Chapter Text
Meow meow Wake up!!!!!!!
Technowake!
Technolate!
Be nice to him he’s tired
Wake up wake up wake up
“Shaddup,” He just wants to sleep for a little longer. It’s so quiet in his dreams, it’s the only time it’s quiet. He just wants a little peace. “‘M sleepin’.”
Meow feed me meow
Meowmeowmeow
our poor little meow meow
we’re a shit pet owner, who woulda thought
VESSEL YOUR CAT IS GONNA EAT US
That’s the only warning that he gets before tiny fangs dig into his nose. He jolts upwards, arms coming up to instinctively cradle the furry attacker against his chest. “Heh!?” Bleary white eyes meet angry green ones and understanding surges through him.
A little black cat is smushed against his chest with one arm supporting her weight and the other bracing her against his chest. The kitten hisses and fwap-fwap-fwaps her paws against his face indignantly. He lets her go and she springs away to the top of the nearby chest, her back arched and skinny tail wagging behind her.
“Helen,” The Blade says in lieu of anything intelligent. “You bit me.”
“Fssst!” Helen swats at the air. She huffs and puffs and lectures him for being lazy with high-pitched growls. He ducks his head in shame and reaches out to her, his talons carefully curled inwards, and waits. Just like every morning, Helen sniffs him slowly before butting her head against his fingers.
All is forgiven.
Helen my beloved
Imagine getting beat up by a cat lmao
L
Helen’s too op pls nerf
Nah vassal just needs to Git Gud
“Alright.” He wants to sleep longer. Now that he’s awake, he’s aware of every half-healed injury and strained muscle from the previous night’s match. But he’s not the only one he has to take care of, so he forces himself up and groans at the tight burning in his back as he stretches. “Let’s get somethin’ to eat.”
He’s barely got the time to put his arms out before Helen jumps into them. She’s all affection now, purring and butting her tiny head against his chin. Helen makes biscuits against his shoulder as he dresses himself with one hand. He doesn’t bother with a shirt.
The door’s already been unlocked, so he just lets himself out and meanders past barred doors to a room jammed full of rough benches and hewn tables. He grips Helen a little closer. The mess-hall isn’t a place for a kitten to be running around unsupervised. Only bad things happen to little things when there’s no one strong around to protect them. The Blade knows that better than most.
It’s loud here. Well, it’s loud everywhere, but the mess-hall is especially noisy. Domestic slaves mingle with gladiators, both free and captive, as they go about their daily chores or take advantage of an early break. Chains trail from some while others walk around as unfettered as the Blade himself.
He doesn’t need shackles. His chains have soft, black fur and trusting green eyes. They keep him here just as surely as any physical restraints.
“Hey, kid.” The Blade tries not to bristle at being called a kid. He likes the goat hybrid in front of him too much to take it personally. The old goat calls everyone a kid because he’s old as dirt. “Are you really still carrying that thing around?”
“Hallo, old man.” The chorus in his head dissolves into manic laughter. The lines around his handler’s eyes crease with good humor and he claps a hand against the Blade’s shoulder. He doesn’t like to be touched but he tolerates it with little more than a disgruntled glance at the fingers digging into his shoulder. “You’re in my way.”
Instead of leaving him alone like the Blade expected, his handler digs his fingers in deeper and steers him towards a table towards the back of the room. The Blade doesn’t like sitting back there. He doesn’t like having a crowd between him and possible escape. He self-consciously tries to shelter Helen from curious eyes by hunching his shoulders and pulling her tighter to his chest.
“Don’t worry,” The old goat says with the air of someone who is dealing with a particularly troublesome child, “I already got something for you and your rat.”
Rat???
Wow r00d
DON’T TALK ABOUT HELEN LIKE THAT
Blood for the blood god
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD
Helen is starting to get tired of being carried. She wiggles in his arms and he can’t help but relate. But he’s not letting her go in a room full of people! Even when he sets her on the table, he hooks a finger around her collar so she can’t run off. She grumbles for about two seconds before noticing the plate of fish in front of her and digs in. He lets her go. Helen always cleans herself after she eats, so he’ll have time to grab her.
The man practically pushes him down into a seat. The Blade feels stiff and awkward so he folds his arms on the table and pretends that he’s totally cool and in control of this situation. His handler wants something from him and the Blade isn’t gonna have any choice but to give it, but he’ll pretend otherwise for as long as he can.
“So,” The goat-man leans forward and looks at him over steepled fingers. The Blade doesn’t like that calculating, greedy gleam in his eyes. But he likes this handler, right? So he’ll tolerate it. “You’re something else, kid. I don’t think the coliseum has ever had a competitor quite like you,” And he must see how the Blade shrinks into himself at that, because he rushes to clarify; “It’s a good thing! You’re a beast, kid!”
Oh. He feels… worse, somehow.
“I mean, your win streak has to be…” The man leans back and makes a little explosion noise, his hands flaring out from his head in a gesture that communicates ‘mind blown’. “It’s unreal! And let me tell you, kid, people have noticed!”
His mouth is dry. “They have?”
“Hell yeah!” The man’s gone back to steepling his fingers. “I think we’ve really got something great here, kid. You stick with me and I’ll make you a star.”
That sounds nice. A lot of the gladiators don’t like all the attention but the Blade thrives in it. He never feels more at home than when there’s blood in his teeth and an audience chanting his name. It’s what he was made to do. The chorus in his head agrees, hums with praise and admiration. They whisper of future feats of violence and bloodshed, of the higher glory that he will carry them to.
And quieter still, they promise freedom from chains. They promise blood spilled at his own discretion. This is another step that he must take to earn his freedom.
The goat-man is petting Helen. When he catches the Blade’s eye, he smiles wide and scratches underneath her chin. The Blade can’t look away from where those sharp nails linger against the vulnerable curve of her throat, can’t look away from where she leans against that pale hand. She has never been hurt by a person before. She doesn’t even know that she should be afraid.
And the Blade, beaten and chained like a dog, sees the threat for what it is.
“Okay,” His voice sounds distant to his own ears. “What do I do?”