♜ The Manly Man Fest! ♜ [w/ Cillian]

It was difficult for a man like Cillian to be passionate about.. Well, really anything. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy life. Far from it, actually. He was quite happy with his life, all things considered, and spent most of his waking hours making the most of his time in ways that most people would never get the chance to do. Mostly this was because Cillian couldn’t die. Or rather, didn’t stay dead. He had lost count a long time ago over the number of times he had died over the last four hundred years. At this point he had zero inhibition because there was literally nothing that could stop him from doing whatever he wanted to do, even Death herself.

But therein lay the problem. Cillian was an undead man. Not quite a zombie, but rather a man that was cursed with eternal life. That curse, mixed with how long he had already been alive, had caused emotions like empathy, passion and fear to simply… fade out of his repertoire over the centuries. Most days, he really felt nothing at all, not even pain. Sure he could feel happiness and excitement, but usually those moment were either fleeting or did not run very deep, spent over shallow happenstances that were of little to no importance to him, or really anyone. In truth, he was more numb than most people understood, even himself.

However, Cillian loved food. More to the point, he loved cooking. He had been perfecting his skills as a culinary artist for a very long time, building upon processes and methods well over several centuries old. He even had within his own possessions a number of herbs and spices that were nearly impossible to find in the modern age. He didn’t need magic to utterly dominate in the kitchen, but sometimes the way he cooked there was suspicion that he did just that.

Granted, most of that suspicion was teasing, and came from the mouths of two very sassy and lazy women. Vera and Dela had quickly attached themselves to him, and to one another, in the most unlikely of ways. There really was no sense to the way that they had decided to make him a semi-permanent fixture in their lives. He was a careless goofball that usually got himself into a lot of trouble and dragged them along with him, often kicking and screaming. Hell, he’d gotten killed the first day he’d ever met Dela, and she was furious with him after he popped up a minute or so later, having spent the whole time thinking that his death was going to be on her hands as a Rune Knight for not protecting him better. Granted, little had he known at the time that she shared a similar curse and she had more than gotten her payback on him not long after. Still, everything he did seemed to annoy her most of the time, yet she kept him around anyway.

And it was pretty similar with Vera. The two women had become fast friends, sharing similar personalities and interests, though the purple haired drug addict was not privy to the knowledge of either Dela’s nor Cillian’s undead statuses. Vera complained just as often over Cillian’s antics nearly every moment that they spent together, yet she continued to come up with reasons to spend time with him. It was weird. Cillian really wasn’t used to having friends at all. Usually he kept himself at a distance from most people, at least emotionally, because what was the point? He’d outlived everyone he’d ever known by hundreds of years, and as far as he could tell would continue to do so until the end of time. But a glimmer of hope had been sparked, at least with Dela in realizing that he wasn’t necessarily completely alone, and somehow the two women had managed to worm their way into his life, for better or worse.

He could only assume it was because of his cooking skills. Cillian, for as intelligent as he could be sometimes, was mostly an idiot. Not that he didn’t possess the capability of being smart, he simply didn’t care enough to pay attention to most things around him, nor to put much thought into the things he saw. As such, he was completely oblivious to the fact that both Dela and Vera had some pretty serious hots for him, despite the fact that Dela had attempted to jump him twice by this point. Both times she’d been several hundred miles left of sober, so he’d simply chalked her behaviors up to alcohol, or drugs from that one time Vera poofed into a cloud of cocaine and Dela had accidentally gotten a huge whiff of it. So inadequate were his abilities at reading behaviors that he simply chalked their obsession with him up to being obsessed with the food he often dished out. At this point they were almost hovering around him, especially when he was in the kitchen.

However, today he was not with his faithful female companions. Both ladies were hard at work at their duties with the Rune Knights. Or rather, probably pretending to be hard at work. Cillian currently had no obligations he needed to meet with his secret guild, Hidden Blades. No, today his calendar had been cleared for one thing and one thing only: The Manly Man festival. It was already a pretty large event most years, but since this was the celebration of their one hundredth year straight of holding the festival, it was going to be even bigger than ever. Cillian had gone to the festival several times over the last one hundred years off and on, and he had yet to lose the cooking contest any time he’d joined. Honestly it was a wonder no one who worked with the event team had pulled him aside to start asking him some questions about how he had won so many awards over a span of one hundred years, despite looking no older than his early thirties.

