open;

[gluteus]

Who| Maximus and TOTALLY OPEN
What| Maximus gets introduced to the Capitol
Where| After his death
When| whenever you want
Warnings/Notes| none so far! will edit if any come up

He dreamt, before he awoke. He dreamt of endless fields, of his son riding a new horse, of his wife smiling as she welcomed him home. He dreamt of a door...

And awoke to a cold cot and a cold room.

He had been dead. He had felt it, felt his life slip away from him. He'd felt his wife's arms reach out to take him. But as he stared at the ceiling and sucked in a breath, he knew he was not to rejoin them yet. He wasn't surprised. He'd lost. Obviously he was meant to continue in these games until he won, until Commodus was brought before him, until he killed the man himself. Had he not said "in this life or the next"? This was surely the next - or some form of it - and he would not be dissuaded. No. Not even if it meant dying again, and again, and again.

The games, he expected.

The Capitol, he didn't.

 

[ooc: tag in wherever! just note the place in the subject line please c: ]

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[peacekeeperavox]

It was a few hours after curfew when Darius was brought down from his station on the Twelfth floor, past midnight. It was a familiar kind of summons for him - an anonymous note with a name and place, and an outfit to change into. It even came complete with sword, though it was certainly not the kind of sword one could use in an Arena. Those weren't silicon. Or round. His handler oversaw his dressing, and chuckled as she styled his hair, but had nothing to say to the Avox.

And when he was ready, he was dispatched to Mister Maxiumus's room via the back passages. The hidden door slid silently open, letting him slip inside.

[gluteus]

Maximus lay on his bed, hands clasped on his chest, eyes wide and focused on a point on the ceiling. The room was lavish, though none of the styles made sense, and a good portion of the objects made even less. It was as if the entire capitol was a mockery - as if they took Rome and twisted her, made her from glass and metal and who knew what else - took her oppulance and her glamour and turned it into something nightmarish and twisted. He was trying not to think on it. Not too deeply.

He hadn't known there was a hidden door there. He didn't even hear it, through whatever bizarre magics it employed, but he saw it - a small sliver of light appearing in the darkness.

He was already on edge, but set off all his adrenaline at once, as he practically leapt from the bed. He had no weapon, but he turned on the light immediately. Assassins. Could Commodus send assassins even here? He was ready, so ready, to launch himself at his would-be attacker, when his eyes fell upon the 'weapon' and confusion cross his face.

"... If you mean to kill me with that, you will be sorely surprised."

[peacekeeperavox]

The Avox stood frozen as the light came on, eyes wide as the secret door slid shut, just as silently as it had opened, leaving him stranded in here. Maximus's face wasn't new to him, he'd seen it on the screens. He'd seen his hands choke a man to death. And he thought Darius was threatening him?

He shook his head in tight denial, hesitating, but he had been sent here for a purpose. And so he did take a step forward, but only to sink smoothly to his knees before the tribute.

[gluteus]

Maximus stepped backwards, quickly reevaluating. The clothing the man was wearing was barely a joke - clearly another twisted, mangled vision of Rome. Styled like armour but useless and limp. Fake. No assassin, then.

"Speak, man," he said commandingly. "And stand. Why are you here?"

[peacekeeperavox]

He could stand, and did, in immediate obedience to the order, but as for speaking...

With a helpless shake of his head, he opened his mouth, just enough to demonstrate that no sound could come out of it.

[gluteus]

Maximus paused, frowning, and then stepped forward to see better. ... No tongue. That explained quite a lot. He was either a slave, a criminal, or possibly both. Maximus shifted slightly uncomfortably.

"No speech." He sighed. "... But you must have been sent here for a reason. Even if simply to mock me." He gestured vaguely at the man's ridiculous clothes. "Can you communicate otherwise? Write, perhaps?"

[peacekeeperavox]

Darius frowned, anxious. But he'd been requested. Shouldn't this man know?

Slowly, he shook his head, but he did at least have the note he'd been given. He drew that out, and offered it to him. It had Maximus's room number, his name, and the simple note "Make him very welcome."

[cherrypie]

De was use to training, to keeping her body well honed.

But she wasn't really a gym kinda girl.

Then again, the gyms at home were stuffed full of pretentious douchebags trying to over compensate for something in some way in their life. She was pretty sure in the Capitol, this might be the only place where people weren't trying to do that.

