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Lesley fidgeted with the loose end of his belt as he walked, trying to dismiss the prickle between his shoulderblades as irrational. He had had a rougher day than he'd expected - well, longer, at any rate. Why a man whose previous career included semi-regularly being bludgeoned half to death should find going to haggle at the market for dates and spices and delivering a few custom purchases rough, he wasn't entirely sure. Some days he could accept that he had a short attention span, a short temper, and a seemingly limitless capacity to find similarities between random people and the friends he'd lost over the last decade and more. Some days it made him feel weak, broken, that he'd won, he'd gotten what every gladiator wanted, and he couldn't actually appreciate it and get on with his life. Some days, like today, he was just fed up with the world and felt that, somehow, all these stupid soft people around him deserved to go a round in the arena, or right here on the street, deserved to have their blood spilled and their bones broken so that they would just shut up and leave him the hell alone.
He knew it was irrational. Knew that the eyes he felt on the back of his neck, the whispers, were as much an illusion as the times he swore he heard his name called from the crowd in the voice of a dead man. Mostly.
He should just go home. He wasn't fit company for anyone, he was done his errands, he should go back to the shop that still didn't yet feel entirely familiar, hide in the back room or the courtyard from everyone, safe behind his mother's skirts and her worried eyes... he walked into the nearest wine shop and put a coin down on the counter.
The gladiator - former gladiator - took the wineskin he received in return, and scanned the room, looking for a quiet corner but at the same time instinctively sizing everyone up and classifying each as a potential threat or not, judging more on mood and level of inebriation than size or build. Hard to tell at a glance who might be the scrappy, squirmy sort of person he hated fighting bare-handed, and he was used to an environment where nobody was entirely harmless. He took a swig of the wine, and reflected that he really should just take his drink and head out. The air inside the tavern was filled with too many voices, and being surrounded by cheerfully drunk people was not going to improve his mood. On the other hand, he didn't really want to go back, either... He scowled and scanned the room again.
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Lesley fidgeted with the loose end of his belt as he walked, trying to dismiss the prickle between his shoulderblades as irrational. He had had a rougher day than he'd expected - well, longer, at any rate. Why a man whose previous career included semi-regularly being bludgeoned half to death should find going to haggle at the market for dates and spices and delivering a few custom purchases rough, he wasn't entirely sure. Some days he could accept that he had a short attention span, a short temper, and a seemingly limitless capacity to find similarities between random people and the friends he'd lost over the last decade and more. Some days it made him feel weak, broken, that he'd won, he'd gotten what every gladiator wanted, and he couldn't actually appreciate it and get on with his life. Some days, like today, he was just fed up with the world and felt that, somehow, all these stupid soft people around him deserved to go a round in the arena, or right here on the street, deserved to have their blood spilled and their bones broken so that they would just shut up and leave him the hell alone.
He knew it was irrational. Knew that the eyes he felt on the back of his neck, the whispers, were as much an illusion as the times he swore he heard his name called from the crowd in the voice of a dead man. Mostly.
He should just go home. He wasn't fit company for anyone, he was done his errands, he should go back to the shop that still didn't yet feel entirely familiar, hide in the back room or the courtyard from everyone, safe behind his mother's skirts and her worried eyes... he walked into the nearest wine shop and put a coin down on the counter.
The gladiator - former gladiator - took the wineskin he received in return, and scanned the room, looking for a quiet corner but at the same time instinctively sizing everyone up and classifying each as a potential threat or not, judging more on mood and level of inebriation than size or build. Hard to tell at a glance who might be the scrappy, squirmy sort of person he hated fighting bare-handed, and he was used to an environment where nobody was entirely harmless. He took a swig of the wine, and reflected that he really should just take his drink and head out. The air inside the tavern was filled with too many voices, and being surrounded by cheerfully drunk people was not going to improve his mood. On the other hand, he didn't really want to go back, either... He scowled and scanned the room again.
Lesley fidgeted with the loose end of his belt as he walked, trying to dismiss the prickle between his shoulderblades as irrational. He had had a rougher day than he'd expected - well, longer, at any rate. Why a man whose previous career included semi-regularly being bludgeoned half to death should find going to haggle at the market for dates and spices and delivering a few custom purchases rough, he wasn't entirely sure. Some days he could accept that he had a short attention span, a short temper, and a seemingly limitless capacity to find similarities between random people and the friends he'd lost over the last decade and more. Some days it made him feel weak, broken, that he'd won, he'd gotten what every gladiator wanted, and he couldn't actually appreciate it and get on with his life. Some days, like today, he was just fed up with the world and felt that, somehow, all these stupid soft people around him deserved to go a round in the arena, or right here on the street, deserved to have their blood spilled and their bones broken so that they would just shut up and leave him the hell alone.
He knew it was irrational. Knew that the eyes he felt on the back of his neck, the whispers, were as much an illusion as the times he swore he heard his name called from the crowd in the voice of a dead man. Mostly.
He should just go home. He wasn't fit company for anyone, he was done his errands, he should go back to the shop that still didn't yet feel entirely familiar, hide in the back room or the courtyard from everyone, safe behind his mother's skirts and her worried eyes... he walked into the nearest wine shop and put a coin down on the counter.
