The idea that it was strange or in any way remarkable for Gannicus to have his shirt off in the middle of a picnic doesn't even dawn on him; Gannicus has spent his entire life in various states of undress, as have every gladiator and every slave he has ever known. Even as a freed man it had never been expected of him to wear the robes and togas of every day citizens; topless was a natural state of being, as far as he was concerned.

Another blank shrug; Stephen's compliment bounced harmlessly off Gannicus, much like the curious stares of those that passed them by. A gladiator's worth came in their ability to kill others, and by association were valued for the bodily strength as well. Gannicus's life had always been one of public examination and assessment; to be told that he had an attractive body was the kind of thing hundreds of Romans had told his master before. It meant very little, now.

"Would you now?" An empty, filler reply as Gannicus picked up another hot dog. Stephen could take his shirt, his pants and his underwear off and Gannicus wouldn't bat an eyelid at it. Still, the colour of Stephen's shirt made him pause - white, which district was white?

"Which District do you stand for?"