Bloodbath
10th of Spring, 514 AV
Afternoon, Just Before the Second Match of the Day
While being in public was always difficult for Anona, with panic waiting like some bird of prey to fall from its perch and pluck at his skin until his ribs and guts spilled like ribbons, the days that James took him to the Pit were infinitely worse, as well as infinitely better. It was cathartic to watch the bloodshed, and sometimes it allowed him to escape so much that he could forget the jeering spectators all around him, could sometimes even forget James's form pressed to his side possessively.
Today, the sky was clear. The day prior had brought along a cold uncharacteristic for Spring, even so early in the season, and Anona had fought as much as he could to wear his cloak, but James had insisted that he go without it.
"What's the point of having a beautiful girl on my arm if she covers everything up, Annie?"
Now, he was grateful for James's insistence; Ravok was once more the mild-weathered city that it usually was, but the heat of the men and women surrounding them made Anona's skin shine with a fine layer of sweat. He'd braided his hair when it became apparent that warmer weather was upon them all, but since then quite a few locks had pulled loose, clinging to his cheeks and his neck. When he shifted, he could feel his dress sticking to his back and his chest.
James turned to him, and Anona stopped fidgeting. James smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He placed his hand over Anona's where it rested on the bench between them, and leaned in until his breath, as warm as it was, tickled and cooled the heated skin on Anona's neck.
"Is everything alright, Annie?" He murmured. His hands tightened painfully on his wrist, and Anona had to stifle a shocked cry at the unexpected pain. After only a tick, he managed to muster up a smile for the other man.
"I'm feeling a bit warm, is all," he confessed. An angry shout burst from the spectator closest to him, and he jolted in his seat. He licked his lips and looked pleadingly at James, who now looked like cold fury personified. He needed to get a hold of himself. They'd been in public plenty of times before without Anona making such a scene, without so much as giving a disingenuous smile to any of James's acquaintances.
James studied him for a tick, and then something in his expression softened. He pulled out his coin purse and plucked a silver-rimmed miza from it. "Here," he said, pressing it into Anona's sweaty palm. "The ale isn't anything you couldn't find on the Docks," and this he said with distaste, as though even mentioning the outer ring of Ravok was beneath him, "but perhaps it will help to cool you down."
Anona took the offer quickly, excusing himself from the bleachers as quickly as he could carry himself. Once he was out of the throng of spectators, he immediately felt the relief of cooler air. He took a brief pause to unbraid and rebraid his hair, a difficult task without the aid of a mirror made even more difficult by the coin he still held in his hand. Still, he was practiced enough in keeping up his own appearance, and managed to do it to his satisfaction in hardly a chime.
Nestled snugly under the spectators' seating were rows upon rows of cages. The cages were kept relatively clean, partially due to the Pit's location in the Noble District, and in part, Anona speculated, because there was something riveting about watching a clean fighter devolve into the dirt-smeared, sliced up, bloody, howling slave that they were.
"Girlie," came from the cage, and Anona stiffened with disgust when he turned to face the speaker. The slave short and with shocking red hair made dull by dirt clinging to it, and smiling lewdly at him. His green eyes darted over Anona's body and he turned on his heel, moving away before the slave could say another word. The slave's harsh laughter followed him, and Anona couldn't help but feel equal parts relieved and disgusted when he distantly heard the slave accost someone else.
Filthy, disgusting things, he thought to himself. He didn't have anything against slaves in general-- he'd seen them all his life. He knew that, although they certainly weren't worth as much as any real person, that wasn't necessarily their fault. He'd never seen fit to judge them as some of the other Ravokians did (how even James did), but the slaves that spoke out, the ones that disobeyed their masters, who went so far as to assault Ravokians, they disgusted him.
Anona shook off his thoughts of the slave, remembering why he'd come down from the stands in the first place. It didn't take him long to find the stand selling concessions, and as the fight was less than half a bell from taking place, there were six or seven other Ravokians waiting for their turn. Anona stepped behind the last person in the line and waited, turning the silver miza over in his hand thoughtfully as he tried to occupy his mind with anything besides the red-haired slave.
