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Les let a slow breath out and felt his balance settle easily only both feet, muscles coiled, ready to move instantly. He closed clenched his fists momentarily, feeling the reassuring tug of the linen strips he'd wrapped from his wrists to his first knuckles. This arena was smaller than the arcus, just a circle on the floor of the half-empty warehouse, the audience far closer as well, using stacked boxes and barrels as maleshift tiered seating, and even spilling out into the street through the wide open door. In the summer heat, Greeks knew better than to crowd into a closed building.
The gladiator seemed to look all the way through his opponent as his focus narrowed sharply, letting the crowd's chatter fade into white noise, any concept of past and future vanishing entirely. There were few men willing to fight him any more, and he sometimes took some handicap or other just to avoid being sidelined - besides, the showman in him loved winning that way even more. The burley Egyptian sailor in front of him, though, had cockily demanded to fight the best the Athenians had, and Lesley wasn't going to assume his confidence was mere hubris.
He hadn't made a great first impression, fidgeting awkwardly and pressed shyly in the far corner when someone had first yelled for him. When he'd stripped, though, the foreigner had taken a second look. While those organizing these fights insisted they were just wrestling whenever the Athenian guard asked, they "accidentally" spilled out of control nearly every time, and Les had nearly killed two men already, despite not really intending to. This might be another - he would much rather go overboard than risk losing, and he only toyed with his opponent when he knew them well.
The broad, wicked grin that spread across his face as he waited for the 'go' unsettled his opponent further, but when he lunged immediately on the word, it was obvious the big Egyptian was experienced enough not to let concern interfere with his reflexes.
Lesley's grin never faded as he darted in and danced aside, deciding he didn't actually want to wrestle. A few blows traded more to take the measure of each other than to seriously injure, and then the gladiator closed in. The crowd hooted and hollered, and he heard his name more than once. The nice thing about being such a showman in easier fights was that no matter how narrowly he won, afterwards people would assume it had been inevitable from the start.
In the end, it came down to the fact Lesley was crazier, or maybe just the sailor's awareness that the injuries he was sustaining were rapidly adding up to a point he would struggle to do his work, and he wanted to remain employed more than he wanted to win this particular bet.
Lesley was limping a bit too as they separated, and he pulled his tunic back on before collecting his winnings. Red speckled his right hand, seeping through where he'd split his knuckles despite the protective wrap, or maybe that was from the other man's jaw and he'd only bruised his knuckles. He flexed his fingers, and shrugged. He'd find out which when he was done for the day, he didn't want to take the wraps off yet, just in case he needed to punch someone else. Hope, more than expectation, really. He had a few other scrapes, from hard contact with the stone floor, and plenty of bruises, too, but not as bad as he'd dished out, and definitely not enough he would worry about picking up more.
Some instinct, or such deeply trained situational awareness it felt like instinct, had him looking up and over to meet the watching eyes of a man he'd never met. He was happy enough at the pain he'd dished out that he gave the stranger a smirk rather than the suspicious glare he might have another time.
"Can I help you?"
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Les let a slow breath out and felt his balance settle easily only both feet, muscles coiled, ready to move instantly. He closed clenched his fists momentarily, feeling the reassuring tug of the linen strips he'd wrapped from his wrists to his first knuckles. This arena was smaller than the arcus, just a circle on the floor of the half-empty warehouse, the audience far closer as well, using stacked boxes and barrels as maleshift tiered seating, and even spilling out into the street through the wide open door. In the summer heat, Greeks knew better than to crowd into a closed building.
The gladiator seemed to look all the way through his opponent as his focus narrowed sharply, letting the crowd's chatter fade into white noise, any concept of past and future vanishing entirely. There were few men willing to fight him any more, and he sometimes took some handicap or other just to avoid being sidelined - besides, the showman in him loved winning that way even more. The burley Egyptian sailor in front of him, though, had cockily demanded to fight the best the Athenians had, and Lesley wasn't going to assume his confidence was mere hubris.
He hadn't made a great first impression, fidgeting awkwardly and pressed shyly in the far corner when someone had first yelled for him. When he'd stripped, though, the foreigner had taken a second look. While those organizing these fights insisted they were just wrestling whenever the Athenian guard asked, they "accidentally" spilled out of control nearly every time, and Les had nearly killed two men already, despite not really intending to. This might be another - he would much rather go overboard than risk losing, and he only toyed with his opponent when he knew them well.
The broad, wicked grin that spread across his face as he waited for the 'go' unsettled his opponent further, but when he lunged immediately on the word, it was obvious the big Egyptian was experienced enough not to let concern interfere with his reflexes.