Today could be the day that broke his winning streak, however. Several of the contestants had brought their A games in honor for the big anniversary, and there were at least two other dishes that were threatening to steal the spotlight away from his butter and blue cheese steaks. After all the judges had gone into the tent to deliberate, the contestants had immediately gone to sharing their culinary dishes with one another, mostly to try and get an idea of exactly what kind of competition each of them had. There certainly had been no bad steaks as far as Cillian was concerned, though one of the contestants had overcooked his meat a little. However, there were at least two plates that even Cillian wasn’t sure he wanted to stop eating after he’d gotten a taste. And if he were to lose, well, he’d frankly just be honored to lose to such fine cooks. His winning luck had to run out at some point, anyway.

However, today was not that day. After a few minutes of closed door discussion, the team of judges emerged and announced him the winner. A big, satisfied and somewhat dopey grin stretched across his face, the tall and lanky man taking a moment to shake hands with a couple of the other competitors on a tight race before making his way over to accept his award and thank the judges for their votes. Most of them seemed pretty happy, though one turned up his nose at him and seemed a bit disgusted with his presence. Unfortunately for that man and his sense of self importance, Cillian wasn’t exactly the most aware of individuals and the silent criticisms went by unnoticed, which only seemed to irritate the man more.

One of the judges took time to interact with him a little more in depth. It wasn’t often that Cillian had to look up at anyone, but this guy was a tower of a man even when he was sitting. The necromancy recalled him as the judge who had wolfed down his entire steak seemingly in one bite, the guest judge not giving one wit about looking professional. He had just been a civilian that had come to eat, and he’d done just that. Cillian shook the offered hand easily, grinning a bit as the man complimented his steak once more and introduced himself, asking about his secret.

“Nice to meet you, Dagda. My name is Cillian. Glad you liked it so much! As for my secret…” Cillian looked around a little as though looking to see if anyone else was listening in on their conversation. Then, as though he had some big revelation to bestow upon the man, leaned closer and quietly whispered. “Long forgotten spices and about four hundred years of practice.” He winked playfully at the man, crimson colored eyes alight with mischief. Most people never believed him when he gave that answer, assuming it was his way of joking and keeping his secrets to himself.

Pulling back, Cillian set himself into his usual relaxed stance with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders slightly slouched. “Gotta say, it’s been a long time since I’ve run into someone so much taller than me. Someone sure ate all their vegetables as a kid. What’s next for you guys? Do they let you enjoy other parts of the festival now, or do you have more contests to judge?”  

Well, he certainly had a sense of humor. Or at least, appreciated Cillian’s. Granted, Cillian was the type of guy who got along with most folk at the end of the day. He was pretty charming in his own right, if not always the brightest bulb in the box. Dagda ran along with the joke, whether or not he believed it, commenting on Cillian’s age, which drew a toothy grin from the slender man. The two of them opened up a bit of friendly conversation, with Cillian commenting on Dagda’s superior height. Apparently, the giant man was actually one of the shortest in his family. Cillian whistled lightly, impressed with that knowledge. Certainly a family of people that drank all their milk, that was for sure.

The other man admitted that he really wasn’t sure if he had anything left to do now that this competition was completed. Apparently, the hosts of the event were interested in letting as many guest judges participate as possible so everyone got the chance to have a little fun. It made sense. Even Cillian could only be stuck at one booth for so long before he would want to go out and see what else was there to entertain him. He had the attention span of a fruit gnat, and nowhere was that more prevalent than at festivals such as this one.

“Naw, nothing else for me,” he said when Dagda asked if he was signed up for anymore cooking games. “I only ever sign up for one, usually. Gotta let other people get some wins too.” Dagda asked if he would be interested in joining him for some of the other competitions, particularly the strength ones. Supposedly, most of the tougher competitors were from out of town and had come just to participate for the special anniversary.

Cillian gave it a little thought, though not much. He was arguably one of the most easy going people anyone would ever meet, and while he hadn’t known Dagda for more than about two minutes at this point of the conversation, he seemed like a fun guy. Plus, Cillian couldn’t help but be curious to see if a big guy like him would just utterly squash the competition. “Sounds like fun to me,” he said. “I really wasn’t sure what I was gonna do after this. Usually I come to these things with a couple friends, but they’re both at work right now. Just give me a minute to pack up my shit and I’ll be all set to go.”

