"It always bears repeating." Always. Too many deals- potential and otherwise- in his life have led to a certain kind of paranoia. His very first deal was made in what he thought was a fucking dream.

Little does he know, this is more of a bad deal than he realizes. So goes the tale and the bad luck of Percival de Rolo. For now, he fully believes he has the upper hand in a battle he isn't even sure is a battle. Sometimes a door is just a door.

But, then again, Vox Machina have shit luck with doors.

"We have a deal, then. Thank you for your understanding and your patience." And that's all that really needs to be said about it. Sparing one last look over his shoulder at the coliseum, as if debating whether to go back and watch that madness, he decides against it and starts walking down the path to get started.