bakerstreet | GLADIATORS MEME

GLADIATORS MEME

Blood and Glory

There is nothing quite like the arena, the cheer of the crowd, hundreds of pairs of eyes all watching you, the way your life balances on the edge of the blade. They say there are two kinds of fighters, those that value survival above all, and those who value victory.

Maybe this has always been your world, and the arena has always been a part of it. Or perhaps you've been brought here against your will. But surely you know the expression: When in Rome...

Rules
1. Comment with your character and canon.
2. Include things such as scenarios, settings, and whether you'd like to play as an AU or something the characters have been dragged into.
3. Good fighting.

ARENA VARIANTS

Historical //
Whether it's 300 BC or 300 AD, whether you're slaves, volunteers, or a member of the city's favorite team, you're in Rome or something like it. I hear the sand makes the blood easier to clean up.

Fantasy //
Mythical creatures set loose to be battled, magic in the bindings that keeps you in line, this life may be even more dangerous. At least the architecture is pretty.

Space //
You are on a large ship, or perhaps an entire planet, that exists only as an arena for battles to take place, with exploits beamed across the galaxy.

Your Own World //
Turns out even in familiar places there are people bloodthirsty enough to want to see these sorts of battles. The arena might be makeshift, or re-purposed, or even a new stadium made for the purpose, but the sentiment behind the games is the same.

SCENARIOS

1// Man vs Beast
Today your opponents are not other gladiators, but animals, or monsters. Try and stay alive.

2// There Can Be Only One
Both of you have made it to the end of the battle, but there can be only one victor today. You must come to accords in one way or another, or else persuade the crowd to have a change of heart.

3// Fresh Meat
One of you is a veteran gladiator, the other one has just been brought in, willingly or otherwise. Time to haze the greenhorn, or take them under your wing.

4// Biggest Fan
One of you is not a fighter at all, but you do enjoy watching the battles, and now you have a chance to meet your heroes.

5// Picking Sides
The next battle will be between a number of teams, you'll need to find your partner ahead of time if you want a chance.

6// Crowd Pleaser
One of you is a known favorite of the masses. The other... isn't.

7// Protector
You've made an agreement. No matter what happens or who arrives in the arena, you will keep your friend alive.

8// Night Life
One of you is not a fighter, but you are close to their level, there to entertain the fighters after the arena has quieted for the night with things like drink and dance.

9// Volunteer and the Impressed
One of you is there because you want to be. The life of battle and fighting for fun just appeals to you you're ready to throw yourself into the ring. This is causing some friction between you and the others.

10// Revolt
You've made your plans, there's a weakness in the arena, and come the next show, you are all getting out.

11// Good Hunting
One of you have been thrown into the arena with little more than the shirt on your back. The other, in full armor with a few nice toys to use. The end result seems simple, doesn't it?

12// Patron
One of you is a person of wealth who would liked to get more involved in a gladiator's life, such as providing them with some useful perks. The other of you could really use a leg up.

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Darvish set a hand on Aaron's shoulder, gripping it lightly. "So, we've got this. We clash swords a while, cover a lot of ground, and then you lose your sword, we wrestle in the sand to give them a good show, take some good punches, and then you take my sword and pretend to finish me."

He paused there, blinking, and scratched at his stubble. "And... don't actually finish me."

A tufted ginger brow rose at this last statement, punctuated with a wry sigh. "Your sword? I can barely lift that damn." A sharp grey gaze scanned over the heavy scimitar, thin lips twisting. A dagger flashed between the thief's long, pale finger, and quicker than a thought, Aaron had the blade pressed against the side of the prince's throat.

"Wouldn't this be as effective?"

The cold steel pressed against the side of Darvish's neck and he swallowed. Slightly carefully. He'd barely seen the reedy thief move.

"The point is that we're playing it up for an audience. From high in the stands they wouldn't even be able to see your little knives, right?"

This pulled an eyeroll from the slimmer man. "Turning murder into an artform. What a joke." He sighed again, "Fine, I'll lug your pigsticker, make a big deal, give the people what they want."

"We do need the money," Darvish reminded, winking at the slimmer man, reaching forward to give an imperious little tug on the other man's forelock.

