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It was around noontime, the Sun being at its peak in the cloudy sky above. The smell of various food and chattering of Greeks around filled the air. Koko was currently in the middle of the marketplace, making sure that he wasn't in the way of anyone. He often came here to play tunes, in hopes of catching the attention of at least a few people. He had yet to been kicked out which meant he must've been good at playing music! Strumming his fingers along the three strings of his crescent-shaped Phorminx which let out a warm, elegant sound. He then began to sing, raising his voice so that it would be audible over all the chattering.
"Speak , of all the cities he saw, the minds he grasped,
The suffering deep in his heart at sea
As he struggled to survive and bring his men home
But could not save them, hard as he tried—
The fools—destroyed by their own recklessness
When they ate the oxen of Hyperion the Sun,
And that god snuffed out their day of return."
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It was around noontime, the Sun being at its peak in the cloudy sky above. The smell of various food and chattering of Greeks around filled the air. Koko was currently in the middle of the marketplace, making sure that he wasn't in the way of anyone. He often came here to play tunes, in hopes of catching the attention of at least a few people. He had yet to been kicked out which meant he must've been good at playing music! Strumming his fingers along the three strings of his crescent-shaped Phorminx which let out a warm, elegant sound. He then began to sing, raising his voice so that it would be audible over all the chattering.
"Speak , of all the cities he saw, the minds he grasped,
The suffering deep in his heart at sea
As he struggled to survive and bring his men home
But could not save them, hard as he tried—
The fools—destroyed by their own recklessness
When they ate the oxen of Hyperion the Sun,
And that god snuffed out their day of return."
It was around noontime, the Sun being at its peak in the cloudy sky above. The smell of various food and chattering of Greeks around filled the air. Koko was currently in the middle of the marketplace, making sure that he wasn't in the way of anyone. He often came here to play tunes, in hopes of catching the attention of at least a few people. He had yet to been kicked out which meant he must've been good at playing music! Strumming his fingers along the three strings of his crescent-shaped Phorminx which let out a warm, elegant sound. He then began to sing, raising his voice so that it would be audible over all the chattering.
"Speak , of all the cities he saw, the minds he grasped,
The suffering deep in his heart at sea
As he struggled to survive and bring his men home
But could not save them, hard as he tried—
The fools—destroyed by their own recklessness
When they ate the oxen of Hyperion the Sun,
And that god snuffed out their day of return."
At the edges of the market stood two men. One a massive, seven foot tall giant, whose brawny, meaty body was partially compacted in on itself with his arms across his barrel chest, and the other, the Captain, a dark haired man who was tall in his own right but dwarfed next to his first mate. Lukos's eyes were settled on the young man belting out a tune. He smirked and glanced at Arktos, who was nodding his head in time with the music.
"Like that, do you?" Lukos asked.
"It's catchy," Arktos uncurled his arms and thrummed his hands against his thighs.
"Go pay the man, then," Lukos sneered.
"Ah, no, captain. I ain't spending my own money on that when I can listen for free."
"Arktos," Lukos chided in a sneer. "That's rude." He paused and then settled his gaze back on the bard. "I don't like this song." And with that, he strode forward. Arktos sighed and stumped along after him. The crowd parted for the two of them until there was a clear line for Lukos to walk straight up to Konstantina.
"You." He pointed and gave an ugly sneer. "Play something else. I dislike what you're doing at the moment."
Arktos loomed huge behind him, his beady eyes narrowed and also settled on the young musician. It wasn't really the song that Lukos disliked. Or the lyrics. He just really couldn't leave things alone. He liked to see people squirm. Around them, people looked askance. Neither of these men were dressed as reputable citizens. They appeared to be what they were; sailors.
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At the edges of the market stood two men. One a massive, seven foot tall giant, whose brawny, meaty body was partially compacted in on itself with his arms across his barrel chest, and the other, the Captain, a dark haired man who was tall in his own right but dwarfed next to his first mate. Lukos's eyes were settled on the young man belting out a tune. He smirked and glanced at Arktos, who was nodding his head in time with the music.
"Like that, do you?" Lukos asked.
"It's catchy," Arktos uncurled his arms and thrummed his hands against his thighs.
"Go pay the man, then," Lukos sneered.
"Ah, no, captain. I ain't spending my own money on that when I can listen for free."
"Arktos," Lukos chided in a sneer. "That's rude." He paused and then settled his gaze back on the bard. "I don't like this song." And with that, he strode forward. Arktos sighed and stumped along after him. The crowd parted for the two of them until there was a clear line for Lukos to walk straight up to Konstantina.
"You." He pointed and gave an ugly sneer. "Play something else. I dislike what you're doing at the moment."
Arktos loomed huge behind him, his beady eyes narrowed and also settled on the young musician. It wasn't really the song that Lukos disliked. Or the lyrics. He just really couldn't leave things alone. He liked to see people squirm. Around them, people looked askance. Neither of these men were dressed as reputable citizens. They appeared to be what they were; sailors.
At the edges of the market stood two men. One a massive, seven foot tall giant, whose brawny, meaty body was partially compacted in on itself with his arms across his barrel chest, and the other, the Captain, a dark haired man who was tall in his own right but dwarfed next to his first mate. Lukos's eyes were settled on the young man belting out a tune. He smirked and glanced at Arktos, who was nodding his head in time with the music.
"Like that, do you?" Lukos asked.
"It's catchy," Arktos uncurled his arms and thrummed his hands against his thighs.
"Go pay the man, then," Lukos sneered.
"Ah, no, captain. I ain't spending my own money on that when I can listen for free."
"Arktos," Lukos chided in a sneer. "That's rude." He paused and then settled his gaze back on the bard. "I don't like this song." And with that, he strode forward. Arktos sighed and stumped along after him. The crowd parted for the two of them until there was a clear line for Lukos to walk straight up to Konstantina.
"You." He pointed and gave an ugly sneer. "Play something else. I dislike what you're doing at the moment."
Arktos loomed huge behind him, his beady eyes narrowed and also settled on the young musician. It wasn't really the song that Lukos disliked. Or the lyrics. He just really couldn't leave things alone. He liked to see people squirm. Around them, people looked askance. Neither of these men were dressed as reputable citizens. They appeared to be what they were; sailors.
As the soft melody wound it's way through the street, it caught the attention of a quiet man who'd been going somewhere not in any particular rush, and he wandered closer to the musician. In deference to the summer heat, he was wearing a white tunic rather than even the slightly warmer full length chiton, though unlike most on the street he hadn't pinned it to fall sleeveless from his shoulders. His expression was curious, listening attentively, though he fiddled absently with something in his hands as he stood carefully out of the way of passersby. A small smile played on his lips, he wasn't quite enchanted, but he was very consciously letting himself be distracted from the cares of the rest of his day.
By his clothes this was not a rich man, clearly, not by a long shot; though not terribly poor, either. Practical, no money wasted on simply looking better, but willing to spend on comfort and durability. Soft brown eyes, short black hair, calloused hands with faint scars on his knuckles, and the broad shoulders of a labourer or soldier - but he didn't, quite, have the look of a soldier about him.
Music was always a blessing, a reprieve, something purely pleasant, without any hidden motives or undertones of something darker. Even when the guards at the arena had been particularly grouchy, they'd never complained about Iolanda singing... Hush. Don't think, just listen. Easier said than done. On the other hand, the memories were old enough to be bittersweet rather than painful, and it wouldn't do to forget the dead entirely. Perhaps remembering was a good thing. As long as it didn't turn to fretting later.
He turned the flat pebble over and over again in his fingers, and found that simply acknowledging the memory and not fighting it allowed those thoughts to leave again as quietly as they had come, and he could simply just listen.
Until the song was interrupted, and his eyes snapped back into sharp focus. Abruptly, the relaxed, casually posture was gone, replaced by alert readiness. Still relaxed, mostly, but in the way a good fighter waits for a fight to start, balanced and patient yet ready to move in any direction as quick as blinking.
