thecapitol | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

WHO| Wyatt and Maximus
WHAT| Gossiping like two little old ladies.
WHERE| The Speakeasy
WHEN| Late afternoon. After Valentine's Day. Let's say a couple days after.
WARNINGS| They'll be discussing the contents of the latest Celebrus. Possibly the Valentine's Day shenanigans? So talk of sex slaves, violence, and possibly drug related stuff.

While he couldn't remember drinking anything, Wyatt had spent the past day or so nursing one hell of a wicked hangover. The worst one he'd had in - well, since the time his brothers first introduced him to bourbon.

He hid away in his room, nursin' his pounding head, cursing' his own damn foolishness (what else could it have been?), and waitin' for it to pass.

Which it did slowly. And painfully.

One hell of a lesson learned.

Now he was finally back amongst the living, at his favorite table at The Speakeasy. (The girl at the bar under strict instructions to watch his intake today.) A deck of well-worn cards at his elbow.

Normally he'd already have them out and would be dealing to anybody who fancied a game, but just then he was buried in the strangely glossy paper somebody previous had left behind.

A paper that had his name in it. That was sayin' all kinds of things about him.

He read slowly, and carefully, his mouth thinning as he went.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Maximus had taken to exploring, either with Javert or with Morrigan, but in this particular instance by himself. The speakeasy was a place he could almost recognize - alcohol a seeming universal link through the ages.

What he did not expect, however, was to recognize a man sitting at one of the tables. Maximus tilted his head before stepping over to him.

It was still strange, meeting those he had met on the ice. And Wyatt had been the first he had met - his was a face hard to forget. However...

"I never did ask for your name," Maximus said as he came up behind him.

Wyatt tensed, a hand dropping toward his hip in reflex. Engrossed in his reading, he hadn't heard anyone approach - a sorry occurrence for any man in a saloon. It was too easy a way to end up six-feet-under.

But when he turned, and put the voice to the face, he visibly relaxed again. Some of the tension 'round his mouth even loosenin' up.

"Well, how'do, stranger." Of the folks Wyatt had, selfishly, hoped would come back, this man was among them. No, he didn't know the man from Adam, but his gut told him he'd be good people. "Wyatt's the name. Wyatt Earp."

He almost held out his hand, but then remembered what had happened in the arena, and tipped his hat politely instead.

Edited 2013-02-17 17:46 (UTC)

"Maximus," He offered in return, with a half smile. He glanced at the empty chair, and at Wyatt's glossy magazine (which, both in form and funtion, did not make immediate sense to him), before looking back at the man himself.

"Drinking quietly, or would you be open to company?"

"Seat's open," he replied, nodding toward the chair across from his. "Yer welcome to it iffen ya want it."

He flipped the paper closed - so what if it was printin' lies, wasn't the first time a paper had done so, likely wouldn't be the last - and slid it aside as Maximus sat.

"So, what brings ya out to The Speakeasy?"

"Scouting," Maximus replied as he took the proffered seat, sliding into it easily and leaning back. He surveyed the room briefly, almost unconsciously - marking where everyone sat and stood - before turning his attention back to Wyatt.

"Though I think it will take months to know the entirety of this place. Let alone understand it. Though it seems I will have those months, if I do not mind death in between."

"Mind where ya dig," Wyatt advised, his drawl as smooth and unhurried as ever. Conversational. Though his eyes were steady, blue and focused. "With just the bits I've sussed out - I'm not sure I wanna understand 'em any better."

Maximus knew what Wyatt meant. It was hard not to see the slightly tainted underbelly of the place.

Even if they weren't sending slaves to his rooms at night, for sexual favours.

"I like to know what I'm dealing with," Maximus said, giving a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. He did not bother to say more - the intense focus on Wyatt's face made it clear they understood each other.

"Though I'm having a particular difficulty," He said after a moment, frowning slightly and thinking of Darius and his note. "Though everyone here speaks Latin well enough, it appears the written word here is near gibberish."

Wyatt blinked, his head cocking just so. "Nobody's speakin' Latin."

Yes, he knew what it was. What it sounded like anyways - he'd been dragged to church enough times for that - and he was certain he'd never heard it here.

"It's English that they're - we're- speakin'. That's what's written too. See." His palm slipped over the paper, pulled back to him, slid it between them. He tapped the big red title. "I'm not sure what the word means exactly, some fancy name they came up with. But it's English."