Lesley's grin never faded as he darted in and danced aside, deciding he didn't actually want to wrestle. A few blows traded more to take the measure of each other than to seriously injure, and then the gladiator closed in. The crowd hooted and hollered, and he heard his name more than once. The nice thing about being such a showman in easier fights was that no matter how narrowly he won, afterwards people would assume it had been inevitable from the start.
In the end, it came down to the fact Lesley was crazier, or maybe just the sailor's awareness that the injuries he was sustaining were rapidly adding up to a point he would struggle to do his work, and he wanted to remain employed more than he wanted to win this particular bet.
Lesley was limping a bit too as they separated, and he pulled his tunic back on before collecting his winnings. Red speckled his right hand, seeping through where he'd split his knuckles despite the protective wrap, or maybe that was from the other man's jaw and he'd only bruised his knuckles. He flexed his fingers, and shrugged. He'd find out which when he was done for the day, he didn't want to take the wraps off yet, just in case he needed to punch someone else. Hope, more than expectation, really. He had a few other scrapes, from hard contact with the stone floor, and plenty of bruises, too, but not as bad as he'd dished out, and definitely not enough he would worry about picking up more.
Some instinct, or such deeply trained situational awareness it felt like instinct, had him looking up and over to meet the watching eyes of a man he'd never met. He was happy enough at the pain he'd dished out that he gave the stranger a smirk rather than the suspicious glare he might have another time.
"Can I help you?"
Les let a slow breath out and felt his balance settle easily only both feet, muscles coiled, ready to move instantly. He closed clenched his fists momentarily, feeling the reassuring tug of the linen strips he'd wrapped from his wrists to his first knuckles. This arena was smaller than the arcus, just a circle on the floor of the half-empty warehouse, the audience far closer as well, using stacked boxes and barrels as maleshift tiered seating, and even spilling out into the street through the wide open door. In the summer heat, Greeks knew better than to crowd into a closed building.
The gladiator seemed to look all the way through his opponent as his focus narrowed sharply, letting the crowd's chatter fade into white noise, any concept of past and future vanishing entirely. There were few men willing to fight him any more, and he sometimes took some handicap or other just to avoid being sidelined - besides, the showman in him loved winning that way even more. The burley Egyptian sailor in front of him, though, had cockily demanded to fight the best the Athenians had, and Lesley wasn't going to assume his confidence was mere hubris.
He hadn't made a great first impression, fidgeting awkwardly and pressed shyly in the far corner when someone had first yelled for him. When he'd stripped, though, the foreigner had taken a second look. While those organizing these fights insisted they were just wrestling whenever the Athenian guard asked, they "accidentally" spilled out of control nearly every time, and Les had nearly killed two men already, despite not really intending to. This might be another - he would much rather go overboard than risk losing, and he only toyed with his opponent when he knew them well.
The broad, wicked grin that spread across his face as he waited for the 'go' unsettled his opponent further, but when he lunged immediately on the word, it was obvious the big Egyptian was experienced enough not to let concern interfere with his reflexes.
Lesley's grin never faded as he darted in and danced aside, deciding he didn't actually want to wrestle. A few blows traded more to take the measure of each other than to seriously injure, and then the gladiator closed in. The crowd hooted and hollered, and he heard his name more than once. The nice thing about being such a showman in easier fights was that no matter how narrowly he won, afterwards people would assume it had been inevitable from the start.
In the end, it came down to the fact Lesley was crazier, or maybe just the sailor's awareness that the injuries he was sustaining were rapidly adding up to a point he would struggle to do his work, and he wanted to remain employed more than he wanted to win this particular bet.
Lesley was limping a bit too as they separated, and he pulled his tunic back on before collecting his winnings. Red speckled his right hand, seeping through where he'd split his knuckles despite the protective wrap, or maybe that was from the other man's jaw and he'd only bruised his knuckles. He flexed his fingers, and shrugged. He'd find out which when he was done for the day, he didn't want to take the wraps off yet, just in case he needed to punch someone else. Hope, more than expectation, really. He had a few other scrapes, from hard contact with the stone floor, and plenty of bruises, too, but not as bad as he'd dished out, and definitely not enough he would worry about picking up more.
Some instinct, or such deeply trained situational awareness it felt like instinct, had him looking up and over to meet the watching eyes of a man he'd never met. He was happy enough at the pain he'd dished out that he gave the stranger a smirk rather than the suspicious glare he might have another time.
"Can I help you?"