"I liked it." He spoke to the musician, not directly to the rude fellow, sizing him and his companion up out of the corner of his eye, but not directly confronting them. He'd fought recently enough that he didn't have that pressure in the back of his head, and the friend he'd been remembering would have scolded him if he jumped straight into making things worse, so instead he pointedly ignored the sailors - though without letting them out of his peripheral vision - and tossed the rhapsodist a coin. "Thank you. I haven't heard that song in too long."
It wasn't that he was opposed to trouble, really. But Lesley wanted every witness on the street to be able to honestly tell any guard who showed up that it hadn't been him starting it.
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As the soft melody wound it's way through the street, it caught the attention of a quiet man who'd been going somewhere not in any particular rush, and he wandered closer to the musician. In deference to the summer heat, he was wearing a white tunic rather than even the slightly warmer full length chiton, though unlike most on the street he hadn't pinned it to fall sleeveless from his shoulders. His expression was curious, listening attentively, though he fiddled absently with something in his hands as he stood carefully out of the way of passersby. A small smile played on his lips, he wasn't quite enchanted, but he was very consciously letting himself be distracted from the cares of the rest of his day.
By his clothes this was not a rich man, clearly, not by a long shot; though not terribly poor, either. Practical, no money wasted on simply looking better, but willing to spend on comfort and durability. Soft brown eyes, short black hair, calloused hands with faint scars on his knuckles, and the broad shoulders of a labourer or soldier - but he didn't, quite, have the look of a soldier about him.
Music was always a blessing, a reprieve, something purely pleasant, without any hidden motives or undertones of something darker. Even when the guards at the arena had been particularly grouchy, they'd never complained about Iolanda singing... Hush. Don't think, just listen. Easier said than done. On the other hand, the memories were old enough to be bittersweet rather than painful, and it wouldn't do to forget the dead entirely. Perhaps remembering was a good thing. As long as it didn't turn to fretting later.
He turned the flat pebble over and over again in his fingers, and found that simply acknowledging the memory and not fighting it allowed those thoughts to leave again as quietly as they had come, and he could simply just listen.
Until the song was interrupted, and his eyes snapped back into sharp focus. Abruptly, the relaxed, casually posture was gone, replaced by alert readiness. Still relaxed, mostly, but in the way a good fighter waits for a fight to start, balanced and patient yet ready to move in any direction as quick as blinking.
"I liked it." He spoke to the musician, not directly to the rude fellow, sizing him and his companion up out of the corner of his eye, but not directly confronting them. He'd fought recently enough that he didn't have that pressure in the back of his head, and the friend he'd been remembering would have scolded him if he jumped straight into making things worse, so instead he pointedly ignored the sailors - though without letting them out of his peripheral vision - and tossed the rhapsodist a coin. "Thank you. I haven't heard that song in too long."
It wasn't that he was opposed to trouble, really. But Lesley wanted every witness on the street to be able to honestly tell any guard who showed up that it hadn't been him starting it.
As the soft melody wound it's way through the street, it caught the attention of a quiet man who'd been going somewhere not in any particular rush, and he wandered closer to the musician. In deference to the summer heat, he was wearing a white tunic rather than even the slightly warmer full length chiton, though unlike most on the street he hadn't pinned it to fall sleeveless from his shoulders. His expression was curious, listening attentively, though he fiddled absently with something in his hands as he stood carefully out of the way of passersby. A small smile played on his lips, he wasn't quite enchanted, but he was very consciously letting himself be distracted from the cares of the rest of his day.
By his clothes this was not a rich man, clearly, not by a long shot; though not terribly poor, either. Practical, no money wasted on simply looking better, but willing to spend on comfort and durability. Soft brown eyes, short black hair, calloused hands with faint scars on his knuckles, and the broad shoulders of a labourer or soldier - but he didn't, quite, have the look of a soldier about him.
Music was always a blessing, a reprieve, something purely pleasant, without any hidden motives or undertones of something darker. Even when the guards at the arena had been particularly grouchy, they'd never complained about Iolanda singing... Hush. Don't think, just listen. Easier said than done. On the other hand, the memories were old enough to be bittersweet rather than painful, and it wouldn't do to forget the dead entirely. Perhaps remembering was a good thing. As long as it didn't turn to fretting later.
He turned the flat pebble over and over again in his fingers, and found that simply acknowledging the memory and not fighting it allowed those thoughts to leave again as quietly as they had come, and he could simply just listen.
Until the song was interrupted, and his eyes snapped back into sharp focus. Abruptly, the relaxed, casually posture was gone, replaced by alert readiness. Still relaxed, mostly, but in the way a good fighter waits for a fight to start, balanced and patient yet ready to move in any direction as quick as blinking.
"I liked it." He spoke to the musician, not directly to the rude fellow, sizing him and his companion up out of the corner of his eye, but not directly confronting them. He'd fought recently enough that he didn't have that pressure in the back of his head, and the friend he'd been remembering would have scolded him if he jumped straight into making things worse, so instead he pointedly ignored the sailors - though without letting them out of his peripheral vision - and tossed the rhapsodist a coin. "Thank you. I haven't heard that song in too long."
It wasn't that he was opposed to trouble, really. But Lesley wanted every witness on the street to be able to honestly tell any guard who showed up that it hadn't been him starting it.
The musician didn’t get the chance to either stop the song he was playing, or to pick something else before someone else piped up that they liked the song. Lukos, standing with arms crossed and feet planed firmly apart, slid his eyes in the direction of a person who was vaguely familiar. He looked the man over, trying to figure out if this was someone he’d sold before, or someone he’d drank with before. Either was possible and depending on the outcome of either the transaction or the drinking, he wasn’t totally sure how he should be reacting. Either way, he was certain that he’d met this man before but the name escaped him entirely.
More to the point, whether or not he knew him, he hadn’t asked Lesley’s opinion. Therefore, he felt no qualms uttering his next words.
“Who the fuck asked your opinion, guttersnipe?” Lukos snapped. “Bard. Play something else,” he ordered immediately to the player.
Arktos glared in Lesley’s direction. He’d enjoyed the song too but there was no way on this planet that he was going to cross Lukos in public. That was a sure fire way to finding himself either dead or suddenly unemployed. Neither of these things he wanted.
What Lukos was banking on, was that Arktos was so big, and he himself was also present, that the person he’d just publicly insulted wouldn’t want a brawl. Though...now that he thought of it, it’d been a long time since he’d had a random street brawl and that was certainly better than the driveling music they were having to listen to now.
To Lesley, he added, “Does he sing too, when he fucks you with his lute? Or are you the only one who does the boy fucking?”
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The musician didn’t get the chance to either stop the song he was playing, or to pick something else before someone else piped up that they liked the song. Lukos, standing with arms crossed and feet planed firmly apart, slid his eyes in the direction of a person who was vaguely familiar. He looked the man over, trying to figure out if this was someone he’d sold before, or someone he’d drank with before. Either was possible and depending on the outcome of either the transaction or the drinking, he wasn’t totally sure how he should be reacting. Either way, he was certain that he’d met this man before but the name escaped him entirely.
More to the point, whether or not he knew him, he hadn’t asked Lesley’s opinion. Therefore, he felt no qualms uttering his next words.
“Who the fuck asked your opinion, guttersnipe?” Lukos snapped. “Bard. Play something else,” he ordered immediately to the player.
Arktos glared in Lesley’s direction. He’d enjoyed the song too but there was no way on this planet that he was going to cross Lukos in public. That was a sure fire way to finding himself either dead or suddenly unemployed. Neither of these things he wanted.
What Lukos was banking on, was that Arktos was so big, and he himself was also present, that the person he’d just publicly insulted wouldn’t want a brawl. Though...now that he thought of it, it’d been a long time since he’d had a random street brawl and that was certainly better than the driveling music they were having to listen to now.
