thecapitol | open;

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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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.

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?"

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.

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?"

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."

Maximus walked over to take the note, frowning down at it.

The characters were right (well, mostly), but the language... The only word he could make out was his own name, and what were these other symbols at the beginning...?

The frown deepened before he handed it back.

Darius glanced back, but the door to the servants' passage had closed. He had no retreat, even if it had been allowed.

Turning back to the tribute, he tried not to wring his hands, though he did wind up crushing the note. Gestures were discouraged for Avoxes. Trying to communicate at all was discouraged. But this man didn't know why he was here.

Composing his face into a smile that didn't reach his anxious eyes, he gestured to the bed.

Maximus shook his head. "No, I'm not tired," He said, misunderstanding the implication. Gladiators were used for sexual favours, and though it was true that Proximo had offered him 'a boy or a girl', that had been when he was winning. And he was most certainly not winning now.

Which left only one option. He must be a manservant, of sorts.

Maximus sighed and took a seat, pressing finger tips to his temple. It was obvious he wasn't going to leave.

"Well, do whatever you came for," He said offhandedly, expecting him to clean or fetch a chamber pot.

Very close, Maximus. And any other day, but not this night.

Given permission, Darius's worry cleared from his face as though it had never been. More, it cleared from his whole body. There was a sway to his hips as he approached this time, and he knelt once again, just in front of Maximus's feet, leaning in to run both hands up the outside of the man's thighs.

Well that cleared up any confusion that Maximus had left - his hand immediately darting out to clasp Darius' wrist. Little too close for comfort there.

"Not... that." He said belatedly, looking supremely uncomfortable. "That's not necessary, I assure you." Was this normal, here? To send mute slaves to Tribute's quarters.

"I don't know what the... customs are, here, but I've no need of that kind of service."

He made no attempt at all to pull his hand free, looking up at him with a perplexed line between his brows. But he'd been sent here for that kind of service. With his other hand, he touched his own chest, trying to look earnest. He really didn't mind, he was trying to express.

Lips set in a grim line, Maximus slowly moved Darius's hand further away.

"You may tell them you completed your duties," He said, having no wish to put Darius in any trouble - though he had no idea how he would communicate that to them.

"But I don't --" He cut off, looking slightly pained. "I have a wife. A son. I do not wish to tarnish their memory."

He sat back on his heels, letting both his hands drop to his lap, where they folded neatly on the brown plastic skirt of his costume. And yes, it was plainly a costume, glossy and fragile-seeming. For a moment, he simply stared up at Maximus, eyes soft with sympathy. With a nod, he rose with a grace that could only come from kneeling day in and day out, and went back to his hidden door.

But when he touched the subtle catch that should have opened it, nothing happened. Puzzled, he tried again, and then with an apologetic bow to Maximus, he crossed to the bedroom's main door. But when he tried to open that one, the only thing that happened was the sounding of a quiet chime, and a genderless voice said softly, "A curfew is in effect. A curfew is in effect. The Training Center apologizes for any inconvenience."

Maximus raised a hand, fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose. He sighed.

"It's fine." He said across the room. He gestured vaguely to the bed. "You can stay. Sleep, if you can. You can go back in the morning."

'Sleep, if you can,' came perilously close to an order, and Darius wanted to obey it. But to take a Tribute's bed? That worried him. And he knew it to be an irrational worry, especially as he'd been supposed to share that same bed just a few minutes ago. He swallowed, and gestured with a nervous flicker of his hands towards the chair. He would be fine there?

It wasn't hard to work out what the man meant, so Maximus stood, gesturing toward the chair as he crossed over to his bed and grabbed one of the blankets. How he would be able to sleep on it, he couldn't guess. It was too soft, covered in things...

His first night here and he doubted he would be able to sleep. But he wasn't about to fight for a chair or dictate's a slave comfort. Having been a slave himself, he could not just ignore him.

He tossed a blanket in Darius's direction. "Sleep where you like."

He caught it, with another bow of apology, this one deeper. He was sorry that he wasn't what the man had wanted, and that he was in the way, now. He sat, just laying the blanket over his legs, looking down. Even the way he sat was a product of training; feet perfectly together, back straight, hands just so on the arms of the chair. Palms up.

Maximus watched him for a while - wondering what this world did to their slaves to make them so complacent, and realising for the first time that he was not on the lowest wrung of this strange society.

After a long moment he climbed into his own bed, sitting up against the wall and crossing his arms on his lap.

He would not get much sleep, this evening.

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Is this okay?

Yep! 8D

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