The gladiator - former gladiator - took the wineskin he received in return, and scanned the room, looking for a quiet corner but at the same time instinctively sizing everyone up and classifying each as a potential threat or not, judging more on mood and level of inebriation than size or build. Hard to tell at a glance who might be the scrappy, squirmy sort of person he hated fighting bare-handed, and he was used to an environment where nobody was entirely harmless. He took a swig of the wine, and reflected that he really should just take his drink and head out. The air inside the tavern was filled with too many voices, and being surrounded by cheerfully drunk people was not going to improve his mood. On the other hand, he didn't really want to go back, either... He scowled and scanned the room again.
Lukos sat in the opposite corner of Lesley. He sat at a table occupied by no less than five other men, all older than himself. All of the men, including him, wore the garb of sailors. Their hair was wild and windswept, curly from salt air. Like a lot of older men, most of the five sported salt and pepper beards. Lukos alone did not have a full beard, but instead, had thick stubble that threatened to turn into an impressive beard if he was not careful. The table was littered with clay wine jugs, cups half drunk or being refilled, dice, and a pile of coins in the center.
One of the men rolled the dice and the whole table crowed loudly as he groaned in annoyance. Lukos laughed and lifted the cup to his lips, taking a deep drink. They’d been here for the better part of an hour already and intended to be here long into the night. Another man cast the dice and the rowdy table caused another rukous as the man drug coins toward him. More dice rolling, more laughter and groaning, table pounding, and general merriment.
He’d noted Lesley when the man walked in. His gaze had raked the man up and down, calculating. It was obvious from the tight, compact way that the man walked, he was irritated. Lukos wasn’t curious as to the reason so much as he suspected he’d found a mark. Encouraging his men to be as loud as possible, he too, laughed hard, groaned excessively loud at a loss, and occasionally cast looks in Lesley’s direction.
Finally, one of his sailors had to leave the table to go vomit outside. The man’s winnings were pushed straight back into the center of the table. Lukos stood, taking his own winnings with him in a pouch, and crossed the space toward Lesley. He crossed his arms and tilted his head to the side, looking Lesley over as a smile played about the corners of his mouth.
“You look as though you could use a game. Want to test your luck against us?” With his head, he indicated the table he’d just left. “A spot has opened up. It’s no fun to drink alone.”
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Lukos sat in the opposite corner of Lesley. He sat at a table occupied by no less than five other men, all older than himself. All of the men, including him, wore the garb of sailors. Their hair was wild and windswept, curly from salt air. Like a lot of older men, most of the five sported salt and pepper beards. Lukos alone did not have a full beard, but instead, had thick stubble that threatened to turn into an impressive beard if he was not careful. The table was littered with clay wine jugs, cups half drunk or being refilled, dice, and a pile of coins in the center.
One of the men rolled the dice and the whole table crowed loudly as he groaned in annoyance. Lukos laughed and lifted the cup to his lips, taking a deep drink. They’d been here for the better part of an hour already and intended to be here long into the night. Another man cast the dice and the rowdy table caused another rukous as the man drug coins toward him. More dice rolling, more laughter and groaning, table pounding, and general merriment.
He’d noted Lesley when the man walked in. His gaze had raked the man up and down, calculating. It was obvious from the tight, compact way that the man walked, he was irritated. Lukos wasn’t curious as to the reason so much as he suspected he’d found a mark. Encouraging his men to be as loud as possible, he too, laughed hard, groaned excessively loud at a loss, and occasionally cast looks in Lesley’s direction.
Finally, one of his sailors had to leave the table to go vomit outside. The man’s winnings were pushed straight back into the center of the table. Lukos stood, taking his own winnings with him in a pouch, and crossed the space toward Lesley. He crossed his arms and tilted his head to the side, looking Lesley over as a smile played about the corners of his mouth.
“You look as though you could use a game. Want to test your luck against us?” With his head, he indicated the table he’d just left. “A spot has opened up. It’s no fun to drink alone.”
Lukos sat in the opposite corner of Lesley. He sat at a table occupied by no less than five other men, all older than himself. All of the men, including him, wore the garb of sailors. Their hair was wild and windswept, curly from salt air. Like a lot of older men, most of the five sported salt and pepper beards. Lukos alone did not have a full beard, but instead, had thick stubble that threatened to turn into an impressive beard if he was not careful. The table was littered with clay wine jugs, cups half drunk or being refilled, dice, and a pile of coins in the center.
One of the men rolled the dice and the whole table crowed loudly as he groaned in annoyance. Lukos laughed and lifted the cup to his lips, taking a deep drink. They’d been here for the better part of an hour already and intended to be here long into the night. Another man cast the dice and the rowdy table caused another rukous as the man drug coins toward him. More dice rolling, more laughter and groaning, table pounding, and general merriment.
He’d noted Lesley when the man walked in. His gaze had raked the man up and down, calculating. It was obvious from the tight, compact way that the man walked, he was irritated. Lukos wasn’t curious as to the reason so much as he suspected he’d found a mark. Encouraging his men to be as loud as possible, he too, laughed hard, groaned excessively loud at a loss, and occasionally cast looks in Lesley’s direction.
Finally, one of his sailors had to leave the table to go vomit outside. The man’s winnings were pushed straight back into the center of the table. Lukos stood, taking his own winnings with him in a pouch, and crossed the space toward Lesley. He crossed his arms and tilted his head to the side, looking Lesley over as a smile played about the corners of his mouth.
“You look as though you could use a game. Want to test your luck against us?” With his head, he indicated the table he’d just left. “A spot has opened up. It’s no fun to drink alone.”