To Lesley, he added, “Does he sing too, when he fucks you with his lute? Or are you the only one who does the boy fucking?”
The musician didn’t get the chance to either stop the song he was playing, or to pick something else before someone else piped up that they liked the song. Lukos, standing with arms crossed and feet planed firmly apart, slid his eyes in the direction of a person who was vaguely familiar. He looked the man over, trying to figure out if this was someone he’d sold before, or someone he’d drank with before. Either was possible and depending on the outcome of either the transaction or the drinking, he wasn’t totally sure how he should be reacting. Either way, he was certain that he’d met this man before but the name escaped him entirely.
More to the point, whether or not he knew him, he hadn’t asked Lesley’s opinion. Therefore, he felt no qualms uttering his next words.
“Who the fuck asked your opinion, guttersnipe?” Lukos snapped. “Bard. Play something else,” he ordered immediately to the player.
Arktos glared in Lesley’s direction. He’d enjoyed the song too but there was no way on this planet that he was going to cross Lukos in public. That was a sure fire way to finding himself either dead or suddenly unemployed. Neither of these things he wanted.
What Lukos was banking on, was that Arktos was so big, and he himself was also present, that the person he’d just publicly insulted wouldn’t want a brawl. Though...now that he thought of it, it’d been a long time since he’d had a random street brawl and that was certainly better than the driveling music they were having to listen to now.
To Lesley, he added, “Does he sing too, when he fucks you with his lute? Or are you the only one who does the boy fucking?”
Lesley, being a man not terribly interested in women, when the gladiators had been provided with such luxuries, had heard plenty of similar comments before, enough to neither be shocked nor even particularly bothered. He was, however, more than capable of recognizing when someone was simply spoiling for a fight, rather than making a serious accusation. And Lesley was always happy to provide a fight.
He turned to face the sailor, and ran his eyes up and down the man as if really noticing him for the first time.
"Pathetic," he concluded. "And hypocritical, coming from a twink." He rolled his eyes at the bigger man. "He always this mouthy? Should beat him more often." Then he shrugged, seemingly entirely uncaring, and with a sharp flick of his wrist sent the rock he'd been fiddling with straight towards Lukos's face. "Eh, I'll do it for ya."
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Lesley, being a man not terribly interested in women, when the gladiators had been provided with such luxuries, had heard plenty of similar comments before, enough to neither be shocked nor even particularly bothered. He was, however, more than capable of recognizing when someone was simply spoiling for a fight, rather than making a serious accusation. And Lesley was always happy to provide a fight.
He turned to face the sailor, and ran his eyes up and down the man as if really noticing him for the first time.
"Pathetic," he concluded. "And hypocritical, coming from a twink." He rolled his eyes at the bigger man. "He always this mouthy? Should beat him more often." Then he shrugged, seemingly entirely uncaring, and with a sharp flick of his wrist sent the rock he'd been fiddling with straight towards Lukos's face. "Eh, I'll do it for ya."
Lesley, being a man not terribly interested in women, when the gladiators had been provided with such luxuries, had heard plenty of similar comments before, enough to neither be shocked nor even particularly bothered. He was, however, more than capable of recognizing when someone was simply spoiling for a fight, rather than making a serious accusation. And Lesley was always happy to provide a fight.
He turned to face the sailor, and ran his eyes up and down the man as if really noticing him for the first time.
"Pathetic," he concluded. "And hypocritical, coming from a twink." He rolled his eyes at the bigger man. "He always this mouthy? Should beat him more often." Then he shrugged, seemingly entirely uncaring, and with a sharp flick of his wrist sent the rock he'd been fiddling with straight towards Lukos's face. "Eh, I'll do it for ya."
“Twink?” He glared and was about to charge forward but Arktos put his arm out to push Lukos behind him so that he could walk around him. It was at that moment that Lesley lobbed the rock. It hit Arktos first but ricocheted off and struck Lukos on the cheek, leaving a shallow gash. Lukos growled, hand flying to his face. His fingers came away smeared red. Dark eyes moved slowly across the flagstones of the street, to Lesley’s sandals, up his person, to his face.
Lukos’s chest rose and fell in slow, deep breaths. There was a high pitched whining and he could not hear anything anyone was saying anymore. He was only dimly aware that Arktos was even speaking and he shoved past his first mate as though the other man was as insubstantial as a curtain. He was unaware of anything except Lesley as he launched himself across the intervening space. His fist was raised and he lunged, his whole focus on slamming his fist straight into Lesley’s face. It did not matter to him if he was hit at the same time. This man would be licking the paving stones by the time this was settled. The insult of the rock and the blood now seeping down his face had unlocked a level of rage that he almost never accessed while in the city.
“You fucking barbarian!” he roared.
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“Twink?” He glared and was about to charge forward but Arktos put his arm out to push Lukos behind him so that he could walk around him. It was at that moment that Lesley lobbed the rock. It hit Arktos first but ricocheted off and struck Lukos on the cheek, leaving a shallow gash. Lukos growled, hand flying to his face. His fingers came away smeared red. Dark eyes moved slowly across the flagstones of the street, to Lesley’s sandals, up his person, to his face.
Lukos’s chest rose and fell in slow, deep breaths. There was a high pitched whining and he could not hear anything anyone was saying anymore. He was only dimly aware that Arktos was even speaking and he shoved past his first mate as though the other man was as insubstantial as a curtain. He was unaware of anything except Lesley as he launched himself across the intervening space. His fist was raised and he lunged, his whole focus on slamming his fist straight into Lesley’s face. It did not matter to him if he was hit at the same time. This man would be licking the paving stones by the time this was settled. The insult of the rock and the blood now seeping down his face had unlocked a level of rage that he almost never accessed while in the city.
“You fucking barbarian!” he roared.
“Twink?” He glared and was about to charge forward but Arktos put his arm out to push Lukos behind him so that he could walk around him. It was at that moment that Lesley lobbed the rock. It hit Arktos first but ricocheted off and struck Lukos on the cheek, leaving a shallow gash. Lukos growled, hand flying to his face. His fingers came away smeared red. Dark eyes moved slowly across the flagstones of the street, to Lesley’s sandals, up his person, to his face.
Lukos’s chest rose and fell in slow, deep breaths. There was a high pitched whining and he could not hear anything anyone was saying anymore. He was only dimly aware that Arktos was even speaking and he shoved past his first mate as though the other man was as insubstantial as a curtain. He was unaware of anything except Lesley as he launched himself across the intervening space. His fist was raised and he lunged, his whole focus on slamming his fist straight into Lesley’s face. It did not matter to him if he was hit at the same time. This man would be licking the paving stones by the time this was settled. The insult of the rock and the blood now seeping down his face had unlocked a level of rage that he almost never accessed while in the city.
“You fucking barbarian!” he roared.
The gladiator grinned happily as the pirate decided to play with him. Reflexes honed in the arena had him stepping easily to one side and knocking the blow aside with a forearm, even as he used the movement to set himself up for a hard punch of his own straight for the other man's face, then stepped in even closer for a gut punch with the hand he'd blocked with. Easy grappling range, but Lesley was a good wrestler, and didn't mind the possibility. Lukos wasn't paying any attention to his defense, and Les was happy not just for a fight but that the obvious red rage blinding the other was likely to make him predictable and continue to forget to block. Lesley wasn't too much of a fan of a fair fight - though he'd take one - he ever so much preferred the chance to toy with his opponent. He laughed happily, but this was someone he didn't know, hadn't studied, and he didn't let down his guard at all while was still taking the measure of him.
Nor did he let himself get distracted from the fact there was a second, larger, potential opponent present. At least for the first moment, it seemed Arktos was taking the fact he'd been shoved past as a request to let his captain handle this himself, but it was also possible he'd just been startled, and it was likely even if he didn't jump in soon, he probably would if his captain seemed to need his life saved. Les did tend to hyperfocus, but since he had known there were two of them when he'd picked the fight, he wasn't simply going to loose track of the big man.