Visits to neighboring kingdoms was a norm for Kreios, and usually he went where he was summoned. As a merchant, his livelihood depended on his clients and as a result, it also meant that wherever he had someone who wanted his wares, that was exactly where Kreios went. It was why he had poured in a large sum of money on the furnishing of his ship, and why the Azazel was likely better furnished then his actual home which he was hardly in.
But he wasn't here to meet clients this time. See, Kreios tried to not be an ass sometimes. Which meant sometimes when a client looked like they particularly needed something, but could not afford it at the point, the merchant would occasionally figure out perhaps a delayed payment, so they could get to doing what they needed immediately (for sometimes he did deal with time sensitive stuff - death waited for no one afterall), and he could receive his payment at a later date.
Some of his newer clients who did not know how seriously Kreios took payment and gold however, seemed to take advantage of that, and the dark-haired male was back to show them exactly what he thought of people who shortchanged him.
The man however, had no muscle. Kreios for all his brooding good looks, had very little stamina to speak of. Oh, he had muscle alright. His bronzed skin from spending too much time out in the sun was hiding firm muscles, but what good were they if he couldn't last long enough in a fight without getting winded? So instead of fighting his own fights, he was on his way to the Arcus to see if he could hire a muscle or two. He usually used the sailors already hired aboard his ship, but since they just docked, the shipworkers were tired and were not entirely as effective as they could be.
With hands in between the folds of his black chiton, the man sauntered along the harbor, until his attention was taken by a growing kerfuffle he just came upon. Frowning as he slowed his steps, Kreios found a crack in the crowd just enough to see a sailor who had obviously got the short end of a stick in this fight hobbling away, while the other who despite limping, had emerged victorious as he collected his earnings.
Curious gaze fell upon the visage of the fighter - hard around the edges, probably hardy. And in need of coin. The kind Kreios could use. He smirked, just as the other's gaze fell upon him, and the merchant straightened as he awaited the crowds to disperse as the show was over, before heading towards the gladiator. "You fight for coin? Or did the man insult you in some way?" he first asked to clarify, jerking his head at his running opponent.
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Visits to neighboring kingdoms was a norm for Kreios, and usually he went where he was summoned. As a merchant, his livelihood depended on his clients and as a result, it also meant that wherever he had someone who wanted his wares, that was exactly where Kreios went. It was why he had poured in a large sum of money on the furnishing of his ship, and why the Azazel was likely better furnished then his actual home which he was hardly in.
But he wasn't here to meet clients this time. See, Kreios tried to not be an ass sometimes. Which meant sometimes when a client looked like they particularly needed something, but could not afford it at the point, the merchant would occasionally figure out perhaps a delayed payment, so they could get to doing what they needed immediately (for sometimes he did deal with time sensitive stuff - death waited for no one afterall), and he could receive his payment at a later date.
Some of his newer clients who did not know how seriously Kreios took payment and gold however, seemed to take advantage of that, and the dark-haired male was back to show them exactly what he thought of people who shortchanged him.
The man however, had no muscle. Kreios for all his brooding good looks, had very little stamina to speak of. Oh, he had muscle alright. His bronzed skin from spending too much time out in the sun was hiding firm muscles, but what good were they if he couldn't last long enough in a fight without getting winded? So instead of fighting his own fights, he was on his way to the Arcus to see if he could hire a muscle or two. He usually used the sailors already hired aboard his ship, but since they just docked, the shipworkers were tired and were not entirely as effective as they could be.
With hands in between the folds of his black chiton, the man sauntered along the harbor, until his attention was taken by a growing kerfuffle he just came upon. Frowning as he slowed his steps, Kreios found a crack in the crowd just enough to see a sailor who had obviously got the short end of a stick in this fight hobbling away, while the other who despite limping, had emerged victorious as he collected his earnings.
Curious gaze fell upon the visage of the fighter - hard around the edges, probably hardy. And in need of coin. The kind Kreios could use. He smirked, just as the other's gaze fell upon him, and the merchant straightened as he awaited the crowds to disperse as the show was over, before heading towards the gladiator. "You fight for coin? Or did the man insult you in some way?" he first asked to clarify, jerking his head at his running opponent.
Visits to neighboring kingdoms was a norm for Kreios, and usually he went where he was summoned. As a merchant, his livelihood depended on his clients and as a result, it also meant that wherever he had someone who wanted his wares, that was exactly where Kreios went. It was why he had poured in a large sum of money on the furnishing of his ship, and why the Azazel was likely better furnished then his actual home which he was hardly in.
