Snippet #1582338

Cutlass' Post

The centaur wanted little to do with the group arrayed with him. He knew that he wasn’t welcome, and wouldn’t be welcome. It went with the territory of being what he was. Still, at least two in the group attempted to treat him civilly, the female moreso than the male. “You shouldn’t be getting another teammate,” he said to Dara, understanding his concern that the group would get too big. “Look around, how many people do you have left? Not many. Not enough to fight in the ring.”

He shifted, lifting one hoof and putting it back down. It was hard for him to stand on that sort of ground. It would make him sore in the morning, but it would be worse if he tried to lay down and have the weight on his legs. His attention focused on the man, Dara, again. Listening to the way that he listed what he was good at, and his name. “I don’t need to know about you. Other than the name that I can yell out when I need you to get out of my way, or to swear at you if you decide to try and mount me while we are fighting. I am not a horse; I do not tolerate a rider. I don’t care what sort of idea that you have that involves me. I do not take a rider,” he had to emphasize that heavily. “Not anymore,” he huffed. Insulted with the very idea of having to tolerate someone sitting on him.

“I know that I am throwing a wrench into your plans. Whatever they were. A well-oiled team does not do well with a new cog thrown into the mechanics of it. I am that new cog, and I apologize. If you would rather rest and conserve your vocal cords for the screaming of the ring, that is understandable,” he said to Dara. “I am sorry that you are…less than pleased with my arrival. I will do my best to stay out of your way. It is likely that you will only see me during training and during fighting as you wouldn’t need to talk with me beyond that.”

He shied slightly as a shadow danced too close to his hooves. He sidestepped quickly before he realized that it was just a shadow. He looked towards Bliss, the woman whom the overseer had made his advances to, seemed quite capable of speaking to him as if he had intelligence beyond parroting information back to her, and managed a rueful grin as he tried to explain. “I am best with a bow and arrows,” he said honestly. “Decent with a sword, but it is not my preferred weapon. It is not natural for me to carry something made by man, and I don’t like close ranged combat. For obvious reasons,” he explained. A bow crafted by him was large, the string taunt and hard to pull. Other bows he was given, made by man, tended to break in his hands as he held them too tightly. The time and effort taken to make them were wasted, but he was learning to not break the weapon that he was given. He looked at the chains at the foot of her bed and shrugged. “I am not allowed property. Whatever I am given, I have to return at the end. If I try to keep something… punishment follows. I am not allowed property for I am property,” he said. It was a speech that was carefully memorized and he sounded bored, not angry, when he said it.

He tried to smile for her, a difficult feat for the creature that had little in stake for the ring. Still, he liked to keep people happy. Happy people were less likely to lash out in anger.

“You, Centaur, outside!” a man yelled and Cutlass turned his head to regard the man. He turned back to Bliss and Dara, bowing low to them, “pardon me. It would seem that the right to be housed with gladiators is not one that will be afforded to me. Thank you for taking the time to talk with me. It was a rare pleasure,” he said before he backed away carefully. He walked back to the door and left the stables. If any cared to look from the window, they’d see that he would be tethered outside in the grass like the horses were. A rope tied around his back leg, secured to a simple stake that could be pulled out if he tried. Yet, he was domesticated. In mind, body and spirit. He wouldn’t try to run. He’d only be returned.