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The gladiator grinned happily as the pirate decided to play with him. Reflexes honed in the arena had him stepping easily to one side and knocking the blow aside with a forearm, even as he used the movement to set himself up for a hard punch of his own straight for the other man's face, then stepped in even closer for a gut punch with the hand he'd blocked with. Easy grappling range, but Lesley was a good wrestler, and didn't mind the possibility. Lukos wasn't paying any attention to his defense, and Les was happy not just for a fight but that the obvious red rage blinding the other was likely to make him predictable and continue to forget to block. Lesley wasn't too much of a fan of a fair fight - though he'd take one - he ever so much preferred the chance to toy with his opponent. He laughed happily, but this was someone he didn't know, hadn't studied, and he didn't let down his guard at all while was still taking the measure of him.
Nor did he let himself get distracted from the fact there was a second, larger, potential opponent present. At least for the first moment, it seemed Arktos was taking the fact he'd been shoved past as a request to let his captain handle this himself, but it was also possible he'd just been startled, and it was likely even if he didn't jump in soon, he probably would if his captain seemed to need his life saved. Les did tend to hyperfocus, but since he had known there were two of them when he'd picked the fight, he wasn't simply going to loose track of the big man.
The gladiator grinned happily as the pirate decided to play with him. Reflexes honed in the arena had him stepping easily to one side and knocking the blow aside with a forearm, even as he used the movement to set himself up for a hard punch of his own straight for the other man's face, then stepped in even closer for a gut punch with the hand he'd blocked with. Easy grappling range, but Lesley was a good wrestler, and didn't mind the possibility. Lukos wasn't paying any attention to his defense, and Les was happy not just for a fight but that the obvious red rage blinding the other was likely to make him predictable and continue to forget to block. Lesley wasn't too much of a fan of a fair fight - though he'd take one - he ever so much preferred the chance to toy with his opponent. He laughed happily, but this was someone he didn't know, hadn't studied, and he didn't let down his guard at all while was still taking the measure of him.
Nor did he let himself get distracted from the fact there was a second, larger, potential opponent present. At least for the first moment, it seemed Arktos was taking the fact he'd been shoved past as a request to let his captain handle this himself, but it was also possible he'd just been startled, and it was likely even if he didn't jump in soon, he probably would if his captain seemed to need his life saved. Les did tend to hyperfocus, but since he had known there were two of them when he'd picked the fight, he wasn't simply going to loose track of the big man.
It was true. Lukos hadn’t taken into account, in his lust for blood, that his opponent might know how to fight - and fight well. Not that it would have stopped him or slow him down even if he had. He was unafraid and would not let the insult of the rock stand. Throwing it at all had been Lesley’s fault in the first place. That meant the law (should they be called), was on his side, right?
Never mind that Lukos was the one running his mouth and provoking it.
He growled when his arm was swept easily aside. Lukos, like Lesley, was no stranger to fights. He moved his head just enough to avoid the face punch but Lesley’s jab to the stomach landed. Hard. Lukos gasped as the air sailed out of his lungs. He kept his head enough to to grab the gladiator’s shoulders, using that as leverage, and rammed his head forward, slamming his skull into Lesley’s. Pain exploded inside his own head, like his brain had been rattled, but he’d been expecting it. The goal was to disorient Lesley enough for him to let the fuck go.
Jerking his knee up, he tried to get Lesley in the stomach, while at the same time, shoving violently away from him. He wanted free of this man’s grip. Holding onto his head, he danced away a bit, glaring and waiting, poised to keep well out of Lesley’s range.
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It was true. Lukos hadn’t taken into account, in his lust for blood, that his opponent might know how to fight - and fight well. Not that it would have stopped him or slow him down even if he had. He was unafraid and would not let the insult of the rock stand. Throwing it at all had been Lesley’s fault in the first place. That meant the law (should they be called), was on his side, right?
Never mind that Lukos was the one running his mouth and provoking it.
He growled when his arm was swept easily aside. Lukos, like Lesley, was no stranger to fights. He moved his head just enough to avoid the face punch but Lesley’s jab to the stomach landed. Hard. Lukos gasped as the air sailed out of his lungs. He kept his head enough to to grab the gladiator’s shoulders, using that as leverage, and rammed his head forward, slamming his skull into Lesley’s. Pain exploded inside his own head, like his brain had been rattled, but he’d been expecting it. The goal was to disorient Lesley enough for him to let the fuck go.
Jerking his knee up, he tried to get Lesley in the stomach, while at the same time, shoving violently away from him. He wanted free of this man’s grip. Holding onto his head, he danced away a bit, glaring and waiting, poised to keep well out of Lesley’s range.
It was true. Lukos hadn’t taken into account, in his lust for blood, that his opponent might know how to fight - and fight well. Not that it would have stopped him or slow him down even if he had. He was unafraid and would not let the insult of the rock stand. Throwing it at all had been Lesley’s fault in the first place. That meant the law (should they be called), was on his side, right?
Never mind that Lukos was the one running his mouth and provoking it.
He growled when his arm was swept easily aside. Lukos, like Lesley, was no stranger to fights. He moved his head just enough to avoid the face punch but Lesley’s jab to the stomach landed. Hard. Lukos gasped as the air sailed out of his lungs. He kept his head enough to to grab the gladiator’s shoulders, using that as leverage, and rammed his head forward, slamming his skull into Lesley’s. Pain exploded inside his own head, like his brain had been rattled, but he’d been expecting it. The goal was to disorient Lesley enough for him to let the fuck go.
Jerking his knee up, he tried to get Lesley in the stomach, while at the same time, shoving violently away from him. He wanted free of this man’s grip. Holding onto his head, he danced away a bit, glaring and waiting, poised to keep well out of Lesley’s range.
Lesley wasn't exactly startled by the smashing of a skull into his own, but he did still have the disadvantage of not knowing. Stars flashed in his vision, but he'd be a poor gladiator if he let a little thing like momentary blindness slow him down. He twisted on instinct, knowing there would be a follow-up blow, and most likely a knee, but not exactly where it would be aimed, and used that same movement to throw power behind a punch that was, unfortunately, not terribly well aimed. He didn't feel either one land - but that might have been the adrenaline. Wouldn't be the first time if he went home with split knuckles and a collection of bruises and cuts that he couldn't remember exactly when during a fight he'd picked them up.
He blinked his vision clear as the sailor pulled away, and came to the tentative conclusion that grappling was probably one of his opponent's weaker skills, or at least one he didn't feel as confident in. He stepped forward again, with a speed that had surprised more than one opponent who'd been fooled by his bulk. If Lukos stood his ground - or just didn't react fast enough - Lesley had a solid pile-driving tackle in his repertoire, but as much as the gladiator would love to pin him down and punch his face in, if the skinnier man decided to retreat, Les wasn't going to chase him. Not on a public street, and certainly not in this heat.
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Lesley wasn't exactly startled by the smashing of a skull into his own, but he did still have the disadvantage of not knowing. Stars flashed in his vision, but he'd be a poor gladiator if he let a little thing like momentary blindness slow him down. He twisted on instinct, knowing there would be a follow-up blow, and most likely a knee, but not exactly where it would be aimed, and used that same movement to throw power behind a punch that was, unfortunately, not terribly well aimed. He didn't feel either one land - but that might have been the adrenaline. Wouldn't be the first time if he went home with split knuckles and a collection of bruises and cuts that he couldn't remember exactly when during a fight he'd picked them up.
