Adriaan Kloett doesn't really talk to anyone.  Instead, he's just off in the corner juggling rocks he'd managed to mark with chalk and occasionally grunting at what people have to say.  He'd gotten his own stuff already: a set of leather armor, two spears (a spare just in case he broke one), six daggers, and two cases of sling bullets (he fully intended to be out of the melee).  Once again, he direly missed his billy clubs.  They had been taken away when he was arrested, replaced with much more lethal weapons that he initially loathed but had grown to accept.  Eventually, he'd find his way out, and he'd make the arena suffer.<br/><br/>Today, though?  That didn't look overly likely.  He scowls as he thinks that all of the lives he'd taken may have all been for nothing.  Not all of them, but he'd had to kill more than he liked.  Elia Summerset, the golden-haired elf.  Rhone Crackwall, a dwarf missing an eye.  Mahlia, Matut, and Fildog the Triumphant Orc Triplets.  He remembered them all.  Even as he improvised some buffoonery in his matches, he still resolved to pay his debts to their families in whatever way he could.  If he got the chance.<br/><br/>He catches his rocks and sets them in his pocket.  "I'll take that bet," he says in a thick accent.  As he walks over to Lensea, he starts to smile, twirling one of his daggers in his hand.  "I'll wager one gold shiny each that," he points to Kay, "the Beligerant Bard trips on her way into the ring," he points to Brelia, "Doctor Tease gets smacked in the crotch by a sling bullet," he points to Jon, "Captain Cutup gets smacked in the head again, umm..." he points at Nilia with a small bow, "Princess Nilia gets caught in a dogpile," he points to Lensea, "you lose at least one of those bindings, and you..." he points at Irice, "...well, I'll think of something later."  Then he straightens up.  "And I'll wager another seventy that everyone makes it out of here alive.  Anyone who doesn't make it can collect in person."