After a moment, Giron, the head guard, came into view.
AKA the doctore.
The spear was no less vile, to his eyes. He tried to use it more like a staff, trying to keep the sharp tip away from his opponents. After all, they were only sparring and Clark didn't want to hurt anyone.
/imagines doctore stepping up to Clark and ripping the spear from his hands before slapping him. "No no no no no. You put end with point *into* opponent. Not away from opponent."/
Still, he wondered what his reaction would be if he were to be put in the arena to fight for real. Part of him argued that he would refuse to make the kill.
Yep, Clark's definitely going to drive poor doctore crazy.
"Brutus, my old friend! To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Oh? Are we talking about Marcus Junius Brutus the Younger? And why is he wearing a centurion's uniform? Or is Clark simply putting it in very laymen's terms?
"Good to see you again, my friend. I come at Caesar's behest. He wishes for you to bring some of your gladiators to the games this week."
And shouldn't Clark peek up at the realization that this is *the* Brutus? And not just any Brutus?
"Word has it that you have some new acquisitions."
I'm sensing a pattern...
"Caesar asked for you by name."
That's not good. How did Tempus convince Caesar? And did Tempus also tell Ceasar about the Ides of March? And are we just before the Ides of March?
"He'll be announced as Clarkus. The people like names that sound more familiar to them. Not that it matters much. He'll be dead before tomorrow night."
/squints eyes/ Sounds like he will earn the 'Maximus' pretty soon, huh?
Brutus smiled. "Caesar will pay you ten times what you paid for him once he is dead."
That can't be good.
"It seems that the gods themselves have demanded that this one die."
Yep. Not good.
Clark could scarcely believe what the building held as he crossed the threshold.
They're getting women?
From another doorway in the back of the room, women entered, their garments so sheer that it was as if they wore nothing at all.
How's Clark going to wiggle out of that one?
They were afforded certain comforts - better food to sate their hunger and women to sate their lust.
I just figured. But you're right. My bad
By the time he had finished, however, he wasn't feeling right. He felt somehow weaker and more disoriented. A headache grew - a stabbing pain that felt as if it was right behind his eyes. He felt nauseous. A cold sweat broke out on his brow and he shivered despite the summer heat.
Oh boy. Intentional food poisoning.
With an effort, Clark laid on his bench in a nearly fetal position, too sick to keep his eyes open.
That can't be good. And he will make quite a mess. /imagines Clarkus soiling himself from both ends in the arena due to a massive digestive upheaval/
Michael