He blinked his vision clear as the sailor pulled away, and came to the tentative conclusion that grappling was probably one of his opponent's weaker skills, or at least one he didn't feel as confident in. He stepped forward again, with a speed that had surprised more than one opponent who'd been fooled by his bulk. If Lukos stood his ground - or just didn't react fast enough - Lesley had a solid pile-driving tackle in his repertoire, but as much as the gladiator would love to pin him down and punch his face in, if the skinnier man decided to retreat, Les wasn't going to chase him. Not on a public street, and certainly not in this heat.
Lesley wasn't exactly startled by the smashing of a skull into his own, but he did still have the disadvantage of not knowing. Stars flashed in his vision, but he'd be a poor gladiator if he let a little thing like momentary blindness slow him down. He twisted on instinct, knowing there would be a follow-up blow, and most likely a knee, but not exactly where it would be aimed, and used that same movement to throw power behind a punch that was, unfortunately, not terribly well aimed. He didn't feel either one land - but that might have been the adrenaline. Wouldn't be the first time if he went home with split knuckles and a collection of bruises and cuts that he couldn't remember exactly when during a fight he'd picked them up.
He blinked his vision clear as the sailor pulled away, and came to the tentative conclusion that grappling was probably one of his opponent's weaker skills, or at least one he didn't feel as confident in. He stepped forward again, with a speed that had surprised more than one opponent who'd been fooled by his bulk. If Lukos stood his ground - or just didn't react fast enough - Lesley had a solid pile-driving tackle in his repertoire, but as much as the gladiator would love to pin him down and punch his face in, if the skinnier man decided to retreat, Les wasn't going to chase him. Not on a public street, and certainly not in this heat.
It worked and he was free. He’d greatly underestimated this man’s ability to fight and that was something he wasn’t going to do again. Nor was he going to let this meathead get ahold of him again if he could help it. Lukos’s profession was taking people from where they did not want to be and so he was very used to fighting hand to hand with people. What he didn’t usually do was do it alone. His crew was generally with him and they acted in a group. It was becoming increasingly obvious to him that he did not have the upper hand in mere strength or in day to day fighting, but he wasn’t a novice either. He simply needed to level the playfield a little bit.
While Lesley blinked rapidly to clear his vision, Lukos reached behind him and closed his fingers around the hilt of his dagger. It was a wicked looking knife and he hadn’t planned on escalating this fight but he wasn’t thinking beyond the next move anymore. His thoughts had shifted to winning. If drawing blood was what it took, then he’d stab Lesley until the man’s torso was glistening red and barely recognizable as a human chest.
Lesley dove, Lukos sidestepped, got behind Lesley, and kicked at Lesley’s back to keep the gladiator going in the wrong direction through the power of momentum. Lukos was taller than Lesley by a good three inches, but Lesley was broader and much heavier. There was no way on this green earth that Lukos would allow himself to be pinned. The fight would be very much over if that was the case. He followed his kick by slicing downward with the knife, intending to rip Lesley’s back open if he could manage it.
He also did not trust the gladiator enough to stand there and be a good sport about being laid open. Lukos slashed and danced away, moving back in with another quick swipe and jumping back again. He didn’t want to get caught and he didn’t want to lose. “How’s that, mongrel? Don’t like that?” He slashed again when he had an opening. “Back. Off.”
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It worked and he was free. He’d greatly underestimated this man’s ability to fight and that was something he wasn’t going to do again. Nor was he going to let this meathead get ahold of him again if he could help it. Lukos’s profession was taking people from where they did not want to be and so he was very used to fighting hand to hand with people. What he didn’t usually do was do it alone. His crew was generally with him and they acted in a group. It was becoming increasingly obvious to him that he did not have the upper hand in mere strength or in day to day fighting, but he wasn’t a novice either. He simply needed to level the playfield a little bit.
While Lesley blinked rapidly to clear his vision, Lukos reached behind him and closed his fingers around the hilt of his dagger. It was a wicked looking knife and he hadn’t planned on escalating this fight but he wasn’t thinking beyond the next move anymore. His thoughts had shifted to winning. If drawing blood was what it took, then he’d stab Lesley until the man’s torso was glistening red and barely recognizable as a human chest.
Lesley dove, Lukos sidestepped, got behind Lesley, and kicked at Lesley’s back to keep the gladiator going in the wrong direction through the power of momentum. Lukos was taller than Lesley by a good three inches, but Lesley was broader and much heavier. There was no way on this green earth that Lukos would allow himself to be pinned. The fight would be very much over if that was the case. He followed his kick by slicing downward with the knife, intending to rip Lesley’s back open if he could manage it.
He also did not trust the gladiator enough to stand there and be a good sport about being laid open. Lukos slashed and danced away, moving back in with another quick swipe and jumping back again. He didn’t want to get caught and he didn’t want to lose. “How’s that, mongrel? Don’t like that?” He slashed again when he had an opening. “Back. Off.”
It worked and he was free. He’d greatly underestimated this man’s ability to fight and that was something he wasn’t going to do again. Nor was he going to let this meathead get ahold of him again if he could help it. Lukos’s profession was taking people from where they did not want to be and so he was very used to fighting hand to hand with people. What he didn’t usually do was do it alone. His crew was generally with him and they acted in a group. It was becoming increasingly obvious to him that he did not have the upper hand in mere strength or in day to day fighting, but he wasn’t a novice either. He simply needed to level the playfield a little bit.
While Lesley blinked rapidly to clear his vision, Lukos reached behind him and closed his fingers around the hilt of his dagger. It was a wicked looking knife and he hadn’t planned on escalating this fight but he wasn’t thinking beyond the next move anymore. His thoughts had shifted to winning. If drawing blood was what it took, then he’d stab Lesley until the man’s torso was glistening red and barely recognizable as a human chest.
Lesley dove, Lukos sidestepped, got behind Lesley, and kicked at Lesley’s back to keep the gladiator going in the wrong direction through the power of momentum. Lukos was taller than Lesley by a good three inches, but Lesley was broader and much heavier. There was no way on this green earth that Lukos would allow himself to be pinned. The fight would be very much over if that was the case. He followed his kick by slicing downward with the knife, intending to rip Lesley’s back open if he could manage it.
He also did not trust the gladiator enough to stand there and be a good sport about being laid open. Lukos slashed and danced away, moving back in with another quick swipe and jumping back again. He didn’t want to get caught and he didn’t want to lose. “How’s that, mongrel? Don’t like that?” He slashed again when he had an opening. “Back. Off.”
The moment Lukos wasn't directly in front of him any more, Lesley was already turning, and the kick landed on his hip while a line of red sprang up on his left arm, his sleeve falling open to show black ink scrawled across his fair skin. Neither impact nor pain set him significantly off-balance or made him hesitate at all, not even a flicker in his eyes; in fact the sudden appearance of the knife brought forth a broad smile and a peal of genuinely happy laughter.
He didn't waste time with a thought about whether he'd need stitches, or whether he'd feel his bruises tomorrow. A quick, instinctive clench of his fist told him that it hadn't cut enough into the muscle to prevent him from using it, so it didn't matter. Something to be aware of, but not yet worth favouring that side. The moment it became a real fight rather than a tussle - or what Lesley considered a relatively minor tussle, at least - he'd snapped into that place of pure, joyful focus where past and future didn't exist. He spread his hands in invitation, come at me, then, but while Lukos took the opening he wasn't fool enough to over-commit himself when it turned out it wasn't actually a real opening.
The pirate's words suggested he took the gladiator's dodge as a flinch, but his caution suggested he knew better and his words were more bluff than real mockery. "Now, now. You're the one who drew a blade. You really shouldn't tempt a gladiator into killing you if you don't mean it." He laughed again, stepping in and to the side, clearly looking for an opening rather than going for an immediate attack, forcing Lukos to move to keep a safe distance and keep himself from giving the older man that opening he was clearly trying to manipulate him into. His left hand suddenly tugged a string at his belt, freeing his coin pouch, and flung it directly at Lukos's face.
