open;

[gluteus]

Who| Maximus and YOU
What|  Maximus arrives in the Games, and anyone and everyone can come bother him though they might get beat up a little
Where|  All over the arena
When|  Mid-way
Warnings| Probably lots of violence and possible death, but not his. Not yet. Not yet.


He'd been told almost nothing. Equipped with gear completely foreign to him save the fur lining of his hood, Maximus said nothing as he was prepared and had little more explained to him. He wondered, vaguely, if he was dead. Had Commodus's assassins come for him in the night? Had the gods judged that he must pay his dues before he was worthy of joining his brothers in Elysium?

But as he rose into the blinding white snow, and the cold whipped around him fierce and fast, Maximus knew he was alive. A new game, perhaps, that Commodus had smuggled him to in order to watch him die. They had not even armed him - he was meant to be no more than fodder. The small metal piece they had pushed under this skin was a new and unique branding to match the scarred out tattoo on his shoulder. Forever owned, a piece of his mind echoed. He ignored it.

He would not die here. Not today. He would win this arena like those before it until he stood face to face with Commodus.

As he stepped off his pillar, he crouched down to the ground, fingers meaning to find dirt but instead finding snow. The snow would afford no better grip, but then he had no weapon to take a better grip on. He had seen snow before, of course - they had fought in the north for nearly his entire military career, and the harsh winters had killed more than a few friends. But not him.

He raised his eyes to the horizon - but there were no stands, no crowds, no audience. He knew, somehow, that they were watching. The mob was always watching.

Strength and Honour.

Comments

[the_marshal]

The birds started as soon as Wyatt was in sight, a warning call that rippled through the flock, but he wasn't deterred. He'd done this enough times now, it almost like an art.

He moved into the nesting field, his head down for protection, and the animals exploded into movement, all slender bodies and pointed wings. A whirlwind of screams - cold and high. The kind of sound that came to haunt you in your dreams.

They dove at him, clawing and biting, but he ignored them and bent to scoop up the small, darkly flecked eggs. Two went straight into his pockets, clinking against the knife tucked there, a third he cracked right there and then, sucking hungrily as the unhatched's parents circled around him.

[gluteus]

Moving cautiously but quickly, his approach apparently unnoticed by either the man or the birds that so viciously attacked him, closing the distance between them as he trudged through the snow. He did not even realise his hunger until he felt his stomach rumble and complain at the sight of Wyatt devouring the egg.

It did not look particularly appetizing, but Maximus had eaten worse on a campaign before.

He glanced up at the birds as he approached. He had little doubt that he could resist their fury easily enough, but perhaps if he made a bid for the eggs while his opponent had their attention...

[the_marshal]

One of the birds, young maybe, or just desperate, came to close, didn't turn in time and instead of grazing past, it smacked into the back of Wyatt's head with a thick thud. Bird and egg tumbled to the ground, the former stunned and fluttering softly, the latter smashing and splashing yellow-pink fluid across the snow.

Wyatt grunted, knocked forward by the blow, and turned, glaring across the field-

-and spotted the stranger.

Immediately he shifted, body stiffing. His fingers twitched, ready to dive into his pocket, but he didn't move.

Not yet.

[gluteus]

Maximus came to a halt as soon as Wyatt turned, but didn't flinch or back away. Instead he straightened, squaring his shoulders and raising his head. Even with his goggles on, his look was even, calm, and fearless. It was a look of recognition, and of defiance. Yes, I see you, it said, and you aren't stopping me.

Once registered, he began moving forward again, towards an unguarded nest, to the left of them both, his eyes never leaving Wyatt.

[the_marshal]

Wyatt stared back, eyes as pale and blue as the cold afternoon sky above them. But he didn't move. Forward or back.

He had no desire to fight - particularly a stranger who could be anyone, anything - but, he wouldn't turn-tail either.

They could be men about this.

I am sorry in advance for the bad assery about to happen

[gluteus]

Confident his opponent was not about to attack him and likely unarmed (as he could see no reason not to attack otherwise), Maximus strode to the nest, his eyes still on his opponent. The birds still swirling over head finally took notice of him and some of them broke away to lunge at him. He ignored them at first, their sweeping arcs ducking past him as he kneeled down to grasp an egg. Treasure safely taken, he paused, still as stone --

-- and then lunged out with an arm, connecting with the seabird with a thump. Unhurt, the bird fell ungracefully to the ground and began to screech at him, but Maximus merely opened the egg against a stone of the nest...