Maximus raised an eyebrow, his expression clearly amused disbelief. "You speak it well enough now," He said, though he reached out and took the paper. It was easier to believe something was strange when he saw it... everything was slightly off, there were more characters than there should be, and most of the words made no sense. The title, however, he recognized. He jabbed a finger at it as he turned the magazine to face Wyatt.

"That is Latin. That make sense. Well- as much sense as a single word out of complete context can make. The rest..." He paused, frowned, turning the paper back to himself.

"I've never even heard of English. How could I speak it?" He asked, frowning at the paper before setting it back down between them. "Is it some mangled Latin of the future? Why use our text?"

Wyatt's head turned the other way. So the title was Latin? Well, that explained why he didn't know what it meant.

"It's still used in the church. Latin, that is. Catholic's mostly though," he offered, trying to help, but expecting that he wasn't. "I'm not sure why yer hearin' it. I've never spoken it my life. And you - I hear English."

Maximus' mouth was set in a grim line, his brow furrowed, glaring down at the paper completely unimpressed.

It was strange, however, to see human likenesses on parchment, like this. They weren't even drawn, they looked almost exactly like--

Like him.

Wait.

He stabbed a finger at his picture. "What is this. I sat for no portrait--"

"It's a picture," Wyatt explained, leaning to see better. "There's these boxes - cameras they're called. We had 'em in my time, not like these exactly, ours were slower. But function seems the same. It puts your picture on paper." He paused, brows furrowing suddenly. "I remember seein'-"

He eased the paper out of Maximus' hands, started flipping through it with the gentle, russling snap of crisp, shining paper. "Here."

He turned it back, showing Maximus' the page that was devoted solely to him, a fat block of text the only other thing to be seen.

He took it, glaring down. 'Picture' indeed. It looked exactly like him - similar to the boxes with the moving images, but for some reason seeing them on something that he recognized, like parchment, made them seem all the more alien - even if they were still.

Unfortunately, other than his name, he could make out no other text on the page.

"... This is about me." He frowned, looking back up at Wyatt. He felt mildly embarrassed - his literacy was a point of pride, in an army where most could not write their name. Being rendered thus...

"What does it say?"

"Uh, well..." He took the paper back again, cleared his throat as his eyes scanned over the text. "It, uh, talks about what yer like - what kind man ya are. Outside of the arena."

His eyebrows went up as his eyes moved, his lips twitching. He glanced over at Maximus, as if weighing whether or not he should continue, then back down at the paper, a finger pressing to the page, tracing under the words as he read aloud.

"...'rude, bar - barbaric, meeso - miso - gyn - istic,'" he struggled for a moment, frowned to himself, then carried on. "'He delights in the sound of women crying and... de - de-mands a different personal Av - ox come to him every night dressed in replicas of-" he paused again, decided just to skip the next word altogether, "'robes worn during the ancient roman cer-a-mony of human sac-... sac-rifice."

Maximus' face was hard as he watched Wyatt read it out.

"It's fine," He assured him, "It isn't the first time someone has spread lies about me." Though he frowned slightly at the Avox part.

"Is that why they've been sending slaves to my rooms?"

There was a beat while Wyatt processed that image.

"The mutes? Yeah, I'd reckon so." Then he sighed a breath, tapping his fingers idly against the paper, looking sympathetic. "Iffen it makes ya feel better. I'm in there too. 'Violent,' they said. Said I abused a woman, that I had to be 'restrained.'"

"Propaganda," Maximus said solemnly as he looked at the paper. "Turning us into the barbarians..."

The frown deepened on his face, the brows knotting. "Is there anything in that..." He paused, not having a word for it, " - piece - that is true?"

Another pause, longer this time, Wyatt's moustache twitching thoughtfully as he looked at Maximus.

"There is somethin'," he said finally, his voice a hair softer, quieter, as he turned the page back and tapped it with one finger. "Here, where they talk about yer district. They say there was some kinda accident - a quake. I guess it's 'causing some trouble."

It took Maximus a moment to parse the slang, but once he did...

"An earthquake." He nodded slowly. "... Rome saw a few, though I spent most of my time in the north, where there were fewer. My district... you mean the province I am supposed to represent? To fight for?"

He frowned, wondering why they hadn't told him personally.