Lesley might not be able to write or draw with his left hand, but there was nothing at all unsteady about his aim. He rarely carried a shield in the arena, and so he'd made damn sure to train well enough that you couldn't easily tell which hand he favoured when he fought. The pouch held more coin than when Lukos had once won three out of Lesley's scant four coppers at dice, but still wasn't heavy enough to cause any real damage - though it wouldn't be exactly comfortable to take it in the eye - but that wasn't the point. Blink, flinch, or dodge, that was the moment Les stepped in with his own knife, left hand sweeping out to block the swipe of the sailor's blade that he expected.
He didn't really intend to kill Lukos, unless the other man forced the issue. He did, however, intend to take him down hard. "Thanks, by the way. I really am going to enjoy carving you open." By the tone, and the gleam in his eye, he really, really would.
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The moment Lukos wasn't directly in front of him any more, Lesley was already turning, and the kick landed on his hip while a line of red sprang up on his left arm, his sleeve falling open to show black ink scrawled across his fair skin. Neither impact nor pain set him significantly off-balance or made him hesitate at all, not even a flicker in his eyes; in fact the sudden appearance of the knife brought forth a broad smile and a peal of genuinely happy laughter.
He didn't waste time with a thought about whether he'd need stitches, or whether he'd feel his bruises tomorrow. A quick, instinctive clench of his fist told him that it hadn't cut enough into the muscle to prevent him from using it, so it didn't matter. Something to be aware of, but not yet worth favouring that side. The moment it became a real fight rather than a tussle - or what Lesley considered a relatively minor tussle, at least - he'd snapped into that place of pure, joyful focus where past and future didn't exist. He spread his hands in invitation, come at me, then, but while Lukos took the opening he wasn't fool enough to over-commit himself when it turned out it wasn't actually a real opening.
The pirate's words suggested he took the gladiator's dodge as a flinch, but his caution suggested he knew better and his words were more bluff than real mockery. "Now, now. You're the one who drew a blade. You really shouldn't tempt a gladiator into killing you if you don't mean it." He laughed again, stepping in and to the side, clearly looking for an opening rather than going for an immediate attack, forcing Lukos to move to keep a safe distance and keep himself from giving the older man that opening he was clearly trying to manipulate him into. His left hand suddenly tugged a string at his belt, freeing his coin pouch, and flung it directly at Lukos's face.
Lesley might not be able to write or draw with his left hand, but there was nothing at all unsteady about his aim. He rarely carried a shield in the arena, and so he'd made damn sure to train well enough that you couldn't easily tell which hand he favoured when he fought. The pouch held more coin than when Lukos had once won three out of Lesley's scant four coppers at dice, but still wasn't heavy enough to cause any real damage - though it wouldn't be exactly comfortable to take it in the eye - but that wasn't the point. Blink, flinch, or dodge, that was the moment Les stepped in with his own knife, left hand sweeping out to block the swipe of the sailor's blade that he expected.
He didn't really intend to kill Lukos, unless the other man forced the issue. He did, however, intend to take him down hard. "Thanks, by the way. I really am going to enjoy carving you open." By the tone, and the gleam in his eye, he really, really would.
The moment Lukos wasn't directly in front of him any more, Lesley was already turning, and the kick landed on his hip while a line of red sprang up on his left arm, his sleeve falling open to show black ink scrawled across his fair skin. Neither impact nor pain set him significantly off-balance or made him hesitate at all, not even a flicker in his eyes; in fact the sudden appearance of the knife brought forth a broad smile and a peal of genuinely happy laughter.
He didn't waste time with a thought about whether he'd need stitches, or whether he'd feel his bruises tomorrow. A quick, instinctive clench of his fist told him that it hadn't cut enough into the muscle to prevent him from using it, so it didn't matter. Something to be aware of, but not yet worth favouring that side. The moment it became a real fight rather than a tussle - or what Lesley considered a relatively minor tussle, at least - he'd snapped into that place of pure, joyful focus where past and future didn't exist. He spread his hands in invitation, come at me, then, but while Lukos took the opening he wasn't fool enough to over-commit himself when it turned out it wasn't actually a real opening.
The pirate's words suggested he took the gladiator's dodge as a flinch, but his caution suggested he knew better and his words were more bluff than real mockery. "Now, now. You're the one who drew a blade. You really shouldn't tempt a gladiator into killing you if you don't mean it." He laughed again, stepping in and to the side, clearly looking for an opening rather than going for an immediate attack, forcing Lukos to move to keep a safe distance and keep himself from giving the older man that opening he was clearly trying to manipulate him into. His left hand suddenly tugged a string at his belt, freeing his coin pouch, and flung it directly at Lukos's face.
Lesley might not be able to write or draw with his left hand, but there was nothing at all unsteady about his aim. He rarely carried a shield in the arena, and so he'd made damn sure to train well enough that you couldn't easily tell which hand he favoured when he fought. The pouch held more coin than when Lukos had once won three out of Lesley's scant four coppers at dice, but still wasn't heavy enough to cause any real damage - though it wouldn't be exactly comfortable to take it in the eye - but that wasn't the point. Blink, flinch, or dodge, that was the moment Les stepped in with his own knife, left hand sweeping out to block the swipe of the sailor's blade that he expected.
He didn't really intend to kill Lukos, unless the other man forced the issue. He did, however, intend to take him down hard. "Thanks, by the way. I really am going to enjoy carving you open." By the tone, and the gleam in his eye, he really, really would.
"Now, now. You're the one who drew a blade. You really shouldn't tempt a gladiator into killing you if you don't mean it."
Gladiator? Lukos’s eyes widened and he would have loved to take Lesley in with new, wiser eyes. But, there was no time. He had the impression of a huge man barrelling down on him and now that he knew for good and certain that Lesley wasn’t going to be spooked by either him or his knife, the fight changed. It was either going to be a bloodbath between the two of them or one of them would end up dead. Either way, definitely enough to ruin someone’s day.
Arktos watched, waiting for Lukos’s signal that he should step in. Lukos had just taken his eyes off Lesley in order to call for his first mate and that’s when the coins struck his face. Arktos moved, Lukos jumped back and twisted to the side. Lesley’s blade sliced across his chest. Fabric and skin smiled open and Lukos kept moving, ignoring the stinging on his chest and keeping Lesley in view.
"Thanks, by the way. I really am going to enjoy carving you open."
“The guard are already on their way,” Lukos pointed out, feinting to the side. Arktos was coming up now, ready to grab Lesley the second he got the chance. “What do you say we call this a draw and not get arrested?” Was it cowardly to recognize he’d get beaten to a pulp and stop the fight early? Maybe. But, he didn’t want to get beaten to a pulp or carved open. Neither was there any profit in winning, which would have seen him keep going if there was.
The fight was pointless, in other words. A fit of his own temper that he should have had a better handle on. Arktos, meanwhile, hovered near Lesley, bigger and less quick than Lukos, but definitely stronger and willing to crush Lesley in a hug, if necessary.
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"Now, now. You're the one who drew a blade. You really shouldn't tempt a gladiator into killing you if you don't mean it."
Gladiator? Lukos’s eyes widened and he would have loved to take Lesley in with new, wiser eyes. But, there was no time. He had the impression of a huge man barrelling down on him and now that he knew for good and certain that Lesley wasn’t going to be spooked by either him or his knife, the fight changed. It was either going to be a bloodbath between the two of them or one of them would end up dead. Either way, definitely enough to ruin someone’s day.
Arktos watched, waiting for Lukos’s signal that he should step in. Lukos had just taken his eyes off Lesley in order to call for his first mate and that’s when the coins struck his face. Arktos moved, Lukos jumped back and twisted to the side. Lesley’s blade sliced across his chest. Fabric and skin smiled open and Lukos kept moving, ignoring the stinging on his chest and keeping Lesley in view.
"Thanks, by the way. I really am going to enjoy carving you open."
