thecapitol | (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

"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."