Lesley had time to find a seat and get enough wine into him to no longer quite hate the idea of other people existing, when someone called out for him to join them. He raised his eyebrows and gestured to himself, checking that they did in fact mean him, then shrugged and slipped to his feet. It wasn't like he didn't like people really. He was actually quite social usually, as shown by the admittedly very slightly predatory grin as he prowled over and dropped lightly into the recently vacated seat.
"I've not enough coin for a game," he admitted, "But sure, I'll take the company." The men were rough, rowdy, and for the most part as drunk as so many fishes, and while that would have made them poor company for many, Les figured that made them less likely to be offended by his own less than stellar manners. He took another swig of his wine, and examined the man who'd called him over. Not drunk, or not enough to matter, it seemed. Probably the leader of this lot. And quite likely another predator, though he wasn't advertising himself as such. Definitely better company than the soft folk he'd been dealing with all day. "I'm Lesley," he informed the captain. "This home port for you?"
His general irritation with his day so far wasn't entirely gone, but he was at least distracted from brooding about it. He gave the ongoing game a curious look, wondering exactly which rules they were playing by, though content enough simply to watch. He did absently wonder if it was one he knew how to cheat at. Damned harder to cheat at dice than cards, though he had a pretty good knack for those games that involved bluffing. But no, he really shouldn't - cheating or no, there was never any guarantee, and he really didn't have the spare coin to risk on it.
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Lesley had time to find a seat and get enough wine into him to no longer quite hate the idea of other people existing, when someone called out for him to join them. He raised his eyebrows and gestured to himself, checking that they did in fact mean him, then shrugged and slipped to his feet. It wasn't like he didn't like people really. He was actually quite social usually, as shown by the admittedly very slightly predatory grin as he prowled over and dropped lightly into the recently vacated seat.
"I've not enough coin for a game," he admitted, "But sure, I'll take the company." The men were rough, rowdy, and for the most part as drunk as so many fishes, and while that would have made them poor company for many, Les figured that made them less likely to be offended by his own less than stellar manners. He took another swig of his wine, and examined the man who'd called him over. Not drunk, or not enough to matter, it seemed. Probably the leader of this lot. And quite likely another predator, though he wasn't advertising himself as such. Definitely better company than the soft folk he'd been dealing with all day. "I'm Lesley," he informed the captain. "This home port for you?"
His general irritation with his day so far wasn't entirely gone, but he was at least distracted from brooding about it. He gave the ongoing game a curious look, wondering exactly which rules they were playing by, though content enough simply to watch. He did absently wonder if it was one he knew how to cheat at. Damned harder to cheat at dice than cards, though he had a pretty good knack for those games that involved bluffing. But no, he really shouldn't - cheating or no, there was never any guarantee, and he really didn't have the spare coin to risk on it.
Lesley had time to find a seat and get enough wine into him to no longer quite hate the idea of other people existing, when someone called out for him to join them. He raised his eyebrows and gestured to himself, checking that they did in fact mean him, then shrugged and slipped to his feet. It wasn't like he didn't like people really. He was actually quite social usually, as shown by the admittedly very slightly predatory grin as he prowled over and dropped lightly into the recently vacated seat.
"I've not enough coin for a game," he admitted, "But sure, I'll take the company." The men were rough, rowdy, and for the most part as drunk as so many fishes, and while that would have made them poor company for many, Les figured that made them less likely to be offended by his own less than stellar manners. He took another swig of his wine, and examined the man who'd called him over. Not drunk, or not enough to matter, it seemed. Probably the leader of this lot. And quite likely another predator, though he wasn't advertising himself as such. Definitely better company than the soft folk he'd been dealing with all day. "I'm Lesley," he informed the captain. "This home port for you?"
His general irritation with his day so far wasn't entirely gone, but he was at least distracted from brooding about it. He gave the ongoing game a curious look, wondering exactly which rules they were playing by, though content enough simply to watch. He did absently wonder if it was one he knew how to cheat at. Damned harder to cheat at dice than cards, though he had a pretty good knack for those games that involved bluffing. But no, he really shouldn't - cheating or no, there was never any guarantee, and he really didn't have the spare coin to risk on it.
He had anticipated that the man had at least a few coins - specifically since he was in an establishment where he had to pay for food and drink. That meant he didn’t entirely believe it when he was told that there wasn’t enough coin for a game. Lukos watched with a shark smile as Lesley dropped into the vacated chair. Leaning on the table, he nodded at the pile.
“So long as you got some money, you can bet. There’s no lowest amount to enter. We’re all fair here, aren’t be boys?” he glanced around at the men with him, most of whom were with it enough to laugh and nod. One of the men, though, didn’t wait for Lesley to actually put money into the pile. He took the shallow wooden cup that held the dice, placed his hand over it, gave it a few hard shakes, and let the dice roll across the table as he shouted out a number. The rest of them bellowed out different numbers and there was a chorus of ‘No!’s’ and ‘Yes’s!’ as the men who’d correctly identified a number then took the same amount they’d previously bet on.
Lukos gestured to the pile as he collected his own winnings.
“The game is very simple. You place your bet and you take equal amount from the pile if you win. You call out a number when the dice roller rolls and if your number is the total of the dice, you win. Otherwise you lose. See?” He gestured again with his finger at the pile of coins. “All that could be yours, my friend.”
There was no way in Hades he would ever allow Lesley to walk out with this gold, but he did like games and he did want the coins that Lesley had added to his own pile.
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He had anticipated that the man had at least a few coins - specifically since he was in an establishment where he had to pay for food and drink. That meant he didn’t entirely believe it when he was told that there wasn’t enough coin for a game. Lukos watched with a shark smile as Lesley dropped into the vacated chair. Leaning on the table, he nodded at the pile.