So she found herself down here more and more, a weird sort of meditation, hacking at some summy, knotting ropes, shooting arrows. It was like a fucked up day camp.

[gluteus]

Very little in the Capitol made sense, and even less appealed to him. It was hardly a surprise that he found himself drawn to the training centre. There were no Capitol citizens to gawk at him, there. And the training forms - though often wildly different than what he knew - at least worked in logical leaps.

The bows looked entirely different, but worked on the same principle - though they drew more easily and fired farther and faster. He was fascinated by them, unable to keep himself from imagining the distances they might fire, the advantages they would have given in battles past. He found himself watching the archery, and on this particular day, found himself watching De.

He didn't attempt to keep his presence secret, but didn't speak to interrupt her, standing across the room with his arms crossed, leaning against the wall.

[cherrypie]

De didn't mind the audience, and certainly didn't mind showing off. Her archery skills weren't too bad, and she wasn't worried about anything else he could be looking at much either. But after a bit, it just started to get weird.

"Take a picture, it last longer." She said, leaning against her bow and giving him a lop sided grin.

[gluteus]

"Take a picture," He repeated, the words even from his mouth having absolutely no meaning. He pulled himself from the wall and stepped towards her.

"You're good with a bow," He said after a moment. "You're a tribute?"

[cherrypie]

"Yeah. The frozen wasteland popped my tribute cherry."

A new label, and one she wasn't exactly happy about. But she wasn't about to take it out on this guy. Because if he was down here, he didn't have much more of a choice than her.

"You?"

[gluteus]

His brows knotted slightly. Her dialect was one he had a difficult time understanding, but he took the meaning easily enough.

"Yes. The ice was also my first." He paused, and then added, "At least here." He lifted his chin, watching her through slightly narrowed eyes.

"Where are you from?" He asked, though the question might as well have been when. He wanted some semblance of an idea of where this particular dialect hailed from, however.

[greatestdetectiveaward]

In the living room, Javert is pacing. He knows that the last member of their district was returned last night, and out of respect for their recuperation he's been quiet and not investigated their identity or peeked in on them. He's sure he'll meet them eventually, and since after his revival he wanted peace and quiet for a few hours to try and process everything, he's sure the man in the last room probably appreciates his privacy as well.

Given that most of the objects in the living room somewhat baffle Javert, it's not as if he's bored. But he's pacing more out of a sense of not knowing where to start - with the strange contraptions in the 'closet', with all the unusual metal boxes in the kitchen, or with the many different pumps in the lavatory? After tangling with the microwave and getting into a futile argument with a radio advertisement, Javert's found himself paralyzed.

The truth is that the Capitol is too overwhelming to be taken in large doses. The sheer amount of things that don't make sense have turned from incredible to infuriating, now like sand in clothing much too tight. As such Javert's retreated to the suite like a hermit crab to its shell, unwilling to deal with others when in such a vulnerable hapless state.

And unwilling to subject himself to another surprise just yet, he's taken to pacing. It's a safe, relaxing thing to do. Nothing whirring, or lighting up, or beeping, or flashing, or anything like that.

He hears the door to the new roommate's room open, and stops in his paces. He fully intends to introduce himself, but then he sees Maximus' face and that impulse is temporarily forgotten. His mouth opens slightly, almost an expression of "oh?", his eyes widen, but for the second he finds his name has been forgotten in favor of the all-too-recent memory of those hands around his throat.

"Good morning," he manages to get out, although it's a stilted, flat croak more than anything.

[gluteus]

He hadn't slept, though he had tried to, and eventually he had stood and stepped to the door. He had no guards shoving him around. No chains. Not even an owner, to tell him what to do. He was surprised to find he almost missed Proximo. But he was alone, and it seemed that this new world would not come to him. So he must go to it.

He stepped through the door and immediately saw a ghost. Good morning.

He sucked in a breath, hard and fast in his chest, before he remembered that he, too, was dead. If he was forced to live these games over and over, why not another?

"... The man on the ice," He said, breathing out. He regained his composure. "Did you come for revenge?"

[greatestdetectiveaward]

"No. I live in the room over there." He gestures with a nod of his head, also trying with slightly less success to regain his composure. While he finds it reasonable that he didn't expect to see Maximus so soon, he does chastise himself for not planning for the possibility at all; if he can be revived in a matter of hours, it stands to reason that Maximus would be as well.

