Tempus fugit chapter two
Casey sighed and petted the calico on her lap, staring at the computer screen. She wanted to watch the stranger lying on her bed resting. Everything about the older man enthralled her, made her curious as to who he was, what he was doing dressed like a Roman - and hell, even his breathing fascinated her. But … her mother had taught her good moral values, and she was pretty sure that watching men sleep was not one of them. Thus, she sat, bored, clicking various screens with apathy.
She pondered creating a new topic on her favorite forum: Man discovered wearing Roman armor injured in park. Large chunk bit out of neck in what seems to be too big to be dog bite. Also carrying a very bloody sword in hands. Wondering what to do.
Casey shook her head and scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Troll." Her mutter had an edge to it, and she was thankful no one had heard it.
She sighed and stroked the cat again before logging off, tired of staring at pixels. "Now what?" She was angry with herself, and the almost snarl sent the pet leaping out of her lap and out the door with one final, annoyed goodbye look. She huffed and rose after it, hoping it would lead her somewhere interesting. No such luck, just an empty kitchen.
"Spring break, midterms over, no food in the house to cook, no work for another month because the boss took a vacation, no stories to read, no movies to watch… There's NOTHING to do!!" Her shout of frustration echoed through the house like an F16. Instantly she cringed at the thought of waking the injured man. She raced back to her bedroom and peeked through a crack she made by pushing the door open lightly. He hadn't moved from when she had last seen him, resting peacefully with his chest rising and falling in time. He still seemed asleep even.
Casey sighed in relief, and she walked over to him and put her hand on his forehead, checking for a fever and pulled it back quickly. It was somewhere around 103 last time I checked… She pulled out the thermometer again and stuck it in his mouth under the tongue, and walked back to sink down onto the threshold of the doorway, the room splayed out to her. Five minutes.
She sat there on the floor, waiting for the beeper. It wasn't like she could think of anything else to do, so that's what she did.
She refused to stare at him, either his sleeping form or face. A girl of her strict moral convictions just couldn't let a simple sleeping stranger undo her life's work of… temperance. And it was the principal of the thing anyway. She laughed boisterously at the thought of the last time she was temperate before she sighed again.
Casey hated being bored – if that wasn't painfully obvious. She glanced back at the man, but still no change. She glanced at her watch; only two minutes had passed so far…
She stared at the crucifix across the room above her bed and the sleeping man who lay there. "I wonder what you did when you met a beautiful woman…" Her eyes rolled up into her head as she knocked it lightly against the doorframe, coffee brown irises just barely peeking out of the slits of light olive skin. She giggled sarcastically, and it came out more like an evil laugh.
She closed her eyes and let silence pour into the room, just the clicks of the oil heater and the man's breathing to soothe her to almost sleep. She was almost there too. It was very rhythmic.
It was a while before she woke and noticed the man as he began to stir. He moaned softly and brought his arm up to his face as if to wipe it off, just as he rolled over to look at her. Casey panicked, worried he'd see her sitting there staring at him. What would he think?! She dashed out in a rush, just as his eyes began to open, slamming the door behind her.
With a growl, she rolled her eyes upwards. "Good job Case, if he wasn't awake before, he's awake now…" She still clutched the door handle, and when she looked down she noticed her knuckles were white.
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Maximus stirred awake all too slowly for a soldier and grimaced momentarily at the pain that throbbed through out his body like a band to the sickening rhythm of his heartbeat. He groaned, and went to grasp for his armor and found that he had been stripped. He didn't remember handing it off to Proximo or the Gladiator Handler. He didn't remember anything at all after his battle with Tigris.
Something was wrong; something was very wrong. He was in a bed, with a pillow, and covers. The light didn't seem to be coming anywhere other than the odd looking lamp in the corner. The walls were not stone or marble, and were all one color with no seams. Bizarre objects in various cubes were all over, some black, others made of metal – many giving off a light of their own with strange digits and lettering. His only conclusion was that he was not in the coliseum anymore.
A bird chirped, and he turned to see a particular black box dance and jingle on the table opposite to the bed, giving off blue light and making strange growling noises to complement the jingles. He shrunk back, confused as to what it was. It grew louder too, seemingly unaware of his presence. But how could it be unaware if it was making noise. After all, it had to be alive.
He tried to stand, to reach the box and examine it, but his legs gave out under him and he fell to the wooden floor. He cursed and tried to rise, using the bed for a prop, and he was able to.
However, his attention to the odd box was diverted instantaneously as he heard footsteps approaching the closed door to the little room. He grabbed a bizarre knife with two blades tied together on a table beside him and shrunk back behind a large chest. He broke the blades apart with the flick of his wrist and stared out towards the door, watching and waiting to see who would enter. Whoever it was, he'd make them talk.
A woman opened the door and walked in, picking up the box with familiarity. A sorceress perhaps? Maximus wondered. She opened a compartment and began talking, setting down a tray of steaming soup. Her language was odd, like something he had never heard before.
She chatted idly before she turned to the bed, and Maximus now had a clear view of her now. She was beautiful, with long brown hair tied simply behind her in a low loose ponytail. Some of it had escaped and it framed her face on one side, falling just long enough to the sides of her jaw. Her eyes were brown, dark chocolate brown with specks of honey yellow and amber when the light caught them. Fair skinned, her face was like a pale stone, but some of the blood resisted and colored her cheeks a fair blush. She was nothing at all like his late wife.
The box dropped from her ear and fell to the floor with a thud as surprise flew through her features, enlarging her eyes and elongating her face as her mouth hung slightly open. She bent down and reached for the box, and looked at it for a moment before turning back to the empty bed. "John, I'm going to have to call you back…"
She approached the bed where he had woken and touched the disturbed sheets, confusion now blending well with the shock on her face.
When she began to search for him, Maximus saw this as his chance. He sprung from the chest at her, latching his arm around her neck and shoulders and drawing the blade to her throat. His muscles were tense and eager to please their master, eager to draw blood from their victim. He was the soldier again – it had never left him really. No thoughts crossed his mind as he pulled her to him, holding her tightly as she squirmed under him. For a moment he had to remember why he wasn't killing her.
Chapter three coming up. Hey, bonus points if you can guess the names of the objects that dear ol' Maxxy spots in this chapter (I may even use your name in the story if you guess the most right!!)