“So long as you got some money, you can bet. There’s no lowest amount to enter. We’re all fair here, aren’t be boys?” he glanced around at the men with him, most of whom were with it enough to laugh and nod. One of the men, though, didn’t wait for Lesley to actually put money into the pile. He took the shallow wooden cup that held the dice, placed his hand over it, gave it a few hard shakes, and let the dice roll across the table as he shouted out a number. The rest of them bellowed out different numbers and there was a chorus of ‘No!’s’ and ‘Yes’s!’ as the men who’d correctly identified a number then took the same amount they’d previously bet on.
Lukos gestured to the pile as he collected his own winnings.
“The game is very simple. You place your bet and you take equal amount from the pile if you win. You call out a number when the dice roller rolls and if your number is the total of the dice, you win. Otherwise you lose. See?” He gestured again with his finger at the pile of coins. “All that could be yours, my friend.”
There was no way in Hades he would ever allow Lesley to walk out with this gold, but he did like games and he did want the coins that Lesley had added to his own pile.
He had anticipated that the man had at least a few coins - specifically since he was in an establishment where he had to pay for food and drink. That meant he didn’t entirely believe it when he was told that there wasn’t enough coin for a game. Lukos watched with a shark smile as Lesley dropped into the vacated chair. Leaning on the table, he nodded at the pile.
“So long as you got some money, you can bet. There’s no lowest amount to enter. We’re all fair here, aren’t be boys?” he glanced around at the men with him, most of whom were with it enough to laugh and nod. One of the men, though, didn’t wait for Lesley to actually put money into the pile. He took the shallow wooden cup that held the dice, placed his hand over it, gave it a few hard shakes, and let the dice roll across the table as he shouted out a number. The rest of them bellowed out different numbers and there was a chorus of ‘No!’s’ and ‘Yes’s!’ as the men who’d correctly identified a number then took the same amount they’d previously bet on.
Lukos gestured to the pile as he collected his own winnings.
“The game is very simple. You place your bet and you take equal amount from the pile if you win. You call out a number when the dice roller rolls and if your number is the total of the dice, you win. Otherwise you lose. See?” He gestured again with his finger at the pile of coins. “All that could be yours, my friend.”
There was no way in Hades he would ever allow Lesley to walk out with this gold, but he did like games and he did want the coins that Lesley had added to his own pile.
If ever there was a phrase that indicated someone was about to cheat you, 'We're all fair here' was almost certainly it. And the man hadn't answered whether this was home port for them or not. Interesting.
"Hmm." It wasn't a bad con, Lesley decided; most people knew that two dice came up seven more often than anything else, but couldn't keep track of the exact spread with more. As long as there was some randomness, and what came up most was somewhere even vaguely around the halfway point, most people wouldn't notice. Did he have enough coin to loose until he'd figured out how many of the dice were weighted and what the actual probabilities were? Maybe, maybe not. He watched the next man around the table roll, made a mental note of that number, and then shrugged, pulling a small coin out and tossing it into the pot before taking another swig of his wine.
On the other hand, they'd been playing with each other; maybe there was no cheat beyond if they couldn't beat him fairly either accuse him of cheating or kosh him over the head and steal his pouch once he was properly drunk. Les wasn't terribly bothered by that possibility either.
He made a guess that suggested he had enough experience with dice to not embarrass himself, but wasn't someone who regularly won, and shrugged philosophically when he was wrong. "I do have time to kill, at least," he admitted. "Being retired is weird." The lightest colour die had come up six twice of three times; Les tossed in another small coin and made a better guess, watching the dice fall. Hmm, well, maybe not. He wasn't sure yet, but it might be the kosh-the-gladiator-over-the-head plan after all. Not a good plan at all, he might have some actual fun tonight.
He took the cup when it was passed to him, and settled down to try to win.
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If ever there was a phrase that indicated someone was about to cheat you, 'We're all fair here' was almost certainly it. And the man hadn't answered whether this was home port for them or not. Interesting.
"Hmm." It wasn't a bad con, Lesley decided; most people knew that two dice came up seven more often than anything else, but couldn't keep track of the exact spread with more. As long as there was some randomness, and what came up most was somewhere even vaguely around the halfway point, most people wouldn't notice. Did he have enough coin to loose until he'd figured out how many of the dice were weighted and what the actual probabilities were? Maybe, maybe not. He watched the next man around the table roll, made a mental note of that number, and then shrugged, pulling a small coin out and tossing it into the pot before taking another swig of his wine.
On the other hand, they'd been playing with each other; maybe there was no cheat beyond if they couldn't beat him fairly either accuse him of cheating or kosh him over the head and steal his pouch once he was properly drunk. Les wasn't terribly bothered by that possibility either.
He made a guess that suggested he had enough experience with dice to not embarrass himself, but wasn't someone who regularly won, and shrugged philosophically when he was wrong. "I do have time to kill, at least," he admitted. "Being retired is weird." The lightest colour die had come up six twice of three times; Les tossed in another small coin and made a better guess, watching the dice fall. Hmm, well, maybe not. He wasn't sure yet, but it might be the kosh-the-gladiator-over-the-head plan after all. Not a good plan at all, he might have some actual fun tonight.
He took the cup when it was passed to him, and settled down to try to win.
If ever there was a phrase that indicated someone was about to cheat you, 'We're all fair here' was almost certainly it. And the man hadn't answered whether this was home port for them or not. Interesting.
