Race stands before the audience dressed as though he?s stepped right from the pages of 300, airbrushed abs included. Shield on arm, spear in the other he stands as though surveying a battlefield. Just about to speak, a vent at his feet kicks on and starts to blow up the hem of his tunic. The man abruptly drops the spear and shield doing an impromptu Maralyn Monroe.

?This! Is! MADNESS!? He bellows, trying to look angry while keeping his tunic from flying up, flashing the audience.

On cue the vent turns off and Race breaks into his signature grin. ?That?s right ladies and germs, Madness started this week!? Audience erupts in applause and whistles. ?Saw several upsets last night in ye old Arena, congratulations go out to Neo Eternity, Luna Eva, Neo Not-Eternity, Kane Darkwing-? Show cuts to a video clip of Dark Wing Duck. Audience laughter continues as the clip ends. ?Sorry, Kane, couldn?t help ourselves. Winners also include Claire Caelum, The Hope Diamond, Cane Devellier, Rand Al?Tan, Arthour Churizo...sorry, Chazore-Silverblood, and Sylus Kurgen. Give them all a round of applause!?

More clapping and adoration as Race nods his head. ?For more up to date information be sure to check out the betting pools down at our good friends The Line, show Kalamere some love. Metaphorically speaking, I really don?t want to have that awkard of a conversation with an Elf that tall.?

The quip is met with mixed levels of laughter as Race spreads his hands. ?Win or lose, everyone who has entered the Madness tournament work their collective butts off year ?round competing in the Arena. Even if sports centered around gratuitous violence aren?t your thing, gotta give every last one of the fighters some respect for going out every night and doing what they do. We?ll be right back after this message from our sponsors..stay tuned? He points at the camera as it fades to commercial.

Zombie PSA

FailPants.]

"Welcome back everybody! My guest tonight is someone we've had on the show before, he's been working his ass off around the duels. You know him, you love him, some of you want to be loved BY him....Give it up for Sheridan Driscol!" Race holds up his cards as the audience applauds and cheers.

Tara walks slowly onto the stage, dressed in an off-white grecian-styled dress, golden asp armcuffs and a crown with ten spikes jutting out of it. Her makeup is flawless. Her hair pin straight and glossy. She's decked to the nines but looks disappointed, if not a little confused. Turning in place, she tilts her head back to look up at the ceiling, then down at the audience. But the lights hurt her eyes so she's squinting before she slowly turns her head Carrie-style to Race and blinks. "Where am I, why are all these meat puppets in chairs an' what do you think the appropriate response should be here? I have the gift of fire!"

Race goes from grinning to slack-jawed in zero to sixy, then right back up to an awkwardly tight smile. "Why, look everyone! It's Tara!"

One guy in the back of the audience stands up and starts clapping loudly yelling "Tara! We love you! Whooo whoo whoo whooo whoo"

"I know," she says to the guy yelling and blows him a kiss before pinching her dress up near her thighs and walking to the chair that was supposed to be for Sheridan. She eases into the seat as if it were a throne, lifts her chin, violet eyes swinging left and right as she takes stock of the audience and her surroundings before turning her head to Race again. "I met yer Sheridan Driscoll behind the curtain. He will not be arriving anytime soon."

"Poor bastard..." Race makes a prayer gesture then looks to Tara. "Since you're here, how's have you been?" The man's features drift between professional smile and, dear god in heaven help me.

She is continuing to look around, her expression one of irritation and swipes her finger across his desk only to lift it up at eye-level and smirks at the dust. She brushes her hands together and levels Race with a stare. "Have you an' I met 'fore?" she asks, innocently before busting out laughing. "Nay, don't answer that. I dun suppose we would have seeing as yer still alive. I am as well as can be expected ever since the ordeal. What is yer name?"

"Well this is Rhydin, the lifecycle tends to go mortal, vampire, zombie, lich, then back to mortal in about the span of a week." He replies with a casual shrug. "I'm Race, and this is my show." Gestures from her to the audience.

"I was several of those 'fore I became trapped in the state I am now. I know this all too well. Race? Show?" she asks, gesturing to the audience. "Do you mean to say these people have come here of their own free will to watch you speak?"

"Yes, and I think some of them even paid to come here." The camera pans over to show some stage workers slapping Dris' face as he lays on the ground unconscious. Then right back to Race. "What brings you by? Just walking through the building?"

"You must be very good. I cannot get one of them to listen to me unless I am tying them down an' holding a sharp object in the process. They're ALL ears then," she grins, carnivorously, which is a trademark of hers, really and then sighs. "I was on my way to meet a date an' somehow ended up here. Then I met Sheridan Driscol. He does NOT love me, by the way," she paused and nodded as if he would understand why that was, "I ate some of yer food on the table behind the curtain. The swine ,cut into slices, which I noted some of yer slaves placed on bread is very salty. I did like the cookies. I heard voices though an' came to investigate. Now I am here an' that boy loves me," she said and pointed out the guy that yelled earlier. "But he has yet to ask me for a date."

"Might be one of the shy types. He can project his love for you over a crowd of people, but actually coming up and asking something like that? You might have to go and hunt him down..." He offers with a smile...as the sound of doors at the back of the studio audience slams along with the sound of running feet.

