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

[ordonaturalis]

Morrigan gave that a moment's thought- but only just the moment. It wasn't a proposition she was in much of a position to refuse, after all. Even were she armed, the odds of victory in a physical confrontation, without her magic, were displeasing to say the least.

"An alliance then? And without evening knowing my name."

[gluteus]

"Do the dead have names?" He asked with a slight smile. But he stepped a little closer, his hands well visible, and completely unarmed.

"They called me the Spaniard," He offered.

[ordonaturalis]

"Hm. I have been called a great number of things, but the name granted by my mother suits as well as any other: Morrigan. Well met, Spaniard."

Despite the oddity of the name, she sounded nearly amused as she used it. Truly, it was too close to the Warden not to be at least faintly entertaining. When had her life become such, that so many would be known by title over name?

"Yet if your intention is to accept death so easily, you'd best seek other companions. Survival is our sole law in this land."

[gluteus]

"Morrigan," He acknowledged with a nod. It sounded faintly gaulic. At the very least, not from Rome.

"I have no intention of dying before I win," He said, resolutely. "But to win in the Arena one must accept that they are already dead. In this place, most of all." For wasn't Tartarus literally the land of the dead, even as they breathed?

He crossed the final distance between them, and put out his hand as Wyatt had done. "For survival."

[ordonaturalis]

Ugh. The handshaking. What was the obsession with man and all this excessive touching? Her mouth thinned into a line and, rather than meet his touch, she crouched down to pick up the dead bird, placing that in his palm instead. A more practical sign of cooperation, to her mind.

"I have no intention of accepting death in any form. Least of all when it comes for me in truth. Now, are you familiar with snare work?"

[gluteus]

He couldn't help the lopsided smile as she placed the bird in his hand. He didn't push the shake further. Who knew what customs were shared, here.

"I am, yes. Though for rabbits in the field, rather than birds. But I'm confident I can adapt."

[ordonaturalis]

"Then you may prove to be less than a total burden yet."

And it was with those charming words that Morrigan sets about teaching him how to catch the stupid birds. Alliances of convenience are magical things, indeed.