"You would think a civilization such as this would have mastered earthquakes, by now."

"One would think," he replied, a slow drawl of agreement.

Wyatt had already pegged Maximus as the stand-up sort, one of those that would give his word and mean it, but that didn't necessarily mean he held any ill will against the Capitol.

He did, as Wyatt understood it, come from a place that had made this sort of thing a regular sportin' affair.

He held his tongue and waited to see where Maximus would take it.

Edited 2013-02-21 15:50 (UTC)

But if Maximus was being tested, he didn't know it. He reached out and took the magazine again, smoothing it out before him and frowning at it as if that would unlock any of its secrets.

"... Why hide information like that in something otherwise dedicated to lies?" He murmured, almost to himself. He wished he could read it. He made a note to teach himself as soon as possible.

He already knew the answer to the question, though, and a dark look crossed his face. "... This place really is a shadow of Rome."

It wasn't quite what Wyatt was hopin' for - and he had a sudden renewed appreciation for how hard it must have been on Elias - but not enough to deter him completely either.

"Ya much of a gamblin' man, Max?" he asked idly like.

"Gambling?" He looked up, arching an eyebrow with a slightly amused expression.

"... It's been a while. Had nothing to gamble with, and before that... It's bad practice to put yourself in a position to take from your men."

"Well yer men ain't here," Wyatt grinned, reaching over to slide the little box at his elbow forward. He tapped the end against the table and pulled open the top, started to slide the thin, waxy cards out.

"And believe you me, other than bein' dragged around like a show pony there ain't a whole lot for us to do between arenas."

And Wyatt was of the belief that you could tell a lot about a man by how he played. How he held, how he folded. How he won, or lost.

He was fairly certain he could trust Maximus, but he needed to be more than fair before he brought Elias into this. Riskin' himself was one thing, a friend was high another.

Maximus watched with a slightly bemused expression.

"You gamble with pieces of parchment?" He asked incredulously.

"I gamble with money," he smirked. "Cards are the game."

He turned the cards over, splayed them out for Maximus to see.

"Four suits," he explained, pointing them out as he listed them. "Hearts, Spades, Clubs, and Diamonds. Thirteen cards to a suit. Two low, Ace high."

He wasn't sure if Latin used the same numbers or not, but figured the pictures would be enough. And, if not, well, time was something they had.

"Ace?" Maximus asked as he watched him lay out the cards. After a moment he pointed pointed to the number nine on one of the cards. "Nine hearts. This is the English symbol for nine, then?"

Then he pointed to the queen of spades. "And the figures?"

Wyatt nodded. "Yup. All the cards two through ten have pictures of their suit on 'em and the number. The court cards-"

He pushed the Jack, Queen, and King at the end of the spread (the spades) toward Maximus, "-have figures instead. And the letter that starts their title. 'J' for Jack, 'Q' for Queen, 'K' for King."

"The Ace-" he slid the Ace foward as well, "-is special. No figure, just one picture."

Maximus looked at each card in term, doing his best to memorize them, as well as the strange numerical symbols. He nodded as he understood.

"I think I should be able to follow it. But I have no coin with which to gamble, and either way, I think I will need a drink."

Wyatt laughed - a rough sound, like stones rubbing together - and leaned back, lifting a hand to catch the eye of the girl at the bar.

"We'll leave the money outta it for now." He gestured to himself and Maximus - a round for them both - and the girl nodded and started fetching glasses. "And we'll start with somethin' easy."

He pushed the cards back into a neat stack, shuffled in a series of quick, easy movements, and started dealing.

(OOC: We can jump here if you like? Assume Wyatt taught him some simple matching game like Go Fish or Old Maid or something. Just to get Maximus used to the numbers/pictures.)

Edited 2013-02-25 12:21 (UTC)

Two rounds of Go Fish and two-thirds a glass of wine later, Maximus had not only finally gotten his head around the cards and could read them at a glance, but had relaxed visibly. He put down his last pair of eights and offered Wyatt a lopsided smile.

"They're an interesting tool, I'll give them that. Though nothing, I think, will be the heavy roll of dice."

Edited (wooops wrong icon sorry) 2013-03-01 15:18 (UTC)

Wyatt chuckled, laying down what remained of his hand. Maximus had bested him this round, but it made no real difference to him. Win or lose, Wyatt was enjoying himself.

