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"My employers mostly," Lesley clarified who he thought would be upset if he died. "I suppose anyone else who'd bet on me too," he added with a chuckle. It would be nice if the crowd as a whole would at least remember him for a while, but they would find someone else to cheer for within the hour, he had no doubt of that.
When the fight was done and she thanked him, he nodded politely. "You're quite welcome. This is..." he stared into the momentarily empty arena for a moment, then back at the lady, not quite finding the words to explain what fighting meant to him. This was his life, his world, his home. "I do not expect every lady to enjoy watching it, but I appreciate when people at least respect it."
Respecting the sport - seeing the skill and determination and showmanship rather than just raw strength and savagery - led to respecting the fighters. Especially the slaves were too often seen as no different than a dog in a pit fight. To be entirely fair, some had the same personalities. Still, that didn't change what they did. Did it make the merest difference to any of their lives whether some young lady thought it was barbaric or not? Not at all. Still, though, he did appreciate it.
"Would you like to continue watching, or would you like an escort back to your family?" She had her slave, of course, (at least, Lesley assumed the man was a slave, given how he'd hung back without showing the slightest interest or opinion on the content of their discussion) but he'd been taught it was polite to offer nonetheless.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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"My employers mostly," Lesley clarified who he thought would be upset if he died. "I suppose anyone else who'd bet on me too," he added with a chuckle. It would be nice if the crowd as a whole would at least remember him for a while, but they would find someone else to cheer for within the hour, he had no doubt of that.
When the fight was done and she thanked him, he nodded politely. "You're quite welcome. This is..." he stared into the momentarily empty arena for a moment, then back at the lady, not quite finding the words to explain what fighting meant to him. This was his life, his world, his home. "I do not expect every lady to enjoy watching it, but I appreciate when people at least respect it."
Respecting the sport - seeing the skill and determination and showmanship rather than just raw strength and savagery - led to respecting the fighters. Especially the slaves were too often seen as no different than a dog in a pit fight. To be entirely fair, some had the same personalities. Still, that didn't change what they did. Did it make the merest difference to any of their lives whether some young lady thought it was barbaric or not? Not at all. Still, though, he did appreciate it.
"Would you like to continue watching, or would you like an escort back to your family?" She had her slave, of course, (at least, Lesley assumed the man was a slave, given how he'd hung back without showing the slightest interest or opinion on the content of their discussion) but he'd been taught it was polite to offer nonetheless.
"My employers mostly," Lesley clarified who he thought would be upset if he died. "I suppose anyone else who'd bet on me too," he added with a chuckle. It would be nice if the crowd as a whole would at least remember him for a while, but they would find someone else to cheer for within the hour, he had no doubt of that.
When the fight was done and she thanked him, he nodded politely. "You're quite welcome. This is..." he stared into the momentarily empty arena for a moment, then back at the lady, not quite finding the words to explain what fighting meant to him. This was his life, his world, his home. "I do not expect every lady to enjoy watching it, but I appreciate when people at least respect it."
Respecting the sport - seeing the skill and determination and showmanship rather than just raw strength and savagery - led to respecting the fighters. Especially the slaves were too often seen as no different than a dog in a pit fight. To be entirely fair, some had the same personalities. Still, that didn't change what they did. Did it make the merest difference to any of their lives whether some young lady thought it was barbaric or not? Not at all. Still, though, he did appreciate it.
"Would you like to continue watching, or would you like an escort back to your family?" She had her slave, of course, (at least, Lesley assumed the man was a slave, given how he'd hung back without showing the slightest interest or opinion on the content of their discussion) but he'd been taught it was polite to offer nonetheless.
The way he laughed at the prospect of death… Evi supposed he had to, because the chances were that any time he walked into the arena could be his last. The idea of death scared the young woman, but she was barely an adult, with very little real world experience truth be told. Lesley was older, in his mid to late thirties if Evi had to guess. This painted man was a strange one, but he had made her feel at ease all the same.
“Yes, enjoy might be a strong word, but I am glad I watched it. It has been….well if not entertaining, enlightening at the very least, especially with you teaching me about what is actually going on.” Evi managed a small smile as she gazed up at the painted man, for the first time taking him is markings - both pained and scars inflicted on him, those that were visible where he wore no clothing at least. And she realised she was telling the truth, that she did respect the sport, and those who fought in the arena. Whilst it was not traditional art, it was an art form of its own variety, especially if it was not just simply mindless violence as she had initially assumed when she had first started watching.