"Hmm." It wasn't a bad con, Lesley decided; most people knew that two dice came up seven more often than anything else, but couldn't keep track of the exact spread with more. As long as there was some randomness, and what came up most was somewhere even vaguely around the halfway point, most people wouldn't notice. Did he have enough coin to loose until he'd figured out how many of the dice were weighted and what the actual probabilities were? Maybe, maybe not. He watched the next man around the table roll, made a mental note of that number, and then shrugged, pulling a small coin out and tossing it into the pot before taking another swig of his wine.
On the other hand, they'd been playing with each other; maybe there was no cheat beyond if they couldn't beat him fairly either accuse him of cheating or kosh him over the head and steal his pouch once he was properly drunk. Les wasn't terribly bothered by that possibility either.
He made a guess that suggested he had enough experience with dice to not embarrass himself, but wasn't someone who regularly won, and shrugged philosophically when he was wrong. "I do have time to kill, at least," he admitted. "Being retired is weird." The lightest colour die had come up six twice of three times; Les tossed in another small coin and made a better guess, watching the dice fall. Hmm, well, maybe not. He wasn't sure yet, but it might be the kosh-the-gladiator-over-the-head plan after all. Not a good plan at all, he might have some actual fun tonight.
He took the cup when it was passed to him, and settled down to try to win.
"I do have time to kill, at least. Being retired is weird."
“Retired?” Lukos answered and cut a glance to one of his crew across the table, before sliding it back to Lesley. “You’re a bit young to retire.” He looked the man over. Lesley was big. Much too big to be anything other than a laborer or a fighter. Judging from the look of injuries that had healed just a touch incorrectly, he was willing to bet that Lesley hadn’t been one of the poor schleps on the docks hauling boxes around.
“Were you a pit fighter?” His mind didn’t immediately jump to gladiator. He’d rarely seen any gladitorial games. There were better things to spend his money and time on, but he had seen fights set up by men themselves, for other people to come watch. Less competitive, less injuries. Less money. It would definitely explain Lesley’s lack of funds, or so the man claimed. Lukos was still willing to take Lesley for every coin he had.
The game went on for a little while. Because it was a real game of chance, and not weighted in anyway, everyone won some and lost some. Lukos won more often than he lost, as though the Fates favored him. He could certainly make a strong case for being favored. His life, like everyone’s, had some bleak spots, but he’d come out on top a good majority of the time. It was why he was captain in his thirties and the older men around him were not.
On his throw, he won a huge amount of coins. He crowed, dragging half the pile towards himself. “How are you liking this game, friend?” he asked Lesley. To jump the gladiator was the plan. They were attempting to get him drunk, and then to beat him in the alley way. So, for Lukos, it didn’t matter how much Lesley won.
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"I do have time to kill, at least. Being retired is weird."
“Retired?” Lukos answered and cut a glance to one of his crew across the table, before sliding it back to Lesley. “You’re a bit young to retire.” He looked the man over. Lesley was big. Much too big to be anything other than a laborer or a fighter. Judging from the look of injuries that had healed just a touch incorrectly, he was willing to bet that Lesley hadn’t been one of the poor schleps on the docks hauling boxes around.
“Were you a pit fighter?” His mind didn’t immediately jump to gladiator. He’d rarely seen any gladitorial games. There were better things to spend his money and time on, but he had seen fights set up by men themselves, for other people to come watch. Less competitive, less injuries. Less money. It would definitely explain Lesley’s lack of funds, or so the man claimed. Lukos was still willing to take Lesley for every coin he had.
The game went on for a little while. Because it was a real game of chance, and not weighted in anyway, everyone won some and lost some. Lukos won more often than he lost, as though the Fates favored him. He could certainly make a strong case for being favored. His life, like everyone’s, had some bleak spots, but he’d come out on top a good majority of the time. It was why he was captain in his thirties and the older men around him were not.
On his throw, he won a huge amount of coins. He crowed, dragging half the pile towards himself. “How are you liking this game, friend?” he asked Lesley. To jump the gladiator was the plan. They were attempting to get him drunk, and then to beat him in the alley way. So, for Lukos, it didn’t matter how much Lesley won.
"I do have time to kill, at least. Being retired is weird."
“Retired?” Lukos answered and cut a glance to one of his crew across the table, before sliding it back to Lesley. “You’re a bit young to retire.” He looked the man over. Lesley was big. Much too big to be anything other than a laborer or a fighter. Judging from the look of injuries that had healed just a touch incorrectly, he was willing to bet that Lesley hadn’t been one of the poor schleps on the docks hauling boxes around.
“Were you a pit fighter?” His mind didn’t immediately jump to gladiator. He’d rarely seen any gladitorial games. There were better things to spend his money and time on, but he had seen fights set up by men themselves, for other people to come watch. Less competitive, less injuries. Less money. It would definitely explain Lesley’s lack of funds, or so the man claimed. Lukos was still willing to take Lesley for every coin he had.
The game went on for a little while. Because it was a real game of chance, and not weighted in anyway, everyone won some and lost some. Lukos won more often than he lost, as though the Fates favored him. He could certainly make a strong case for being favored. His life, like everyone’s, had some bleak spots, but he’d come out on top a good majority of the time. It was why he was captain in his thirties and the older men around him were not.
On his throw, he won a huge amount of coins. He crowed, dragging half the pile towards himself. “How are you liking this game, friend?” he asked Lesley. To jump the gladiator was the plan. They were attempting to get him drunk, and then to beat him in the alley way. So, for Lukos, it didn’t matter how much Lesley won.