It's as if the reality of the situation - that they're meant to live together, them and the other man and the unmarried woman - is starting to stretch out before Javert, and he doesn't quite know what to do with it. His arms hang loosely by his side instead of taking a more decisive pose and his tongue sneaks between his molars in uncertainty.

"Did you..." He takes a breath. "Did you rest well?"

[gluteus]

His eyes narrow, fingers rubbing against themselves unconciously. He'd never before had to face a man he'd killed. That was, of course, part and parcel with killing them. He was not much enjoying the experience.

"Well enough," he answered after a time, before slowly stepping into the room, glancing back toward the door that Javert had indicated. "... What is this place?"

[greatestdetectiveaward]

Javert makes no move to attack Maximus. Aside from that being a dishonest move, he's also not keen on being choked out again, thank you very much. Instead he turns a bit and with a few steps, finds his way to the couch and takes a seat, although he doesn't really relax into the position.

"It seems to be our quarters. Baffling place, if you'd ask me." He gestures with a hand to the row of doors. "There are two other people living with us too. We're to stay here until the next arena, when we'll do it all over again."

There's no menace in his voice about going back to the arena, no hint at vengeance.

[gluteus]

"So that was why there we no guards on my door." This was all for slaves. He nodded deeply as he understood. "Yes. As I suspected. Penance. Or punishment, perhaps, but it appears we cannot leave the cycle until we have proven our worth and won."

He watched Javert moving across the room and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. At least the man didn't seem violent. But then, Maximus thought, he had no intention of seeking his own revenge. Death in the arena wasn't personal. Even against monsters.

"You're not from Rome." It wasn't a question.

Training Center

[ordonaturalis]

After her first awakening within the Capitol, Morrigan was hardly surprised to find herself there once more. She could not claim she now ceased to be impressed with the city- in truth, she was not entirely sure she would ever not be at least slightly unnerved by the sheer opulent excess of the land- but it was no longer a shock to find herself within the Tribute's housing area.

After changing into her customary outfit, the one she had arrived in, she set forth to the training area. Slain in hand to hand combat, simply from a lack of understanding of the strange capabilities of others. Shameful. Such shortcomings would need to be rectified, were she ever to stand against the masters of this land in earnest.

[gluteus]

Maximus spent much of his time in the training center now, the familiarity drawing him there. He couldn't help but notice each tribute as they entered, though he tended to keep his distance with some exceptions.

This, of course, was one.

He couldn't help but smile when he saw her. So this word did not merely return enemies.

"Morrigan." He crossed the floor as she came in, a dulled practice sword in hand. "So the Gods have not claimed you, yet."

[ordonaturalis]

"'Twould not have been the first time one attempted such, depending on the stories one is inclined to believe. But I am here, yes."

She had been frowning at the bows and arrows when he entered, conscious of the fact her lack of still with the item had cost her dearly, yet still loath to pick up such a base item when life and limb were not on the line. Particularly with no teacher to guide- and thus shorten- her fumbling efforts.

The training sword in his hand caught her eye, though, casting the bows from her mind now that another option may have presented itself. Her expression flicked into something closer to intrigued than aggravated as she fully turned to meet his eye.

"And yourself, Spaniard. So ready to return to battle, hm?"

[gluteus]

"Maximus." He offered with a slight, lopsided smile. "It appears that name will not be kept secret, here." He'd seen it on the moving images often enough - the only word of their strange written language he could recognize.

He gave the sword a practice swing, the weight easy, flipping the hilt around his fingers and back into his grip again. It was hard not to show off.

"One must always be ready," He said with a raised eye brow. "Especially here."

[ordonaturalis]

He wielded the blade with the same ease the Warden- nay, both the warden's, were she to be honest with herself- had. It had been a mere advantageous alliance, then. A mage had no need of the sword. Yet a mage without magic was no mage at all, and Morrigan cared too much for survival to not understand the value of change. Those incapable of shifting with nature were bound to be consumed by it.

Thus, she stepped forward.

"Maximus. An incomplete name, I should wager." A one shouldered shrug. Family names were of no interest to her even in Thedas. Here they were less than worthless. "I would propose a trade."

[gluteus]

"Maximus Decimus Meridius," He completed for her. "But slaves rarely can claim three names." He'd lost them the same day he'd lost his family.

He raised an eyebrow at her proposal, resting the sword on his shoulder as he watched her. "Oh? And what are the conditions of this 'trade'?"