bakerstreet | why not?

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Edited 2014-02-19 19:18 (UTC)

[Will have to be a bit of AU, since the only time they really met, well. I don't see how it would have worked, but maybe the rebellion fails and she's still alive?]

[Once, Gannicus was a true god of the arena, the first and only slave gladiator in Capua to fight his way to freedom. Once, Gannicus was a man without a home and without a purpose, drowning himself in wine and women. Once, Gannicus found himself believing in a cause, in justice, and in a man called Spartacus.

Now, Gannicus is again a slave. Chains link his wrists and ankles as Roman soldiers prod him forward with the ends of their spears. Days ago, the great slave rebellion died in failure and ruin. Hours ago, some rich Roman paid gold coin for the life of a hollow man.

As he is pushed inside the villa, Gannicus does not even raise his head.]

[ooc: Works just fine! :D (Also, if any of this is strange, I have yet to see the final season! So I'm winging it a little. Also, sorry if this is terribly long!]

[Illythia had been long in recovery. Her son, gone. The mad woman pitched over the cliff. She had nothing left, nothing save her place in this villa and her father's wealth, which was substantial but held in Rome. With her father gone, she couldn't return to Rome, not yet. Not for a long while.

But she could return to favor.

A man named Appius had bought Batiatus' ludus, a praetor from Rome, and agreed to let Illythia stay. He took some small pity on her, perhaps as a mistress. She was still young. Still beautiful. So long as he had no wife, she could stay.

She had doubts she would ever be a wife again. She did not care. She'd been told to remove the black months ago, had waited and watched as Appius restored the ludus and the villa. It was different, but not different enough. Every single stone held a memory.

There. Licinia's death. Batiatus. At least Glaber had the good taste not to die beneath this roof.

She had heard of the rebellion, of course. Had waited for it to end. Thankfully, it had ended her torment as a wife, though she wore black still. She did not forgo bathing, though. Not for Glaber. She would not mourn a monster, though she might be a monster too.

Illythia looked up at the sound of men entering the villa and stood. The face she saw made her blood run cold. Gannicus. The man who had delivered her to Spartacus. Appius came out to look at Gannicus, openly admiring him, though all Illythia could do was watch with sharp eyes. The praetor told them to deliver him to the quarters in the ludus below. He would be kept in a cell.

It was when he was dismissed that Illythia made different orders. She still had servants loyal to her. Gannicus was brought to her private quarters deep in the villa and unchained. Illythia still held sway and she was proud of that. She was allowed her peace. She ordered a large pitcher of wine to be left as well as her usual dinner. She would let him wonder in there for a few moments before she came in. Perhaps he would murder her in her room. Perhaps he would answer her questions.

She stepped in, pale and gaunt, almost a specter and just as silent.]

[Gannicus could not guess what was in store for him when his destination was changed from the old cells in the ludus to the heart of the villa itself. He could not guess and if the truth be told, he could not care. His only thoughts were of regret that he could not have died in battle as his comrades had.

At the sound of another's entrance, he raised his eyes. Gannicus let out a short, bitter laugh.]

Are you shade or demon? Whatever you are, if your purpose is to deliver my punishment of death, move hand with haste.

No, not shade, nor demon. The only demon in this room is you, your kind. Would I murder you? Could hands bring such a vile act to life? [Yes. Though killing Licinia had been easy, Gannicus would not go so quietly, if such were her designs.]

Eat. Drink. If there is poison, it was not meant for you. [She sits down, her eyes remaining on him, inscrutable.]

Witness, with your eyes, my husband's death? Was it by Thracian hand?

Edited 2014-02-27 20:10 (UTC)

[At the first question, Gannicus finally raises head and eyes fully.]

You are Roman. Long ago I stopped wondering at the Roman skill at murder.

[He is still Gannicus, and he is still being offered wine. So he takes a cup and drains it before refilling it, not caring a whit for it being poisoned or not. Ilythia's second question brings a ghost of a smile to his face.]

Indeed. Mighty Glaber died kneeling and broken at the feet of Spartacus, sword driven down his gullet.

[She was pleased when he raised his eyes. She had no interest in gladiators, or men, that were weak.]

Even beaten, do you yet have fight?

[She lets him drink. She's not going to. Wine isn't sitting well with her at the moment. And she doesn't trust the man who took her in not to try and wed her and murder her for her money.

As for Glaber dying? He died bested at the feet of Spartacus, who died bested at the feet of someone else. Illythia lives. It seems her greatest talent will be simply outliving her opponents. After all, wasn't that the game?]

You have been bought to serve in the arena again. Does this displease you? Speak with free tongue. I've nothing to gain by telling your secrets.

[A shadow plays across Gannicus' face, but he shakes the dark thoughts away and gives her a defiant look.]

There is nothing left of me but fight.

[His only outward reaction is a short, satisfied grunt. Inside, Gannicus thanks his old gods for this small mercy. He had feared being forced to act as a house slave or worse.]

I find satisfaction in the thought of dying not at Roman hands, but those of fellow slave. But these cannot be the reason for my summons. Speak plainly or return me to my cell.

We have that in common.

[Illythia has been in love. She's hated with a fire that would put Pluto's fires to test. She listens to him, then takes a deep breath, her shoulders tensing as he orders her to speak.

Her hand raises to slap him. Hard.]

Presume to order me speak? I may summon you for whatever reason I wish. Take care my mood does not turn sour.

[At one point, a man like Gannicus would have sent her heart fluttering, her mind racing. Now, she is only filled with ire and anger and a feeling of powerlessness at her situation. The only power against men she had was here. Her name. Romans, even when she was wealthy as she was, she had no power over them. Why had she summoned him? Because she could.]