Lesley just shrugged and drained the last of his wineskin at the assertion he was too young to be retired, but then his eyes fairly lit up at the mention of pit fights. "Now there's an idea." The broad grin held more than a hint of wickedness, but he reined himself back in.
He let himself be distracted by the game to give himself time to consider how much he wanted to say. He'd realized that while he wouldn't mind getting in a fight with this lot, he wasn't sure he actively wanted to. Only about half of them were drunk, the rest simply loud and rambunctious, and he wasn't armed except for his eating knife. Sharp as anything and plenty long enough to kill a man, but rather shoddy defense, and there were eight of them. He'd never backed down from a fight in his life, and never would - Lesley was not a man capable of surrendering - but that wasn't the same as refraining from provoking one in the first place. He liked winning.
"Thanks, friend," he jovially accepted another drink from the sailor beside him. He didn't want to get drunk, but the wine wasn't fortified and he was happy to drink his share of their supply. "Thirteen."
If he mentioned he was a gladiator, they might decide he was too much risk for the little coin he seemed to have, and they could all walk away happy. On the other hand, if they decided to jump him anyway, they'd be forewarned. And it might be interesting to find out how many he could take out before he lost to the rest of them...
"Was a nexus slave," he told Lukos. "Just recently finished paying off my debt. Haven't figured out what else to do with myself, really." If the man asked, he'd be honest, he decided; leave it to chance, or to how cunning the captain was. "I'm not exactly employable," he added with a smirk. "I have an attitude problem, apparently."
Lesley won some, and lost some; he swore as much as any sailor when he lost, and didn't seem inclined to take his winnings and leave when he won. His bets stayed small; he'd honestly only had enough on him for another skin or two, so he figured he'd enjoy their company, drink their wine, and call it even when they eventually went home with his money.
He laughed again when he was asked for his opinion on the game. "Seems fairer than I expected from a bunch of sailors," he admitted. "Course, was only the dishonest ones got thrown in with the rest of us, I suppose." Pirates, he meant - he'd made friends with a couple who'd been sentenced to slavery for their crimes.
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Lesley just shrugged and drained the last of his wineskin at the assertion he was too young to be retired, but then his eyes fairly lit up at the mention of pit fights. "Now there's an idea." The broad grin held more than a hint of wickedness, but he reined himself back in.
He let himself be distracted by the game to give himself time to consider how much he wanted to say. He'd realized that while he wouldn't mind getting in a fight with this lot, he wasn't sure he actively wanted to. Only about half of them were drunk, the rest simply loud and rambunctious, and he wasn't armed except for his eating knife. Sharp as anything and plenty long enough to kill a man, but rather shoddy defense, and there were eight of them. He'd never backed down from a fight in his life, and never would - Lesley was not a man capable of surrendering - but that wasn't the same as refraining from provoking one in the first place. He liked winning.
"Thanks, friend," he jovially accepted another drink from the sailor beside him. He didn't want to get drunk, but the wine wasn't fortified and he was happy to drink his share of their supply. "Thirteen."
If he mentioned he was a gladiator, they might decide he was too much risk for the little coin he seemed to have, and they could all walk away happy. On the other hand, if they decided to jump him anyway, they'd be forewarned. And it might be interesting to find out how many he could take out before he lost to the rest of them...
"Was a nexus slave," he told Lukos. "Just recently finished paying off my debt. Haven't figured out what else to do with myself, really." If the man asked, he'd be honest, he decided; leave it to chance, or to how cunning the captain was. "I'm not exactly employable," he added with a smirk. "I have an attitude problem, apparently."
Lesley won some, and lost some; he swore as much as any sailor when he lost, and didn't seem inclined to take his winnings and leave when he won. His bets stayed small; he'd honestly only had enough on him for another skin or two, so he figured he'd enjoy their company, drink their wine, and call it even when they eventually went home with his money.
He laughed again when he was asked for his opinion on the game. "Seems fairer than I expected from a bunch of sailors," he admitted. "Course, was only the dishonest ones got thrown in with the rest of us, I suppose." Pirates, he meant - he'd made friends with a couple who'd been sentenced to slavery for their crimes.
Lesley just shrugged and drained the last of his wineskin at the assertion he was too young to be retired, but then his eyes fairly lit up at the mention of pit fights. "Now there's an idea." The broad grin held more than a hint of wickedness, but he reined himself back in.
He let himself be distracted by the game to give himself time to consider how much he wanted to say. He'd realized that while he wouldn't mind getting in a fight with this lot, he wasn't sure he actively wanted to. Only about half of them were drunk, the rest simply loud and rambunctious, and he wasn't armed except for his eating knife. Sharp as anything and plenty long enough to kill a man, but rather shoddy defense, and there were eight of them. He'd never backed down from a fight in his life, and never would - Lesley was not a man capable of surrendering - but that wasn't the same as refraining from provoking one in the first place. He liked winning.
"Thanks, friend," he jovially accepted another drink from the sailor beside him. He didn't want to get drunk, but the wine wasn't fortified and he was happy to drink his share of their supply. "Thirteen."
If he mentioned he was a gladiator, they might decide he was too much risk for the little coin he seemed to have, and they could all walk away happy. On the other hand, if they decided to jump him anyway, they'd be forewarned. And it might be interesting to find out how many he could take out before he lost to the rest of them...