"That's the spirit. Now how about digging up a smile, too? Make it seem like you actually enjoy it?"

Now he was just being an ass.

"And who's fault is that?" Aaron huffed. "Let me lift a few purses and we could, well, not live like kings, but at least not play at this." His gestured with a dagger, derisive.

That earned another, harder eyeroll. "Be careful, prince, or I might really kill you."

"I don't want to steal from people," he hissed, grimacing. "I'm not... No. We just won't." He'd rather risk his own neck, and glared at the scrawny ginger for making him feel like he had to defend his position.

Even when he wouldn't really elaborate on why it was he felt so strongly about something which was quite possible very... irrelevant, in the grand scheme of things.

"You like me too much," he huffed, turning, shaking his head.

"It'd be a lesson for them," Aaron asserted. "Teach them how to watch their purses." Outside, the cheering of the crowd had turned into a dull, full-throated roar. Their cue.

He looked up at the larger man, and his mouth twisted, a warmth hiding in the depths of his flinty eyes. "Something like that." He paused, leaning in, hovering close to Darvish.

But then he pulled away, head jerking toward the small door, and strode towards it, narrow shoulders rolling back. Deep seated lessons were hard to shake, after all.

Darvish grimaced, staring after Aaron as the slimmer man prowled away on the balls of his feet. Longing glinted in his eyes, raw and hard and hungry... and then he gave his head a shake, set the flat of his sword over a brawny shoulder, and followed in his footsteps.

"'Something like that', he says," he groused, heatlessly.

Aaron paused, hand on the door's hand, and turned, light on the balls of his feet, and gave Darvish one of his rare smiles, the warmth in his eyes instead of hiding, blazing out for a moment. It was easier than words, sometimes.

But then he was turning back around, pushing the door open, slinking out with the all the grace of a feral cat.

It stopped Darvish in his tracks; he almost missed a step, pale eyes widening in surprise... swiftly followed by a grin that flashed lightning-hot and bright across his dusky-skinned face.

He prowled out into the glaring light and the sound of the crowd's roar just a few paces behind.

Aaron had an acrobat's natural grace and even put on a bit of a show. He didn't have Darvish's natural inclinations for such things, but he could make a stab at it.

A couple of bows, and he even tossed in a lithe flip, daggers flashing at his hands. He straightened and then made an imperious gesture to Darvish. A simple'come here' gesture.

Or perhaps come hither, if you knew him well enough.

Oh, that had his heart thudding, and he paused his showboating to flash a grin at Aaron that bared his eager excitement all too readily.

"Ohh," he crooned, sword spinning easily in his hand, glinting in the low afternoon sun, "I thought you'd never ask."

He surged forward, slower than he should be, broadening every stroke for the benefit of the crowd that looked drunkenly on. Bellowed a roar for good measure.

Heat twisted in Aaron's belly sharp and sudden at Darvish's grin (fire, in ends in fire, back to back, together, screaming) and for a moment Aaron's own playacting grew a little more real. He tossed his head back, shaggy hair bright as a new penny, a rarity in this land that he knew attracted attention, and further confirmed by the hoots and whistles of the crowd.

He made himself the foil to Darvish, fast, quick and vicious, darting in and out, faster than a snake.

His eyes blazed.

Darvish whooped and laughed; his sword struck out, only infrequently catching at Aaron, slashing clothes more than splitting skin, and had to often strike out to fend off serpent-swift knife blows.

Bullish, he charged where Aaron seemed to dance, snorted and stomped and roared where Aaron was quiet and clever.

A quiet corner of Aaron's mind was deeply amused by Darvish's show. The prince could destroy him in a fair, real fight, none of this bullshit.

But he rather doubted that these people would want to watch Darvish in a real fight.

He danced to the side at one of the blows, lifting an arm and making sure to let the edge of the blade to cut a shallow slash along his arm. He clutched at it as blood seeped between his fingers, and pretended to stumble.

The crowd roared, cheap wooden seating rattling with their excited pounding.

