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A heatwave has hit the Athenian capitol and boy is it a harsh one! Most of the city are sweltering in their homes with the wells of the city being the focal points of everyone's focus. The palace have yet to mobilise the Athenian Guard, however, which means that no-one is moderating or guarding the fonts of saltless water and, as in all desperate situations, fights have started to break out around the cities' watering holes...
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A heatwave has hit the Athenian capitol and boy is it a harsh one! Most of the city are sweltering in their homes with the wells of the city being the focal points of everyone's focus. The palace have yet to mobilise the Athenian Guard, however, which means that no-one is moderating or guarding the fonts of saltless water and, as in all desperate situations, fights have started to break out around the cities' watering holes...
Helios on High Event - Athenia
A heatwave has hit the Athenian capitol and boy is it a harsh one! Most of the city are sweltering in their homes with the wells of the city being the focal points of everyone's focus. The palace have yet to mobilise the Athenian Guard, however, which means that no-one is moderating or guarding the fonts of saltless water and, as in all desperate situations, fights have started to break out around the cities' watering holes...
The heavenly monarch worn an unforgiving crown today. In mid-day, the sun hung dead overhead in the cloudless sky—a glorious tyrant whose councils and wards had forsaken him, leaving his kingdom’s subjects to bear the blunt of his ego. On a day like this, one desired the relief of a cold shade, staying indoor from grating labor.
That was, if this indoor space preferably was not an Athenian Guard barrack, wherein a whole unit of brawny men steamed with half a day worth of heat and sweat trapped under their armors and tunics waiting to be released into the already damp air.
Leonidas pulled his armor over his head to free himself from its iron grip—the metal plates hot as a skillet to his touch. He let out a heavy sigh, ventilating his body from the heat. His neck glistened with sweat and grease built up over the course of the day. The front of his tunic was similarly soaking wet, making his attempt at using it to wipe down his face and neck rather fruitless.
His watch was almost over. In just a few more paces of the sun, he could return home to his mother. He worried that she had been laboring herself too much with chores around the house on a day like this. He noticed just before he left home that they needed more drinking water. That was at the crack of dawn when his mother was still asleep, but by now she would’ve noticed too. Leonidas could only hope that Amalia hadn’t taken it upon herself to fetch water from the watering holes under this unforgiving heat.
The shadow on the sundial moved torturously slow. He could visibly see the heat raising from the ground like precarious nymphs wrapping and slowly tightening their dainty fingers around men’s airways.
A fellow guard handed him a cloth that miraculously hadn’t been soaked in his comrades’ warm fluids; Leonidas took it gratefully and wiped his neck. “Athena help us,” he murmured, “for Ares instills his self in peace-loving men’s hearts with this heat!”
As if to mock his prayer, an officer entered the barrack with urgency with a gust of heatwave on his heels, “—A fight at the water hole!”
“Every household in Athenia has come out for water.” Leonidas sprung from his seat, lifting the armor to put over his shoulders again. The metal after it had cooled down some almost a comfort to his feverish skin, but it wouldn’t be for long. “Even if there were enough water supplies, the crowd would’ve been frustrating on its own. Guards! Be ready to assert order but keep your swords sheathed. Contain and subdue the unrest. Do not escalate.”
He continued to specify his instructions as they marched down to the public water hole in the outer circle of Athenia.
The crowd parted to make way for the Athenian Guards when they arrived onsite. But the sight of the Guards alone was not enough to break up the fights happening by the water hole, only added tension to the already buzzing air. Thinking that authority was here to suppress the unrest and barricade the water hole, people began to crowd closer to the well for their last chance of getting cool, drinking water.
“Loxias, Eurytos go east. Direct people westbound toward us. Numa, Deon, and Ialmenes, form three lines from the well outward. Three could fetch water at a time. Give them a chous each. Women and elders first.” Leonidas watched his men go into action, searching in the crowd for any familiar faces.
With his mother still on his mind, Leonidas approached a high ground for his announcement: “—Citizens of Athenia, I am Captain Leonidas of the Athenian Guard. Obey our orders, and you shall not return empty-handed. Proceed orderly to the well with your vessels for up to one chous of water.”
Leonidas took in a deep breath after exhausting the air in his lungs. He circled around to the original source of the commotion, hoping that the announcement and his men’s ushering could’ve resolved the dispute. Otherwise, with the rest of the guards directing the crowd, the job of breaking up the fights fell on Leonidas’ shoulders.
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The heavenly monarch worn an unforgiving crown today. In mid-day, the sun hung dead overhead in the cloudless sky—a glorious tyrant whose councils and wards had forsaken him, leaving his kingdom’s subjects to bear the blunt of his ego. On a day like this, one desired the relief of a cold shade, staying indoor from grating labor.
That was, if this indoor space preferably was not an Athenian Guard barrack, wherein a whole unit of brawny men steamed with half a day worth of heat and sweat trapped under their armors and tunics waiting to be released into the already damp air.
Leonidas pulled his armor over his head to free himself from its iron grip—the metal plates hot as a skillet to his touch. He let out a heavy sigh, ventilating his body from the heat. His neck glistened with sweat and grease built up over the course of the day. The front of his tunic was similarly soaking wet, making his attempt at using it to wipe down his face and neck rather fruitless.
His watch was almost over. In just a few more paces of the sun, he could return home to his mother. He worried that she had been laboring herself too much with chores around the house on a day like this. He noticed just before he left home that they needed more drinking water. That was at the crack of dawn when his mother was still asleep, but by now she would’ve noticed too. Leonidas could only hope that Amalia hadn’t taken it upon herself to fetch water from the watering holes under this unforgiving heat.
The shadow on the sundial moved torturously slow. He could visibly see the heat raising from the ground like precarious nymphs wrapping and slowly tightening their dainty fingers around men’s airways.
A fellow guard handed him a cloth that miraculously hadn’t been soaked in his comrades’ warm fluids; Leonidas took it gratefully and wiped his neck. “Athena help us,” he murmured, “for Ares instills his self in peace-loving men’s hearts with this heat!”
As if to mock his prayer, an officer entered the barrack with urgency with a gust of heatwave on his heels, “—A fight at the water hole!”
“Every household in Athenia has come out for water.” Leonidas sprung from his seat, lifting the armor to put over his shoulders again. The metal after it had cooled down some almost a comfort to his feverish skin, but it wouldn’t be for long. “Even if there were enough water supplies, the crowd would’ve been frustrating on its own. Guards! Be ready to assert order but keep your swords sheathed. Contain and subdue the unrest. Do not escalate.”
He continued to specify his instructions as they marched down to the public water hole in the outer circle of Athenia.
The crowd parted to make way for the Athenian Guards when they arrived onsite. But the sight of the Guards alone was not enough to break up the fights happening by the water hole, only added tension to the already buzzing air. Thinking that authority was here to suppress the unrest and barricade the water hole, people began to crowd closer to the well for their last chance of getting cool, drinking water.
“Loxias, Eurytos go east. Direct people westbound toward us. Numa, Deon, and Ialmenes, form three lines from the well outward. Three could fetch water at a time. Give them a chous each. Women and elders first.” Leonidas watched his men go into action, searching in the crowd for any familiar faces.
With his mother still on his mind, Leonidas approached a high ground for his announcement: “—Citizens of Athenia, I am Captain Leonidas of the Athenian Guard. Obey our orders, and you shall not return empty-handed. Proceed orderly to the well with your vessels for up to one chous of water.”
Leonidas took in a deep breath after exhausting the air in his lungs. He circled around to the original source of the commotion, hoping that the announcement and his men’s ushering could’ve resolved the dispute. Otherwise, with the rest of the guards directing the crowd, the job of breaking up the fights fell on Leonidas’ shoulders.
The heavenly monarch worn an unforgiving crown today. In mid-day, the sun hung dead overhead in the cloudless sky—a glorious tyrant whose councils and wards had forsaken him, leaving his kingdom’s subjects to bear the blunt of his ego. On a day like this, one desired the relief of a cold shade, staying indoor from grating labor.
That was, if this indoor space preferably was not an Athenian Guard barrack, wherein a whole unit of brawny men steamed with half a day worth of heat and sweat trapped under their armors and tunics waiting to be released into the already damp air.
Leonidas pulled his armor over his head to free himself from its iron grip—the metal plates hot as a skillet to his touch. He let out a heavy sigh, ventilating his body from the heat. His neck glistened with sweat and grease built up over the course of the day. The front of his tunic was similarly soaking wet, making his attempt at using it to wipe down his face and neck rather fruitless.
His watch was almost over. In just a few more paces of the sun, he could return home to his mother. He worried that she had been laboring herself too much with chores around the house on a day like this. He noticed just before he left home that they needed more drinking water. That was at the crack of dawn when his mother was still asleep, but by now she would’ve noticed too. Leonidas could only hope that Amalia hadn’t taken it upon herself to fetch water from the watering holes under this unforgiving heat.
The shadow on the sundial moved torturously slow. He could visibly see the heat raising from the ground like precarious nymphs wrapping and slowly tightening their dainty fingers around men’s airways.
A fellow guard handed him a cloth that miraculously hadn’t been soaked in his comrades’ warm fluids; Leonidas took it gratefully and wiped his neck. “Athena help us,” he murmured, “for Ares instills his self in peace-loving men’s hearts with this heat!”
As if to mock his prayer, an officer entered the barrack with urgency with a gust of heatwave on his heels, “—A fight at the water hole!”
“Every household in Athenia has come out for water.” Leonidas sprung from his seat, lifting the armor to put over his shoulders again. The metal after it had cooled down some almost a comfort to his feverish skin, but it wouldn’t be for long. “Even if there were enough water supplies, the crowd would’ve been frustrating on its own. Guards! Be ready to assert order but keep your swords sheathed. Contain and subdue the unrest. Do not escalate.”
He continued to specify his instructions as they marched down to the public water hole in the outer circle of Athenia.
The crowd parted to make way for the Athenian Guards when they arrived onsite. But the sight of the Guards alone was not enough to break up the fights happening by the water hole, only added tension to the already buzzing air. Thinking that authority was here to suppress the unrest and barricade the water hole, people began to crowd closer to the well for their last chance of getting cool, drinking water.
“Loxias, Eurytos go east. Direct people westbound toward us. Numa, Deon, and Ialmenes, form three lines from the well outward. Three could fetch water at a time. Give them a chous each. Women and elders first.” Leonidas watched his men go into action, searching in the crowd for any familiar faces.
With his mother still on his mind, Leonidas approached a high ground for his announcement: “—Citizens of Athenia, I am Captain Leonidas of the Athenian Guard. Obey our orders, and you shall not return empty-handed. Proceed orderly to the well with your vessels for up to one chous of water.”
Leonidas took in a deep breath after exhausting the air in his lungs. He circled around to the original source of the commotion, hoping that the announcement and his men’s ushering could’ve resolved the dispute. Otherwise, with the rest of the guards directing the crowd, the job of breaking up the fights fell on Leonidas’ shoulders.
The sun and heat usually didn't bother Stelios. His skin tended towards swarthy beneath it, rarely burning and he was rarely averse to sweating through his uniform but metal armor over it all gave the sensation of what he imagined it'd be like to be cooked inside an oven.
He had opted for lighter leather armor today, thank the gods, but as he squinted unhappily beneath a glowing ball of white-hot death he gave serious thought to turning back round and making for the Antonis estate. The ground radiated heat so intensely he thought the hairs on his legs might bust into flame like a forest fire. Everywhere around him as he passed disgruntled citizens Athenia was a picture of misery.
Heat made people surly, as Stelios confirmed when someone tried to clout him on the back of his head as he'd taken scant refreshment at an overcrowded watering hole. That fool soon learned his lesson amid being tossed through the air onto a nearby cart laden with hay but everywhere the commander looked through the haze of Helios' punishment people were angry.
And after a half hour of trudging through the breakdown of humanity he was pretty pissed off himself. There was a tussle in trying to fill his skein at another well, strong arms capable enough of breaking it up but Stelios had to negotiate in very close confines with two men who both smelled as if they hadn't washed in a week which added to the offense. He decided against refilling the container at his belt, catching glimpses of women and children wearing desperate expressions. Instead he helped a wizened crone towards the well and shoved others aside so a small gaggle of children could drink their fill beside.
This was going to get worse before it'd get better, doubly so for the arch-idiot lazing in the palace as if he owned the place and doing piss all to alleviate the tension that was drawing the city tight as a bowstring. Stelios meandered towards the outskirts of Athenia, as though it were his personal mandate to ensure civil order (though more looking for somewhere to get a decent draught of cool, clean water!).
