thecapitol | As sure as God made black and white...

Entry tags:

As sure as God made black and white...

WHO: Wyatt and Maximus
WHAT: Discussing Maximus' actions at the Crowning.
WHERE: Maximus' suite in District 3
WHEN: After this, same night.
Warnings: Possibly some language. Will add more warnings if they become necessary.

He should have waited, Wyatt knew that even as he punching the button for three in the elevator, but there he was, not even waiting for his long-missed pants before he was heading after the Roman.

They already knew - certainly had to suspect, at least, after that asinine display at the crowning - what difference was a few minutes going to make now?

(And what if they were already making plans to come for him? What if the Peacekeepers were already on their way? He needed to be there.

Wyatt wasn't going to watch Max's execution.)

Pointedly ignoring the stylists who stared as he crossed the common room - their conversation dropped to whispers as he passed, an excited hissing back and forth - he turned down the hall to the tribute suites and was pounding on Max's door before he'd even given thought to the idea that they might have already moved him into the mentor's quarters.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Wyatt exhaled, and nodded.

"An' I'll come back."

It wasn't the easiest of accords he'd ever made, and Max still looked a bit like he was swallowing glass, but it would work.

It had to.

He let out another long breath and a nod. His anger was dissipated but his chest was still tight, and any time he even attempted to figure out exactly what he was thinking his mind churned inwards on itself, sharp and dark, and he retreated.

Best to simply not think at all.

Instead he went for his second bracer, tugging at the leather.

"Are you going to try to win?" He asked, almost casually, but his voice was tight.

"I-"

He paused, mouth holding open, as he wished silently for better words.

"I don't think winnin's for me, Max."

He could last, and survive, with the best of their fellows; better, even, than a good number of them. But he didn't have that instinct that so many of the victors did - including Max.

That drive to do whatever it took, eyes only for the bottom line.

"...An' even if it were, there'll always be someone who deserves it more."

He didn't like the answer. Of course he didn't. And part of him, a small petty part, wanted to throw it back. That Wyatt was perfectly happy to sacrifice himself in the arena, but wouldn't allow Maximus to honour that same debt.

But more of him - the reasonable part - knew that wasn't fair. That it wasn't the same. That ultimately, the arenas were a game, if a brutal one. That a sacrifice there wasn't a farewell.

At least not always.

"I wouldn't ask you to act against your honour, Wyatt," He said carefully.

Max didn't have to say it, because Wyatt felt it too - the sting of hypocrisy. But it wasn't as if he could take it back, and even if he could, he wasn't sure he'd have been able to bring himself to do so.

There was only one way out of the arena - they never would have taken them both - and he had come back. Death still apparently fluid even so long before they had come for their bodies.

Here, there was no such promise of rebirth. If Max had succeeded... Hell, even if he'd failed, even if he'd only gotten closer....

Max wouldn't come back from the gallows.

He reached out suddenly, chasing Max's fingers away from the mess he was making of the ties holding the gauntlet closed and loosening them himself.

"I'll do what I can," he said softly, barely more than a whisper. "An' last as long as I'm able."

He let Wyatt take over, holding out his arm like a patient child, all too happy to have someone else do it for him. (A brief, flashing memory of Cicero.) His armour had never been meant to be put on by himself.

He nodded, solemnly.

"I'll do what I can. I can send supplies. If you can somehow message to me what you need--"

A wry sort of smile flashed around his mouth as his fingers worked under the laces, pulling until they were loose enough to tug the leather down over Max's wrist and off.

"I expect it'll be rather obvious, should I need somethin'," he replied, holding the bracer out. "But I'll be sure an ask, jus' the same."

Not that it would make much difference either way, if Max didn't watch, which Wyatt wouldn't blame him if he didn't.

There was a part of him that actually hoped he wouldn't.

Maximus was slowly relaxing - the tenseness in his shoulders slowly letting go as Wyatt tossed the bracer to the bed. He rubbed his wrist lightly and then turned his hands to the clasps at his side, to get his breastplate open.

"They're teaching me how to use the - ah - screens," Maximus says lowly. He'll be watching. "And I've been training R to give a signal, should his hunger begin to overtake him."

Without prompting, he reached for the closures on Max's other side, pulling them open as Max worked on the ones opposite, and then helping to lift the armor away.

"Yer trainin' R?" he asked, not a little surprised.

There was a friendship he wouldn't have bet on.

Edited (/sob I'll get it right, I swear) 2013-09-09 14:53 (UTC)

As soon as the bulky golden breastplate was removed, he felt a hundred times lighter. (He preferred leather armour, any day of the week.)

"I am, yes. He asked it of me." He carefully set the breastplate down on the bed and then sat next to it, pulling a leg up onto his knee so he could remove his leg braces. "Claimed he did not wish to repeat his mistakes, in the last arena." Maximus looked up, catching Wyatt's eye. "Specifically, that he did not want to harm his friends. So I agreed."

God having decided to make him a man, Wyatt had never really given much thought to care women must have took in moving about in their fine skirts, but when Max sat and suddenly folded a leg up, he had an all new appreciation.

Ease of movement, indeed.

Amused, and struggling back a chuckle, his gaze flicked away, hands returning to his belt as he decided Max could handle his own sandals.