“The guard are already on their way,” Lukos pointed out, feinting to the side. Arktos was coming up now, ready to grab Lesley the second he got the chance. “What do you say we call this a draw and not get arrested?” Was it cowardly to recognize he’d get beaten to a pulp and stop the fight early? Maybe. But, he didn’t want to get beaten to a pulp or carved open. Neither was there any profit in winning, which would have seen him keep going if there was.
The fight was pointless, in other words. A fit of his own temper that he should have had a better handle on. Arktos, meanwhile, hovered near Lesley, bigger and less quick than Lukos, but definitely stronger and willing to crush Lesley in a hug, if necessary.
"Now, now. You're the one who drew a blade. You really shouldn't tempt a gladiator into killing you if you don't mean it."
Gladiator? Lukos’s eyes widened and he would have loved to take Lesley in with new, wiser eyes. But, there was no time. He had the impression of a huge man barrelling down on him and now that he knew for good and certain that Lesley wasn’t going to be spooked by either him or his knife, the fight changed. It was either going to be a bloodbath between the two of them or one of them would end up dead. Either way, definitely enough to ruin someone’s day.
Arktos watched, waiting for Lukos’s signal that he should step in. Lukos had just taken his eyes off Lesley in order to call for his first mate and that’s when the coins struck his face. Arktos moved, Lukos jumped back and twisted to the side. Lesley’s blade sliced across his chest. Fabric and skin smiled open and Lukos kept moving, ignoring the stinging on his chest and keeping Lesley in view.
"Thanks, by the way. I really am going to enjoy carving you open."
“The guard are already on their way,” Lukos pointed out, feinting to the side. Arktos was coming up now, ready to grab Lesley the second he got the chance. “What do you say we call this a draw and not get arrested?” Was it cowardly to recognize he’d get beaten to a pulp and stop the fight early? Maybe. But, he didn’t want to get beaten to a pulp or carved open. Neither was there any profit in winning, which would have seen him keep going if there was.
The fight was pointless, in other words. A fit of his own temper that he should have had a better handle on. Arktos, meanwhile, hovered near Lesley, bigger and less quick than Lukos, but definitely stronger and willing to crush Lesley in a hug, if necessary.
Les shrugged slightly at the reminder of the guard's potential intervention. He recognized, intellectually, that it was a concern, but emotionally he cared a lot less. He did care about the big man stepping up towards them, and refused to let himself be maneuvered into getting sandwiched between them. Lucky the feint had just been a feint, or he would have gotten cut again, but his grin suggested he had recognized it as a feint and not that he'd been more worried about the other sailor than about the knife. As Lukos had figured out earlier, getting solidly pinned was the first step in getting either beaten to a pulp or killed.
At least Arkos still looked like he didn't want to get involved, but Les wasn't interested in encouraging him by turning his back. "Oh, by all means run off if you like," he retorted. He had no motivation for chasing the pirate, after all. He feinted at the man's face, testing his reflexes, and managed a score on the arm he brought up to block with, but didn't follow up. Knife fights were tricky enough to make him cautious, even if thoroughly ingrained showmanship hid it behind a mask of deliberately drawing things out.
He'd swear at himself later, if that extra slice pissed off his opponent enough to not abandon the fight; he'd just meant to encourage him to bugger off without any such nonsense as calling it a draw, but he really didn't see any good reason to continue, either. He wasn't too worried about having a street brawl broken up by the guard, but he really didn't want to get arrested for murder, and he knew how bad his own impulse control was.
Witness the fact he hadn't been able to refrain from landing that cut. There was just something about having someone's flesh opening under his blade...
"Well? You gonna keep dancing or bow out?"
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Les shrugged slightly at the reminder of the guard's potential intervention. He recognized, intellectually, that it was a concern, but emotionally he cared a lot less. He did care about the big man stepping up towards them, and refused to let himself be maneuvered into getting sandwiched between them. Lucky the feint had just been a feint, or he would have gotten cut again, but his grin suggested he had recognized it as a feint and not that he'd been more worried about the other sailor than about the knife. As Lukos had figured out earlier, getting solidly pinned was the first step in getting either beaten to a pulp or killed.
At least Arkos still looked like he didn't want to get involved, but Les wasn't interested in encouraging him by turning his back. "Oh, by all means run off if you like," he retorted. He had no motivation for chasing the pirate, after all. He feinted at the man's face, testing his reflexes, and managed a score on the arm he brought up to block with, but didn't follow up. Knife fights were tricky enough to make him cautious, even if thoroughly ingrained showmanship hid it behind a mask of deliberately drawing things out.
He'd swear at himself later, if that extra slice pissed off his opponent enough to not abandon the fight; he'd just meant to encourage him to bugger off without any such nonsense as calling it a draw, but he really didn't see any good reason to continue, either. He wasn't too worried about having a street brawl broken up by the guard, but he really didn't want to get arrested for murder, and he knew how bad his own impulse control was.
Witness the fact he hadn't been able to refrain from landing that cut. There was just something about having someone's flesh opening under his blade...
"Well? You gonna keep dancing or bow out?"
Les shrugged slightly at the reminder of the guard's potential intervention. He recognized, intellectually, that it was a concern, but emotionally he cared a lot less. He did care about the big man stepping up towards them, and refused to let himself be maneuvered into getting sandwiched between them. Lucky the feint had just been a feint, or he would have gotten cut again, but his grin suggested he had recognized it as a feint and not that he'd been more worried about the other sailor than about the knife. As Lukos had figured out earlier, getting solidly pinned was the first step in getting either beaten to a pulp or killed.
At least Arkos still looked like he didn't want to get involved, but Les wasn't interested in encouraging him by turning his back. "Oh, by all means run off if you like," he retorted. He had no motivation for chasing the pirate, after all. He feinted at the man's face, testing his reflexes, and managed a score on the arm he brought up to block with, but didn't follow up. Knife fights were tricky enough to make him cautious, even if thoroughly ingrained showmanship hid it behind a mask of deliberately drawing things out.
He'd swear at himself later, if that extra slice pissed off his opponent enough to not abandon the fight; he'd just meant to encourage him to bugger off without any such nonsense as calling it a draw, but he really didn't see any good reason to continue, either. He wasn't too worried about having a street brawl broken up by the guard, but he really didn't want to get arrested for murder, and he knew how bad his own impulse control was.
Witness the fact he hadn't been able to refrain from landing that cut. There was just something about having someone's flesh opening under his blade...
"Well? You gonna keep dancing or bow out?"
"Well? You gonna keep dancing or bow out?"
“And get arrested? You must be joking,” Lukos inspected his arm, then shot a look at Lesley. “Unless you’ve had one too many hits to that ugly head of yours and aren’t…”
Gladiators. His least favorite kind of slave to sell. They all had something seriously wrong with them in the brain. They were almost all brutes with the single kind of thickheaded focus that a bull possessed when charging. Not something he wanted to be on the receiving end of, and not something he really wanted to be involved in.
The clink of armor made him back up and he shot Lesley a grin. With Arktos so close and always circling to get behind Lesley, Lukos felt a bit safer and a bit easier to run his mouth. “You’re stronger,” he agreed. “But I’m smarter.” As though to emphasize that point, he kept backing up, well out of reach and Lesley would have to chase him if he wanted to continue the fight.
“We’ll put this on our to-do list,” Lukos kept on. Arktos had circled around and was now right beside Lukos, acting like the human meat shield that the captain used him for. “Meet ya later,” Lukos smirked.
Four guards poured around the corner, spears at the ready, looking around for who was making the disturbance. They were led by one of the bystanders who had been listening to the bard playing music and now was pointing at Lesley and at Lukos and Arktos, who were both steadily retreating.