Sweat was beginning to sting his eyes, his sight blurring and his steps more unsure. Enough so that he stubbed his foot on a cobblestone. A scowling, cursing Stelios glanced skyward at the incandescent orb whirling through the vault of heaven and gave it a rude hand gesture. "Fuck you, Helios! I hope that giant orb of fire rolls onto you, y'whoreson."
Further impious words might have followed if it weren't for some commotion nearby. The crowd tussling over drops of life-saving refreshment parted round the watering hole, soldiers caparisoned in the colors of the city guard. And suddenly if Stelios was in a bad mood now he was glaring bloody murder at the one giving orders to a bickering and sweaty populace. "YOU!" he bellowed over the din of arguing citizens and efficient guardsmen, an index finger pointing accusatory towards the captain. "BOY! You've got heat stroke. Give that armor back to whoever you stole it from and get back home before you get yourself into mischief."
The 'boy' in question was the man more than full grown whom Stelios' father's indiscriminate cock had sired. What was his name again. "Leonindas, isn't it?" He stalked towards the embodiment of resentment and betrayal, for the moment ignoring the crisis boiling around them. "You probably just need a drink. Not til after the women and elderly, of course, you're right in that much but the heat has put you wrong in the head."
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Check out their information page here.
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The sun and heat usually didn't bother Stelios. His skin tended towards swarthy beneath it, rarely burning and he was rarely averse to sweating through his uniform but metal armor over it all gave the sensation of what he imagined it'd be like to be cooked inside an oven.
He had opted for lighter leather armor today, thank the gods, but as he squinted unhappily beneath a glowing ball of white-hot death he gave serious thought to turning back round and making for the Antonis estate. The ground radiated heat so intensely he thought the hairs on his legs might bust into flame like a forest fire. Everywhere around him as he passed disgruntled citizens Athenia was a picture of misery.
Heat made people surly, as Stelios confirmed when someone tried to clout him on the back of his head as he'd taken scant refreshment at an overcrowded watering hole. That fool soon learned his lesson amid being tossed through the air onto a nearby cart laden with hay but everywhere the commander looked through the haze of Helios' punishment people were angry.
And after a half hour of trudging through the breakdown of humanity he was pretty pissed off himself. There was a tussle in trying to fill his skein at another well, strong arms capable enough of breaking it up but Stelios had to negotiate in very close confines with two men who both smelled as if they hadn't washed in a week which added to the offense. He decided against refilling the container at his belt, catching glimpses of women and children wearing desperate expressions. Instead he helped a wizened crone towards the well and shoved others aside so a small gaggle of children could drink their fill beside.
This was going to get worse before it'd get better, doubly so for the arch-idiot lazing in the palace as if he owned the place and doing piss all to alleviate the tension that was drawing the city tight as a bowstring. Stelios meandered towards the outskirts of Athenia, as though it were his personal mandate to ensure civil order (though more looking for somewhere to get a decent draught of cool, clean water!).
Sweat was beginning to sting his eyes, his sight blurring and his steps more unsure. Enough so that he stubbed his foot on a cobblestone. A scowling, cursing Stelios glanced skyward at the incandescent orb whirling through the vault of heaven and gave it a rude hand gesture. "Fuck you, Helios! I hope that giant orb of fire rolls onto you, y'whoreson."
Further impious words might have followed if it weren't for some commotion nearby. The crowd tussling over drops of life-saving refreshment parted round the watering hole, soldiers caparisoned in the colors of the city guard. And suddenly if Stelios was in a bad mood now he was glaring bloody murder at the one giving orders to a bickering and sweaty populace. "YOU!" he bellowed over the din of arguing citizens and efficient guardsmen, an index finger pointing accusatory towards the captain. "BOY! You've got heat stroke. Give that armor back to whoever you stole it from and get back home before you get yourself into mischief."
The 'boy' in question was the man more than full grown whom Stelios' father's indiscriminate cock had sired. What was his name again. "Leonindas, isn't it?" He stalked towards the embodiment of resentment and betrayal, for the moment ignoring the crisis boiling around them. "You probably just need a drink. Not til after the women and elderly, of course, you're right in that much but the heat has put you wrong in the head."
The sun and heat usually didn't bother Stelios. His skin tended towards swarthy beneath it, rarely burning and he was rarely averse to sweating through his uniform but metal armor over it all gave the sensation of what he imagined it'd be like to be cooked inside an oven.
He had opted for lighter leather armor today, thank the gods, but as he squinted unhappily beneath a glowing ball of white-hot death he gave serious thought to turning back round and making for the Antonis estate. The ground radiated heat so intensely he thought the hairs on his legs might bust into flame like a forest fire. Everywhere around him as he passed disgruntled citizens Athenia was a picture of misery.
Heat made people surly, as Stelios confirmed when someone tried to clout him on the back of his head as he'd taken scant refreshment at an overcrowded watering hole. That fool soon learned his lesson amid being tossed through the air onto a nearby cart laden with hay but everywhere the commander looked through the haze of Helios' punishment people were angry.
And after a half hour of trudging through the breakdown of humanity he was pretty pissed off himself. There was a tussle in trying to fill his skein at another well, strong arms capable enough of breaking it up but Stelios had to negotiate in very close confines with two men who both smelled as if they hadn't washed in a week which added to the offense. He decided against refilling the container at his belt, catching glimpses of women and children wearing desperate expressions. Instead he helped a wizened crone towards the well and shoved others aside so a small gaggle of children could drink their fill beside.
This was going to get worse before it'd get better, doubly so for the arch-idiot lazing in the palace as if he owned the place and doing piss all to alleviate the tension that was drawing the city tight as a bowstring. Stelios meandered towards the outskirts of Athenia, as though it were his personal mandate to ensure civil order (though more looking for somewhere to get a decent draught of cool, clean water!).
Sweat was beginning to sting his eyes, his sight blurring and his steps more unsure. Enough so that he stubbed his foot on a cobblestone. A scowling, cursing Stelios glanced skyward at the incandescent orb whirling through the vault of heaven and gave it a rude hand gesture. "Fuck you, Helios! I hope that giant orb of fire rolls onto you, y'whoreson."
Further impious words might have followed if it weren't for some commotion nearby. The crowd tussling over drops of life-saving refreshment parted round the watering hole, soldiers caparisoned in the colors of the city guard. And suddenly if Stelios was in a bad mood now he was glaring bloody murder at the one giving orders to a bickering and sweaty populace. "YOU!" he bellowed over the din of arguing citizens and efficient guardsmen, an index finger pointing accusatory towards the captain. "BOY! You've got heat stroke. Give that armor back to whoever you stole it from and get back home before you get yourself into mischief."
The 'boy' in question was the man more than full grown whom Stelios' father's indiscriminate cock had sired. What was his name again. "Leonindas, isn't it?" He stalked towards the embodiment of resentment and betrayal, for the moment ignoring the crisis boiling around them. "You probably just need a drink. Not til after the women and elderly, of course, you're right in that much but the heat has put you wrong in the head."
There was a reason why Leonidas worshiped Athena, the Goddess of wisdom and justice. He watched with pride as his fellow Guards and officers gradually but surely restored order to the heat-induced chaos. His own sweat was beginning to slide down his forehead and barely caught in the hair of his brows.
Leonidas raised an arm to wipe off the moisture with the back of his naked wrist, determined to conquer the passion and burning flames of Helios with Athena’s level-headed reason and tact.
And all seemed to be taking shape when an outburst once again disrupted the settling currents. Amidst the rowdy, disgruntled crowd, Leonidas couldn’t identify the source of the holler at first, nor exactly what it aimed to convey besides the baseline emotion of anger.
He turned around at the edge of the buzzing crowd, looking in to find the person who raised his voice in anger.
An uncanny figure struck his notice—the light hair, prominent brows casting over steel-grey eyes, and a masculine jawline. Lacides sure marked his sons with his own likeness, for better or worse. The leather armor reduced the harshness of a military man, giving the other a more athletic look. Leonidas could only imagine his disavowing sire once sported such a strapping figure, cloaked with the melancholy of a grieving man, seduced a vulnerable handmaid into her robbed chastity.
As if all senses were somehow dependent upon one another, once Leonidas caught sight of Stelios, he also made out the heated words brimming from the nobleman’s lips. And in true Antonis fashion, the second born son would accuse him of thief after interrupting him on duty!
Leonidas felt his fist tightened around the handle of his heavy shield, and prayed Athena to calm his heart as he made his way through the crowd to meet Stelios halfway. By the time he reached the other within two armlengths, he had recomposed himself to nod cordially at the blond.
“Captain Leonidas of the Athenian Guard.” He introduced himself curtly, enunciating his butchered name, “We received news of a disturbance at the waterholes. I’ve brought my men to restore order and ensure the women, children and elder get their share of the drinking water.”
He glanced at the other guardsmen across the waterhole. A couple of them paused to observe the interaction between he and Stelios, while the rest were preoccupied with herding the unruly crowd. Not everyone in the Guard was aware of his relation to the Antonis, save for a few close friends. But regardless, the presence of a high-ranking military officer was itself a cause for attention.
“…I will not drink until every citizen here has been looked after and my men rested. We’re here to do our jobs. Since you outrank me, you may take command of the situation.” Another meaningful pause as Leonidas made eye contact with his half-brother, “Although it is my unit who first responded to the scene. And may I suggest that the situation does not call for actions from the Athenian Armies—Commander Stelios?”
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There was a reason why Leonidas worshiped Athena, the Goddess of wisdom and justice. He watched with pride as his fellow Guards and officers gradually but surely restored order to the heat-induced chaos. His own sweat was beginning to slide down his forehead and barely caught in the hair of his brows.
Leonidas raised an arm to wipe off the moisture with the back of his naked wrist, determined to conquer the passion and burning flames of Helios with Athena’s level-headed reason and tact.
And all seemed to be taking shape when an outburst once again disrupted the settling currents. Amidst the rowdy, disgruntled crowd, Leonidas couldn’t identify the source of the holler at first, nor exactly what it aimed to convey besides the baseline emotion of anger.
He turned around at the edge of the buzzing crowd, looking in to find the person who raised his voice in anger.
An uncanny figure struck his notice—the light hair, prominent brows casting over steel-grey eyes, and a masculine jawline. Lacides sure marked his sons with his own likeness, for better or worse. The leather armor reduced the harshness of a military man, giving the other a more athletic look. Leonidas could only imagine his disavowing sire once sported such a strapping figure, cloaked with the melancholy of a grieving man, seduced a vulnerable handmaid into her robbed chastity.
As if all senses were somehow dependent upon one another, once Leonidas caught sight of Stelios, he also made out the heated words brimming from the nobleman’s lips. And in true Antonis fashion, the second born son would accuse him of thief after interrupting him on duty!
Leonidas felt his fist tightened around the handle of his heavy shield, and prayed Athena to calm his heart as he made his way through the crowd to meet Stelios halfway. By the time he reached the other within two armlengths, he had recomposed himself to nod cordially at the blond.
“Captain Leonidas of the Athenian Guard.” He introduced himself curtly, enunciating his butchered name, “We received news of a disturbance at the waterholes. I’ve brought my men to restore order and ensure the women, children and elder get their share of the drinking water.”
He glanced at the other guardsmen across the waterhole. A couple of them paused to observe the interaction between he and Stelios, while the rest were preoccupied with herding the unruly crowd. Not everyone in the Guard was aware of his relation to the Antonis, save for a few close friends. But regardless, the presence of a high-ranking military officer was itself a cause for attention.
“…I will not drink until every citizen here has been looked after and my men rested. We’re here to do our jobs. Since you outrank me, you may take command of the situation.” Another meaningful pause as Leonidas made eye contact with his half-brother, “Although it is my unit who first responded to the scene. And may I suggest that the situation does not call for actions from the Athenian Armies—Commander Stelios?”
There was a reason why Leonidas worshiped Athena, the Goddess of wisdom and justice. He watched with pride as his fellow Guards and officers gradually but surely restored order to the heat-induced chaos. His own sweat was beginning to slide down his forehead and barely caught in the hair of his brows.
Leonidas raised an arm to wipe off the moisture with the back of his naked wrist, determined to conquer the passion and burning flames of Helios with Athena’s level-headed reason and tact.
And all seemed to be taking shape when an outburst once again disrupted the settling currents. Amidst the rowdy, disgruntled crowd, Leonidas couldn’t identify the source of the holler at first, nor exactly what it aimed to convey besides the baseline emotion of anger.
