Date: 2023-09-19 04:59 pm (UTC)
katabasis: ([004])
From: [personal profile] katabasis
Flint challenges the audacity of that eye contact for a long, crackling moment, leaned forward still to cast a long shadow across the desk, and the page, and the younger man in the chair opposite.

On the subject of summer games in the Imperium, there is a particular sport put on for spectators in the southern territories which involve a black Marothian lion and youths armed with only short hasta. For those with a delicate stomach, it's the sort of entertainment best viewed from high enough in the stands that the bloodshed is reduced to pretty colors. The lion often wins the game. That said, it's no bull. After two or three kills, the lion tends to grow bored with pursuit. It's entirely possible for a youth in possession of no skill with a spear whatsoever to survive or even win the game. He or she only has to keep out of the animal's teeth for longer than his or her compatriots.

So. With a rasp of metal ring bands across the desk's surface, Flint draws his hands away. He straightens. Then, short the usual pleasantries one might excuse themself with, he simply leaves.
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