“Hey!” Two guards went after Lukos, while the other two advanced on Lesley. Lukos didn’t stop for the guard’s order. He and Arktos took off, zigzagging through the city that they knew just as well as the guards did, finally managing to lose them before they circled around and went to the dock. Lukos’s arm was bleeding well and awful by then and he sank down to sit on the deck of his ship, griping as one of his crewmates bound his arm.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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"Well? You gonna keep dancing or bow out?"
“And get arrested? You must be joking,” Lukos inspected his arm, then shot a look at Lesley. “Unless you’ve had one too many hits to that ugly head of yours and aren’t…”
Gladiators. His least favorite kind of slave to sell. They all had something seriously wrong with them in the brain. They were almost all brutes with the single kind of thickheaded focus that a bull possessed when charging. Not something he wanted to be on the receiving end of, and not something he really wanted to be involved in.
The clink of armor made him back up and he shot Lesley a grin. With Arktos so close and always circling to get behind Lesley, Lukos felt a bit safer and a bit easier to run his mouth. “You’re stronger,” he agreed. “But I’m smarter.” As though to emphasize that point, he kept backing up, well out of reach and Lesley would have to chase him if he wanted to continue the fight.
“We’ll put this on our to-do list,” Lukos kept on. Arktos had circled around and was now right beside Lukos, acting like the human meat shield that the captain used him for. “Meet ya later,” Lukos smirked.
Four guards poured around the corner, spears at the ready, looking around for who was making the disturbance. They were led by one of the bystanders who had been listening to the bard playing music and now was pointing at Lesley and at Lukos and Arktos, who were both steadily retreating.
“Hey!” Two guards went after Lukos, while the other two advanced on Lesley. Lukos didn’t stop for the guard’s order. He and Arktos took off, zigzagging through the city that they knew just as well as the guards did, finally managing to lose them before they circled around and went to the dock. Lukos’s arm was bleeding well and awful by then and he sank down to sit on the deck of his ship, griping as one of his crewmates bound his arm.
"Well? You gonna keep dancing or bow out?"
“And get arrested? You must be joking,” Lukos inspected his arm, then shot a look at Lesley. “Unless you’ve had one too many hits to that ugly head of yours and aren’t…”
Gladiators. His least favorite kind of slave to sell. They all had something seriously wrong with them in the brain. They were almost all brutes with the single kind of thickheaded focus that a bull possessed when charging. Not something he wanted to be on the receiving end of, and not something he really wanted to be involved in.
The clink of armor made him back up and he shot Lesley a grin. With Arktos so close and always circling to get behind Lesley, Lukos felt a bit safer and a bit easier to run his mouth. “You’re stronger,” he agreed. “But I’m smarter.” As though to emphasize that point, he kept backing up, well out of reach and Lesley would have to chase him if he wanted to continue the fight.
“We’ll put this on our to-do list,” Lukos kept on. Arktos had circled around and was now right beside Lukos, acting like the human meat shield that the captain used him for. “Meet ya later,” Lukos smirked.
Four guards poured around the corner, spears at the ready, looking around for who was making the disturbance. They were led by one of the bystanders who had been listening to the bard playing music and now was pointing at Lesley and at Lukos and Arktos, who were both steadily retreating.
“Hey!” Two guards went after Lukos, while the other two advanced on Lesley. Lukos didn’t stop for the guard’s order. He and Arktos took off, zigzagging through the city that they knew just as well as the guards did, finally managing to lose them before they circled around and went to the dock. Lukos’s arm was bleeding well and awful by then and he sank down to sit on the deck of his ship, griping as one of his crewmates bound his arm.
Lesley didn't run - he was local, and easily recognized, and there was really no point. Instead, his knife vanished again as soon as the two sailors were obviously leaving, and he gave the guards who approached him a polite greeting as he turned his attention to the blood still flowing down his arm. "Oh, balls, I think I need stitches. Fucking foreign asshole. Would you hand me my coin pouch, please? It fell over there."
Defensiveness just made people suspicious. Act like causing trouble was so far from your mind that you hadn't noticed things could be interpreted that way, and people were more likely to believe you hadn't intended anything wrong. Or at least, let you get away with it out of sheer confusion.
At the expected, and entirely justified (even if he wouldn't admit it) question of whether he'd been the one to start the fight, Lesley just rolled his eyes. "Please. You think some random idiot could have landed a cut on me if I'd known I was getting into a knife fight?"
Before the guard could decide whether or not to arrest him on principle anyway, he sighed and added, "Let me guess, go home and stop causing trouble, because of course someone taking exception to my face is somehow my fault."
"A lot of people seem to take exception to your face," the guard pointed out. "It's something of a pattern."
Lesley hmphed. "I just have an exceptional face, I guess. Still not my fault. Gods help me, my mother is going to be furious."
The guard shook his head but shooed him off, and he headed home keeping careful pressure on his cut. Riona would be upset, but he also trusted her to stitch him up more neatly than anyone else he might have asked, and at this point he expected a street brawl that resulted in only a single clean cut and nothing broken to merit 'exasperated' rather than 'furious'.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Lesley didn't run - he was local, and easily recognized, and there was really no point. Instead, his knife vanished again as soon as the two sailors were obviously leaving, and he gave the guards who approached him a polite greeting as he turned his attention to the blood still flowing down his arm. "Oh, balls, I think I need stitches. Fucking foreign asshole. Would you hand me my coin pouch, please? It fell over there."
Defensiveness just made people suspicious. Act like causing trouble was so far from your mind that you hadn't noticed things could be interpreted that way, and people were more likely to believe you hadn't intended anything wrong. Or at least, let you get away with it out of sheer confusion.
At the expected, and entirely justified (even if he wouldn't admit it) question of whether he'd been the one to start the fight, Lesley just rolled his eyes. "Please. You think some random idiot could have landed a cut on me if I'd known I was getting into a knife fight?"
Before the guard could decide whether or not to arrest him on principle anyway, he sighed and added, "Let me guess, go home and stop causing trouble, because of course someone taking exception to my face is somehow my fault."
"A lot of people seem to take exception to your face," the guard pointed out. "It's something of a pattern."
Lesley hmphed. "I just have an exceptional face, I guess. Still not my fault. Gods help me, my mother is going to be furious."
The guard shook his head but shooed him off, and he headed home keeping careful pressure on his cut. Riona would be upset, but he also trusted her to stitch him up more neatly than anyone else he might have asked, and at this point he expected a street brawl that resulted in only a single clean cut and nothing broken to merit 'exasperated' rather than 'furious'.
Lesley didn't run - he was local, and easily recognized, and there was really no point. Instead, his knife vanished again as soon as the two sailors were obviously leaving, and he gave the guards who approached him a polite greeting as he turned his attention to the blood still flowing down his arm. "Oh, balls, I think I need stitches. Fucking foreign asshole. Would you hand me my coin pouch, please? It fell over there."
Defensiveness just made people suspicious. Act like causing trouble was so far from your mind that you hadn't noticed things could be interpreted that way, and people were more likely to believe you hadn't intended anything wrong. Or at least, let you get away with it out of sheer confusion.
At the expected, and entirely justified (even if he wouldn't admit it) question of whether he'd been the one to start the fight, Lesley just rolled his eyes. "Please. You think some random idiot could have landed a cut on me if I'd known I was getting into a knife fight?"
Before the guard could decide whether or not to arrest him on principle anyway, he sighed and added, "Let me guess, go home and stop causing trouble, because of course someone taking exception to my face is somehow my fault."
"A lot of people seem to take exception to your face," the guard pointed out. "It's something of a pattern."
Lesley hmphed. "I just have an exceptional face, I guess. Still not my fault. Gods help me, my mother is going to be furious."
The guard shook his head but shooed him off, and he headed home keeping careful pressure on his cut. Riona would be upset, but he also trusted her to stitch him up more neatly than anyone else he might have asked, and at this point he expected a street brawl that resulted in only a single clean cut and nothing broken to merit 'exasperated' rather than 'furious'.