Content warning: The following story contains violence, S&M, and dubious consent.
There were a thousand reasons to come to Pabro, the City in the Mists. There were decidedly fewer reasons for a young man to visit the ludus district, and only one to explain why he would walk through the gates of En-Cemra unannounced. Luzoel knew his purpose at once, though he would first hear it from the man's lips.
The man was a fine representative of his species--tall, bronze-skinned, and muscular, with a mane of tawny hair falling about his shoulders. His jaw, angular and masculine, was dusted with a short layer of stiff stubble, surrounding a set, stoic mouth. He wore a suit of battle-tested leather armor reinforced with pauldrons and a breastplate of plate steel, as well as a longsword slung across his back. Young, Luzoel thought, though it was difficult to tell with humans. Likely stupid, which, on the other hand, was a near certainty with them. He carried himself with the surety of a practiced warrior.
They all did.
The young man marched through the atrium, heedless of the servants attempting to slow him, and pointed across the mirror pool to the fruit-laden table where Luzoel sat with his large, smirking companion.
"You there--cat," the man called, overpowering the gentle harp music with a brassy voice.
Luzoel's red-furred guest put a clawed hand to his chest, his feline muzzle curling into a smile to match the waxed whiskers twisted into a distinguished mustache.
"This is En-Cemra, is it not? You must be the lanista," said the young human.
The black-striped tiger-man at the table glanced down to Luzoel, who replied with only a lazy glance, opening his hand to offer him the floor.
"Must I?" the tiger-man said, planting his hands on his knees to push himself to his sandaled feet. "It is a bold man who enters another's home without first knowing the master of the house."
"I can see by your scars you must be rudiarii," the human said. "The lanista of En-Cemra is known for his might in the skallio."
"Known by whom?" the tiger-man said, folding his hands behind his back before beginning a slow, limping trek to the intruder. "Not you, certainly, which puts us on even footing. Tell me--human--what is your name?"
"Ryas of Gajra," the human answered, his chest proudly thrust out.
"Should I know it?"
The man deflated somewhat, drawing a bassy laugh from the tiger-kin.
"Worry not, Ryas of Gajra. News of the outside world doesn't often reach Pabro. I'm sure your victories are many and glorious. I," the tiger-kin said, bowing deeply at the waist, freeing numerous chains strung with gold, silver, and jewels to dangle from his neck and wrists, "am Sveric Gung-Trias."
"Lanista," Ryas said, nodding.
"Yes, but not the one you seek. That fine gentleman would be your most gracious host, Luzoel En-Kan."
Luzoel put a pipe no bigger than a matchstick to his mouth and took a slow draw before his broad wings began to flit behind him, lifting him from a tiny lounge set beside Sveric's fruit plate. The lanista gently glided across the mirror pool, hovering at eye-level above the calm surface, just beyond Ryas' reach. Slight, slender, and possessed of a cold, fae beauty, the pixie was no longer than Ryas' hand, though his robes hung nearly to the human's knees. Long the robes might have been, but they did little service to the pixie's modesty, flapping freely around his otherwise nude body, granting teasing glimpses of the lanista's pale, flawless form.
"Is this a joke?" Ryas growled, staring at the diminutive form hovering before him.
Luzoel did not respond, though Sveric drew a sharp breath and gathered his gold-woven robes about himself, edging around the pool.
"I will see myself out, Luzoel."
Luzoel drew more smoke from his pipe, his pale, pink eyes fixed, unmoving, on Ryas' face. "You do not wish to stay to watch?"
"You know I have no taste for your interviews, my love."
"Very well. We'll discuss more tomorrow. Do give Peraktos my regards," the pixie said, his voice high, musical, unreadable.
A boom of laughter escaped the tiger-kin again as he strode to the gates, collecting a pair of servants on his way out.
Ryas glared at the tiny shape lingering in front of him. "Do--"
"Smile."
"What?" the human said, somewhat taken aback by the strange request.
"Smile."
Scowling, his hands balling into fists at his sides, Ryas stared down the tiny man.
"Why?"
"Because I commanded it. If you wish to fight for En-Cemra, you will adopt a habit of obeying my commands, and with haste," Luzoel said, flitting closer to Ryas' face, his own utterly impassive. "Now, smile."
Of all the things Ryas had expected would be required of him to show his worthiness for Luzoel's ludus, a winning smile was rather low on his list of predictions, but the pixie was serious. Deadly serious, judging from the intensity of his pale stare. A corner of Ryas' mouth quirked. If the pixie was going to make such a ridiculous request, he may as well grin.
Luzoel darted closer as Ryas' lips parted and began to appraise the human's mouth. "You have most of your teeth--and they look healthy enough, for a human."
Ryas' brow furrowed with a glare and he opened his mouth to protest. "I--"
"Stick out your tongue."
"Why?"
Luzoel's expressionless face went dark and he slowly flew closer, hovering no further away from Ryas' face than the tip of his nose, saying, "Humans with poor oral hygiene are a bad investment. I do not make bad investments."