10th of Spring, 514 AV
Afternoon, Just Before the Second Match of the Day
While being in public was always difficult for Anona, with panic waiting like some bird of prey to fall from its perch and pluck at his skin until his ribs and guts spilled like ribbons, the days that James took him to the Pit were infinitely worse, as well as infinitely better. It was cathartic to watch the bloodshed, and sometimes it allowed him to escape so much that he could forget the jeering spectators all around him, could sometimes even forget James's form pressed to his side possessively.
Today, the sky was clear. The day prior had brought along a cold uncharacteristic for Spring, even so early in the season, and Anona had fought as much as he could to wear his cloak, but James had insisted that he go without it.
"What's the point of having a beautiful girl on my arm if she covers everything up, Annie?"
Now, he was grateful for James's insistence; Ravok was once more the mild-weathered city that it usually was, but the heat of the men and women surrounding them made Anona's skin shine with a fine layer of sweat. He'd braided his hair when it became apparent that warmer weather was upon them all, but since then quite a few locks had pulled loose, clinging to his cheeks and his neck. When he shifted, he could feel his dress sticking to his back and his chest.
James turned to him, and Anona stopped fidgeting. James smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He placed his hand over Anona's where it rested on the bench between them, and leaned in until his breath, as warm as it was, tickled and cooled the heated skin on Anona's neck.
"Is everything alright, Annie?" He murmured. His hands tightened painfully on his wrist, and Anona had to stifle a shocked cry at the unexpected pain. After only a tick, he managed to muster up a smile for the other man.
"I'm feeling a bit warm, is all," he confessed. An angry shout burst from the spectator closest to him, and he jolted in his seat. He licked his lips and looked pleadingly at James, who now looked like cold fury personified. He needed to get a hold of himself. They'd been in public plenty of times before without Anona making such a scene, without so much as giving a disingenuous smile to any of James's acquaintances.
James studied him for a tick, and then something in his expression softened. He pulled out his coin purse and plucked a silver-rimmed miza from it. "Here," he said, pressing it into Anona's sweaty palm. "The ale isn't anything you couldn't find on the Docks," and this he said with distaste, as though even mentioning the outer ring of Ravok was beneath him, "but perhaps it will help to cool you down."
Anona took the offer quickly, excusing himself from the bleachers as quickly as he could carry himself. Once he was out of the throng of spectators, he immediately felt the relief of cooler air. He took a brief pause to unbraid and rebraid his hair, a difficult task without the aid of a mirror made even more difficult by the coin he still held in his hand. Still, he was practiced enough in keeping up his own appearance, and managed to do it to his satisfaction in hardly a chime.
Nestled snugly under the spectators' seating were rows upon rows of cages. The cages were kept relatively clean, partially due to the Pit's location in the Noble District, and in part, Anona speculated, because there was something riveting about watching a clean fighter devolve into the dirt-smeared, sliced up, bloody, howling slave that they were.
"Girlie," came from the cage, and Anona stiffened with disgust when he turned to face the speaker. The slave short and with shocking red hair made dull by dirt clinging to it, and smiling lewdly at him. His green eyes darted over Anona's body and he turned on his heel, moving away before the slave could say another word. The slave's harsh laughter followed him, and Anona couldn't help but feel equal parts relieved and disgusted when he distantly heard the slave accost someone else.
Filthy, disgusting things, he thought to himself. He didn't have anything against slaves in general-- he'd seen them all his life. He knew that, although they certainly weren't worth as much as any real person, that wasn't necessarily their fault. He'd never seen fit to judge them as some of the other Ravokians did (how even James did), but the slaves that spoke out, the ones that disobeyed their masters, who went so far as to assault Ravokians, they disgusted him.
Anona shook off his thoughts of the slave, remembering why he'd come down from the stands in the first place. It didn't take him long to find the stand selling concessions, and as the fight was less than half a bell from taking place, there were six or seven other Ravokians waiting for their turn. Anona stepped behind the last person in the line and waited, turning the silver miza over in his hand thoughtfully as he tried to occupy his mind with anything besides the red-haired slave.
