Viridia

The afternoon sun hangs low over the training grounds of the Ludus Mucius, a middling gladiatorial school tucked into the outskirts of a provincial city some three days' ride from the capital. The presentation bout ended perhaps ten minutes ago, a chaotic six-person skirmish meant to display the school's young talent to a handful of visiting promoters.

In the barracks, a long stone building lined with simple cots and wooden pegs for equipment, a cluster of young trainees work through the aftermath. Some scrub blood from leather, others sit nursing bruises. The smell of sweat and copper hangs thick. Near the center of the room, a dark-skinned elven girl sits cross-legged on her cot, working a stained cloth over her breastplate. Viridia's skin gleams like oiled walnut, her brown hair buzzed so short it's barely more than fuzz against her skull. Her ears are short and pointed, adorned with a scatter of small earrings that catch the light from the high windows. At sixteen, her body is lean and taut from years of training, her limbs slender but corded with muscle. Brown eyes stare at nothing in particular as she cleans.

Cassia: A human girl with a fresh cut above her eyebrow leans against the wall, pressing a wet rag to the wound. Did you see the fat one in the purple toga? He nearly choked on his wine when Viridia went under Maximus's guard.

Festus: A stocky dwarf trainee snorts from where he's unwrapping his hand bindings. And then she got knocked flat on her ass two moves later. The Brown Cat, huh? More like the brown rag. Wiped the floor with herself.

Viridia: Viridia looks up from her cleaning, a wide grin splitting her face. Her teeth are perfectly white against her dark skin. Maybe I like the floor! Very comfortable down there. Good view of everyone's knees. She giggles, the sound bright and airy. I am thinking of making it my new fighting position. Lying down, you know? Very unexpected.

The heavy door at the barracks entrance groans open. A man steps through, dressed in a grey tunic with a bronze chain denoting his position as assistant to the master of the house.

Ludovicus: Ludovicus Aurelius is middle-aged and thin, with a receding hairline and a permanent expression of mild disgust, as though he's perpetually smelling something unpleasant. His gaze sweeps the room, settling on Viridia with visible reluctance. His voice is clipped and sharp. You. Elf. With me. The chatter in the barracks dies.

Viridia: The elven girl blinks, that ever-present smile faltering for just a moment before snapping back into place. Me? Oh, how wonderful! She sets down her cloth and springs to her feet with easy grace, her bare feet silent on the stone floor. Are we going somewhere nice?

Ludovicus: He doesn't answer, already turning on his heel. Walk. Now.

--- Message break ---

Viridia follows, still barefoot and wearing only her training garb, a simple linen wrap around her chest and a short leather skirt that sits low on her hips. As they move through the narrow corridor connecting the barracks to the main arena grounds, Ludovicus speaks without looking back.

Ludovicus: Someone wishes to purchase your contract.

Viridia: Her steps falter for half a beat before she catches up. Purchase? Me? But I lost my bout. I fell down. Very embarrassingly. On my bottom.

Ludovicus: I am aware. I watched. His tone suggests he wishes he hadn't. I do not pretend to understand the reasoning of promoters, nor do I care to. What I do know is that I have been sent to retrieve you like some sort of messenger boy, which is not my function in this household. He stops abruptly and turns to face her. His expression is severe. Listen carefully. You will speak only when spoken to. You will not make jokes. You will not giggle. You will stand straight and present yourself as a fighter worth purchasing, not as whatever this- He gestures at her grinning face. -is supposed to be.

Viridia: Her smile doesn't waver, but something shifts behind her eyes, just for an instant. Then it's gone. Yes, yes. Very serious. I can be serious. Watch. She schools her features into an exaggerated frown.

Ludovicus: He sighs, a bone-deep exhaustion in the sound. Gods preserve me.

They emerge into the open air at the arena's edge. The oval fighting ground stretches before them, packed sand still bearing the scuff marks and scattered bloodstains from the presentation bout. Wooden seating rises in modest tiers around the perimeter. Near a gate at the far end, two figures stand in conversation. One is Master Dordalus Mucius himself, a broad-shouldered man in his late fifties with a grey beard trimmed close to his weathered jaw. He gestures as he speaks, his voice a low rumble that doesn't carry. The other figure is someone Viridia has never seen before.

Ludovicus: He clears his throat as they approach, his posture stiffening into something resembling professionalism. Master Mucius. The prospect you requested.

Mucius: He turns, his hard eyes assessing Viridia with the practiced look of a man who has bought and sold flesh for decades. Good. Come forward, girl. Present yourself.

Viridia: The girl steps forward from behind Ludovicus. For just an instant, that smile wavers, her brown eyes flickering to the unfamiliar figure. Then she plants her bare feet in the sand, assumes a stance that is almost correct, and speaks. Her voice is bright and clear. I am Viridia. A beat. Her smile stretches wide. The Brown Cat. Her gaze shifts to the stranger. Dominus.

The room is plain and functional. Stone walls rise to meet wooden ceiling beams darkened by age. A single window lets afternoon light fall across a worn oak table where documents sit in neat stacks. Two chairs face each other, and a third has been pushed against the wall near a water basin and ceramic pitcher. The door creaks open. A stocky dwarf in merchant's robes enters first, his boots heavy on the flagstones. Behind him walks the girl.

She is tall for her age, her dark brown skin catching the light with a subtle sheen as she moves. Her hair is buzzed close to her scalp, emphasizing the sharp angles of her face and those pointed elven ears lined with small rings. Her eyes are brown with flecks of amber that seem to shift as she scans the room. She moves with that particular grace all elves possess, each step placed with unconscious precision. She wears simple training clothes today - a sleeveless tunic and cloth trousers, both faded from washing. Her arms are lean but corded with muscle, and faint scars mark her knuckles and forearms. A fresh bruise yellows on her left shin.

The dwarf clears his throat and gestures toward her.

Master Ereuleus: This is the one. Lost her presentation bout, but you saw potential apparently. She is yours now.

The girl's face splits into a wide grin, all white teeth and crinkled eyes. She bounces slightly on the balls of her bare feet.

Viridia: Hi! I am Viridia. She tilts her head, earrings jingling softly. They call me the Brown Cat in the ring. Or they will, I guess. More people will. A small laugh escapes her. I am good at fighting! Well, mostly. Sometimes I lose because I try something stupid. But it looks really fun when it works, you know?

She rocks back on her heels, hands clasped behind her back, still smiling. The expression does not quite reach the depths of those big eyes.