“You’re right, I should probably return to my family.” She looked for the slave, who stood behind her and to the right so as not to get in the way of anyone else’s viewing for the people sitting further back behind her. He had probably not moved for the full extent of the battle they had just watched, silent and unassuming, like all slaves should be.
“Thank you for the offer, but we will be fine finding our own way back to my father.” The young lady stood and inclined her head in a gesture of goodwill on her departure. “Thank you, Lesley, for taking the time to teach me about the gladiators and the sport. I am much better placed to watch and understand it in the future.” She turned away and began to make her exit before hesitating and turning around again, “I hope to meet you again someday. Maybe next time it will be you in the arena and I can place a bet knowing you will win.” She smiled again. Then she turned to her slave and made a gesture with her hand indicating that it was time to leave. The slave followed wordlessly behind her as she left Lesley to enjoy the rest of the matches.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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The way he laughed at the prospect of death… Evi supposed he had to, because the chances were that any time he walked into the arena could be his last. The idea of death scared the young woman, but she was barely an adult, with very little real world experience truth be told. Lesley was older, in his mid to late thirties if Evi had to guess. This painted man was a strange one, but he had made her feel at ease all the same.
“Yes, enjoy might be a strong word, but I am glad I watched it. It has been….well if not entertaining, enlightening at the very least, especially with you teaching me about what is actually going on.” Evi managed a small smile as she gazed up at the painted man, for the first time taking him is markings - both pained and scars inflicted on him, those that were visible where he wore no clothing at least. And she realised she was telling the truth, that she did respect the sport, and those who fought in the arena. Whilst it was not traditional art, it was an art form of its own variety, especially if it was not just simply mindless violence as she had initially assumed when she had first started watching.
“You’re right, I should probably return to my family.” She looked for the slave, who stood behind her and to the right so as not to get in the way of anyone else’s viewing for the people sitting further back behind her. He had probably not moved for the full extent of the battle they had just watched, silent and unassuming, like all slaves should be.
“Thank you for the offer, but we will be fine finding our own way back to my father.” The young lady stood and inclined her head in a gesture of goodwill on her departure. “Thank you, Lesley, for taking the time to teach me about the gladiators and the sport. I am much better placed to watch and understand it in the future.” She turned away and began to make her exit before hesitating and turning around again, “I hope to meet you again someday. Maybe next time it will be you in the arena and I can place a bet knowing you will win.” She smiled again. Then she turned to her slave and made a gesture with her hand indicating that it was time to leave. The slave followed wordlessly behind her as she left Lesley to enjoy the rest of the matches.
The way he laughed at the prospect of death… Evi supposed he had to, because the chances were that any time he walked into the arena could be his last. The idea of death scared the young woman, but she was barely an adult, with very little real world experience truth be told. Lesley was older, in his mid to late thirties if Evi had to guess. This painted man was a strange one, but he had made her feel at ease all the same.
“Yes, enjoy might be a strong word, but I am glad I watched it. It has been….well if not entertaining, enlightening at the very least, especially with you teaching me about what is actually going on.” Evi managed a small smile as she gazed up at the painted man, for the first time taking him is markings - both pained and scars inflicted on him, those that were visible where he wore no clothing at least. And she realised she was telling the truth, that she did respect the sport, and those who fought in the arena. Whilst it was not traditional art, it was an art form of its own variety, especially if it was not just simply mindless violence as she had initially assumed when she had first started watching.
“You’re right, I should probably return to my family.” She looked for the slave, who stood behind her and to the right so as not to get in the way of anyone else’s viewing for the people sitting further back behind her. He had probably not moved for the full extent of the battle they had just watched, silent and unassuming, like all slaves should be.
“Thank you for the offer, but we will be fine finding our own way back to my father.” The young lady stood and inclined her head in a gesture of goodwill on her departure. “Thank you, Lesley, for taking the time to teach me about the gladiators and the sport. I am much better placed to watch and understand it in the future.” She turned away and began to make her exit before hesitating and turning around again, “I hope to meet you again someday. Maybe next time it will be you in the arena and I can place a bet knowing you will win.” She smiled again. Then she turned to her slave and made a gesture with her hand indicating that it was time to leave. The slave followed wordlessly behind her as she left Lesley to enjoy the rest of the matches.