And ate it.

Re: I am sorry in advance for the bad assery about to happen

[the_marshal]

Wyatt arched a dark eyebrow, but otherwise didn't react.

If the stranger was trying to intimidate him, tryin' to get him to beg or squeal or otherwise make some sort of ruckus, he was going to have try harder.

Wyatt didn't yellow easy. Even more so now.

Watching a giant rampaging monster turtle tear through a field of tributes would do that to a man.

[gluteus]

He took two more eggs, slipped them into his pocket, and then stood - regretting completely his decision to smack the bird as it had not stopped screeching at him since. They had, however, ceased to dive bomb his head.

His immediate hunger quelled, he was still and silent for a moment as he decided what to do about his opponent. This was unlike any arena he had ever had to face, and if the man would not come to him, he saw no reason to start the killing now. Perhaps this was part of the ritual, here? Wait until they were all starved and willing to eat each other?

What other proof did he need to know he now lived among barbarians?

He drew in a breath, cocking his head slightly to the right as he watched Wyatt, the bemused curiousity obvious. But he still did not speak.

[the_marshal]

"There are some that enjoy it," Wyatt said, breaking the silence between them instead. Answering the unspoken question. "And they'll tear into each other like wolves. Myself, I see no reason to harm those I ain't got no quarrel with. Not if I don't have to."

He looked pointedly at the stranger, called across the shrieking din. "We gonna have a problem?"

[gluteus]

His eyebrow raised, and he shifted slightly, his weight settling onto his back foot. At-ease.

"A gladiator is rarely given a choice," He said, calmly, though more than loud enough to carry across the snow. "I was under the impression there was not one here, either."

[the_marshal]

If there was one good thing about all the time Wyatt had had to spend alone, it was that it had given him a great deal of time to think. Just him and the things Neeshka had said. And Elias.

The things Wyatt felt, the things he believed.

So when he replied, it was calmly, and without hesitation.

"There's always a choice. And there are always consequences. It's up to each man to decide for himself which ones he can live with."

[gluteus]

He raised his chin slightly. "We are all here to die," He said simply. It was what he had been told. "The only choice we have is how to meet that death."

It was a vague memory of a speech that had saved his life, once. And he wasn't about to give up that life now, not while Commodus still drew breath.

He paused, considering, and then said slowly: "But neither one of us must face that death today."

[the_marshal]

Something about the way he said it, the flat, unwavering directness made Wyatt wonder if the man didn't know about being brought back. About how this was likely to be just one death in a string of many... but even as he was about to ask, as his eyes were narrowing and his mouth was opening, he reconsidered, remembering how Katurian had reacted.

This man didn't immediately strike him as the type for sudden fits - much to calm and poised for that - but say he was wrong? This was hardly the place he wanted to deal with it.

Instead he nodded, a small dip of his head. "Agreed." And, in a smooth, slow gesture, held out a hand.

[gluteus]

Maximus glanced at the hand and back at Wyatt before stepping towards him, each footstep firm and sure. Once in range, he reached out, clasping the proffered arm just above the wrist as was custom.

"Strength and Honour."

[the_marshal]

Expecting to have his hand shook, Wyatt started a bit when the man grabbed his arm - stiffing and leaning back, as if expecting to be pulled forward, to see a knife suddenly appear....

But when he simply held, and stared, Wyatt relaxed. Settled enough to parrot the motion, his fingers curling slowly around the other's forearm.

"Back'atcha," he murmured, wondering silently where it was this stranger was from that he didn't know what a handshake was.

[gluteus]

He squeezed Wyatt's arm slightly, the released it. If he noticed the man's discomfort at all, he didn't show it.

He turned, slightly, his muscles more relaxed than they had been before, but still on edge. He would never cease being on edge until the game was done. The immediate threat seemingly dealt with, he could focus on the rest. No matter what shakey truce they had come to, the Gladiator's fate still hung above them both, and moving on before either of them could change their mind would be best.