He turned around at the edge of the buzzing crowd, looking in to find the person who raised his voice in anger.
An uncanny figure struck his notice—the light hair, prominent brows casting over steel-grey eyes, and a masculine jawline. Lacides sure marked his sons with his own likeness, for better or worse. The leather armor reduced the harshness of a military man, giving the other a more athletic look. Leonidas could only imagine his disavowing sire once sported such a strapping figure, cloaked with the melancholy of a grieving man, seduced a vulnerable handmaid into her robbed chastity.
As if all senses were somehow dependent upon one another, once Leonidas caught sight of Stelios, he also made out the heated words brimming from the nobleman’s lips. And in true Antonis fashion, the second born son would accuse him of thief after interrupting him on duty!
Leonidas felt his fist tightened around the handle of his heavy shield, and prayed Athena to calm his heart as he made his way through the crowd to meet Stelios halfway. By the time he reached the other within two armlengths, he had recomposed himself to nod cordially at the blond.
“Captain Leonidas of the Athenian Guard.” He introduced himself curtly, enunciating his butchered name, “We received news of a disturbance at the waterholes. I’ve brought my men to restore order and ensure the women, children and elder get their share of the drinking water.”
He glanced at the other guardsmen across the waterhole. A couple of them paused to observe the interaction between he and Stelios, while the rest were preoccupied with herding the unruly crowd. Not everyone in the Guard was aware of his relation to the Antonis, save for a few close friends. But regardless, the presence of a high-ranking military officer was itself a cause for attention.
“…I will not drink until every citizen here has been looked after and my men rested. We’re here to do our jobs. Since you outrank me, you may take command of the situation.” Another meaningful pause as Leonidas made eye contact with his half-brother, “Although it is my unit who first responded to the scene. And may I suggest that the situation does not call for actions from the Athenian Armies—Commander Stelios?”
For a fraction of a second, in the first sighting of him Stelios might have wondered what it would feel like to take hold of his father's bastard, shove his head into whatever remained of the well's dwindling supply and holding him there until he stopped moving. But only just! He could later blame it on the heat and the irritability that brought. Or the umbrage of hearing that title applied to Leonidas of all people.
But he certainly could not stand on pride, not after watching the Captain do his duty and admirably. There was little in this wicked world that could cut through Stelios' stubbornness particularly once he'd avowed to hold a grudge but witnessing the best in someone in defense of someone else ... that could do it.
"You're what?!" he shot back, surprise unvarnished on his craggy features. "How the ... who the fu ... when in the gods-damned ..." He might have carried on sputtering for a half hour further if out of the corner of his eye he hadn't caught sudden movement. A young woman, likely overcome with heat exhaustion, staggered as she moved towards the crowd surrounding the well. "Damn it all," Stelios muttered under his breath, setting aside his own family troubles for one moment.
His frame wasn't built for speed but he managed to dash towards her before she could fall to the pave-stones which may as well have been miniature ovens for all the heat they radiated, conscientiously supporting her by one arm and helping the sun-groggy woman to rise. "Come on, let's get you some water," he whispered to her, brow furrowed now in concern rather than anger.
Stelios looked to his half-brother in passing and offered a nod, deference clear in that gesture louder than any words could have praised. "You carry on, Captain. I'm not there to usurp your command. You're doing very ... hrmmpf ... you're doing. We'll talk when we've dealt with this mess. For now I'll help your men carry out your commands. Not mine. That'd only make this more of a clustered fornication than it already is."
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For a fraction of a second, in the first sighting of him Stelios might have wondered what it would feel like to take hold of his father's bastard, shove his head into whatever remained of the well's dwindling supply and holding him there until he stopped moving. But only just! He could later blame it on the heat and the irritability that brought. Or the umbrage of hearing that title applied to Leonidas of all people.
But he certainly could not stand on pride, not after watching the Captain do his duty and admirably. There was little in this wicked world that could cut through Stelios' stubbornness particularly once he'd avowed to hold a grudge but witnessing the best in someone in defense of someone else ... that could do it.
"You're what?!" he shot back, surprise unvarnished on his craggy features. "How the ... who the fu ... when in the gods-damned ..." He might have carried on sputtering for a half hour further if out of the corner of his eye he hadn't caught sudden movement. A young woman, likely overcome with heat exhaustion, staggered as she moved towards the crowd surrounding the well. "Damn it all," Stelios muttered under his breath, setting aside his own family troubles for one moment.
His frame wasn't built for speed but he managed to dash towards her before she could fall to the pave-stones which may as well have been miniature ovens for all the heat they radiated, conscientiously supporting her by one arm and helping the sun-groggy woman to rise. "Come on, let's get you some water," he whispered to her, brow furrowed now in concern rather than anger.
Stelios looked to his half-brother in passing and offered a nod, deference clear in that gesture louder than any words could have praised. "You carry on, Captain. I'm not there to usurp your command. You're doing very ... hrmmpf ... you're doing. We'll talk when we've dealt with this mess. For now I'll help your men carry out your commands. Not mine. That'd only make this more of a clustered fornication than it already is."
For a fraction of a second, in the first sighting of him Stelios might have wondered what it would feel like to take hold of his father's bastard, shove his head into whatever remained of the well's dwindling supply and holding him there until he stopped moving. But only just! He could later blame it on the heat and the irritability that brought. Or the umbrage of hearing that title applied to Leonidas of all people.
But he certainly could not stand on pride, not after watching the Captain do his duty and admirably. There was little in this wicked world that could cut through Stelios' stubbornness particularly once he'd avowed to hold a grudge but witnessing the best in someone in defense of someone else ... that could do it.
"You're what?!" he shot back, surprise unvarnished on his craggy features. "How the ... who the fu ... when in the gods-damned ..." He might have carried on sputtering for a half hour further if out of the corner of his eye he hadn't caught sudden movement. A young woman, likely overcome with heat exhaustion, staggered as she moved towards the crowd surrounding the well. "Damn it all," Stelios muttered under his breath, setting aside his own family troubles for one moment.
His frame wasn't built for speed but he managed to dash towards her before she could fall to the pave-stones which may as well have been miniature ovens for all the heat they radiated, conscientiously supporting her by one arm and helping the sun-groggy woman to rise. "Come on, let's get you some water," he whispered to her, brow furrowed now in concern rather than anger.
Stelios looked to his half-brother in passing and offered a nod, deference clear in that gesture louder than any words could have praised. "You carry on, Captain. I'm not there to usurp your command. You're doing very ... hrmmpf ... you're doing. We'll talk when we've dealt with this mess. For now I'll help your men carry out your commands. Not mine. That'd only make this more of a clustered fornication than it already is."
Gods, but it was hot. Despite the fact that he wasn't doing anything more strenuous that walking, sweat made the celtic man's tunica cling to his skin, and he irritatedly shoved sodden bangs out of his face. Any sensible person would have sought shade at least for the next few hours, but Lesley had never been sensible. Today, though, it seemed at least half the city was equally lacking in sense. He snarled under his breath at nobody in particular, which opened up a path for him for a moment, but given the heat-addled moodiness of most of those around him, that didn't last long. He swore sharply, and wished he'd brought his staff. Clearly, some heads needed thumping. He really, really would love to beat somebody bloody right now, or possibly to death, and he amused himself for a moment or two contemplating what one or two people he shoved past would look like with their guts spilling out or a dagger between their ribs. Normally, a cheerful daydream was enough to calm him down to where he could keep hold of his temper, but before he'd quite gotten his mood settled back down, someone stumbled into him. Whether they'd tripped, gotten woozy from the heat, or been shoved by someone else, he never did find out, nor did it matter. The unfortunate soul grabbed at his tunic to try to save their balance, and trained instinct took it for a grapple. He spun around, faster than conscious thought, and his fist smashed squarely into the man's face, sending him sprawling to the stone-paved street.
"Anyone else, you gods-be-damned shitweasels?"
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Gods, but it was hot. Despite the fact that he wasn't doing anything more strenuous that walking, sweat made the celtic man's tunica cling to his skin, and he irritatedly shoved sodden bangs out of his face. Any sensible person would have sought shade at least for the next few hours, but Lesley had never been sensible. Today, though, it seemed at least half the city was equally lacking in sense. He snarled under his breath at nobody in particular, which opened up a path for him for a moment, but given the heat-addled moodiness of most of those around him, that didn't last long. He swore sharply, and wished he'd brought his staff. Clearly, some heads needed thumping. He really, really would love to beat somebody bloody right now, or possibly to death, and he amused himself for a moment or two contemplating what one or two people he shoved past would look like with their guts spilling out or a dagger between their ribs. Normally, a cheerful daydream was enough to calm him down to where he could keep hold of his temper, but before he'd quite gotten his mood settled back down, someone stumbled into him. Whether they'd tripped, gotten woozy from the heat, or been shoved by someone else, he never did find out, nor did it matter. The unfortunate soul grabbed at his tunic to try to save their balance, and trained instinct took it for a grapple. He spun around, faster than conscious thought, and his fist smashed squarely into the man's face, sending him sprawling to the stone-paved street.
"Anyone else, you gods-be-damned shitweasels?"
Gods, but it was hot. Despite the fact that he wasn't doing anything more strenuous that walking, sweat made the celtic man's tunica cling to his skin, and he irritatedly shoved sodden bangs out of his face. Any sensible person would have sought shade at least for the next few hours, but Lesley had never been sensible. Today, though, it seemed at least half the city was equally lacking in sense. He snarled under his breath at nobody in particular, which opened up a path for him for a moment, but given the heat-addled moodiness of most of those around him, that didn't last long. He swore sharply, and wished he'd brought his staff. Clearly, some heads needed thumping. He really, really would love to beat somebody bloody right now, or possibly to death, and he amused himself for a moment or two contemplating what one or two people he shoved past would look like with their guts spilling out or a dagger between their ribs. Normally, a cheerful daydream was enough to calm him down to where he could keep hold of his temper, but before he'd quite gotten his mood settled back down, someone stumbled into him. Whether they'd tripped, gotten woozy from the heat, or been shoved by someone else, he never did find out, nor did it matter. The unfortunate soul grabbed at his tunic to try to save their balance, and trained instinct took it for a grapple. He spun around, faster than conscious thought, and his fist smashed squarely into the man's face, sending him sprawling to the stone-paved street.
"Anyone else, you gods-be-damned shitweasels?"
He watched Stelios choked on his own words with guilty satisfaction. “Are you alright, Commander? If it’s the heat, my men could fetch you a cup of water.”
Leonidas’ tone half wavered between deadpan sarcasm and genuine concern, gravitating toward the latter at the end of the sentence. They were slowing down the traffic. Common folks around them paused to observe the interaction. It was not the time for petty banter, and much less the occasion to encourage anarchy by challenging any symbol of authority, even if that symbol happened to be Stelios.
There was a light yelp just within earshot. Leonidas felt a pressure on his shield as the crowd shifted and rippled in response to a sudden movement. He watched Stelios launched forward to catch a fallen woman, and instinctively held out his arms to push back the crowd, creating a clearing for the Commander and his rescue least either of them was trampled.
The Antonis son took the high road, and had the sense to put personal grievance aside and allow Leonidas to carry on with his duties. Like a true Athenian. Leonidas had to admit. “Yes, Commander.” He did raise his brows at the choice of word. Clustered fornication. If that wasn’t the truth. What were the chances that their father’s promiscuous essences, baked in different ovens, were to find their way back to each other in this steaming pile of chaos?
He searched for his guardsmen’s current positions. Loxias was to his far left and had the best view of the crowd on horseback. Leonidas locked with Loxias’ eyes only moments before they were filled with horror preceding a disaster.
And then it happened. A fight broke out as a man tumbled to the ground, followed by bystanders’ audible gasp and the angry shout that sent the already restless crowd into another frenzy.
“Guards, stay where you are!” Leonidas roared. The last thing he needed right now was five guardsmen piling on top of two civilians and leaving their posts open and flocks unattended. His eyes narrowed when the posture of one of the civilians jumped out at him—alert and tightened like a cat and the pulsing veins in the neck of a healthy warhorse—before he recognized the dark crown and… aye, he remembered the markings that would crawl the man’s skin under that tunic.
A hurried look he tossed to Stelios and the woman in a weakens state in his arms. “That man’s a gladiator.” He informed Stelios urgently, and turned toward two male bystanders, “You two, take her from the Commander and rest her in the shades.” Leonidas’ attention bounced like a pebble caught under the wheel of a speeding chariot. He snapped at the center of unrest, “Be still! This is not the arena. Every man will wait his turn like civilized people or go cool his head in the city jail!”