Presuming that sounded agreeable to his new friend, Cillian hopped down from the stage and made his way over to his cooking area, collecting up all his ingredients and equipment into a small box. He also threw in his award and his apron, taking the whole thing over to the locker he’d been assigned and putting them away for the time being. I was a pretty warm day so he elected not to put his jacket back on, content with his shirtless look. For once, it wasn’t exactly out of place since a lot of guys were running around shirtless that day trying to show off their muscles and manliness.

Hands back in his pockets, he joined back up with Dagda with a smile. “Allllright, what do you wanna check out? I only got to look around briefly at some of the games when I got here, before I had to start cooking. Everything I saw looked pretty fun, though. Could start with something pretty standard to get warmed up. Maybe like that ax throwing one? Been a while since I’ve done that one. I remember sucking at it. Then again, maybe I’ll do better if I try it sober this time.” He grinned up at him.  

Cillian, being the unobservant doofus that he was, didn’t see, hear, or otherwise notice the commotion as some festival celebrity was all but paraded through the grounds. Even if he had still been standing beside Dagda, he likely wouldn’t have spared the hulking man a second glance, far more interested in what there was to do than who else was there to do it with them. He rarely paid much attention to his surroundings outside of what his tunnel vision allowed him, and he really wasn’t the type of person to get awestruck by the presence of another person of renown anyway. He suggested the axe throwing competition, completely ignorant to the moment that had just struck Dagda, who accepted the suggestion immediately, and off they went.

The lankier man followed Dagda to the throwing grounds, where they observed that there were two separate lines. They followed the line to the left which was for the non-professionals that were looking for a little instruction or perhaps just to have fun and not take the game too seriously. Inside, they were offered a number of possible selections for axes with varying sizes and weights. Like his new companion, Cillian browsed the options until he found the one that appealed to him. It was a little smaller, but had a nice heavy weight to it, so he felt he could throw it pretty easily and well without its size causing any resistance through the air.

Once they were set, the two made their way out to the throwing lanes where an attendant inquired how they wanted to proceed. Dagda requested the beginning lane, and Cillian followed suit. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. Same here.” He stood back and let Dagda go first, watching the larger man hurl the weapon across the several feet of space to the log target. The target split into pieces on impact, and the necromancer’s eyes went wide as saucers in shock. Then, he keeled over laughing, barely standing on his feet as he clutched his belly with his hand. “Holy fuck, that was amazing!” It was all he could say between his deep bellied giggling, shameless in showing just how entertained he was by the slip.

Dagda sheepishly suggested that he perhaps start a few lanes further down where the distance would take the edge of his mighty throwing arm. “Probably a good idea, bud,” Cillian said, wiping a few tears from his eyes. “Oh man, that’s gonna entertain me the rest of the day.” He waited patiently for the attendants to reset the target. Thankfully, in a world full of magic, they knew enough to at least be prepared for a target to be destroyed like that, even if it wasn’t a regular occurrence. They had more than enough spare stumps to replace the splintered one with. It took only a few minutes for them to pick up most of the other pieces and set the new target in place.

“Alright, everyone stand back. This is gonna be awful.”

Aiming as best as he knew how, he hurled the axe forward. A little too much strength had been put into the throw, however, and the weapon went soaring way past the target and into the grass beyond. “Oops. My bad.” Cillian waited as an attendant recovered the item and brought it back to him, giving him a couple tips to throw with a little more precision. Setting himself up, he aimed and threw once more, this time with the axe lodging itself into the side of the log, loosely but still properly stuck.

Moving on to the next one which was a little bit further away, he performed the same movements just with a little more power to cover the slightly increased distance. Twice his axe slapped against the log with the blade or handle without sticking. One the third one, he got it in. It was tough work, but fun. Cillian was having to exercise muscles and techniques he hadn’t used in a long, long time. There had been a period of his life where he had been taught this skill among many others. However, it had been so long since he’d regularly practiced or used any of that long lost education that he might as well have been a brand new novice making his first throws.

He got slightly more consistent as the lanes went on, but really didn’t get that much better than how he started. Most lanes took him a few throws to get the axe lodged in the log. However, he never really seemed to have an issue with the increasing distance. The weightier but smaller axe was quite easy for him to toss down the lanes, and despite not being overly bulged with muscle like his friend was, he was stronger than he appeared to be on the surface. Still, just cause he could cover that distance didn’t mean that he had the technique to make it stick, so it took him several tries on each lane to get the desired result.