"Mighty good'a of the both of ya," he replied with a little cough, watching the tiger's wide pink nose flare with its breath.

Maximus didn't seem to even notice, having worn tunics all his life and spent years in the army.

He'd seen more men naked or half naked than he would ever possibly wish to count. He was hardly prudish, in this particular area, so it didn't even occur to him. He made quick work of the bracers, and then pulled up his other leg to do the other one.

"I cannot imagine a worse fate than his," He said, frowning down at his feet while he worked. "I've no wish to see you succumb to it, Wyatt, even if only in the arena. I would not wish it on any man."

And he'd seen the aftermath of when Howard had.

Edited 2013-09-09 15:32 (UTC)

It was such a serious subject for the funny places his mind was tripping down. Resisting the urge to comment, he cleared his throat and tried to focus on the topic at hand.

"I don't imagine you'll have to worry an awful lot about me, Max."

The tiger shifted, scrubbing at the muzzle bound over its nose with one massive paw. A beat later it resignedly settled again, rolling dejectedly onto its side with a heavy sigh.

"R an' I ain't exactly on friendly speakin' terms just now."

Maximus paused, lifting his head to catch Wyatt's eye.

"He didn't manage to groan that out," He said, as surprised as Wyatt was when Maximus had said he was working with the zombie.

Obviously, a lot had happened, and Maximus had always recommended not being friends with someone who was liable to eat you at any moment, but:

"Why?"

"Aunamee," Wyatt replied with a sigh, turning back from the tiger, the momentary amusement of Max inadvertently flashing him fading as the dead man's ghost rose over him.

His eyes met Max's and then moved away again, dropping to the thick carpet as he shifted to a seat next to Max.

"He an' R were apparently quite close. He didn't believe me when I told him the man wasn't who he thought he was."

R hadn't outright called him a liar, but close enough.

Maximus watched Wyatt for a moment before shaking his head with a sigh and leaning back over to finish removing the bracer.

"Close with Aunamee. Well. His mind moves as slowly as his body, then." He dropped the armour to the floor and shook his leg out before sitting up a little straighter.

"I can't lie and say I'm not relieved, Wyatt. I know the boy means well, but he's a danger, to anyone who knows him."

He exhaled, and leaned to one side, reaching up to pull at the golden bands tight around his biceps, cuff clinking against the metal lightly.

"'Suppose I can't claim to be any better. I trusted him, after all."

"Aunamee was a smooth-tongued viper," Maximus said sharply as he stood up again, dusting himself off. "And if R could control himself, he would deserve your trust. But as he is, he can't." Maximus glanced over at his tiger, almost unconsciously, before meeting Wyatt's eye.

"He hears the animal side of his soul more than most, and cannot resist it."

The mattress shifted and jolted upward as Max's weight lifted away. Silently he worked at the band, dragging it down, a red brand left where it had cut into his arm.

"We all do, every now an' again," he said quietly, nosily slipping the gold band over the silver cuff.

Free, he rolled it between his fingers, metal bouncing against his wrist.

"...Have ya thought about what yer gonna do with yers?" Looking up, he tipped his head toward the tiger.

Maximus reached over and removed the other gold band from Wyatt's arm (Wyatt had helped him, after all, and the other band was on his off-arm), tossing it on the bed with the other mess of gold. He shook his head as he did so.

"He belongs here about as much as I do," He said lowly, and with a great amount of pity. "He's a wild creature, Wyatt, though they've done something to him that keeps him fairly docile when I'm around. But you can see it. The lust for freedom in his eyes. We are meant to complete each other's prisons, I think."

Wyatt looked from man to beast and back again, chewing silently on the inside of his cheek.

"For now, Max."

He rubbed roughly at the indentations on his arms and tossed the other band back with the other, adding to Max's growing pile - enough there to keep himself in chips for a good while - and stood as well.

"In the meantime, you've got each other."

"Yes," Maximus agreed, patting Wyatt's shoulder and then gripping it, firmly. He wasn't talking about the tiger.

"We have each other."

His fingers curled around Max's elbow, patting and then squeezing.

"I 'spose I should probably go," he said after a moment. "It's late, an' I'm sure yer tired."

But he didn't let go.

It wasn't the park, and they wasn't any alcohol to fuzzy their thoughts, but he didn't want to go. The tiger might eat him, if he dared stay, but he'd almost lost his friend tonight, and getting himself to walk away was a strangely difficult task.

"If you like," Maximus said after giving Wyatt's shoulder a final pat and letting go. He offered a shrug.

"But I am not tired. Weary of the heavy weight of gold, perhaps," he added wryly, "But I would take the company over uneasy sleep."

Wyatt's mustache twitched, mouth working as he glanced back at the bed and its pile of shining goods - as if some absent-minded dragon had misplaced its hoard. ...Or decided to entrust Max with its treasures while it was off terrorizing.

He couldn't say he'd have begrudged it that, seeing as he couldn't think of anyone else he'd trust more either.

"I'll bet ya," he replied, turning back, an easy challenge in his blue gaze. "My arm bits against yers."

He still didn't have any pockets, still didn't have his deck, but he'd be happy to go fetch it. What better way could he spend his night, then here playing cards with Max?

(no subject)

gluteus - 2013-09-10 12:36 (UTC) - Expand

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only