"Was a nexus slave," he told Lukos. "Just recently finished paying off my debt. Haven't figured out what else to do with myself, really." If the man asked, he'd be honest, he decided; leave it to chance, or to how cunning the captain was. "I'm not exactly employable," he added with a smirk. "I have an attitude problem, apparently."
Lesley won some, and lost some; he swore as much as any sailor when he lost, and didn't seem inclined to take his winnings and leave when he won. His bets stayed small; he'd honestly only had enough on him for another skin or two, so he figured he'd enjoy their company, drink their wine, and call it even when they eventually went home with his money.
He laughed again when he was asked for his opinion on the game. "Seems fairer than I expected from a bunch of sailors," he admitted. "Course, was only the dishonest ones got thrown in with the rest of us, I suppose." Pirates, he meant - he'd made friends with a couple who'd been sentenced to slavery for their crimes.
Lukos did not miss Lesley’s interest in the pit fights. There was definitely good money to be made, if you knew how and could survive them, but, in Lukos’s opinion, most pit fighters weren’t exactly sane. One too many hits to the skull. They also tended not to have all their teeth, their faces were a little misshapen from fractures not healing correctly. There wasn’t an unbroken nose in the entire pit fighting crowd. It was definitely rough.
The conversation didn’t go much further than that, though. The game took precedence and while they were playing, Lukos was content enough to focus on that. Through the game, he learned a few things about Lesley that were definitely...concerning. The feeling he was getting off the man was that this person really didn’t want to be messed with. There was a tenseness to this man’s body that just wasn’t on people who weren’t prepared.
Lukos was watching him carefully. Assessing. Lesley was right in thinking that the pirates preferred easy targets. The object was to get easy money. Worthwhile money. Not sacrifice men in the process. That was not only a poor business model but depending on the outcome of the fight, could cost them some serious money if they needed to call a doctor. The longer they gambled, the less of a mark Lesley was becoming until Lukos had decided not to jump him at all. This had turned into a friendly game between strangers. An odd turn, but Lukos wasn’t an idiot and he wasn’t a coward. Just cautious.
To Lukos’s question, Lesley answered, "Seems fairer than I expected from a bunch of sailors. Course, was only the dishonest ones got thrown in with the rest of us, I suppose."
Lukos grinned and sat back, arms out like he was trying to garner support from those around him. “We are but honest men,” he lied. “Simple, humble. We make our living on the sea, we come to port to make friends. Isn’t that right, boys?” he asked. The men around him laughed, agreed, glanced at each other, each waiting for the order that wasn’t coming. “Well, it’s been a fine night, but we need to get back to our ship. Final call, boys, final call. Take your winnings.”
With the pile divvied up and everyone having drained their cups, Lukos weaved around all the chairs until he came to Lesley. He gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Keep your attitude,” he said. “Most people don’t.” And then he and his men left the tavern, meandering into the growing night.
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Lukos did not miss Lesley’s interest in the pit fights. There was definitely good money to be made, if you knew how and could survive them, but, in Lukos’s opinion, most pit fighters weren’t exactly sane. One too many hits to the skull. They also tended not to have all their teeth, their faces were a little misshapen from fractures not healing correctly. There wasn’t an unbroken nose in the entire pit fighting crowd. It was definitely rough.
The conversation didn’t go much further than that, though. The game took precedence and while they were playing, Lukos was content enough to focus on that. Through the game, he learned a few things about Lesley that were definitely...concerning. The feeling he was getting off the man was that this person really didn’t want to be messed with. There was a tenseness to this man’s body that just wasn’t on people who weren’t prepared.
Lukos was watching him carefully. Assessing. Lesley was right in thinking that the pirates preferred easy targets. The object was to get easy money. Worthwhile money. Not sacrifice men in the process. That was not only a poor business model but depending on the outcome of the fight, could cost them some serious money if they needed to call a doctor. The longer they gambled, the less of a mark Lesley was becoming until Lukos had decided not to jump him at all. This had turned into a friendly game between strangers. An odd turn, but Lukos wasn’t an idiot and he wasn’t a coward. Just cautious.
To Lukos’s question, Lesley answered, "Seems fairer than I expected from a bunch of sailors. Course, was only the dishonest ones got thrown in with the rest of us, I suppose."
Lukos grinned and sat back, arms out like he was trying to garner support from those around him. “We are but honest men,” he lied. “Simple, humble. We make our living on the sea, we come to port to make friends. Isn’t that right, boys?” he asked. The men around him laughed, agreed, glanced at each other, each waiting for the order that wasn’t coming. “Well, it’s been a fine night, but we need to get back to our ship. Final call, boys, final call. Take your winnings.”
With the pile divvied up and everyone having drained their cups, Lukos weaved around all the chairs until he came to Lesley. He gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Keep your attitude,” he said. “Most people don’t.” And then he and his men left the tavern, meandering into the growing night.
Lukos did not miss Lesley’s interest in the pit fights. There was definitely good money to be made, if you knew how and could survive them, but, in Lukos’s opinion, most pit fighters weren’t exactly sane. One too many hits to the skull. They also tended not to have all their teeth, their faces were a little misshapen from fractures not healing correctly. There wasn’t an unbroken nose in the entire pit fighting crowd. It was definitely rough.
The conversation didn’t go much further than that, though. The game took precedence and while they were playing, Lukos was content enough to focus on that. Through the game, he learned a few things about Lesley that were definitely...concerning. The feeling he was getting off the man was that this person really didn’t want to be messed with. There was a tenseness to this man’s body that just wasn’t on people who weren’t prepared.