In the end, however, that didn’t really seem to mean much to him. Cillian was happy enough just getting to hunk a sharp piece of metal across the grass and be a goof, clearly not all too interested in getting the method down. By the time he got to the end where Dagda was, the larger man was already done and looking quite pleased with himself. As before, Cillian really wasn’t paying that much attention to anything outside of what was in front of him, so he never noticed the professionals on the other field watching them, nor the moment of respect that passed between Dagda and the popular contestant.

“Well, I didn’t kill anyone by accident or obliterate a target in one go, so I call that a win,” Cillian said with an impish, toothy grin as the man asked how his throwing had gone. “It took me a few throws on most of the lanes, but I ain’t exactly lookin’ to break any records or nothin’. It was a nice warm up, something to loosen up the muscles for some of the other challenges. I do like this axe though. I wonder if they’d let me buy it after their competitions are over.” He lifted the thing up and turned it over gently in his hand, giving it a light swing just to feel the weight of it one more time before handing it to the attendant to put back.

Once that was done and the weapons had been returned, the two men elected to stroll around the festival grounds to get a better look and see what all was there. All sorts of games and competitions lined the fields, from archery and shotput, to weight lifting and tire flipping. There was a grease pole, and a number of gladiatorial pits that looked like a ton of fun. It was honestly a bit difficult to figure out what they wanted to do next.

Not to mention, Cillian kept getting distracted by other smaller things along the way. It was a good thing they weren’t in any hurries and had practically the whole day to get their fill of the games, because Cillian’s nose called him off the forward path several times at the scent of this pastry or that snack. He stopped several times whenever he noticed something he’d never tried before, or something he loved or hadn’t had in a long time. There were regular comments from him along the lines of, “Shit, do you smell that?” and almost every time he bought something for himself he also bought one for Dagda, getting the sense that the larger man was about as much of a foodie as he was.

What actually caught his attention the most, however, was the drinks. There was a lot of alcohol present, and from what he could tell many of the games were letting people play even if intoxicated, so long as it wasn’t one that would be dangerous such as axe throwing. It took him almost no time at all to get a pretty decent buzz going that caused him to be even more giggly and excitable than usual. “Ooo, what about that one,” he said, pointing toward a game that appeared to be a wrestling station in a mud pit. “We have to do that one. Ain’t nothin’ manlier at a manly man fest than throwing hands with another guy in vat of mother nature’s finest.”

He grinned up at Dagda, his cheeks a little pink from the alcohol but otherwise showing no signs of being overly intoxicated or otherwise incapable of participating in a brawl. Presuming Dagda was amenable, Cillian giggled with excitement and lead the charge to the station, where they patiently waited their turn and cheered on the other participants before them along with the rest of the currently gathered crowd. Unlike the last competition, he was much more invested in watching other participants here, finding more interest in the constant action and displays of pure, unadulterated brawn.

Before long, it was their turn. They were led into a small stall where they were able to exchange their own clothes for cheap borrowed ones so they didn’t have to ruin their personal attire in the mud. Cillian replaced his jeans with a set of plain white pants that fit a little more loosely than his normal look. He made his way out into the pit, eagerly awaiting for Dagda to join him. And once both were ready, he stepped into the ankle high mudpit and crouched down into a ready stance, his fingers wiggling with excitement as the two men faced off against one another. “Now, I know you’re a lot bigger than me and I’m a little drunk, but don’t you go easy on me! I wanna see what you got..!”  

For someone who found it really easy to join up with random strangers and get along with just about everyone he met, it was a wonder why Cillian didn’t have more friends. Or at least, more real ones. He had plenty of surface value friends, ones that he’d be happy to run into again or even make some time to see them if they reached out, but most of those people he never really took the time to get to know all too well or make the effort to reach out to them of his own volition. When your lifespan had been stretched for an indefinite amount of time as his had, a lot of things became fleeting. Relationships of any kind, pressure to achieve personal goals, the general machinations and expectations of society at large… really, the only thing that had stuck was food. Food was the one consistent in his life that certainly changed its forms and flavors over the centuries, but never its level of satisfaction. If anything, the evolution of food over the last several centuries was part of what made food continue to be such a source of inspiration and comfort for him.