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He watched Stelios choked on his own words with guilty satisfaction. “Are you alright, Commander? If it’s the heat, my men could fetch you a cup of water.”
Leonidas’ tone half wavered between deadpan sarcasm and genuine concern, gravitating toward the latter at the end of the sentence. They were slowing down the traffic. Common folks around them paused to observe the interaction. It was not the time for petty banter, and much less the occasion to encourage anarchy by challenging any symbol of authority, even if that symbol happened to be Stelios.
There was a light yelp just within earshot. Leonidas felt a pressure on his shield as the crowd shifted and rippled in response to a sudden movement. He watched Stelios launched forward to catch a fallen woman, and instinctively held out his arms to push back the crowd, creating a clearing for the Commander and his rescue least either of them was trampled.
The Antonis son took the high road, and had the sense to put personal grievance aside and allow Leonidas to carry on with his duties. Like a true Athenian. Leonidas had to admit. “Yes, Commander.” He did raise his brows at the choice of word. Clustered fornication. If that wasn’t the truth. What were the chances that their father’s promiscuous essences, baked in different ovens, were to find their way back to each other in this steaming pile of chaos?
He searched for his guardsmen’s current positions. Loxias was to his far left and had the best view of the crowd on horseback. Leonidas locked with Loxias’ eyes only moments before they were filled with horror preceding a disaster.
And then it happened. A fight broke out as a man tumbled to the ground, followed by bystanders’ audible gasp and the angry shout that sent the already restless crowd into another frenzy.
“Guards, stay where you are!” Leonidas roared. The last thing he needed right now was five guardsmen piling on top of two civilians and leaving their posts open and flocks unattended. His eyes narrowed when the posture of one of the civilians jumped out at him—alert and tightened like a cat and the pulsing veins in the neck of a healthy warhorse—before he recognized the dark crown and… aye, he remembered the markings that would crawl the man’s skin under that tunic.
A hurried look he tossed to Stelios and the woman in a weakens state in his arms. “That man’s a gladiator.” He informed Stelios urgently, and turned toward two male bystanders, “You two, take her from the Commander and rest her in the shades.” Leonidas’ attention bounced like a pebble caught under the wheel of a speeding chariot. He snapped at the center of unrest, “Be still! This is not the arena. Every man will wait his turn like civilized people or go cool his head in the city jail!”
He watched Stelios choked on his own words with guilty satisfaction. “Are you alright, Commander? If it’s the heat, my men could fetch you a cup of water.”
Leonidas’ tone half wavered between deadpan sarcasm and genuine concern, gravitating toward the latter at the end of the sentence. They were slowing down the traffic. Common folks around them paused to observe the interaction. It was not the time for petty banter, and much less the occasion to encourage anarchy by challenging any symbol of authority, even if that symbol happened to be Stelios.
There was a light yelp just within earshot. Leonidas felt a pressure on his shield as the crowd shifted and rippled in response to a sudden movement. He watched Stelios launched forward to catch a fallen woman, and instinctively held out his arms to push back the crowd, creating a clearing for the Commander and his rescue least either of them was trampled.
The Antonis son took the high road, and had the sense to put personal grievance aside and allow Leonidas to carry on with his duties. Like a true Athenian. Leonidas had to admit. “Yes, Commander.” He did raise his brows at the choice of word. Clustered fornication. If that wasn’t the truth. What were the chances that their father’s promiscuous essences, baked in different ovens, were to find their way back to each other in this steaming pile of chaos?
He searched for his guardsmen’s current positions. Loxias was to his far left and had the best view of the crowd on horseback. Leonidas locked with Loxias’ eyes only moments before they were filled with horror preceding a disaster.
And then it happened. A fight broke out as a man tumbled to the ground, followed by bystanders’ audible gasp and the angry shout that sent the already restless crowd into another frenzy.
“Guards, stay where you are!” Leonidas roared. The last thing he needed right now was five guardsmen piling on top of two civilians and leaving their posts open and flocks unattended. His eyes narrowed when the posture of one of the civilians jumped out at him—alert and tightened like a cat and the pulsing veins in the neck of a healthy warhorse—before he recognized the dark crown and… aye, he remembered the markings that would crawl the man’s skin under that tunic.
A hurried look he tossed to Stelios and the woman in a weakens state in his arms. “That man’s a gladiator.” He informed Stelios urgently, and turned toward two male bystanders, “You two, take her from the Commander and rest her in the shades.” Leonidas’ attention bounced like a pebble caught under the wheel of a speeding chariot. He snapped at the center of unrest, “Be still! This is not the arena. Every man will wait his turn like civilized people or go cool his head in the city jail!”
Tight focus, the kind that kept you alive in a one-on-one fight, was ill-suited to other situations. The gladiator was indeed coiled up tight as any wild animal hunting, senses on high alert - but the actual words of the guard's shout were as meaningless as the roar of a crowd, or of his own blood rushing through his ears. For a moment, it looked like he might have heard, but it wasn't hesitation or realization that had him hesitating, he was simply waiting. He had trained in the arena, to be entertainment, and as much as he wanted to take the man apart to sate his temper, he only beat a man on the ground if he honestly thought letting him get up again was inviting his own death.
Luckily for Lesley, and unluckily for Leonidas's attempts to keep the peace, he wasn't the only person present with a temper. For a young man in his prime, being sucker-punched when he hadn't been trying to start trouble was an offense not to be tolerated, and the old woman he'd been knocked into, trying to make her way home again with her full jar of water, was even less impressed. Neither had heard Leonidas's warning about exactly who they were dealing with. It was the sort of situation that caused bar fights to spread to the entire establishment, and the young fool slapped away the hand trying to help him to his feet and surged forward even as the crone called down epithets on his head. "Oaf! Hera smite you hard enough to make up for all the beatings your parents never gave you!" Unlike the other, she was not too proud to turn down help returning to her feet, and accepted the return of her jar from someone else. "Thank you dear. I'm glad some people still know how to give their elders a hand, unlike those ill-bred sons of goats!" Neither of the targets of her ire was paying her the slightest attention.
Lesley grinned broadly when his opponent stepped back into the fight. That made the younger man hesitate, but pride won out. He'd had some training, it seemed, since he managed to avoid another fist to his face, but he was no real match for an experienced gladiator. A shoving match broke out behind Lesley as someone attempting to back away from the fight ran into someone trying to get a better look, and he turned quickly, bringing his hapless opponent with him - the hothead had assumed that an older man with a stout frame under his tunic was likely not in fighting trim - a chiton tunic, sleeves despite this heat, and the extra blousing to compensate for less airflow thoughtlessly mistaken for the start of a middle-aged belly - and had tried for a grapple. Wanting to avoid another punch at full power was, of itself, moderately sensible, but he ended up very quickly arm locked, flipped off his feet, and thrown to the ground again, with a sharp kick to the ribs just before he hit the ground, hard enough to throw him a couple feet further away.
"Geras turn his back on you both," the old woman swore, indirectly cursing the idiots to an early grave, upon finding her water jar cracked and the little remaining water that hadn't immediately spilled out now rapidly seeping onto her clothing. She glared at the fighters - at least the one she could see - and in a fit of heat-addled pique threw the now-useless piece of pottery directly at the back of the gladiator's head.
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Tight focus, the kind that kept you alive in a one-on-one fight, was ill-suited to other situations. The gladiator was indeed coiled up tight as any wild animal hunting, senses on high alert - but the actual words of the guard's shout were as meaningless as the roar of a crowd, or of his own blood rushing through his ears. For a moment, it looked like he might have heard, but it wasn't hesitation or realization that had him hesitating, he was simply waiting. He had trained in the arena, to be entertainment, and as much as he wanted to take the man apart to sate his temper, he only beat a man on the ground if he honestly thought letting him get up again was inviting his own death.
Luckily for Lesley, and unluckily for Leonidas's attempts to keep the peace, he wasn't the only person present with a temper. For a young man in his prime, being sucker-punched when he hadn't been trying to start trouble was an offense not to be tolerated, and the old woman he'd been knocked into, trying to make her way home again with her full jar of water, was even less impressed. Neither had heard Leonidas's warning about exactly who they were dealing with. It was the sort of situation that caused bar fights to spread to the entire establishment, and the young fool slapped away the hand trying to help him to his feet and surged forward even as the crone called down epithets on his head. "Oaf! Hera smite you hard enough to make up for all the beatings your parents never gave you!" Unlike the other, she was not too proud to turn down help returning to her feet, and accepted the return of her jar from someone else. "Thank you dear. I'm glad some people still know how to give their elders a hand, unlike those ill-bred sons of goats!" Neither of the targets of her ire was paying her the slightest attention.
Lesley grinned broadly when his opponent stepped back into the fight. That made the younger man hesitate, but pride won out. He'd had some training, it seemed, since he managed to avoid another fist to his face, but he was no real match for an experienced gladiator. A shoving match broke out behind Lesley as someone attempting to back away from the fight ran into someone trying to get a better look, and he turned quickly, bringing his hapless opponent with him - the hothead had assumed that an older man with a stout frame under his tunic was likely not in fighting trim - a chiton tunic, sleeves despite this heat, and the extra blousing to compensate for less airflow thoughtlessly mistaken for the start of a middle-aged belly - and had tried for a grapple. Wanting to avoid another punch at full power was, of itself, moderately sensible, but he ended up very quickly arm locked, flipped off his feet, and thrown to the ground again, with a sharp kick to the ribs just before he hit the ground, hard enough to throw him a couple feet further away.
"Geras turn his back on you both," the old woman swore, indirectly cursing the idiots to an early grave, upon finding her water jar cracked and the little remaining water that hadn't immediately spilled out now rapidly seeping onto her clothing. She glared at the fighters - at least the one she could see - and in a fit of heat-addled pique threw the now-useless piece of pottery directly at the back of the gladiator's head.
Tight focus, the kind that kept you alive in a one-on-one fight, was ill-suited to other situations. The gladiator was indeed coiled up tight as any wild animal hunting, senses on high alert - but the actual words of the guard's shout were as meaningless as the roar of a crowd, or of his own blood rushing through his ears. For a moment, it looked like he might have heard, but it wasn't hesitation or realization that had him hesitating, he was simply waiting. He had trained in the arena, to be entertainment, and as much as he wanted to take the man apart to sate his temper, he only beat a man on the ground if he honestly thought letting him get up again was inviting his own death.
Luckily for Lesley, and unluckily for Leonidas's attempts to keep the peace, he wasn't the only person present with a temper. For a young man in his prime, being sucker-punched when he hadn't been trying to start trouble was an offense not to be tolerated, and the old woman he'd been knocked into, trying to make her way home again with her full jar of water, was even less impressed. Neither had heard Leonidas's warning about exactly who they were dealing with. It was the sort of situation that caused bar fights to spread to the entire establishment, and the young fool slapped away the hand trying to help him to his feet and surged forward even as the crone called down epithets on his head. "Oaf! Hera smite you hard enough to make up for all the beatings your parents never gave you!" Unlike the other, she was not too proud to turn down help returning to her feet, and accepted the return of her jar from someone else. "Thank you dear. I'm glad some people still know how to give their elders a hand, unlike those ill-bred sons of goats!" Neither of the targets of her ire was paying her the slightest attention.
Lesley grinned broadly when his opponent stepped back into the fight. That made the younger man hesitate, but pride won out. He'd had some training, it seemed, since he managed to avoid another fist to his face, but he was no real match for an experienced gladiator. A shoving match broke out behind Lesley as someone attempting to back away from the fight ran into someone trying to get a better look, and he turned quickly, bringing his hapless opponent with him - the hothead had assumed that an older man with a stout frame under his tunic was likely not in fighting trim - a chiton tunic, sleeves despite this heat, and the extra blousing to compensate for less airflow thoughtlessly mistaken for the start of a middle-aged belly - and had tried for a grapple. Wanting to avoid another punch at full power was, of itself, moderately sensible, but he ended up very quickly arm locked, flipped off his feet, and thrown to the ground again, with a sharp kick to the ribs just before he hit the ground, hard enough to throw him a couple feet further away.
"Geras turn his back on you both," the old woman swore, indirectly cursing the idiots to an early grave, upon finding her water jar cracked and the little remaining water that hadn't immediately spilled out now rapidly seeping onto her clothing. She glared at the fighters - at least the one she could see - and in a fit of heat-addled pique threw the now-useless piece of pottery directly at the back of the gladiator's head.
