"So, you want to compete?"
Ted was staring at a secretary over a pile of bone plates. The man was certainly not joining the Competition himself. He was scrawny, and nervous in temperament, constantly touching his nose or his cheeks. His skin was peeling off in a small area where he had been picking at it. His eyes darted from the plates Ted had collected to the face of the high cor and back towards his own notes.
"Yes," Ted said. "Unless there is something that would prevent me from joining. Is there a requirement about being born and raised on the Fin?"
The secretary shook his head. "You need a hundred more votes, and you're good to go. I still wonder...this is certainly not the easiest way to get into the Finner society. It's almost as if you have intentionally chosen the hardest way to swim into the proverbial circles."
"I don't do easy, I don't laze around," Ted said.