"Perhaps later. I am still hungry," she said, eyeballing him feverishly.

"Well what would you like? We can order out...have one of the cater...I mean slaves, bring you something. Sacrificial lamb? Gren on a bed of roses?" Just offering things.

"I would like four hundred an' ten gyros, lamb, does not have to be sacrificial but I do insist on the white sauce they drizzle over it to be placed in a container which I can dip them in. I do not like to bite into them an' the sauce go all over my face. It is messy an' itchy. Then, for the main course, I would like a hundred an' eighty six fried wontons with four fortune cookies that I hope will surprise me because the last few I read have pissed me off royally. As for Baby Blockhead, nay, we are kin now, I cannot bed him. It would not be right."

Taps his cards on his desk with a shaky smile. "Well that's news, you're related to Gren. Congratulations. How did that come about?"

"During a routine break-in at his tree dwelling I discovered a large painting of a woman with black horns whose name on the bottom was "Malificent." I found many other pictures of her scattered elsewhere and came to the conclusion that she was Gren's biological mother an' since he does not have horns an' I do, although I realize you an' yer audience cannot see them at the present moment, that she must be our mother. We are in the process of finding her. Once he gets his IBS under control."

"IBS?" He has to ask...with dread.

"Yes, knowing Gren as intimately as I do an' by that I mean jus' familiar, if we were ever intimate he'd probably have a stroke as he shies away from physical contact with me as if I were plague-infested, I have learned that he has stomach issues. He's twitchy, paranoid, delusional at times, places a great deal of importance on fictitious super heros and is emotionally invested in a pornographic series of magazines entitled "Confessions of Eternal Love." I tried to remedy the latter but he doesn't like when I talk about that."

"Where are my gyros an' fried wontons. Rita's Gyro Emporium delivers in under ten minutes. Did you order from someone else?"

"That large an order?"Gets that taken care of before looking to all of the rest, actually taking notes on Gren. "Well known Ranger has porn addiction..." mouths to himself. But the microphone picks it up.

She watches him take notes and gestures to the page. "He is also trained for smells."

"Also...smells..." makes sure to write that down, nodding away.

He's sniffing a bit then. "Tara, I think your gyros and wantons are here..." one of the stage workers starts to wheel the cart out.

"Thank you. You may proceed with the questioning whilst I feed," she said and dug in. She downed ten gyros in thirty seconds.

Pardon him as he stares at how wide her mouth is opening, like something out of a demonic posession movie. "Uhm, right. Questions. Yes, I have them..." somewhere.

She swallowed and smiled. "Yes, I assume you do have them. Many do, for me."
He looks left then right...starts to slide his chair a little further away from her as flying food bits splatter on his desk. "In order, who would you say your top ten favorite people are?"

"Anpu. Anpu. Anpu. Anpu. Anpu. Anpu. Jewelsie. Jake. Gren. Taneth."

"You know six people named Anpu?" Race blinks and looks at her curiously.

"If you knew my boyfriend, you'd clearly understand he's like six-in-one," she said with a giggle and scooped up some fried wontons which she devoured quickly.

"Having multiple personalities isn't so strange really..." he comments off-handedly.

"He is not strange. He is perfect."

"How so? I mean half the people in this town look like they crawled out of a romantic novel. The perfect hair, athletic bodies, hella curves...I could go on and on." waves his cards back and forth.

"All one has to do is look at him to understand that. His eyes tell a story. He is so sweet an' gentle. An' VERY romantic. We do date night every Wednesday."

"What sort of dates do you have?" Figures hey, this's stuff Anpu'd kill over being aired publicly.

"We like this one restaurant that is small an' quiet. They have a violinist there. Anpu loves the violin, as do I. Afterwards we go to our spring in the woods. No one knows about it."

His face is saying sure, sure, sure as he nods along...while looking at the camera. "Never would have pegged him for the classical music type. Just struck me as the person you'd find listening to punk rock about overthrowing leaderships."

"I do not know what this punk rock is," she said and her nose screwed up in disgust.

"It's a rock who's parents disowned it." Race replies in all seriousness.

"Oh. Then, nay, I do not think Anpu would like listening to that."


"Could always try. I find it's best listened to, very loudly. We can get you some things to play it for him." Nods to that and shuffles his cards. One of the stage people brings out a radio and a C.D. The Sex Pistols Greatest Hits. "A gift from us to you, Tara."

"Oh, how very kind," she said with a smile at the gift but not being able to read Common, she didn't know what it was. "I will treasure this always," she said and took it from the stagehand

"Well Tara, it's been great having you. I certainly hope you come back again!" The camera pans over to the stage manager glaring death threats at Race, swiping at her neck with her fingers to end the segment.

"I jus' might if your delivery person promises to speed things up where the food is concerned. Starving yer guests is not wise if you wish to make a name for yerself, Race," she said with a stern glance and stood. Then walked into the crowd. "Goodbye." But before she exited, she crooked her finger at the guy that said he loved her and motioned with her head toward the door. He followed.

"Have a nice dinner!" He waves after her then looks to the camera. "Blehb da blehba da That's all folks!"