But he wasn't here to meet clients this time. See, Kreios tried to not be an ass sometimes. Which meant sometimes when a client looked like they particularly needed something, but could not afford it at the point, the merchant would occasionally figure out perhaps a delayed payment, so they could get to doing what they needed immediately (for sometimes he did deal with time sensitive stuff - death waited for no one afterall), and he could receive his payment at a later date.
Some of his newer clients who did not know how seriously Kreios took payment and gold however, seemed to take advantage of that, and the dark-haired male was back to show them exactly what he thought of people who shortchanged him.
The man however, had no muscle. Kreios for all his brooding good looks, had very little stamina to speak of. Oh, he had muscle alright. His bronzed skin from spending too much time out in the sun was hiding firm muscles, but what good were they if he couldn't last long enough in a fight without getting winded? So instead of fighting his own fights, he was on his way to the Arcus to see if he could hire a muscle or two. He usually used the sailors already hired aboard his ship, but since they just docked, the shipworkers were tired and were not entirely as effective as they could be.
With hands in between the folds of his black chiton, the man sauntered along the harbor, until his attention was taken by a growing kerfuffle he just came upon. Frowning as he slowed his steps, Kreios found a crack in the crowd just enough to see a sailor who had obviously got the short end of a stick in this fight hobbling away, while the other who despite limping, had emerged victorious as he collected his earnings.
Curious gaze fell upon the visage of the fighter - hard around the edges, probably hardy. And in need of coin. The kind Kreios could use. He smirked, just as the other's gaze fell upon him, and the merchant straightened as he awaited the crowds to disperse as the show was over, before heading towards the gladiator. "You fight for coin? Or did the man insult you in some way?" he first asked to clarify, jerking his head at his running opponent.
Lesley laughed easily, his expression that of a man well-content with his life. "Ah, the braggart wanted to prove something." With his tunic back on, the soft-voiced man once again did not look terribly much like the paid killer he was. Once having seen what lay under the fabric, however, it was harder to see the thick trunk and imagine a man going slightly to gut as he approached middle age, or conflate slow thought with slow reflexes. Not that Lesley was stupid - but outside of fighting, or something equally interesting, he was slow in a lazy sort of way.
"Hate to waste an opportunity, so I bet on m'self." Something he considered a safe bet, judging by the thread of amusement still lacing his words. "Man like you, question like that - you wouldn't happen to be hiring, hey?" He leaned a hip against a shipping crate, curiosity clear in the arched eyebrow and steady gaze.
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Lesley laughed easily, his expression that of a man well-content with his life. "Ah, the braggart wanted to prove something." With his tunic back on, the soft-voiced man once again did not look terribly much like the paid killer he was. Once having seen what lay under the fabric, however, it was harder to see the thick trunk and imagine a man going slightly to gut as he approached middle age, or conflate slow thought with slow reflexes. Not that Lesley was stupid - but outside of fighting, or something equally interesting, he was slow in a lazy sort of way.
"Hate to waste an opportunity, so I bet on m'self." Something he considered a safe bet, judging by the thread of amusement still lacing his words. "Man like you, question like that - you wouldn't happen to be hiring, hey?" He leaned a hip against a shipping crate, curiosity clear in the arched eyebrow and steady gaze.
Lesley laughed easily, his expression that of a man well-content with his life. "Ah, the braggart wanted to prove something." With his tunic back on, the soft-voiced man once again did not look terribly much like the paid killer he was. Once having seen what lay under the fabric, however, it was harder to see the thick trunk and imagine a man going slightly to gut as he approached middle age, or conflate slow thought with slow reflexes. Not that Lesley was stupid - but outside of fighting, or something equally interesting, he was slow in a lazy sort of way.
"Hate to waste an opportunity, so I bet on m'self." Something he considered a safe bet, judging by the thread of amusement still lacing his words. "Man like you, question like that - you wouldn't happen to be hiring, hey?" He leaned a hip against a shipping crate, curiosity clear in the arched eyebrow and steady gaze.
Kreios raised a brow. So he would respond if someone else wanted to prove something? It wasn't a form of response Kreios would validate. He had never been someone who bothered trying to prove something to someone else, and many have often misunderstood the merchant as someone who had no spine to fight back. But the truth was, Kreios simply didn't care. He didn't have anything to prove to anyone, and as such, it was easy for the man to simply walk away from whatever fight someone was trying to pick with him, hang all what they wanted to think. He had nothing to prove to anyone.
So in a way, Kreios did not understand the way in which the mind of this gladiator worked. But you know, he wasn't here to try and understand people. He came here searching for something, and he intended to get it done.