But. The swirling birds reminded him that there were still eggs left to take. He turned around walking to a nearby nest, almost turning his back but still keeping Wyatt in his peripheral vision.

"Do you know where we are?" He asked finally, the deep rumble of his voice almost lost in the swirling snow. He waved an arm to shoo the birds as he bent down to take another egg.

[the_marshal]

Wyatt exhaled, following the man with his eyes as he leaned back on his heels and his hands found a place to rest on his belt. (There was no longer a gun hanging there, but the memory lingered. An ingrained habit. An unconcious tick.)

So Maximus was one of the new ones. That explained a lot.

"The Arena," he replied. "Somewhere in the Capitol. Don't know whereabouts exactly. They've never told us."

[gluteus]

"The Capitol?" He asked, assuming Wyatt meant Rome. For what other Capitol was there?

"Impossible. I've seen snow like this in the mountains, yes, and in the north, but never that far south. I had assumed we were in Germania, or northern Britannia. The ice here alone would be worth a fortune - if it could be found so close, they would never have need of it."

[the_marshal]

Wyatt blinked. Once. Then twice. His brow furrowing.

Germania? Britannia...? The words buzzed in his ears like bees, drowned out the screaming of the birds.

"Britann- wait-" his eyebrows lifted, blue eyes widening. "You mean 'Britain?' England?" He shook his head. "No. No, yer on the wrong side of the ocean for that, friend. It's America. The United States... or what's left of her."

[gluteus]

Wyatt might have been speaking another language, for all the sense that the words made to him. He tried to line it up with the map of the world that he had in his head, but the only 'ocean' he knew to have land across it was the Mediterranean one, below which lay Africa - Carthage, Egypt... Places he had never been, but which he knew to be hotter than any on Earth.

"Briton..." He repeated, the Gaulic word for Britannia. So the man was a Gaul, as he had thought. "Yes. So you could say. But the only state that has been united are the provinces under Rome - I know of no other, over any stretch of land or sea, that could lay claim to her glory."

[the_marshal]

Wyatt stared - a long, moment of silence broken only by the constant crying of the seabirds and the distant rush and fall of the sea - lingering on the edge of a suspected truth.

Should he ask? Or was that a can'a worms best left for someone else?

"What year is it?" he asked finally, carefully curious.

[gluteus]

It was Maximus' turn to stare, and raise an eyebrow. He'd known that the Gauls were often uneducated, but to care what the year was and not know it?

"The year of the consulship of Publius Postumius Albinus Luscus and Calpurnius Piso," He offered, his voice steady, as if talking to a child. He knew it was slightly hopeless - even in Roman Gaul they rarely knew the names of the consuls. Helpfully, he added, in a slightly darker tone, "The year of the death of Emperor Marcus Aurelius," unwilling to name Commodus as the current emperor.

Typosomg.

[the_marshal]

That wasn't a year, was Wyatt's first response, but then, on the heels of that came the realization that didn't much matter either way. The question had still been answered.

This man was lost. Misplaced in time. Much as Wyatt himself was.

And if Wyatt had to hazardous a guess - with that talk of Rome and Emperors - a time even further back than his own.

"I see." He nodded slowly and cleared his throat. "I'm, ...well, not quite sure how to say this, but I'm afraid yer mistaken. See, you've traveled. Not just across land and water, but across time as well."

As he spoke, his eyes moved, dropping to watch Maximus' hands. Ready. Just in case.

[gluteus]

"We all travel through time," Maximus replied flatly, though he had a suspicion that wasn't entirely what Wyatt meant. He shifted, glancing out to the horizon.

Tartarus. It was a concept he'd considered several times, but now grew more firmly in his mind. Who knew how time progressed after death?

He glanced back at Wyatt. "Explain."

[the_marshal]

Wyatt took a deep breath, trying to work out the best way approach it.

"They have a way here - a machine or somethin' that allows them to take tributes, like you and myself, from anywhere. Anytime. Hundreds, thousands'a years apart."

He paused, uncertain if it would help or just make things more confusing.

"Where I was taken from, the year was 1878. I was in Kansas. It was'a state that was part of America. Now, ya said earlier that you didn't know what that was and I think that's 'cause it was after you. A while after."