And that was probably why, out of all the types of games and activities present at most festivals such as the one they were currently at, the food booths were always the top priority for him. His taste buds had become so honed over the years that he could practically pinpoint and design every single bit of herbs or spices, most ingredients, in near about every dish he tried. Truth be told, he probably was better off as a judge in cooking competitions more than a cook, but as much as he loved to eat he simply felt more alive when he was making the creations himself.

He brought stuff to Dagda regularly each time he bought some kind of tasty morsel, and the larger man proved Cillian’s earlier assumptions correct by eagerly partaking in each piece brought back to him. Since the man never said anything, Cillian had no idea he couldn’t smell. The two were quite content to spend a bit of time meandering from food stall to food stall trying some of near about every dish known to man. And it seemed that both of them had the stomachs to withstand the constant intake of food, despite the fact that Dagda had already eaten during the contest and despite the fact that Cillian’s stomach was so skinny and flat one wondered if he could hold much food at all.

In addition to the food, his new buddy was quite eager to try a lot of alcohol with him too. While Dagda stuck mostly to beers and bourbons, Cillian was happy and willing to try just about everything from wines and meads to beers, whiskey, rum, and more. By the end, both men were feeling pretty damn good. One could easily assume just by looking up at Dagda that he took an awful lot for a man with as much muscle mass as he had to get plastered. On the flip side, Cillian seemed the type to be a bit of a lightweight, but given how much more he had consumed than even Dagda, the fact that he wasn’t falling over onto his face every five seconds or passed out on a bale of hay was a testament to just how much of a tolerance the man had built up the last four hundred years.

Luckily, having a ton to drink was literally part of the whole experience of the Manly Man Festival, so no one really batted a look at either man, even the attendants in charge of the games. It may have been different if they’d gone for archery or something arguably more dangerous, but a lot of the gladiatorial events were pretty harmless and as such the workers were fine with competitors being intoxicated. If anything, it made the events a lot more fun to watch. So, off they went to the wrestling corner, patiently waiting in line for their turn before being allowed to exchange their street clothes for borrowed pants.

The mud was certainly thick and slippery. It actually felt pretty good, like he was getting ready to take a mud bath at a spa, which honestly wasn’t far from the truth. By the time this was over, both men were going to be covered from head to toe in the dark substance, and from the looks of the faces on the small crowd around them most people were not going to be complaining about that. Cillian expressed his desire for Dagda to give him his all, and to pay no mind to his level of intoxication. It wouldn’t be fun if both men didn’t go all out, and frankly Cillian was the type to have fun whether he won or lost. With an appreciative grin, the larger man agreed to the request, and they both crouched down and made themselves ready for the referee to cue them.

At the sound of the count down, both men lurched forward and immediately almost lost their balance. “Woop..!” Cillian exclaimed with a wide eyed expression as his feet slipped out from under him and he had to use one of his hands to keep himself upright, planting it in the mug in front of him. The lanky man looked up to see Dagda in a similar predicament and started giggling. “Boy, they made this stuff real slick, didn’t they?” They managed to get themselves upright and steady once more, but Dagda was the quicker to recover, reaching across the distance to snatch Cillian by the arm and dragging him over.

“Ack!” With one hand on Cillian’s arm and another on his thigh, Dagda hoisted the thinner man up into the air and them promptly slipped, causing both men to fall flat into the mud. Cillian was laughing hard as he tried to scramble back to his feet, his body feeling heavier from the added weight of the mud clinging to him. Dagda once again recovered more quickly, throwing himself on top of the giggling man long enough to earn the first pin. The referee called the round and both men disentangled themselves from one another, laughing and wiping the excess mud from their eyes.

The second round went about as much the same, although this time Cillian was a little more prepared for facing Dagda’s strength first hand. When the round started, however, Cillian wasn’t expecting the change in tactics as Dagda charged low rather than high, aiming to take Cillian’s legs out from underneath him. The crimson eyed man put up a better fight this round at least, giving the larger man some resistance as he bent low and wrapped his long arms around Dagda’s waist from above, hoping to find some leverage there while the larger man attacked his legs. It wasn’t easy, for either of them. The mud was so slippery that both wound up losing their grips quite a number of time, and it very quickly became apparent they they were going to be spending the remainder of the wrestling match more or less just wildly and chaotically rubbing their muddied bodies together.

