🐍 || @unculled
Lord Halward should have been hailed famous for his ability to lecture. Dorian thought so, at least. It had been three days since his unceremonious return from the hands of bandits and each day his father had ordained to speech at him over his responsibilities, expectations, and the consequences of not upholding family values— or something like that. Dorian had done an exceedingly good job of tuning him out after the first one.
After promising never to venture alone in the seedier corners of the city, Dorian decided to celebrate surviving another lecture by doing just that. The afternoon sun was warm on his skin, seeping through the silk of his chiton pleasantly as he strolled down the steps that led into the courtyard and the house gate beyond, both speckled with the occasional slave or guard going about their duties. He gave a guard and appreciative once over as he passed, finding a new spot of gratitude in the length (or lack thereof) of his pteruges and even tossing a second glance back at him as he passed. Who designed those? They were wonderful.
He sighed as he continued, then suddenly stopped, his brow furrowing slightly in recognition as he did a quick double take of the guard. Was that a gold sword at his side? With rubies in the pummel? Yes. Yes, it was. That was—
“You there,” he called to him as he turned on his heel to backtrack. “Where did you get that?”
The guard slowed to a stop, blinking at him in confusion. “What—?”
“The sword! And that cape!” He added, finally noticing it and growing more offended. “Where did you get them! They were my fathers and gifted to the man that saved me. Why do you have them?”
“Uh..”
“An answer, if you please!” he snapped impatiently. The guard floundered.
“A-Apologies, Lord Pavus,” he said awkwardly, scowling as he shifted his weight between his feet. “But.. Well, the slave left them, you see. Behind, by the gate the night he left here.”
“He did what!”
“He gave it up freely, I swear,” the man insisted before he could be implicated. “We merely picked up what was left on the street. Free game, sir.”
Dorian bit down a short yell of frustration and snatched at the guard’s belt. He unfastened it maybe a bit too expertly and stole away sword and sheath before turning on his heel to storm out of the gates, leaving behind a very flustered guard struggling with the sudden exposure of his underthings.
“Dumped outside of the gate!” Dorian seethed under his breath, garnering himself puzzled looks from those he passed on the street. “Like common trash! The audacity, the absolute audacity— Can I help you?”
He had no idea where to find Cullen, though he decided the Coliseum would be a fair start for looking. He imagined he must have been quite a sight, storming around in all his silks and finery, toting about a warrior’s sword and making demands after a slave. But it worked. Cullen, as it turned out, was in a match— the stubborn idiot was really fighting without real armor or a proper sword, how much pride could one man possibly have!
Dorian took up a spot at the entryway to the arena meant only for slave handlers and fighters but no one seemed eager to challenge the Pavus heir. It was impossibly loud and the seats were filled to the brim with nothing less than an ecstatic audience. The crowd seemed to like Cullen, at least. Even Dorian, who had planned to spend the entire fight fuming silently and preparing a rant to challenge his father’s lectures, found himself paying keen attention to the match. Cullen was, well, actually quiteimpressive running about, performing daring feats and felling one opponent after another with practiced showmanship. And again with those pteruges! The man had exceptional thighs.
Wait, he thought to himself, I’m supposed to be angry. Yes, how dare you. For those legs and for your inability to accept repayment.