Just when Stelios thought things couldn't get any worse the gods in their infinite wisdom had to find a way to kick Athenia in the collective balls. A populace in need transcended, at least momentarily, the fact that within sword length stood a man who reminded him far too much of his father and the circumstances that hounded his poor mother to an early grave.
Beneath the facade of altogether too passionate militarism this second son wore like a second skin there did beat a heart of incredible compassion for those who deserved it. That number included the poor woman on his arm and, by and large, the law-abiding citizenry scrambling for a few drops of water. Even pride, Stelios' greatest flaw, could be choked back in moments like this.
Provided nothing else went tits up. And it was about to.
He afforded a nod of the head to Leonidas, approving of the hand-off of his fatigued charge to one of the guards just as the tumult behind was reaching the Commander's ears. "There you go, you'll be fine after a moment to catch your breath and then these two will help you get your water," he assured her softly.
And then rounded in annoyance to face the scene behind, good nature evaporated beneath the baking hot sun and replaced with a scowl that promised murder on anyone who disrupted the peace. Unfortunately a gladiator and an exceedingly stupid human punching bag were now fraying the last few strands of peace with an impromptu display of moronic fisticuffs and some creative curses. Stelios could indulge in both. "I don't give a flying rut if he's Zeus' own cunt puddle he and that other arch-idiot will STOP THIS! NOW!" The last words were roared, leonine, at the top of his prodigious lungs.
Stelios was already stalking towards them, grey eyes turned to enraged steel and his 6'3" frame a glacier in motion that promised to bulldoze over any defiance. He heard the old crone's curses and saw her pottery shards whizz by but the divine powers would have to wait their turn to smite these two. The Athenian officer wanted first crack. "I SAID THIS ENDS NOW!" he bellowed, shoving the wall of his unyielding body between the still up-standing gladiator and a downed opponent. "You cocknosed arsebadgers can beat each other into a red mist in private, but you will not do it here; on the verge of public anarchy. I'll be damned if I let this kingdom fall, not by the machinations of a dickless wonder with aspirations of a king's crown but by two almighty knob jockeys who can't find a secluded corner to bash each other's ugly faces in!" He pointed at each, an arm extended either side, wide and warning glances for the pair of 'em. "Not another step. Either of you. If you're here for water you'll wait the same as any other man. If you're not ... fuck off."
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Just when Stelios thought things couldn't get any worse the gods in their infinite wisdom had to find a way to kick Athenia in the collective balls. A populace in need transcended, at least momentarily, the fact that within sword length stood a man who reminded him far too much of his father and the circumstances that hounded his poor mother to an early grave.
Beneath the facade of altogether too passionate militarism this second son wore like a second skin there did beat a heart of incredible compassion for those who deserved it. That number included the poor woman on his arm and, by and large, the law-abiding citizenry scrambling for a few drops of water. Even pride, Stelios' greatest flaw, could be choked back in moments like this.
Provided nothing else went tits up. And it was about to.
He afforded a nod of the head to Leonidas, approving of the hand-off of his fatigued charge to one of the guards just as the tumult behind was reaching the Commander's ears. "There you go, you'll be fine after a moment to catch your breath and then these two will help you get your water," he assured her softly.
And then rounded in annoyance to face the scene behind, good nature evaporated beneath the baking hot sun and replaced with a scowl that promised murder on anyone who disrupted the peace. Unfortunately a gladiator and an exceedingly stupid human punching bag were now fraying the last few strands of peace with an impromptu display of moronic fisticuffs and some creative curses. Stelios could indulge in both. "I don't give a flying rut if he's Zeus' own cunt puddle he and that other arch-idiot will STOP THIS! NOW!" The last words were roared, leonine, at the top of his prodigious lungs.
Stelios was already stalking towards them, grey eyes turned to enraged steel and his 6'3" frame a glacier in motion that promised to bulldoze over any defiance. He heard the old crone's curses and saw her pottery shards whizz by but the divine powers would have to wait their turn to smite these two. The Athenian officer wanted first crack. "I SAID THIS ENDS NOW!" he bellowed, shoving the wall of his unyielding body between the still up-standing gladiator and a downed opponent. "You cocknosed arsebadgers can beat each other into a red mist in private, but you will not do it here; on the verge of public anarchy. I'll be damned if I let this kingdom fall, not by the machinations of a dickless wonder with aspirations of a king's crown but by two almighty knob jockeys who can't find a secluded corner to bash each other's ugly faces in!" He pointed at each, an arm extended either side, wide and warning glances for the pair of 'em. "Not another step. Either of you. If you're here for water you'll wait the same as any other man. If you're not ... fuck off."
Just when Stelios thought things couldn't get any worse the gods in their infinite wisdom had to find a way to kick Athenia in the collective balls. A populace in need transcended, at least momentarily, the fact that within sword length stood a man who reminded him far too much of his father and the circumstances that hounded his poor mother to an early grave.
Beneath the facade of altogether too passionate militarism this second son wore like a second skin there did beat a heart of incredible compassion for those who deserved it. That number included the poor woman on his arm and, by and large, the law-abiding citizenry scrambling for a few drops of water. Even pride, Stelios' greatest flaw, could be choked back in moments like this.
Provided nothing else went tits up. And it was about to.
He afforded a nod of the head to Leonidas, approving of the hand-off of his fatigued charge to one of the guards just as the tumult behind was reaching the Commander's ears. "There you go, you'll be fine after a moment to catch your breath and then these two will help you get your water," he assured her softly.
And then rounded in annoyance to face the scene behind, good nature evaporated beneath the baking hot sun and replaced with a scowl that promised murder on anyone who disrupted the peace. Unfortunately a gladiator and an exceedingly stupid human punching bag were now fraying the last few strands of peace with an impromptu display of moronic fisticuffs and some creative curses. Stelios could indulge in both. "I don't give a flying rut if he's Zeus' own cunt puddle he and that other arch-idiot will STOP THIS! NOW!" The last words were roared, leonine, at the top of his prodigious lungs.
Stelios was already stalking towards them, grey eyes turned to enraged steel and his 6'3" frame a glacier in motion that promised to bulldoze over any defiance. He heard the old crone's curses and saw her pottery shards whizz by but the divine powers would have to wait their turn to smite these two. The Athenian officer wanted first crack. "I SAID THIS ENDS NOW!" he bellowed, shoving the wall of his unyielding body between the still up-standing gladiator and a downed opponent. "You cocknosed arsebadgers can beat each other into a red mist in private, but you will not do it here; on the verge of public anarchy. I'll be damned if I let this kingdom fall, not by the machinations of a dickless wonder with aspirations of a king's crown but by two almighty knob jockeys who can't find a secluded corner to bash each other's ugly faces in!" He pointed at each, an arm extended either side, wide and warning glances for the pair of 'em. "Not another step. Either of you. If you're here for water you'll wait the same as any other man. If you're not ... fuck off."
At least, that was the tirade the lord commander intended to spit out at them. Unfortunately, he was too used to respect and obedience to expect what happened next.
An unarmoured man with a staff, and far less profanity, could probably have gotten the gladiator to stand down, used as he was to obeying the Rudis of the arena. Someone using his name might have managed it, even accompanied by an equal rant. If he hadn't already had his adrenaline up, even more so following the unexpected impact to the back of his head, Lesley might have recognized that only a soldier would be wearing armour in this heat, though he likely still wouldn't have realized the man shoving his way in front of him held any rank. If he hadn't been so desperately wanting a fight, he might have cared that brawling in the streets with a couple of strangers was liable to get him arrested eventually, even if he hadn't realized who he was facing. If Stelios hadn't confronted him quite so quickly, and the old lady hadn't made things worse as well, the punishment he'd laid on the man now lying groaning on the ground would have satisfied his temper and he would likely have even helped the fellow to his feet before being on his way.
As it was, though, 'clustered fornication' was a remarkably polite and generous way to refer to the situation.
Lesley quickly glanced over his shoulder and immediately ascertained that the thrown jar had been simply the physical equivalent of a bystander's jeering, and there was no immediate, serious threat from that direction, already moving away from the approaching hothead - not in hopes of avoiding a fight, but just controlling the distance until he was ready to close in. He didn't pay attention to the words except to note that the man was taking the time to posture, and that gave him an advantage. Lesley had never appreciated someone trying to intimidate him, and that alone had gotten him into plenty of fights in his life. Leather armour, a blade that hadn't been drawn yet, no spear or shield... Nothing that ruined his confidence, he was pissed off enough he didn't care if he got hurt, as long as he got the chance to dish some out first.
There was almost no warning before Lesley's coiled-tight muscles exploded while Stelios was right in the middle of a string of profanity, closing to his own ideal range in a single step as his fist shot towards the soldier's unarmoured face, then in practically the same motion closed the distance the rest of the way, trying for a grapple and a trip while the taller man was hopefully still getting over his surprise at the sucker punch. He was taking this fight much more seriously than the last, using his lower center of gravity to good effect rather than trying to straight up out-muscle someone a good half-foot taller. His first real goal was getting the man's sword away from him, but he'd settle for keeping him tangled up enough he couldn't draw it either.
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At least, that was the tirade the lord commander intended to spit out at them. Unfortunately, he was too used to respect and obedience to expect what happened next.
An unarmoured man with a staff, and far less profanity, could probably have gotten the gladiator to stand down, used as he was to obeying the Rudis of the arena. Someone using his name might have managed it, even accompanied by an equal rant. If he hadn't already had his adrenaline up, even more so following the unexpected impact to the back of his head, Lesley might have recognized that only a soldier would be wearing armour in this heat, though he likely still wouldn't have realized the man shoving his way in front of him held any rank. If he hadn't been so desperately wanting a fight, he might have cared that brawling in the streets with a couple of strangers was liable to get him arrested eventually, even if he hadn't realized who he was facing. If Stelios hadn't confronted him quite so quickly, and the old lady hadn't made things worse as well, the punishment he'd laid on the man now lying groaning on the ground would have satisfied his temper and he would likely have even helped the fellow to his feet before being on his way.
As it was, though, 'clustered fornication' was a remarkably polite and generous way to refer to the situation.
Lesley quickly glanced over his shoulder and immediately ascertained that the thrown jar had been simply the physical equivalent of a bystander's jeering, and there was no immediate, serious threat from that direction, already moving away from the approaching hothead - not in hopes of avoiding a fight, but just controlling the distance until he was ready to close in. He didn't pay attention to the words except to note that the man was taking the time to posture, and that gave him an advantage. Lesley had never appreciated someone trying to intimidate him, and that alone had gotten him into plenty of fights in his life. Leather armour, a blade that hadn't been drawn yet, no spear or shield... Nothing that ruined his confidence, he was pissed off enough he didn't care if he got hurt, as long as he got the chance to dish some out first.
There was almost no warning before Lesley's coiled-tight muscles exploded while Stelios was right in the middle of a string of profanity, closing to his own ideal range in a single step as his fist shot towards the soldier's unarmoured face, then in practically the same motion closed the distance the rest of the way, trying for a grapple and a trip while the taller man was hopefully still getting over his surprise at the sucker punch. He was taking this fight much more seriously than the last, using his lower center of gravity to good effect rather than trying to straight up out-muscle someone a good half-foot taller. His first real goal was getting the man's sword away from him, but he'd settle for keeping him tangled up enough he couldn't draw it either.
At least, that was the tirade the lord commander intended to spit out at them. Unfortunately, he was too used to respect and obedience to expect what happened next.
An unarmoured man with a staff, and far less profanity, could probably have gotten the gladiator to stand down, used as he was to obeying the Rudis of the arena. Someone using his name might have managed it, even accompanied by an equal rant. If he hadn't already had his adrenaline up, even more so following the unexpected impact to the back of his head, Lesley might have recognized that only a soldier would be wearing armour in this heat, though he likely still wouldn't have realized the man shoving his way in front of him held any rank. If he hadn't been so desperately wanting a fight, he might have cared that brawling in the streets with a couple of strangers was liable to get him arrested eventually, even if he hadn't realized who he was facing. If Stelios hadn't confronted him quite so quickly, and the old lady hadn't made things worse as well, the punishment he'd laid on the man now lying groaning on the ground would have satisfied his temper and he would likely have even helped the fellow to his feet before being on his way.
As it was, though, 'clustered fornication' was a remarkably polite and generous way to refer to the situation.
