The roar of the crowds echoed from within the fighting pit; the sound of screams, both of Infected on the hunt and uninfected being on the receiving end of another man's punch or a vampire's bite. The sound was rather overwhelming for Ian, but, the longer he was there, the more he got used to it. The scent of blood was also abundant here, alongside the general scent of the unfortunate souls who bore the virus in their veins. As such, the Doctor felt somewhat disgusted to be here; man-on-man was one thing, but man-on-Infected seemed simply...stupid to say the least and downright immoral at the most. Yet, here he was, registering for a fight of his own; this had been the second time he had done this, but it wasn't for dangerous thrills on his part. No, the Vampire was there for the funds...the better to keep the surgery stocked with quality medical materials, and as it turns out, those lucky bastards who do win their fights tend to get paid very well for their bout of luck. As he entered the registry 'office', which was simply a booth that stunk of stale alcohol, sat a woman of African-American descent, who was busy scrawling down the notes for tonight. She took note of the doctor's approach and spoke with a slight dismissive tone.

Ian nodded in acknowledgement

The woman's head darted up at the mention of the creatures contained within the arena and stalked the lands outside of Stronghold's walls. She gave a little sigh, as though she had heard this many times before, but was unable to stop so many poor fools from signing their own death warrants.
"Huh...what kind?", she asked, to which Ian replied. "Feral please."

She gave another wearied sigh at this.

The Vampire opened his greatcoat, at his belt was a sheathe from which a polished gold handle seemed to peak out. He drew it out, revealing the serpentine blade of an Indonesian Kris. It was one of Ian's more finer acquistions during the first two years of his re-awakening; he had found it in some rich so -and-so's abandoned pad. The women seemed to give a whistle of admiration at the weapon; it was clear that she, like much of Stronghold's population beneath the upper echelons, had never seen such a blade before. That brief moment would then be swallowed by her world-weariness as she returned to her papers.

At that, Ian just gave a simple shrug, and a slight smile at the reference he was going to make.

The registrar simply nodded at this as she finished the last of the paperwork. After that, she would press a buzzer; within a few seconds, the door would slide open, and Ian would be greeted by the all-too familiar sound of Infected howling and snarling. The woman told him to present himself to Manny, and that he would take care of the rest...and told him not to stick his hand in the cages. With a nod, he would stride into the darkness, his mind putting together his method for the fight.

Her viridescent eyes scan the crowd's faces, taking in every bit of reaction she could read upon them. It would not be the first time that Eve went and saw the fights but there was something about the bloodiness of the fights and the responses of the unique crowd drawn to it, which did not fail to surprise and entertain her.

The fighters were mostly either desperate ones or those who had egos the size of the Stronghold and thus in her eyes, they were nothing but numbers. The infecteds however, were a curious bunch. Her scientific pursuits pushed to know if the Infected were in any way, influenceable by drugs and poisons but self-preservation dictated that she does not meddle with that kind even though her curiosity about them was abundant.

Whenever she could, Eve did ask for whatever remnants of the infected she could possibly get her hands on, however without a proper framework to follow to even begin her studies, most of her experiments fail. If only there was someone, someone not like the judgemental pricks that were Cypher, who could help her with this, then perhaps her studies could take flight.

She came as a spectator for the night, however, after the last fight, the maitre’d’ came up to her box and asked her for help. The physician they had for the night was attacked by a fighter and they both, unfortunately, got too near the cages. Now the theatre had no doctor and they were also down a fighter.

With a roll of her seafoam eyes and a soft sigh, Eve dragged her feet over to the hall leading to the back of the amphitheater where the rest of the fighters were waiting for their turn and those who were being carted around in stretchers into body bags or for the lucky ones, a good old dose of drugs and stitches, were asked to stay.

Someone fetched for her a sterile plastic suit which she begrudgingly put over the gorgeous body-hugging dress she had donned for the night. With a flick of her finger, she called upon a busboy and carefully handed to him each of the jeweled accessories she had on her, and with a silent threat to ensure no piece was missing, Eve waved him away.

”Thanks, Manny. Just let me and the boys handle it.” She frowned at the older man as she headed towards where both wounded men were now being held. It was a mundane task, one she would’ve happily delegated to her pet Micah, but it happened that he had to attend to clinic duties for the Military, and she couldn’t call upon him to take over.

With another doleful sigh, Eve put on a pair of fresh gloves and sashayed towards the chaotic “health station”, a little amused as the men, fighters, and her would-be helpers, appeared to be entranced by her presence there.

Their trance was however broken, when the screaming and writhing stupid fighter fought his way out of the grasps of those who were holding him down and bounded to her like a feral animal. ”Oh honey,” she crooned softly, spreading her arms open as if to receive him into her embrace.

However, as soon as he was within her reach, she pulled out a scalpel from the pocket of her plastic suit and slit his throat with it. Blood sprayed everywhere and all over her but Eve hardly batted an eyelash. Where the incident made the few humans around her fall silent, it enticed the Infected in their cages and heightened their mania.

”There, that’s taken care of. Now you.” She turned her gaze upon the foolish doctor who had a good chunk of his arm bitten off. With a snap of her fingers, Manny sprinted to present to her an unmarked vial and a syringe. Tucking the handle of the bloodied scalpel against her ear like one would a flower, she took the vial and syringe from the maitre’d’, then filled the small tube with the dubious-looking liquid.

After, she tossed the vial to the ground and held the syringe and the scalpel in each hand. ”Easy way or messy way?” She fluttered her long lids at the doctor and smiled prettily.

The man, however, appeared to have other ideas, struggled against those who held him, and ran off when he was able to slip away. But his deranged and poorly thought escape was cut short when he bodily slammed against a man in the corridor.

”Help me, please. She’s crazy!” he begged the man who just came from the Registrar’s office.

Eve, who still had blood all over her dress and specks over her face, only looked at the newcomer and shrugged. She hardly expects anybody would stand up to help the man. Whoever entered the amphitheater, fighter or staff, knew that they'd already signed away their lives when they got into it.

And though she wasn’t as well-known as the rest of the psychos of the Spades, the way Manny, the maitre’d’ and the currently known highest official present in the theater tonight, pandered to her, should make the rest of these foolish crowd, vaguely aware of her status.