Chapter Text
Kwame stared up at the traffic ahead of him, a pit of dread lying too comfortably in his stomach once he was able to see his middle school not too far along. Sil was right , he thought, slumping a little into his seat as he pressed on the brakes for possibly the 11th time on this street. He should’ve taken a sick day, let alone haven’t gotten out of bed. His throat was so scratchy that he could barely get any sleep. His stomach ached too from how little he ate; apparently snacking on an apple beforehand didn’t help just yet. The only reason why he was here in the first place was because he was worried of losing any more sick days; the irony was definitely palpable in his thoughts. At least it wasn’t anything major than a cold. He just took some medicine, put on a mask, and prayed that he wasn’t on cafeteria duty that day.
Well, that was the plan for today, until he saw someone in his passenger seat. He gave a startled cry, cowering over to the other side of his seat and barely giving himself time to look at who was in his car. The passenger seemed to be a portly, somewhat short Black man with a hooked nose and red glasses. He looked far too successful to be in a barely kept 2008 Hyundai SONATA. Wait… Is that Al Roker?? America’s Favorite Weatherman?!!
Wow, that cold medicine was kicking in a little differently.. Kwame could barely utter a word, his jaw dropped and attention focused now on the weatherman right next to him. He couldn’t even hear the car horns blaring behind him as traffic progressed. Shouldn't this man be on the news discussing Emilyville's drought by now? Or just anywhere but here?
“Just letting you know this isn’t anything personal.” Roker’s sweet tone almost distracted Kwame from how ominous his words actually sounded. Kwame was about to ask what he meant before a thick, red fog puffed into the car’s interior. The teacher was out in seconds, both his mind and body blank, literally. The car and its interiors disappeared with the smoke, making the crowd of cars behind them utterly confused. Though the first car happily drove forward, just glad to reach the green light.
The sound of distant yells and cheers woke the teacher up. His now wide eyes scanned the area around him. Cracked, clearly aged stone walled him into a dark room, the only light pouring in from some fragile door. He could feel the fine coarse sand under his hands as he sat down. He could barely breathe, both from his own panic and from the amount of dust he was trying to avoid inhaling. Even then, he could smell how abysmal the cell stunk of manure and old blood. At least Roker had the kindness to get rid of his sinus infection, so we could smell this gunk more strongly.
He looked down at himself, and quickly jolted up. He wasn’t in his usual outfit of a green dress-shirt, brown vest and slacks, but rather a white linen chiton. He looked down to see himself in sandals and protectors as well. More so, golden cuffs wrapped themselves tightly around the teacher’s wrists, and admittedly looked way better than they felt on his skin. His hands soon traveled to his hips, where he played around with the big, black belt on them; the thick leather tassels on it weighed like little flails around his abdomen, and adjusting them made him realize that this outfit he had on didn’t include any boxers. He was stuck in really ancient times…
Soon, Kwame heard two voices booming near his cell, seemingly two older, angrier men. The teacher stiffened as he heard their footsteps slapping their way through his area. He gave a startled yelp as he saw the two men meet his cell. One was tall and husky, clearly worn despite being visibly in his 30’s, as well as donning gray hair and eyes; the other man was of average height, and pretty twiggy with tangled red hair, but his green eyes somehow held an alarming amount of venom behind them. Both were clothed in the same
“Why’d we get one of these? He looks too scared to fight! ” The redheaded twig spat out to the taller man, reaching towards a lever towards his cell; the bars parted with a grating screech that only seemed to bother the newcomer.
"Look, I-I know it's gonna sound insane, but I'm not from here." Kwame started, keeping his tone slow yet trembling as the two Romans began inspecting him, orbiting around him like dogs around its owner's neighbor. The two gave yanks and grabs for his limbs and face, making the teacher strain a little with how tough they grabbed.
"That's not so shocking.." The redhead nodded, giving particular interest towards Kwame's braids. He yanked on a few for a closer inspection, not out of genuine malice; but that didn't stop Kwame from tearing up in pain. The only thing stopping The gray Roman gave a confused huff as he saw how lanky the man's muscles appeared. Even if he had decent toning, it was clear he couldn't keep much meat on his bones.
"No, no! Like I'm not from this time!" Kwame's admission earned two identically perplexed stares from the other men. That didn't stop him from continuing. "Listen, I'm from the future. I'm most likely one of your guys' descendants! But I shouldn't be here in the first place. Some man transported me to this time period for no - Are... Are you guys even listening?!" Desperation began clinging onto his normally cool voice as both the gray and red Romans began picking out a sword.
"Don't you think he may be telling the truth, sir?" The redhead spoke, his anger now replaced with some cooled down doubt. "I mean, we never have seen him before. Gladiators should introduce themselves to the theater first before fighting." The gray Roman shook his head, a bit of jaded darkness hitting his face.
"He's got to be one of the weaker ones. They just assume to slide by these battles, but always get cold feet last minute. Then they make excuses for why they can't fight." He picked up a nice looking sword, a little old, but nothing that couldn't kill a predator. He then pointed it towards Kwame, who looked close to bursting a blood vessel from pure panic. "This one's just a good storyteller."
"Well, what will happen when he gets on stage?" The redhead asked, heading towards Kwame with a bronze shield in arm. The gray one bitterly chuckled, tossing the sword at him with such little care - and the redhead catching it with a trained hand.
"He might end up running for his life, or get brutally mauled. Either way, it'd better be good for the audience." Kwame was then dragged into the proceeding hallway, not able to pick up his feet from how he was being handled. It didn’t take long before they were right behind an entrance to this “theatre”, where weapons and armor were organized alongside the walls. He could hear the echoes and cries of excited patrons overtaking his ears, to the point he couldn't even hear his own thoughts. The second Kwame stood by himself, both the sword and shield were thrust into his arms. The redheaded Roman gave a small, scolding yell as he almost held the sword by its blade, repositioning it so the teacher would hold it by its handle.
“You may be right. What a coward..” The roman grumbled to the other. The opening gates creaked open again, and Kwame was pushed out. The gates were slammed shut the second he was out. In his direct vision, Kwame could see a lion held back by the same bars that kept him. Its eyes were wild with presumed hunger, and more so with a bit of manic excitement when it saw its possible meal.
They were all right. He was so, so fucked.