[Gannicus chuckles. The Roman woman is making this easier and easier for him. The more she lords over him, the more she seeks to exercise the power of her citizenship and wealth, the clearer his mind is. He has never been a wise or learned man, but given an opponent, given something to fight and even better, someone to fight with, Gannicus could do anything.]

I have spent some time in your company. Memory struggles to recall any other moods.

[He shrugs, edging ever so close to enjoying this encounter now that it has turned thus.]

And what is purpose of my summons? If it involves my cock, I will require more wine.

[She remembers the attack. Remembers being afraid for her life and being marched blinded, pregnant, through rough terrain simply for the sake of being murdered. And for what? Something her husband did. And Spartacus deciding to leave her there, for the wolves, simply because she held no import to Glaber again.

She hates them all. Bitterness fills her like wine in a cup. She looks up, eyes sharp, but she says nothing else to Gannicus. Could she have him killed for his insolence? For what he did to her? Yes. But it would lose all meaning. She doesn't want his death. She wants to rise from these ashes and take what belongs to her. This villa. Her father's wealth. Her life.]

Do not flatter yourself, slave. [Her eyes sweep him, dismissive, even for the blush in her cheeks. He is one of the only things of her old life that she has left. It's odd what one becomes attached to in their desperation.]

Perhaps coin will cross hand, enough to purchase a former freed man, a once legend beaten by Roman hand. [She sits on the edge of the bed, her eyes leveling on him.]

[He gives her a bitter laugh.]

And would I then have you to call Domina? A terrible purchase that would be. Of household skills I possess none.

[Not to mention the humiliation of it. Introduced to it as a slave or not, Gannicus knew that his best destiny involved a sword in his hand and blood on his cheek, whether his own or his opponent's-- not with wine jug in hand or the soot of the hearth on his cheek.]

[She stands and picks up a goblet of her own, filling it slowly with wine. She doesn't bother to ask him to do it, nor to tell him. She's still watching him as if he's a wild thing.

To her, he is. And it's confusing. Once fascinating, once exiting, but now, she's not even sure what she wants. Does she want flesh? He's certainly pleasing to the eye. His voice is nice. He's subdued.

She wants fight. Perhaps that's why she called someone who hated her. How had she cared about Spartacus while simultaneously loathing him? The same with Glaber. With Lucretia. Hate always went hand in hand with stronger feeling.]

Call me Domina, anyway, if you value tongue in head. A gladiator does not need his tongue and from what I have heard, you are quite attached to yours for many reasons.

[Gannicus leans forward in a short, not exactly respectful kind of bow.]

It seems my reputations preceed... Domina.

[It's an amusing thought, but he's getting more impatient with every passing minute. Whatever the Roman woman has in mind, he wishes she would get it over with or send him back to his cell. Even the company of his regrets and the ghosts of his fallen friends is preferable to this.]

[She eyes him for a second. What does she want? Would the empty excesses of her life before satisfy her? It's worth a try. She has a slave standing before her, a gladiator.]

I know your reputation well. Do you believe you are able to please any woman?

[Her chin lifts in challenge, her eyes narrowing slightly.]

Some women are not easily satisfied.

[The urge to boast, Gannicus knows from long experience, runs deep and strong inside of him, and he is rarely in control of it.]

My skills have felled many men in battle. Surely the number of women left sated or exhausted is double.

[He shakes his head.]

So this is to be a trial of fitness, then? Not of sword arm but of sword?

[She resists the urge to roll her eyes. Is she truly so bored? So desperate as to resort to this sort of behavior?

Answer: yes.

Plus, the idea of any of the men in this villa touching her is beyond repulsive, at least for now. So easily is their power subverted by a few unruly men.

One of whom is standing in front of her. She reaches up, unfastening one shoulder of her gown, then the other. The fabric slithers down her skin to pool at her feet. The scar on her stomach is angry and dark. She's forgotten about it and her hand strays down to cover it, her eyes shifting away for a moment before she looks back.]

Entertain, then. Surely you can perform the task.

[Gannicus' expression darkens and for a moment, he considers refusing, no matter the cost. But then a thought dawns on him, and hot blood flows once more through his veins. If he cannot make his mark on Rome with death and defeat, then he can at least leave a mark on this Roman woman with his other great skill.

It does not hurt his cause, he thinks as he steps forward, that she is beautiful of body. Without a word, he picks Illythia up from the floor and deposits her on the nearest couch, tearing away his loincloth to expose his already hardening cock.]

[Her heart beats faster, hammering hard as the slam of feet in the arena. She's a hot blooded woman, even though her blood's run colder as of late. For a long while.

This action won't guarantee his freedom, but it is an exercise of her free will. Especially when she feels as a prisoner in this tomb, sometimes. How she longs for Rome, but can't return. Not until she's clawed her way back. Until her father's wealth is released to her.

All of that is forgotten, though, as he sets her down upon the couch and tears away his clothes. Her eyes take him in, every glorious inch. He might be a slave who's tried to bring disgrace to Rome, but he is surely fit. There are worse places for her to be.]

You do not ask what there is to gain? Or are you quick to cause for other reasons?

[Gannicus shakes his head and reaches down, hand cupping Illythia's mound and rubbing, looking to wet her enough for what must surely come next. His frown is deep and all but dismissive.]

I ask for nothing but end to questions.

[With his other hand, he strokes his cock to life.]

[Her eyes move up to his face, gauging his mood. Not that it should matter. She's a domina and he should want to please her. Yet he doesn't.

She sneers and narrows her eyes. Is she disgusted with herself? Perhaps a bit. She wants to slap him for his attitude, his insolence.]

Be quick to remember where you are and why. One word and you would make a fine body slave for Appius. Only my tongue keeps you in the arena.

why not?

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Let me know if this works :)

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