Lesley quickly glanced over his shoulder and immediately ascertained that the thrown jar had been simply the physical equivalent of a bystander's jeering, and there was no immediate, serious threat from that direction, already moving away from the approaching hothead - not in hopes of avoiding a fight, but just controlling the distance until he was ready to close in. He didn't pay attention to the words except to note that the man was taking the time to posture, and that gave him an advantage. Lesley had never appreciated someone trying to intimidate him, and that alone had gotten him into plenty of fights in his life. Leather armour, a blade that hadn't been drawn yet, no spear or shield... Nothing that ruined his confidence, he was pissed off enough he didn't care if he got hurt, as long as he got the chance to dish some out first.
There was almost no warning before Lesley's coiled-tight muscles exploded while Stelios was right in the middle of a string of profanity, closing to his own ideal range in a single step as his fist shot towards the soldier's unarmoured face, then in practically the same motion closed the distance the rest of the way, trying for a grapple and a trip while the taller man was hopefully still getting over his surprise at the sucker punch. He was taking this fight much more seriously than the last, using his lower center of gravity to good effect rather than trying to straight up out-muscle someone a good half-foot taller. His first real goal was getting the man's sword away from him, but he'd settle for keeping him tangled up enough he couldn't draw it either.
Nothing was ever gradual or sedate with Stelios. Nothing ever done by half. All of his passions were relieved, expressed, ejected with titanic force and that had been the course his whole life through. He was that child who couldn't help breaking toys. He was the youth who got kicked by the most ornery horse in the stables because that had to be the one he rode. He was the young stalwart charging headlong into battle ... and not much had changed in maturity. He still led from the front, and fell into black moods any time he wasn't the first to set the sound of iron against iron ringing across the battlefield. Anger, joy, repulsion, lust, even the scarce moments of apathy did not pass over him quietly. And fury sure as shit didn't.
Heedless of the combative prowess of the man he was shouting down, Stelios laid into him with the same fierce invective he would have unleashed on his soldiers. He was boiling, not for a fight but a little respite from Helios' fucking instrument of torture blazing down on them from above and thinking anything but clearly. The master strategist should have also been aware of the weakness his tirade exposed, and if this hadn't already been a long day full of tussles and arguments and corralling people who had descended into wildness he would have. But stress must out, and this was Stelios' explosion which once started he was powerless to stop short of finished.
He never saw the lunge, only felt the impact of knuckles against the nobleman's scowling face, the crush of a body as hard-honed and brutal as his own and down they went to dusty, roasting hot pavestones. Stelios howled in rage, both from the affront and the infernal scalding of the bare flesh of his lower arms and legs against the ground. Height meant nothing from this vantage point. Strength did, however, and years of training bade him twist and turn, trying to get out of the gladiator's snare while pivoting his body as best he could away, kicking and punching to keep seeking hands from finding his sword belt.
Around them, a disquieted peasantry at least had the good sense to stop and stare in shock, their troubles momentarily forgotten to gape at a commander being accosted in the street. "LEO! Get this fool ... off ... me!" he barked, while trying to cloud the scrappy fellow either side of the head in hopes of dizzying him enough to escape. "Before I fucking kill him."
Failing that, Stelios dug the heels of his boots into the dust and tried to hurtle himself forward, to turn the center of balance and put the attacker underneath for a change. The corded muscles of his arms and legs turned to iron, flexing with the same rage that twisted his square-jawed face into a mask of anger. "If I get out of this short of booting your ass off this mortal coil, it'll be a mercy," he grunted from within the mass of arms and legs. "You picked the wrong day for a fight. And the wrong man to test."
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Nothing was ever gradual or sedate with Stelios. Nothing ever done by half. All of his passions were relieved, expressed, ejected with titanic force and that had been the course his whole life through. He was that child who couldn't help breaking toys. He was the youth who got kicked by the most ornery horse in the stables because that had to be the one he rode. He was the young stalwart charging headlong into battle ... and not much had changed in maturity. He still led from the front, and fell into black moods any time he wasn't the first to set the sound of iron against iron ringing across the battlefield. Anger, joy, repulsion, lust, even the scarce moments of apathy did not pass over him quietly. And fury sure as shit didn't.
Heedless of the combative prowess of the man he was shouting down, Stelios laid into him with the same fierce invective he would have unleashed on his soldiers. He was boiling, not for a fight but a little respite from Helios' fucking instrument of torture blazing down on them from above and thinking anything but clearly. The master strategist should have also been aware of the weakness his tirade exposed, and if this hadn't already been a long day full of tussles and arguments and corralling people who had descended into wildness he would have. But stress must out, and this was Stelios' explosion which once started he was powerless to stop short of finished.
He never saw the lunge, only felt the impact of knuckles against the nobleman's scowling face, the crush of a body as hard-honed and brutal as his own and down they went to dusty, roasting hot pavestones. Stelios howled in rage, both from the affront and the infernal scalding of the bare flesh of his lower arms and legs against the ground. Height meant nothing from this vantage point. Strength did, however, and years of training bade him twist and turn, trying to get out of the gladiator's snare while pivoting his body as best he could away, kicking and punching to keep seeking hands from finding his sword belt.
Around them, a disquieted peasantry at least had the good sense to stop and stare in shock, their troubles momentarily forgotten to gape at a commander being accosted in the street. "LEO! Get this fool ... off ... me!" he barked, while trying to cloud the scrappy fellow either side of the head in hopes of dizzying him enough to escape. "Before I fucking kill him."
Failing that, Stelios dug the heels of his boots into the dust and tried to hurtle himself forward, to turn the center of balance and put the attacker underneath for a change. The corded muscles of his arms and legs turned to iron, flexing with the same rage that twisted his square-jawed face into a mask of anger. "If I get out of this short of booting your ass off this mortal coil, it'll be a mercy," he grunted from within the mass of arms and legs. "You picked the wrong day for a fight. And the wrong man to test."
Nothing was ever gradual or sedate with Stelios. Nothing ever done by half. All of his passions were relieved, expressed, ejected with titanic force and that had been the course his whole life through. He was that child who couldn't help breaking toys. He was the youth who got kicked by the most ornery horse in the stables because that had to be the one he rode. He was the young stalwart charging headlong into battle ... and not much had changed in maturity. He still led from the front, and fell into black moods any time he wasn't the first to set the sound of iron against iron ringing across the battlefield. Anger, joy, repulsion, lust, even the scarce moments of apathy did not pass over him quietly. And fury sure as shit didn't.
Heedless of the combative prowess of the man he was shouting down, Stelios laid into him with the same fierce invective he would have unleashed on his soldiers. He was boiling, not for a fight but a little respite from Helios' fucking instrument of torture blazing down on them from above and thinking anything but clearly. The master strategist should have also been aware of the weakness his tirade exposed, and if this hadn't already been a long day full of tussles and arguments and corralling people who had descended into wildness he would have. But stress must out, and this was Stelios' explosion which once started he was powerless to stop short of finished.
He never saw the lunge, only felt the impact of knuckles against the nobleman's scowling face, the crush of a body as hard-honed and brutal as his own and down they went to dusty, roasting hot pavestones. Stelios howled in rage, both from the affront and the infernal scalding of the bare flesh of his lower arms and legs against the ground. Height meant nothing from this vantage point. Strength did, however, and years of training bade him twist and turn, trying to get out of the gladiator's snare while pivoting his body as best he could away, kicking and punching to keep seeking hands from finding his sword belt.
Around them, a disquieted peasantry at least had the good sense to stop and stare in shock, their troubles momentarily forgotten to gape at a commander being accosted in the street. "LEO! Get this fool ... off ... me!" he barked, while trying to cloud the scrappy fellow either side of the head in hopes of dizzying him enough to escape. "Before I fucking kill him."
Failing that, Stelios dug the heels of his boots into the dust and tried to hurtle himself forward, to turn the center of balance and put the attacker underneath for a change. The corded muscles of his arms and legs turned to iron, flexing with the same rage that twisted his square-jawed face into a mask of anger. "If I get out of this short of booting your ass off this mortal coil, it'll be a mercy," he grunted from within the mass of arms and legs. "You picked the wrong day for a fight. And the wrong man to test."
If he knew one thing, it was to listen to signs that the gods gave. No matter what god it was, it was not to be disobeyed. Adrestus had arrived in Athenia in the early morning sun, and he had already predicted that Helios was already working overtime, feeling the heat as soon as the sun had come up. But there had been much work to be done, and Adrestus had been distracted and trying to get ready to get grounded for a while. Or, maybe forever. The only reason he was here was because of his family. They wanted him to be Baron, back for good, and after sailing the seas for months, or even years on end, this was a big change. Adrestus wasn’t even sure if he wanted it, especially knowing that Sokari was still out there, somewhere. He had the sails secured, no longer flapping they once were, but locked against the mast of the ship, as well as his ship tied to the dock. Well, they were here. In Athenia. He had answered his family’s call, and well, he just hope that this all wasn’t just a big mistake.
He felt sweat sliding down his forehead as Adrestus, now a very boiling young man in terms of temperature, turned his eyes to the sky. “Helios…” He muttered under his breath as he cursed the god. The weather turned worse and worse as time passed, and Adrestus felt his heart sinking. This was the first day that he was in Athenia with a thought to stay, and this is how the gods treated his coming home? His first thought was that it was a sign, and not a good one. He felt terrible, and not just from the feeling of his chiron melting against his skin. He made sure his crew made it to their families, so that the men could make sure that they could do what they needed to do. And Adrestus didn’t need them, anyways. What Adrestus needed to do was get into contact with his family, as soon as he could. But of course, it was just so… hot.
It felt like he was drowning in sweat, and he could feel the hot sun seeping into his skin. He hated it, and Adrestus kept looking towards the sea every so often. Poisiden, the god of the sea, at least, never did a thing like this to them. He moved through his home of Athenia, somewhere he hadn’t been in many months, and he frowned as people became more and more frustrated and thirsty. His first thought was that it was a sign that he should just get on his ship and leave, but his second thought was much more rational. Stay, and help. He noticed soldiers herding people towards the water, and Adrestus wiped some sweat off his brow. Well, he was here, time to get to work.
He grabbed a small child who was whimpering and getting away from its mother, and the sailor nodded towards the woman. “Just follow me.” He gently but firmly moved his hand to create some space for himself to walk still carrying the small child in his arms. Once near water, he waited for the mother to come closer to him, and Adrestus gave the child back to her. “Get some water, both of you.” He said softly, before moving away to make sure no one else needed help. He should get water, himself, but he had much more on his mind that he needed to do before that. He noticed a fight brewing and he rolled his eyes heavily. “Fools, should be ashamed,” He spoke, wondering whether to break it up, but also assuming he might just make things worse. It was already chaotic with the weather, they did not need more people to get hurt. He moved to make space for the Guard to do their work, and glanced around. He noticed a figure that he was pretty sure was his younger brother, and reached out to put a hand on his shoulder.
“You’ve gotten water, right? Please tell me you have gotten water.”
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If he knew one thing, it was to listen to signs that the gods gave. No matter what god it was, it was not to be disobeyed. Adrestus had arrived in Athenia in the early morning sun, and he had already predicted that Helios was already working overtime, feeling the heat as soon as the sun had come up. But there had been much work to be done, and Adrestus had been distracted and trying to get ready to get grounded for a while. Or, maybe forever. The only reason he was here was because of his family. They wanted him to be Baron, back for good, and after sailing the seas for months, or even years on end, this was a big change. Adrestus wasn’t even sure if he wanted it, especially knowing that Sokari was still out there, somewhere. He had the sails secured, no longer flapping they once were, but locked against the mast of the ship, as well as his ship tied to the dock. Well, they were here. In Athenia. He had answered his family’s call, and well, he just hope that this all wasn’t just a big mistake.
He felt sweat sliding down his forehead as Adrestus, now a very boiling young man in terms of temperature, turned his eyes to the sky. “Helios…” He muttered under his breath as he cursed the god. The weather turned worse and worse as time passed, and Adrestus felt his heart sinking. This was the first day that he was in Athenia with a thought to stay, and this is how the gods treated his coming home? His first thought was that it was a sign, and not a good one. He felt terrible, and not just from the feeling of his chiron melting against his skin. He made sure his crew made it to their families, so that the men could make sure that they could do what they needed to do. And Adrestus didn’t need them, anyways. What Adrestus needed to do was get into contact with his family, as soon as he could. But of course, it was just so… hot.