"I am, technically." he murmured, surprised that the rough gladiator actually had a knack for figuring out what he needed. Kreios would've thought the man was so pumped up on testesterones and muscle, he wouldn't be able to see something until its shoved in front of his face. It appears the dark-haired merchant stands corrected. "A one time job offer. You looking?" he returned the question to him.
Sliding a hand into his chiton, he pulled out a small parchment with a name and a location scrawled upon it, with an amount of money that would make any regular person's eyes bug. Kreios did not sell his poisons for any small amount of money, especially since they required great care and attention to detail when his customer wanted something undetectable but still lethal. "I'm looking for payment from this person." the merchant stated, flashing the parchment to the gladiator. "But he seems to be a little.... uneager to pay up. Perhaps some muscle may scare him into it? The money has been owed to me for a long time."
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Kreios raised a brow. So he would respond if someone else wanted to prove something? It wasn't a form of response Kreios would validate. He had never been someone who bothered trying to prove something to someone else, and many have often misunderstood the merchant as someone who had no spine to fight back. But the truth was, Kreios simply didn't care. He didn't have anything to prove to anyone, and as such, it was easy for the man to simply walk away from whatever fight someone was trying to pick with him, hang all what they wanted to think. He had nothing to prove to anyone.
So in a way, Kreios did not understand the way in which the mind of this gladiator worked. But you know, he wasn't here to try and understand people. He came here searching for something, and he intended to get it done.
"I am, technically." he murmured, surprised that the rough gladiator actually had a knack for figuring out what he needed. Kreios would've thought the man was so pumped up on testesterones and muscle, he wouldn't be able to see something until its shoved in front of his face. It appears the dark-haired merchant stands corrected. "A one time job offer. You looking?" he returned the question to him.
Sliding a hand into his chiton, he pulled out a small parchment with a name and a location scrawled upon it, with an amount of money that would make any regular person's eyes bug. Kreios did not sell his poisons for any small amount of money, especially since they required great care and attention to detail when his customer wanted something undetectable but still lethal. "I'm looking for payment from this person." the merchant stated, flashing the parchment to the gladiator. "But he seems to be a little.... uneager to pay up. Perhaps some muscle may scare him into it? The money has been owed to me for a long time."
Kreios raised a brow. So he would respond if someone else wanted to prove something? It wasn't a form of response Kreios would validate. He had never been someone who bothered trying to prove something to someone else, and many have often misunderstood the merchant as someone who had no spine to fight back. But the truth was, Kreios simply didn't care. He didn't have anything to prove to anyone, and as such, it was easy for the man to simply walk away from whatever fight someone was trying to pick with him, hang all what they wanted to think. He had nothing to prove to anyone.
So in a way, Kreios did not understand the way in which the mind of this gladiator worked. But you know, he wasn't here to try and understand people. He came here searching for something, and he intended to get it done.
"I am, technically." he murmured, surprised that the rough gladiator actually had a knack for figuring out what he needed. Kreios would've thought the man was so pumped up on testesterones and muscle, he wouldn't be able to see something until its shoved in front of his face. It appears the dark-haired merchant stands corrected. "A one time job offer. You looking?" he returned the question to him.
Sliding a hand into his chiton, he pulled out a small parchment with a name and a location scrawled upon it, with an amount of money that would make any regular person's eyes bug. Kreios did not sell his poisons for any small amount of money, especially since they required great care and attention to detail when his customer wanted something undetectable but still lethal. "I'm looking for payment from this person." the merchant stated, flashing the parchment to the gladiator. "But he seems to be a little.... uneager to pay up. Perhaps some muscle may scare him into it? The money has been owed to me for a long time."
Lesley glanced down at the paper, brows twisting thoughtfully as he looked back up. In one of his split second decisions, faster even than conscious thought, he decided not to directly comment on the contents. He wondered why the stranger had assumed he could read - though maybe it had been less an assumption and more simply trying the easiest thing first. In fact people in his current social class could usually at least keep their own ledgers, but he frequently forgot that as much as he dressed simply, there actually wasn't anything about his appearance to peg him as nothing but a muscle-and-no-brains slave. That was just his past lingering inside his own head.
“I’m always interested,” he pointed out, "The world is infinitely interesting." Amusement danced across his face. Moments like this, while his body was coming down off the high of a fight, Les was more friendly and cheerful than almost any other time. And the offer of a chance to damage someone else? Hard not to like this man. "Are we talking shake the money out of him, or just deal out punishment? And what defenses will he have? Experience? Servants?"