And the company.

Maximus, Wyatt had decided over the course, was a man enough after his own. He won as easily as he lost and was prone neither to gloating nor fits a'bitterness.

He was steady sort.

A might reserved - Wyatt even might go so far as stiff - but not unkind.

And he held his liquor well. Which was always a plus.

"We'll have to see 'bout findin' ya some," he said as he scooped up the cards and began tapping them back into a neat stack. "Then ya can teach me one'a yer games."

Yeah, Wyatt reckoned that he rather liked him.

Edited 2013-03-01 15:48 (UTC)

"None are very difficult, or complicated - it would be an easy thing to teach." Maximus said as he watched Wyatt shuffle.

The admiration was mutual, and Maximus found himself wondering just what Wyatt did in the United States of America. He had come to know that Gauls could be as brothers as easily as Romans - as could Africans, or any number of men. Brotherhood was found easily amongst gladiators, despite the death that hung above their heads. But there was something about Wyatt that spoke of a shared history. Perhaps of a shared training?

He was glad to know, in some respects, that in a thousand years from his life there would still be good men.

It was a good balance to the longevity of corruption.

"Were you ever in the army?" He asked, unable to keep a check on his curiosity any longer as he sipped at the last of his glass of wine.

Cards slipped from Wyatt's hands, sliding across the table as he shook with a sudden, barking laughter. The deep, full-bodied, kind.

"No," he finally managed after a moment or two, his grin wide and honest, his shoulders still trembling with humor. "Though Lord knows I tried."

A sort of bemused smile slipped to his lips, unable to keep from being affected by Wyatt's genuine mirth, though he could not begin to comprehend what had caused it.

"They would not accept you into the legions?" He asked. "I find that difficult to believe."

Wyatt's laughter died slowly, fading to chuckles, then into a light sigh as he chased the fallen cards across the table top.

"No," he replied, with a small shake of his head as he corralled the wayward two of clubs. "No, I reckon they would've. But my Pa wouldn't hear it. After the war broke out, and my brothers went off to the fight, I tried to join 'em, I did. But Pa... he always managed to track me down. Dragged me home by the ears every time."

His gaze faded, going distant and clouded as he recalled his father. It wasn't the face so much he remembered, but the man himself. His father's pride. And determination. His spirit.

He shook himself after a beat, and pulled the cards back together. "After the war was over, didn't seem much 'cause to try joinin' anymore."

Maximus's smile faded from his lips though it lingered in his eyes and he nodded, slowly.

"War seems constant, often, but when there is peace, it is time for home." The last word was quiet. He could almost see home now, before his eyes. Could almost feel the wheat brushing against his fingertips...

"You must have been young, for your father to deny your honour."

Wyatt's head tipped, watching Maximus thoughtfully.

There was something there, he'd wager, somethin' behind the way he said 'home.'

"Younger than some here," he admitted with small shrug of his shoulders. "Older than others." He paused, fingers smoothing over the edges of the cards, turning them all the same way slowly. "I was angry with him, for a time, but as I got older and went off and started seein' things for myself, I started to get an understandin'. He was carryin' the weight of three sons. Not knowin' if they'd ever come home, or what state they'd be in iffen they did... he wasn't ready for a fourth."

He smiled again, more affection this time than humor. "And besides, I managed to find my 'honor' another way, so it all worked out in the end."

Edited 2013-03-01 17:41 (UTC)

Maximus listened quietly, and solemnly, unable to help but to think of his son - who would never have brothers and who would never grow old enough to even think of joining the army. He could not blame Wyatt's father for keeping one even as he let the others go.

He did not think he could bear the weight of a son's death a second time.

When Wyatt smiled he shook himself loose from dark thoughts and attempted to smile back - though it was tight and restrained. "Good. A man's honour is important. But if you were no soldier...?" The sentence trailed off into a question. Maximus could hardly think of a replacement. Politics, certainly, were far from honourable, even in Rome.

"A sheriff," Wyatt filled in for him. "For a while anyways, then a U.S. Marshal. That's what I was doin' when I was brought here."

He tapped the cards thoughtfully on the table, trying to figure out the best way to explain it. "I'm not sure what they would have been called where yer from, but, I guess ya could say that I - kept the law. If somebody was doin' somethin' they shouldn't, I stopped them. Made sure they'd paid the penalty for it."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only