"I've GOT YOU now, you skinny weasel!" Laughed Darvish, brandishing his sword high to a chorus of mingled boos and cheers. "I'll take your head CLEAN off and throw it into the benches!"

But his feints had a more urgent quality now, and as he chased after Aaron, sword meeting knives in ringing clashes, he hissed,

"Now?"

Luckily, none of the spectators can see Aaron's expansive eyeroll, nor the sardonic tilt of his mouth. His head barely dipped down at Darvish's and at the next pass of prince's sword, his knives clashed against the blade with a showy, ringing clang, and knocked the blade from his hand.

He stumbled back and fell, pressed against the warm sand, and looked up at his prince, the moment etched and preserved, as if in amber. Darvish was grinning despite himself, wild, exultant, and a fine sheen of sweat made his dark skin glisten. Aaron's breath puffed out, and his eyes slipped close, but that image of Dar remained, a ghostly mirror in the insides of his eyelids.

A second swordstroke hissed above his head, a strange parody of how they'd first met, scattering the sand on the arena floor. He made a show of snarling, and kicking Aaron to the side, going for another sloppy jab at him.

His pulse was hammering in his ears, though, far louder than the crowd, and his breath was just a rasp. Don't get hard now of all fucking... no, STOP it, don't you dare.

Aaron's eyes flew open and he rolled with Darvish's kick, so the blow barely landed, through his breath did whoosh out from his lungs. He twisted around, grabbing ahold of Darvish's sword arm, and tangled their legs together, skillfully dragging the other man down, rolling again to land on top with a grunt.

There was a pause as both of them panted and Aaron started as he looked down and saw Darvish's bright blue eyes darken in lust, darken just like when they-

He nearly got up then, just strode out of the ring, show be dammed. Shame, guilt (fearfearfearcoward) twisted in his belly for lust crawled through his own veins at the look, the low banked fire suddenly blazing high. Alone it was different, but here, those eyes-

Pull yourself together boy.

His breath rasped from between his parted lips, pale skin flushed dark. But then he moved, grappling for Darvish's sword, bare feet braced at the larger prince's hips to brace himself. His teeth bared, tendons of his throat standing out, and suddenly, for a moment, it appeared as though we were truly fighting.

Darvish fell ungracefully, and he spat out a mouthful of grit, blinking the sand Aaron's roll had kicked up out of his eyes. Hissing, he rolled, thrashing blindly, grunted when his back slammed onto the ground...

He balked at Aaron's sudden fire, hissed a swift, "Shit, shit, shit," earnestly throwing himself into the struggle now. His weight and height helped him on the ground, but Aaron had the benefit of being able to squirm like a weasel, to twist and contort his body finely. Cussing and scrambling, they wrestled, and Darvish tried to get the thief into a choke hold.

The fight was good, the fight took his mind away from the...rest and he bared his teeth at Darvish, silent as he struggled and vied with the larger prince. Around them, the crowd roared, changing, howling for blood.

Aaron felt Darvish lock the choke in, and he twisted, pushing at the other man's elbows, loosening the pressure around his throat. He bucked like a wild thing underneath the prince, slipping free.

Sweat-slick and panting, he felt the moment where Aaron began to pry himself out of the lock, and with another cuss, gave a buck of his hard-muscled body, trying to rock the other man back into the hold.

But Aaron squirmed away (wriggly little thief, reed-thin, fuck how easy he made it look) and Darvish with a cry rolled after him. Too heavy, too slow, and he cursed himself for it. Should have trained more, practiced more, been better.

Aaron couldn't even feel the slice in his arm, though it left a red smear through the sand. The cry of the crowd faded to the background, his burning focus wholly on Darvish. He came to himself a little as he stared at the prince. His eyes flicked to the crowd, and then back to Darvish and he hurled himself at the larger man, grappling at him.

"No." He whispered, soft, oddly intimate in Darvish's ear. "You kill me. Not the other way."

Darvish balked again, jerking in Aaron's hold, struggling to look at the ginger-haired thief, his own eyes wide at first... and then narrowing, his brow crumpling in concern. "Aaron! Are... You certain?" He gasped around grappling sweat-slick teeth-bared struggling.

Darvish // The Fire's Stone // ota

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