The number Kreios had offered had certainly been big enough to catch his attention, too big to turn down, but given his career, not enough to shock him. Violence was worth a lot of coin. Neither the promise of money nor the expectation of fun, however, was going to convince him to go in blind.
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Lesley glanced down at the paper, brows twisting thoughtfully as he looked back up. In one of his split second decisions, faster even than conscious thought, he decided not to directly comment on the contents. He wondered why the stranger had assumed he could read - though maybe it had been less an assumption and more simply trying the easiest thing first. In fact people in his current social class could usually at least keep their own ledgers, but he frequently forgot that as much as he dressed simply, there actually wasn't anything about his appearance to peg him as nothing but a muscle-and-no-brains slave. That was just his past lingering inside his own head.
“I’m always interested,” he pointed out, "The world is infinitely interesting." Amusement danced across his face. Moments like this, while his body was coming down off the high of a fight, Les was more friendly and cheerful than almost any other time. And the offer of a chance to damage someone else? Hard not to like this man. "Are we talking shake the money out of him, or just deal out punishment? And what defenses will he have? Experience? Servants?"
The number Kreios had offered had certainly been big enough to catch his attention, too big to turn down, but given his career, not enough to shock him. Violence was worth a lot of coin. Neither the promise of money nor the expectation of fun, however, was going to convince him to go in blind.
Lesley glanced down at the paper, brows twisting thoughtfully as he looked back up. In one of his split second decisions, faster even than conscious thought, he decided not to directly comment on the contents. He wondered why the stranger had assumed he could read - though maybe it had been less an assumption and more simply trying the easiest thing first. In fact people in his current social class could usually at least keep their own ledgers, but he frequently forgot that as much as he dressed simply, there actually wasn't anything about his appearance to peg him as nothing but a muscle-and-no-brains slave. That was just his past lingering inside his own head.
“I’m always interested,” he pointed out, "The world is infinitely interesting." Amusement danced across his face. Moments like this, while his body was coming down off the high of a fight, Les was more friendly and cheerful than almost any other time. And the offer of a chance to damage someone else? Hard not to like this man. "Are we talking shake the money out of him, or just deal out punishment? And what defenses will he have? Experience? Servants?"
The number Kreios had offered had certainly been big enough to catch his attention, too big to turn down, but given his career, not enough to shock him. Violence was worth a lot of coin. Neither the promise of money nor the expectation of fun, however, was going to convince him to go in blind.
Kreios assumed many things about people. He was judgemental, and unafraid to show it. It was just one of the many facets about him that made him very unapproachable, and the merchant liked it that way. He wasn't around for people to like him, nor did he hang around eager to please other's. The man usually had a one track mind, and whatever he wanted, he tried to get in the quickest time possible so he could move on to the next thing. Did he think Lesley unable to read? Probably. Did he try anyway? Why not. Maybe he could be proven wrong. But whatever got him results the quickest.
Rolling his eyes in a manner that showed Kreios simply had no interest in beating around the bush with the gladiator, the man made an irritated huff. "Shake money out of him, deal out punishment... I really don't care. You do whatever you see fit. If I see my dues paid to me by this evening, you get the remainder of whatever is in this pouch." Deftly, the merchant pulled out a velvet pouch from his chitons.
Reaching into it, he pulled out half a handful of coins, and held it out to the gladiator, waiting for the other to take it, before lacing up the pouch again and returning it to his own keeping. Whatever he had given Lesley, there was at least eighty percent of it still with him, and was likely enough to see the gladiator through at least two months comfortably, three if he penny pinched.
"Inexperienced. Sparse amount of servants. You probably won't have a problem." he replied. Then it begged the question - why didn't Kreios do it himself? But the merchant had been trained in poisons and medicine, certainly not in fights and brawls. While he had a passable amount of upper body strength, he failed in stamina and dexterity, and he had long come to the conclusion that since he is unable to hold much of his own in a fight, he would rather hire the muscle. "I assume you'll take it?" he murmured.
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Kreios assumed many things about people. He was judgemental, and unafraid to show it. It was just one of the many facets about him that made him very unapproachable, and the merchant liked it that way. He wasn't around for people to like him, nor did he hang around eager to please other's. The man usually had a one track mind, and whatever he wanted, he tried to get in the quickest time possible so he could move on to the next thing. Did he think Lesley unable to read? Probably. Did he try anyway? Why not. Maybe he could be proven wrong. But whatever got him results the quickest.
