[ immortal verse 001 ] when in rome...

[triedinception]

Eames could remember and not remember many things. He had been in his nineteenth summer when the Romans had come, when they'd made their way to the small village in the marshes after his father and all the men in the village had disappeared to fight them. He could remember that he'd had a little brother and a mother that didn't survive, that even

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[littlspecificty]

Arthur had had quite a few owners before finally ending up here, about to be "gifted" to one of the best gladiators in Rome

[triedinception]

Eames looked up when the door opened, and one of the guards appeared, tugging a slim body in. The guard spoke his name, then the slave's, presumably, and the fact that this one was a mute, and shook his head as he left them, the door falling heavily closed again.

Eames straightened and leaned back, eyes looking assessingly over him. It was someone young, a young man, and, Eames wasn't afraid to admit, frankly gorgeous.

But at that age that fact had surely worked against his favor now, depending on who owned him.

He exhaled, reminding himself that he wasn't going to be like that, force someone. The few lovers he'd had (been allowed, really, a couple of senators and a notable gladiatrix) had been consensual and it was better that way.

"Arthur, then," he said, allowing a small smile to cross his face. "Come here," he tapped his foot in front of him.

[littlspecificty]

Arthur felt - and heard - his throat click as he moved to where the other man had tapped his foot. He nearly tripped on his tattered sandal and felt his ears burn as he continued to look at the ground, having been taught that as a slave he had no right to look people above him in the eye. It was disrespectful of his "station

[triedinception]

Eames feels himself frown internally as Arthur looks down, and reaches out (slowly but firmly) to catch his fingers under Arthur's chin and tilt his head up, making the slave look him in the eyes. He slides his glance down to the shoe and finally nods.

"We'll get you fixed up with some sandals and cloths," he says, noting the rags that served as clothing. He let his gaze slide over Arthur still, but his voice was low, even, a hint of a rasp (as was standard of someone who'd lived a hard life as he had) as he spoke.

"Have you ever been owned by a gladiator before?"