This was much to the delight of the crowd, which had grown quite a bit when neither man was paying attention. There were a lot of women in the crowd cheering both men on and giggling to each other over with hushed whispers over the sight of two very handsome, very physically fit, half naked men covered in slick mud and crawling all over each other. iLacs were out in force taking photos and video, and not just from the ladies. There was a fair share of men present too that watched the event with looks more curious than just being interested in the sport for the sake of sport.

By the time the second round ended, Cillian felt he had finally gotten a good feel for Dagda’s strength and methods. He was a very large man that was likely used to being able to over power most foes. However, Cillian was slippery even when not covered in mud, exceptionally agile, and much stronger than his thin body would otherwise suggest. So while Dagda was feeling pretty confident and riding the high of two consecutive wins, Cillian decided to step up and show that he was not going to be so easily beaten.

At round three, Dagda came at him again, but Cillian had prepared his footing well enough so that when the bigger man lunged forward he could easily side step around him, moving out of the direct path of the lunge only to hook his arms around Dagda’s waist. Jamming his shoulder up against the man’s stomach, Cillian used his legs to lift Dagda up into the air before twisting and dropping him on his back right into the mud with Cillian on top of him. As with the last round, the two men scrambled to dominance, spurred on by the suspiciously feminine cheers of the crowd. However, Cillian proved a little too wiley to keep a hold on, managing to slip out of Dagda’s grips time and again until he pinned the bigger man and won a round for himself.

Round four went about as well for Cillian, who felt he was starting to reach his stride. They launched at each other and once again Cillian used his superior agility and smaller frame to keep himself from getting locked into any holds that would doom him to a third and final loss. The round lasted for a minute or so with both men struggling for dominance before Cillian secured a second win of his own, bringing the score to an even two wins across and pointing them toward a tie breaker round.

They returned to their separate sides, and Cillian was pleased to discover that both of them were pretty exhausted. It was a testament to how hard both of them were working to win the game, both men having loads of fun but also not going easy on each other. Cillian lungs felt like they were on fire. It wasn’t often that he got into the thick of fighting himself as most of the time he had his zombies and skeletons and spirits to fight for him, but he did still like to get his exercise.

He grinned as Dagda teased him. “Eh, you’re not so tough,” he taunted back, his words clearly a lie as the two of them had gone through quite the ordeal trying to take one another down. The referee called the final round, and the crowd was charged with energy and excitement. Cillian was pretty sure he heard a few bets being placed. Once the countdown ended, the two men threw themselves at one another one last time. Cillian lunged to the side to throw the larger man off, trying to come at him from the side, but by now Dagda had figured out a few of Cillian’s tricks and was able to recover quite quickly. They wound up in a hand lock, each pressing back against the other in an attempt to get control.

Unfortunately, Dagda’s strength was superior and Cillian could quickly feel himself slipping. Rather than fight it, he took the path of least resistance and suddenly started pulling instead of pushing, yanking Dagda off balance as Cillian fell backward into the pit. Tucking his knees to his chest, he caught Dagda’s own chest with his feet and rolled backward, forcing the bigger guy to flip over Cillian’s head and into the mud where Cillian managed to make his way on top and started looking for enough purchase to pin him. They wriggled and wrangled for at least a minute to the utter roar of the crowd, and Cillian knew he was winning. If he could just get a decent hold on the man, it would all be set in stone…

Somehow, the victory that had seemed so sure got ripped from him in the blink of an eye. Cillian wasn’t entirely sure how Dagda had managed it, but he felt one of his knees get dislodged from the ground and before he knew it he was being flipped onto his back with a surprised yelp. At that point, all it took was for Dagda to more or less smother him with his entire bulk, trapping Cillian’s arms and preventing him from being able to turn the tide back around. A few seconds later, he had been successfully pinned and the referee called the match with Dagda as the winner three out of five rounds.

Even after Dagda got up, Cillian continued to lay in the mud for a few seconds giggling to himself. “That was awesome,” he said, grinning from ear to ear and thoroughly pleased. “Well won!” Somehow, he managed to yank himself out of the mud and the two men made their way over to the makeshift shower stalls the event had set up toward the exit of the mud pit. Cillian grabbed his bag on the way over, still giggling and clapping Dagda on the shoulder in excited and congratulatory fashion. Then he stepped into the small stall and pulled the curtain shut behind him, hanging the bag with his clothes in it up on a hook. He stripped off the dirty pants, putting them into a basket that had been placed i there for the dirtied items and stepped under the water to start scrubbing himself clean.