Rolling his eyes in a manner that showed Kreios simply had no interest in beating around the bush with the gladiator, the man made an irritated huff. "Shake money out of him, deal out punishment... I really don't care. You do whatever you see fit. If I see my dues paid to me by this evening, you get the remainder of whatever is in this pouch." Deftly, the merchant pulled out a velvet pouch from his chitons.
Reaching into it, he pulled out half a handful of coins, and held it out to the gladiator, waiting for the other to take it, before lacing up the pouch again and returning it to his own keeping. Whatever he had given Lesley, there was at least eighty percent of it still with him, and was likely enough to see the gladiator through at least two months comfortably, three if he penny pinched.
"Inexperienced. Sparse amount of servants. You probably won't have a problem." he replied. Then it begged the question - why didn't Kreios do it himself? But the merchant had been trained in poisons and medicine, certainly not in fights and brawls. While he had a passable amount of upper body strength, he failed in stamina and dexterity, and he had long come to the conclusion that since he is unable to hold much of his own in a fight, he would rather hire the muscle. "I assume you'll take it?" he murmured.
Kreios assumed many things about people. He was judgemental, and unafraid to show it. It was just one of the many facets about him that made him very unapproachable, and the merchant liked it that way. He wasn't around for people to like him, nor did he hang around eager to please other's. The man usually had a one track mind, and whatever he wanted, he tried to get in the quickest time possible so he could move on to the next thing. Did he think Lesley unable to read? Probably. Did he try anyway? Why not. Maybe he could be proven wrong. But whatever got him results the quickest.
Rolling his eyes in a manner that showed Kreios simply had no interest in beating around the bush with the gladiator, the man made an irritated huff. "Shake money out of him, deal out punishment... I really don't care. You do whatever you see fit. If I see my dues paid to me by this evening, you get the remainder of whatever is in this pouch." Deftly, the merchant pulled out a velvet pouch from his chitons.
Reaching into it, he pulled out half a handful of coins, and held it out to the gladiator, waiting for the other to take it, before lacing up the pouch again and returning it to his own keeping. Whatever he had given Lesley, there was at least eighty percent of it still with him, and was likely enough to see the gladiator through at least two months comfortably, three if he penny pinched.
"Inexperienced. Sparse amount of servants. You probably won't have a problem." he replied. Then it begged the question - why didn't Kreios do it himself? But the merchant had been trained in poisons and medicine, certainly not in fights and brawls. While he had a passable amount of upper body strength, he failed in stamina and dexterity, and he had long come to the conclusion that since he is unable to hold much of his own in a fight, he would rather hire the muscle. "I assume you'll take it?" he murmured.
"Hmm." Lesley still preferred fighting people he knew, people he could anticipate, but these brawls down at the docks had been giving him some more confidence when it came to going against complete unknowns. By tonight felt rushed, and raised Les's hackles, but narrowed eyes relaxed again as he reminded himself that this was not him getting thrown into the arena with no warning before recovering from his last fight; he could take his time if he wanted, there was just a bonus purse for finishing it in the first round. That was acceptable. He held his hand out to accept the coin.
"I'll see what I can do." He gave the coins an approximate count by weight and a quick glance, then tucked it into a pouch. It wasn't the money that motivated him - but he needed money no less than anyone else who didn't know how to grow their own food, and if he didn't earn it fighting, he would have to earn it another way, and he would have less time for such pleasures as beating another man bloody while a crowd cheered him on. There would be no crowd for this one, but you couldn't have everything all the time.
Not having the guard called on him after the fact would be a consideration he didn't often have to take into account, but he generally had good instincts for not getting in trouble. "Where do I find him, and where do I find you?"
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"Hmm." Lesley still preferred fighting people he knew, people he could anticipate, but these brawls down at the docks had been giving him some more confidence when it came to going against complete unknowns. By tonight felt rushed, and raised Les's hackles, but narrowed eyes relaxed again as he reminded himself that this was not him getting thrown into the arena with no warning before recovering from his last fight; he could take his time if he wanted, there was just a bonus purse for finishing it in the first round. That was acceptable. He held his hand out to accept the coin.
"I'll see what I can do." He gave the coins an approximate count by weight and a quick glance, then tucked it into a pouch. It wasn't the money that motivated him - but he needed money no less than anyone else who didn't know how to grow their own food, and if he didn't earn it fighting, he would have to earn it another way, and he would have less time for such pleasures as beating another man bloody while a crowd cheered him on. There would be no crowd for this one, but you couldn't have everything all the time.
Not having the guard called on him after the fact would be a consideration he didn't often have to take into account, but he generally had good instincts for not getting in trouble. "Where do I find him, and where do I find you?"