It felt like he was drowning in sweat, and he could feel the hot sun seeping into his skin. He hated it, and Adrestus kept looking towards the sea every so often. Poisiden, the god of the sea, at least, never did a thing like this to them. He moved through his home of Athenia, somewhere he hadn’t been in many months, and he frowned as people became more and more frustrated and thirsty. His first thought was that it was a sign that he should just get on his ship and leave, but his second thought was much more rational. Stay, and help. He noticed soldiers herding people towards the water, and Adrestus wiped some sweat off his brow. Well, he was here, time to get to work.
He grabbed a small child who was whimpering and getting away from its mother, and the sailor nodded towards the woman. “Just follow me.” He gently but firmly moved his hand to create some space for himself to walk still carrying the small child in his arms. Once near water, he waited for the mother to come closer to him, and Adrestus gave the child back to her. “Get some water, both of you.” He said softly, before moving away to make sure no one else needed help. He should get water, himself, but he had much more on his mind that he needed to do before that. He noticed a fight brewing and he rolled his eyes heavily. “Fools, should be ashamed,” He spoke, wondering whether to break it up, but also assuming he might just make things worse. It was already chaotic with the weather, they did not need more people to get hurt. He moved to make space for the Guard to do their work, and glanced around. He noticed a figure that he was pretty sure was his younger brother, and reached out to put a hand on his shoulder.
“You’ve gotten water, right? Please tell me you have gotten water.”
If he knew one thing, it was to listen to signs that the gods gave. No matter what god it was, it was not to be disobeyed. Adrestus had arrived in Athenia in the early morning sun, and he had already predicted that Helios was already working overtime, feeling the heat as soon as the sun had come up. But there had been much work to be done, and Adrestus had been distracted and trying to get ready to get grounded for a while. Or, maybe forever. The only reason he was here was because of his family. They wanted him to be Baron, back for good, and after sailing the seas for months, or even years on end, this was a big change. Adrestus wasn’t even sure if he wanted it, especially knowing that Sokari was still out there, somewhere. He had the sails secured, no longer flapping they once were, but locked against the mast of the ship, as well as his ship tied to the dock. Well, they were here. In Athenia. He had answered his family’s call, and well, he just hope that this all wasn’t just a big mistake.
He felt sweat sliding down his forehead as Adrestus, now a very boiling young man in terms of temperature, turned his eyes to the sky. “Helios…” He muttered under his breath as he cursed the god. The weather turned worse and worse as time passed, and Adrestus felt his heart sinking. This was the first day that he was in Athenia with a thought to stay, and this is how the gods treated his coming home? His first thought was that it was a sign, and not a good one. He felt terrible, and not just from the feeling of his chiron melting against his skin. He made sure his crew made it to their families, so that the men could make sure that they could do what they needed to do. And Adrestus didn’t need them, anyways. What Adrestus needed to do was get into contact with his family, as soon as he could. But of course, it was just so… hot.
It felt like he was drowning in sweat, and he could feel the hot sun seeping into his skin. He hated it, and Adrestus kept looking towards the sea every so often. Poisiden, the god of the sea, at least, never did a thing like this to them. He moved through his home of Athenia, somewhere he hadn’t been in many months, and he frowned as people became more and more frustrated and thirsty. His first thought was that it was a sign that he should just get on his ship and leave, but his second thought was much more rational. Stay, and help. He noticed soldiers herding people towards the water, and Adrestus wiped some sweat off his brow. Well, he was here, time to get to work.
He grabbed a small child who was whimpering and getting away from its mother, and the sailor nodded towards the woman. “Just follow me.” He gently but firmly moved his hand to create some space for himself to walk still carrying the small child in his arms. Once near water, he waited for the mother to come closer to him, and Adrestus gave the child back to her. “Get some water, both of you.” He said softly, before moving away to make sure no one else needed help. He should get water, himself, but he had much more on his mind that he needed to do before that. He noticed a fight brewing and he rolled his eyes heavily. “Fools, should be ashamed,” He spoke, wondering whether to break it up, but also assuming he might just make things worse. It was already chaotic with the weather, they did not need more people to get hurt. He moved to make space for the Guard to do their work, and glanced around. He noticed a figure that he was pretty sure was his younger brother, and reached out to put a hand on his shoulder.
“You’ve gotten water, right? Please tell me you have gotten water.”
Leonidas had sometimes suspected that the gods and goddesses—with their grandiose infidelity and infinite sense of irony—mocked him in this life. Whenever he felt a sense of security and order, the pendulum swung and knocked him over to the side of chaos and frenzy.
He heard the horse's neighing first; Loxias pulled on the rein to control his mound from reacting to the sudden heightened tension. He lost sight of the trio guards on foot when the crowd imploded with shouts and unintelligible fighting words. Two men traded punches. Before Leonidas’ open mouth can let out any order of discipline, the gladiator spun like a cartwheel and sent the less experienced fight across the air into the onlooking crowd.
In this moment, the pendulum knocking him into madness was almost literal, as Leonidas stumbled back from a furious Stelios charging toward the instigators.
“Wait—!” He growled ineffectively, drowned in the dozens of cheering and cussing of boiling Athenians. Leonidas hissed under his breath and ran after Stelios. His line of sight momentarily obstructed by the sea of heads bobbing in the heat, swallowing Stelios’ golden crown and spitting it out like a serpent’s flickering tongue.
Anger was a beast. Violence was a beast. And the raging collective of overheating heads made for a morphing legion, threatening not only to devour but to consume and assimilate all that stood in its path.
The beast opened its mouth—Leonidas felt the heat rushing at him from the parted crowd like a hot breath when he saw, down the center of the beast’s throat, Lesley and Stelios locked in a fist fight. A couple more bloodied faces surrounded the two, marking former participants now standing in shock at the two men going at each other. Leonidas feared that soon someone would decide to aid the gladiator against a tyrannical militant, or a concerned citizen for their city’s military against a mobster.
“Commander, stop!” He ran in when the two men were about to tumble to the ground. Bracing himself for any possible stray kicks and punches, Leonidas grabbed the men by each of their shoulders and pulled them apart. It was easier to hold onto Stelios’ leather armor whose toughness provided a better handle for a grip. Whereas with Lesley’s tunic, he found himself having to truly hold onto the gladiator’s sweaty, slipper bicep in an attempt to push him away from Stelios.
“You’re assaulting a ranking officer of the Athenian Army and member of a Noble House. We could have you jailed and possibly worse. Think!” He hissed at the gladiator, “I want to punch him too, but is the moment’s satisfaction really worth the cost?!”
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Leonidas had sometimes suspected that the gods and goddesses—with their grandiose infidelity and infinite sense of irony—mocked him in this life. Whenever he felt a sense of security and order, the pendulum swung and knocked him over to the side of chaos and frenzy.
He heard the horse's neighing first; Loxias pulled on the rein to control his mound from reacting to the sudden heightened tension. He lost sight of the trio guards on foot when the crowd imploded with shouts and unintelligible fighting words. Two men traded punches. Before Leonidas’ open mouth can let out any order of discipline, the gladiator spun like a cartwheel and sent the less experienced fight across the air into the onlooking crowd.
In this moment, the pendulum knocking him into madness was almost literal, as Leonidas stumbled back from a furious Stelios charging toward the instigators.
“Wait—!” He growled ineffectively, drowned in the dozens of cheering and cussing of boiling Athenians. Leonidas hissed under his breath and ran after Stelios. His line of sight momentarily obstructed by the sea of heads bobbing in the heat, swallowing Stelios’ golden crown and spitting it out like a serpent’s flickering tongue.
Anger was a beast. Violence was a beast. And the raging collective of overheating heads made for a morphing legion, threatening not only to devour but to consume and assimilate all that stood in its path.
The beast opened its mouth—Leonidas felt the heat rushing at him from the parted crowd like a hot breath when he saw, down the center of the beast’s throat, Lesley and Stelios locked in a fist fight. A couple more bloodied faces surrounded the two, marking former participants now standing in shock at the two men going at each other. Leonidas feared that soon someone would decide to aid the gladiator against a tyrannical militant, or a concerned citizen for their city’s military against a mobster.
“Commander, stop!” He ran in when the two men were about to tumble to the ground. Bracing himself for any possible stray kicks and punches, Leonidas grabbed the men by each of their shoulders and pulled them apart. It was easier to hold onto Stelios’ leather armor whose toughness provided a better handle for a grip. Whereas with Lesley’s tunic, he found himself having to truly hold onto the gladiator’s sweaty, slipper bicep in an attempt to push him away from Stelios.
“You’re assaulting a ranking officer of the Athenian Army and member of a Noble House. We could have you jailed and possibly worse. Think!” He hissed at the gladiator, “I want to punch him too, but is the moment’s satisfaction really worth the cost?!”
Leonidas had sometimes suspected that the gods and goddesses—with their grandiose infidelity and infinite sense of irony—mocked him in this life. Whenever he felt a sense of security and order, the pendulum swung and knocked him over to the side of chaos and frenzy.
He heard the horse's neighing first; Loxias pulled on the rein to control his mound from reacting to the sudden heightened tension. He lost sight of the trio guards on foot when the crowd imploded with shouts and unintelligible fighting words. Two men traded punches. Before Leonidas’ open mouth can let out any order of discipline, the gladiator spun like a cartwheel and sent the less experienced fight across the air into the onlooking crowd.
In this moment, the pendulum knocking him into madness was almost literal, as Leonidas stumbled back from a furious Stelios charging toward the instigators.
“Wait—!” He growled ineffectively, drowned in the dozens of cheering and cussing of boiling Athenians. Leonidas hissed under his breath and ran after Stelios. His line of sight momentarily obstructed by the sea of heads bobbing in the heat, swallowing Stelios’ golden crown and spitting it out like a serpent’s flickering tongue.
Anger was a beast. Violence was a beast. And the raging collective of overheating heads made for a morphing legion, threatening not only to devour but to consume and assimilate all that stood in its path.
The beast opened its mouth—Leonidas felt the heat rushing at him from the parted crowd like a hot breath when he saw, down the center of the beast’s throat, Lesley and Stelios locked in a fist fight. A couple more bloodied faces surrounded the two, marking former participants now standing in shock at the two men going at each other. Leonidas feared that soon someone would decide to aid the gladiator against a tyrannical militant, or a concerned citizen for their city’s military against a mobster.
“Commander, stop!” He ran in when the two men were about to tumble to the ground. Bracing himself for any possible stray kicks and punches, Leonidas grabbed the men by each of their shoulders and pulled them apart. It was easier to hold onto Stelios’ leather armor whose toughness provided a better handle for a grip. Whereas with Lesley’s tunic, he found himself having to truly hold onto the gladiator’s sweaty, slipper bicep in an attempt to push him away from Stelios.
“You’re assaulting a ranking officer of the Athenian Army and member of a Noble House. We could have you jailed and possibly worse. Think!” He hissed at the gladiator, “I want to punch him too, but is the moment’s satisfaction really worth the cost?!”
Aetius had been looking forward to getting some sleep after having to take the night watch, but it seemed that the gods had different plans for him. Though he should have managed to at least sleep til noon before he was on duty again, he woke long before that, skin slick with sweat and overwhelmingly hot. The barracks were only half full, but the space was still cramped and the heat oppressive. Grumbling to himself, Aetius decided to head out, donning his cuirass and greaves since it was close enough to his next shift that he may as well start early. Perhaps some fresh air would help. As soon as he walked out of the barracks, however, he regretted his decision. The heat wasn't any worse, per say, but it certainly wasn't any better. It was simply a different form of torture -- sticky, blinding heat instead of the dark, oppressive barracks.
Yelling and commotion down the street soon distracted him, however. Forehead creasing in concern, Aetius immediately turned and headed in that direction, idly wondering how anyone managed to rouse enough energy to start such a ruckus in this heat. Though he kept his hands off his weapons for now, not seeking to escalate any tensions at the scene, the soldier was clearly tense and ready for action. He rounded the corner just as a heavily-tattooed man (a gladiator, if the whispers around him were to be believed) launched himself at a figure Aetius vaguely recognized as Commander Stelios of the Spears of Cerberus.
He stopped in surprise, quickly assessing the situation around him. The area was crowded, but not entirely mismanaged -- he could see familiar members from the Guard close by -- and anyone with half a brain could tell that the sweltering heat had driven the city's citizens out in droves for water. Despite the Commander's call for help, Aetius hesitated. He had spotted his captain nearby, but if he was closer and in a better position to help...but no, Leonidas was moving.
