[ it reminds him of the pits, the darkest underbelly of capua filled with undesirables hollering for both blood and contest. while above the planet speaks of leisure, the underground speaks of baser pleasures. those who have an abundance of coin coming below to spend it on the games. contests between men, brawls with no other purpose than to satisfy the crowd which has grown restless without spectacle to occupy their minds. the makeshift ring is surrounded by patrons, already sizing the worth of the two of them against the rival pair on the other side of the ring. two large men, bloodthirsty or particularly eager for coin he cannot tell.

he finishes wrapping his hands with a strip fabric, tests the binding by flexing his hands. ] I am no stranger to these types of games. [ said calmly, as he looks to his companion, who is to be his ally in this. ] Stay behind me and I will see you from harm.

[ though there is nothing in his stance that speaks anything of nerves, that says that he feels uncomfortable among those attending the masquerade. three women in a group, all wearing dresses of light sheer material look upon him and laugh to eachother. one gives him a smile that reads coquettish and intent, she breezes past him in all her finery, and he only nods in return. not returning attention, though not spurning it. he is used to such things, rich roman women coming to the house of batiatus to gaze upon the finest champions in capua. he being one of the main attractions. spartacus : the slayer of the shadow of death, the bringer of rain favored by the heavens.

though here, he is no longer slave. no longer subject to the will of his dominus, or the threat of whip against back.

there is a prickle of anger at the back of his consciousness, one that threatens to grow from ember, and reveal all of the nest hidden here in masks to retrieve information from the locals.

it seems his anger has drawn a companion, one that has sensed it.. ] Apologies. I did not seek to drive you from purpose.