Lukos was watching him carefully. Assessing. Lesley was right in thinking that the pirates preferred easy targets. The object was to get easy money. Worthwhile money. Not sacrifice men in the process. That was not only a poor business model but depending on the outcome of the fight, could cost them some serious money if they needed to call a doctor. The longer they gambled, the less of a mark Lesley was becoming until Lukos had decided not to jump him at all. This had turned into a friendly game between strangers. An odd turn, but Lukos wasn’t an idiot and he wasn’t a coward. Just cautious.
To Lukos’s question, Lesley answered, "Seems fairer than I expected from a bunch of sailors. Course, was only the dishonest ones got thrown in with the rest of us, I suppose."
Lukos grinned and sat back, arms out like he was trying to garner support from those around him. “We are but honest men,” he lied. “Simple, humble. We make our living on the sea, we come to port to make friends. Isn’t that right, boys?” he asked. The men around him laughed, agreed, glanced at each other, each waiting for the order that wasn’t coming. “Well, it’s been a fine night, but we need to get back to our ship. Final call, boys, final call. Take your winnings.”
With the pile divvied up and everyone having drained their cups, Lukos weaved around all the chairs until he came to Lesley. He gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Keep your attitude,” he said. “Most people don’t.” And then he and his men left the tavern, meandering into the growing night.
Les laughed at Lukos's assertion his men were 'simple' sailors. "I doubt that anyone with the balls to stare Posidon's wrath in the face, let alone more than once, qualifies as humble." That was an entirely different kind of crazy than his own. Les was willing to admit the line between courage and insanity could get a little fuzzy sometimes, but he didn't voice that thought. He didn't know Lukos well enough to judge how he'd take it, and the pirate didn't know him well enough to know how he'd mean it.
Les smirked to himself at the hint of confusion in a couple of the sailors' eyes when their captain rounded them up and shooed them out before the landlubber had lost his last coin. Nearly, but not quite. The comment about keeping ahold of his attitude got another laugh. "Oh, never fear on that score. No doubt Hades'll be complaining about it when that time comes too."
He flipped the single small coin left to his name and caught it again, then stood and stretched. It was enough for a cup, maybe, but he decided the foul mood that had driven him to the drink shop was gone, and he'd rather have something fresh to eat in the morning. He followed the pack of sailors out onto the street, slow enough that they couldn't 'casually' surround him without making it obvious, but close enough behind that they would have no opportunity to set up a proper hidden ambush, and then turned to head deeper into the market district while they headed back for the docks.
He hummed tunelessly to himself as he headed back to his mother's shop, hoping he hadn't dallied long enough for her to worry but with no real guilt if she did. Far better late and in a good mood then early and in a temper, after all.
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Les laughed at Lukos's assertion his men were 'simple' sailors. "I doubt that anyone with the balls to stare Posidon's wrath in the face, let alone more than once, qualifies as humble." That was an entirely different kind of crazy than his own. Les was willing to admit the line between courage and insanity could get a little fuzzy sometimes, but he didn't voice that thought. He didn't know Lukos well enough to judge how he'd take it, and the pirate didn't know him well enough to know how he'd mean it.
Les smirked to himself at the hint of confusion in a couple of the sailors' eyes when their captain rounded them up and shooed them out before the landlubber had lost his last coin. Nearly, but not quite. The comment about keeping ahold of his attitude got another laugh. "Oh, never fear on that score. No doubt Hades'll be complaining about it when that time comes too."
He flipped the single small coin left to his name and caught it again, then stood and stretched. It was enough for a cup, maybe, but he decided the foul mood that had driven him to the drink shop was gone, and he'd rather have something fresh to eat in the morning. He followed the pack of sailors out onto the street, slow enough that they couldn't 'casually' surround him without making it obvious, but close enough behind that they would have no opportunity to set up a proper hidden ambush, and then turned to head deeper into the market district while they headed back for the docks.
He hummed tunelessly to himself as he headed back to his mother's shop, hoping he hadn't dallied long enough for her to worry but with no real guilt if she did. Far better late and in a good mood then early and in a temper, after all.
Les laughed at Lukos's assertion his men were 'simple' sailors. "I doubt that anyone with the balls to stare Posidon's wrath in the face, let alone more than once, qualifies as humble." That was an entirely different kind of crazy than his own. Les was willing to admit the line between courage and insanity could get a little fuzzy sometimes, but he didn't voice that thought. He didn't know Lukos well enough to judge how he'd take it, and the pirate didn't know him well enough to know how he'd mean it.
Les smirked to himself at the hint of confusion in a couple of the sailors' eyes when their captain rounded them up and shooed them out before the landlubber had lost his last coin. Nearly, but not quite. The comment about keeping ahold of his attitude got another laugh. "Oh, never fear on that score. No doubt Hades'll be complaining about it when that time comes too."
He flipped the single small coin left to his name and caught it again, then stood and stretched. It was enough for a cup, maybe, but he decided the foul mood that had driven him to the drink shop was gone, and he'd rather have something fresh to eat in the morning. He followed the pack of sailors out onto the street, slow enough that they couldn't 'casually' surround him without making it obvious, but close enough behind that they would have no opportunity to set up a proper hidden ambush, and then turned to head deeper into the market district while they headed back for the docks.
He hummed tunelessly to himself as he headed back to his mother's shop, hoping he hadn't dallied long enough for her to worry but with no real guilt if she did. Far better late and in a good mood then early and in a temper, after all.