"Hmm." Lesley still preferred fighting people he knew, people he could anticipate, but these brawls down at the docks had been giving him some more confidence when it came to going against complete unknowns. By tonight felt rushed, and raised Les's hackles, but narrowed eyes relaxed again as he reminded himself that this was not him getting thrown into the arena with no warning before recovering from his last fight; he could take his time if he wanted, there was just a bonus purse for finishing it in the first round. That was acceptable. He held his hand out to accept the coin.
"I'll see what I can do." He gave the coins an approximate count by weight and a quick glance, then tucked it into a pouch. It wasn't the money that motivated him - but he needed money no less than anyone else who didn't know how to grow their own food, and if he didn't earn it fighting, he would have to earn it another way, and he would have less time for such pleasures as beating another man bloody while a crowd cheered him on. There would be no crowd for this one, but you couldn't have everything all the time.
Not having the guard called on him after the fact would be a consideration he didn't often have to take into account, but he generally had good instincts for not getting in trouble. "Where do I find him, and where do I find you?"
Kreios smiled a slow, but deliberate smile the moment the gladiator pocketed the gold he had given him. It did not even pain him to part with such a huge amount of money - he simply wanted his dues paid to him. The man was nothing if not a stickler for having justice drawn and shown.
"Find a black ship on the harbor. Ask for the Azazel. If you bring me what I want... you'll get what you want." he murmured. The merchant was never one to go back on his word, and had Lesley wished to confirm, all he had to ask was anyone he could catch in the marketplace or fishmongers. Kreios was not well known for his politeness, and many people shy away from him purely because of his quiet, aloof nature which oozed danger more then it did approachability. But what he was, was someone who never shortchanged anyone, be it customer or client, or a partner in business, and for that, many people trusted him on word alone.
Once he was sure his newly hired muscle no longer needed any further clarification from him on what target he was supposed to get, the man turned on his heels, heading for the market to get some victuals to stock up in his own private stash on the deck before he would return to his work cabin for the remainder of the day until the gladiator returned with who he wanted. Kreios was a man of little words, but even lesser friends. The man was really quite happy to be by himself, and any exchange with him was quick and easy, for the man did not like empty chats or being 'friends'.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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Kreios smiled a slow, but deliberate smile the moment the gladiator pocketed the gold he had given him. It did not even pain him to part with such a huge amount of money - he simply wanted his dues paid to him. The man was nothing if not a stickler for having justice drawn and shown.
"Find a black ship on the harbor. Ask for the Azazel. If you bring me what I want... you'll get what you want." he murmured. The merchant was never one to go back on his word, and had Lesley wished to confirm, all he had to ask was anyone he could catch in the marketplace or fishmongers. Kreios was not well known for his politeness, and many people shy away from him purely because of his quiet, aloof nature which oozed danger more then it did approachability. But what he was, was someone who never shortchanged anyone, be it customer or client, or a partner in business, and for that, many people trusted him on word alone.
Once he was sure his newly hired muscle no longer needed any further clarification from him on what target he was supposed to get, the man turned on his heels, heading for the market to get some victuals to stock up in his own private stash on the deck before he would return to his work cabin for the remainder of the day until the gladiator returned with who he wanted. Kreios was a man of little words, but even lesser friends. The man was really quite happy to be by himself, and any exchange with him was quick and easy, for the man did not like empty chats or being 'friends'.
Kreios smiled a slow, but deliberate smile the moment the gladiator pocketed the gold he had given him. It did not even pain him to part with such a huge amount of money - he simply wanted his dues paid to him. The man was nothing if not a stickler for having justice drawn and shown.
"Find a black ship on the harbor. Ask for the Azazel. If you bring me what I want... you'll get what you want." he murmured. The merchant was never one to go back on his word, and had Lesley wished to confirm, all he had to ask was anyone he could catch in the marketplace or fishmongers. Kreios was not well known for his politeness, and many people shy away from him purely because of his quiet, aloof nature which oozed danger more then it did approachability. But what he was, was someone who never shortchanged anyone, be it customer or client, or a partner in business, and for that, many people trusted him on word alone.
Once he was sure his newly hired muscle no longer needed any further clarification from him on what target he was supposed to get, the man turned on his heels, heading for the market to get some victuals to stock up in his own private stash on the deck before he would return to his work cabin for the remainder of the day until the gladiator returned with who he wanted. Kreios was a man of little words, but even lesser friends. The man was really quite happy to be by himself, and any exchange with him was quick and easy, for the man did not like empty chats or being 'friends'.