Aetius was a small man, and he wasn't in the habit of overestimating his own strength. The attacker was heavily muscled and more than a match for the smaller soldier. Regardless, Aetius rushed forward to the scene, ready to grab at Lesley should the gladiator try escaping from Leonidas's grip and l
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Aetius had been looking forward to getting some sleep after having to take the night watch, but it seemed that the gods had different plans for him. Though he should have managed to at least sleep til noon before he was on duty again, he woke long before that, skin slick with sweat and overwhelmingly hot. The barracks were only half full, but the space was still cramped and the heat oppressive. Grumbling to himself, Aetius decided to head out, donning his cuirass and greaves since it was close enough to his next shift that he may as well start early. Perhaps some fresh air would help. As soon as he walked out of the barracks, however, he regretted his decision. The heat wasn't any worse, per say, but it certainly wasn't any better. It was simply a different form of torture -- sticky, blinding heat instead of the dark, oppressive barracks.
Yelling and commotion down the street soon distracted him, however. Forehead creasing in concern, Aetius immediately turned and headed in that direction, idly wondering how anyone managed to rouse enough energy to start such a ruckus in this heat. Though he kept his hands off his weapons for now, not seeking to escalate any tensions at the scene, the soldier was clearly tense and ready for action. He rounded the corner just as a heavily-tattooed man (a gladiator, if the whispers around him were to be believed) launched himself at a figure Aetius vaguely recognized as Commander Stelios of the Spears of Cerberus.
He stopped in surprise, quickly assessing the situation around him. The area was crowded, but not entirely mismanaged -- he could see familiar members from the Guard close by -- and anyone with half a brain could tell that the sweltering heat had driven the city's citizens out in droves for water. Despite the Commander's call for help, Aetius hesitated. He had spotted his captain nearby, but if he was closer and in a better position to help...but no, Leonidas was moving.
Aetius was a small man, and he wasn't in the habit of overestimating his own strength. The attacker was heavily muscled and more than a match for the smaller soldier. Regardless, Aetius rushed forward to the scene, ready to grab at Lesley should the gladiator try escaping from Leonidas's grip and l
Aetius had been looking forward to getting some sleep after having to take the night watch, but it seemed that the gods had different plans for him. Though he should have managed to at least sleep til noon before he was on duty again, he woke long before that, skin slick with sweat and overwhelmingly hot. The barracks were only half full, but the space was still cramped and the heat oppressive. Grumbling to himself, Aetius decided to head out, donning his cuirass and greaves since it was close enough to his next shift that he may as well start early. Perhaps some fresh air would help. As soon as he walked out of the barracks, however, he regretted his decision. The heat wasn't any worse, per say, but it certainly wasn't any better. It was simply a different form of torture -- sticky, blinding heat instead of the dark, oppressive barracks.
Yelling and commotion down the street soon distracted him, however. Forehead creasing in concern, Aetius immediately turned and headed in that direction, idly wondering how anyone managed to rouse enough energy to start such a ruckus in this heat. Though he kept his hands off his weapons for now, not seeking to escalate any tensions at the scene, the soldier was clearly tense and ready for action. He rounded the corner just as a heavily-tattooed man (a gladiator, if the whispers around him were to be believed) launched himself at a figure Aetius vaguely recognized as Commander Stelios of the Spears of Cerberus.
He stopped in surprise, quickly assessing the situation around him. The area was crowded, but not entirely mismanaged -- he could see familiar members from the Guard close by -- and anyone with half a brain could tell that the sweltering heat had driven the city's citizens out in droves for water. Despite the Commander's call for help, Aetius hesitated. He had spotted his captain nearby, but if he was closer and in a better position to help...but no, Leonidas was moving.
Aetius was a small man, and he wasn't in the habit of overestimating his own strength. The attacker was heavily muscled and more than a match for the smaller soldier. Regardless, Aetius rushed forward to the scene, ready to grab at Lesley should the gladiator try escaping from Leonidas's grip and l
When Stelios bellowed for help, Lesley's hot-tempered scowl morphed into something quite different. The gladiator's attempts to pummel the other man to a pulp didn't let up in the slightest, but a smirk quickly gave way to an outright laugh. His elbow aimed for the other's neck, followed quickly by the heel of his hand solidly driving up to his chin, even as he drove a knee into the soldier's... well, he wasn't aiming so much as trying to distract the other man with the need to defend his soft bits. He wasn't dumb enough to give up any leverage or control he managed to get, though, even if he enjoyed beating someone far more than wrestling, and this fight was just a messy combination of both - exactly what he needed right now. He wasn't trying to kill anyone, after all, just get a measure of satisfaction to make up for the absolutely shit day.
He grinned again at the assertion that he'd picked the wrong man for a fight, a dark light in his eyes that wasn't entirely sane. "So did you." Smug, certain... almost gleeful. All his anger was gone, or at least vanished from sight. And absolutely not a hint of fear or worry. He was, however, taking his opponent seriously enough to fight dirty and brutal. He might not be trying to kill anyone, but Lesley would rather win a fight decisively (and in this heat, if he was forced to admit it, quickly), and that meant putting his opponent in a condition where he wasn't capable of picking himself up.
He had enough situational awareness to be aware when someone actually stepped out of their audience, and this time he realized that the person trying to break them up was a legitimate authority. Les was never really fond of authority figures, but over thirty years he had managed to gain a pretty good instinct for when he could get away with defiance, and when he shouldn't try, so he let himself be pulled away from his opponent. Leonidas's admission he would also have liked to punch his commander brought a smirk to the gladiator's face, and a willingness to consider that this particular soldier might not be a complete prat.
Unlike just a few minutes earlier, when he'd been tightly coiled, barely contained, and fairly itching to lash out, when he stepped away from the fight he was relaxed, easily balanced on the balls of his feet, alert and ready, but no longer looking like he would be the one to start another fight.
"I dunno," he retorted, keeping a careful eye on Stelios in case he was the type to return the sucker punch as soon as he looked away. "It was very satisfying." The smirk morphed into a flash of a grin as he added, "You really should try it sometime." Obedience may have been driven into him over the years, but the sass had never been entirely beaten out of him. He tasted blood, and took a moment to check for loose teeth with his tongue, then added directly to Stelios, "Not bad. Is that other fellow all right?"
He sighed as his fingers found their way to his sleeves, realizing that some of the pins had come out during the tussle and his tattoos were visible. He'd thought he'd heard his name amid the din of cheers and jeers, that explained his being recognized. At least the fabric wasn't torn too badly. He glanced between the two - no, three now - guards, and reflected that he probably shouldn't ask about help finding them nor the possibility of getting a drink of water quite yet. Let the man holding him lecture, say 'yes sir' enough that he wouldn't decide to arrest him after all, then worry about other things. He popped his neck and rolled his shoulders, the gesture almost a shrug, and waited.
Damn, but it was hot, though.
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When Stelios bellowed for help, Lesley's hot-tempered scowl morphed into something quite different. The gladiator's attempts to pummel the other man to a pulp didn't let up in the slightest, but a smirk quickly gave way to an outright laugh. His elbow aimed for the other's neck, followed quickly by the heel of his hand solidly driving up to his chin, even as he drove a knee into the soldier's... well, he wasn't aiming so much as trying to distract the other man with the need to defend his soft bits. He wasn't dumb enough to give up any leverage or control he managed to get, though, even if he enjoyed beating someone far more than wrestling, and this fight was just a messy combination of both - exactly what he needed right now. He wasn't trying to kill anyone, after all, just get a measure of satisfaction to make up for the absolutely shit day.
He grinned again at the assertion that he'd picked the wrong man for a fight, a dark light in his eyes that wasn't entirely sane. "So did you." Smug, certain... almost gleeful. All his anger was gone, or at least vanished from sight. And absolutely not a hint of fear or worry. He was, however, taking his opponent seriously enough to fight dirty and brutal. He might not be trying to kill anyone, but Lesley would rather win a fight decisively (and in this heat, if he was forced to admit it, quickly), and that meant putting his opponent in a condition where he wasn't capable of picking himself up.
He had enough situational awareness to be aware when someone actually stepped out of their audience, and this time he realized that the person trying to break them up was a legitimate authority. Les was never really fond of authority figures, but over thirty years he had managed to gain a pretty good instinct for when he could get away with defiance, and when he shouldn't try, so he let himself be pulled away from his opponent. Leonidas's admission he would also have liked to punch his commander brought a smirk to the gladiator's face, and a willingness to consider that this particular soldier might not be a complete prat.
Unlike just a few minutes earlier, when he'd been tightly coiled, barely contained, and fairly itching to lash out, when he stepped away from the fight he was relaxed, easily balanced on the balls of his feet, alert and ready, but no longer looking like he would be the one to start another fight.
"I dunno," he retorted, keeping a careful eye on Stelios in case he was the type to return the sucker punch as soon as he looked away. "It was very satisfying." The smirk morphed into a flash of a grin as he added, "You really should try it sometime." Obedience may have been driven into him over the years, but the sass had never been entirely beaten out of him. He tasted blood, and took a moment to check for loose teeth with his tongue, then added directly to Stelios, "Not bad. Is that other fellow all right?"
He sighed as his fingers found their way to his sleeves, realizing that some of the pins had come out during the tussle and his tattoos were visible. He'd thought he'd heard his name amid the din of cheers and jeers, that explained his being recognized. At least the fabric wasn't torn too badly. He glanced between the two - no, three now - guards, and reflected that he probably shouldn't ask about help finding them nor the possibility of getting a drink of water quite yet. Let the man holding him lecture, say 'yes sir' enough that he wouldn't decide to arrest him after all, then worry about other things. He popped his neck and rolled his shoulders, the gesture almost a shrug, and waited.
Damn, but it was hot, though.
When Stelios bellowed for help, Lesley's hot-tempered scowl morphed into something quite different. The gladiator's attempts to pummel the other man to a pulp didn't let up in the slightest, but a smirk quickly gave way to an outright laugh. His elbow aimed for the other's neck, followed quickly by the heel of his hand solidly driving up to his chin, even as he drove a knee into the soldier's... well, he wasn't aiming so much as trying to distract the other man with the need to defend his soft bits. He wasn't dumb enough to give up any leverage or control he managed to get, though, even if he enjoyed beating someone far more than wrestling, and this fight was just a messy combination of both - exactly what he needed right now. He wasn't trying to kill anyone, after all, just get a measure of satisfaction to make up for the absolutely shit day.
He grinned again at the assertion that he'd picked the wrong man for a fight, a dark light in his eyes that wasn't entirely sane. "So did you." Smug, certain... almost gleeful. All his anger was gone, or at least vanished from sight. And absolutely not a hint of fear or worry. He was, however, taking his opponent seriously enough to fight dirty and brutal. He might not be trying to kill anyone, but Lesley would rather win a fight decisively (and in this heat, if he was forced to admit it, quickly), and that meant putting his opponent in a condition where he wasn't capable of picking himself up.
He had enough situational awareness to be aware when someone actually stepped out of their audience, and this time he realized that the person trying to break them up was a legitimate authority. Les was never really fond of authority figures, but over thirty years he had managed to gain a pretty good instinct for when he could get away with defiance, and when he shouldn't try, so he let himself be pulled away from his opponent. Leonidas's admission he would also have liked to punch his commander brought a smirk to the gladiator's face, and a willingness to consider that this particular soldier might not be a complete prat.
Unlike just a few minutes earlier, when he'd been tightly coiled, barely contained, and fairly itching to lash out, when he stepped away from the fight he was relaxed, easily balanced on the balls of his feet, alert and ready, but no longer looking like he would be the one to start another fight.
"I dunno," he retorted, keeping a careful eye on Stelios in case he was the type to return the sucker punch as soon as he looked away. "It was very satisfying." The smirk morphed into a flash of a grin as he added, "You really should try it sometime." Obedience may have been driven into him over the years, but the sass had never been entirely beaten out of him. He tasted blood, and took a moment to check for loose teeth with his tongue, then added directly to Stelios, "Not bad. Is that other fellow all right?"
He sighed as his fingers found their way to his sleeves, realizing that some of the pins had come out during the tussle and his tattoos were visible. He'd thought he'd heard his name amid the din of cheers and jeers, that explained his being recognized. At least the fabric wasn't torn too badly. He glanced between the two - no, three now - guards, and reflected that he probably shouldn't ask about help finding them nor the possibility of getting a drink of water quite yet. Let the man holding him lecture, say 'yes sir' enough that he wouldn't decide to arrest him after all, then worry about other things. He popped his neck and rolled his shoulders, the gesture almost a shrug, and waited.