild members exchanged looks of vexation. They knew their current master well, and they could tell she hadn't thought that far ahead. This whole thing was probably a whim on her part, something she thought could be fun for the whole guild.

"We'll nominate members," Sera decided from her place behind the bar; she winked at Varya when the woman flashed her a beaming smile. "That way it's fair! And no one can nominate themselves," she added meaningfully, smacking the eager expression from Cross' face without even turning to look at him.

Oren drew closer to the others as they began talking amongst themselves, casting each other not-so-subtle glances. He bit back a scowl as he approached the bar, finding Hawthorne settled beside Gideon and Sage; he couldn't kick up a fuss with Gideon now. Or Cross, for that matter, even though the man was right there, talking animatedly with Sia and Sera.

If Oren had to guess, Lock and Sky would get the first nominations. Being the only two S-rank members of Starry Rose, they carried a lot of the guild's reputation and power on their backs, even if Lock was only home for a quarter of the year sometimes. They'd be essential in the tourney if they were going to survive the first round of eliminations, let alone win. Hawthorne was a promising candidate, too, as well as Kier and Waverly. Then there was Rhett and Gideon, both of whom often flew under the radar but had substantial talent.

Varya chatted amiably with Lock while the others traded nominations with each other. They made a comical sight, Lock, with all of his six-feet-two-inches of height, standing with their master, whose head barely came to his shoulder. But they somehow stood as equals, in a way Oren didn't even bother trying to make sense of. Especially after Varya disappeared for a moment, scampering off to who-knew-where, only to return with a handful of flower heads, which she weaved into Lock's blond hair.

And he didn't complain. At all.

Oren decided there were less impossible things to ponder and left it at that.

After a few more minutes of discussion (and an attempt from Cross to flirt his way into the nominations), the guild members came together again. Varya, seated now atop a vacant table, rocking back and forth pleasantly, stuck one hand into the air, pointer-finger extended.

"Aaaaaand.... go!"