hh_mirror | Application: Quintus Lentulus Batiatus (Spartacus : Blood and Sand)

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Application: Quintus Lentulus Batiatus (Spartacus : Blood and Sand)

((WARNING: CONTAINS SPOILERS for Spartacus: Blood and Sand, season 1.))

A middle-aged man of unimpressive stature, dressed in the garments of a successful Roman and drenched in blood, appeared on the floor of the Sorting Room. After a moment, he stood up, looking around. There was supposed to be a river. And a ferryman. And a three-headed dog. But, there wasn't. There was only a strange room, without a trace of sand or blood anywhere. Except on his garments, which were drenched in it. His hand sought his neck as he took in his surroundings, lingering there a moment, and he frowned.

It was no surprise that the priests were full of shit. Not that he'd ever spent much time on religion- he was a practical man, of keen and lofty ambitions. Or, he had been, until the gods had seen fit to spread his legs and ram their collective cock up his ass. Such a complex and delicate plan, one that was sure to see his house continue its rise to a proper status. A plan that was going to extend his grasp to Rome, and a seat in the Senate itself. A plan that was admittedly founded on a somewhat shaky pillar, and thus a gamble. But a gamble he'd not expected to lose so dramatically, so thoroughly.

Death was the sort of major event that caused everything proceeding it to be seen a new light. A stark light of plain detail and contrasts, rendering a picture in crisp shades of distant grey. Quintus Lentulus Batiatus, now dead and presuming himself to be in a very unexpected version Hades, could look back and see just how much of a gamble it had been. The Thracian wasn't just a shaky pillar, he was a fucking wild bull, and a wily bastard as well. Something had occurred which he'd not anticipated, somehow, Spartacus had found out the truth regarding his wife- he'd seen it in his eyes for days. But, he'd never thought the Thracian would be fool enough to rise up and stampede the whole damned herd, and while representation from legatus Glaber's troops were present.

But the Thracian hadn't been the only factor. He should have had the former Champion of Capua slain as soon as he became a household issue, but he'd held back to dispose of him to the best advantage. And it was this factor that had been the undoing of his house. Spartacus had never held a place of high respect amongst his brothers- he was too damned wild and independent. The whole herd would not have followed him. But Crixus. . .

Batiatus looked around, a certain expectancy in his gaze. But, his eyes found nothing apart from the empty room- this was not the hell he'd expected, not at all. A barely-whispered word escaped his lips, "Lucretia." She wasn't here. Her absence kindled a fleeting hope- could his house live on? But, it was a very fleeting hope- there wasn't a dead Roman in sight aside from him, and his own life's blood had been but a small amount amongst the flood those wild dogs had spilled. As he looked around, his eyes lit on the paper. The writing was unfamiliar, yet he could read it. Last he recalled, there wasn't a written portion involved in afterlife dispensation, but, perhaps hell was so busy today that they found themselves lacking in personal representation.

State your full name.
"Quintus Lentulus Batiatus."

He cocked a strange look at the quill as it began copying his answers. But, it was difficult to be shocked by animated quills when faced with the self-awareness of death.

1. What is your favorite cheese? Why is it your favorite?

"What does fucking cheese have to do with anything?"

After getting so thoroughly fucked by the gods, Batiatus wasn't feeling inclined to good manners.

2. Who would you kill first, Barney or Carrottop?

Was this supposed to be some sort of joke? "Why the fuck should I care? I don't know who either of these people are. They can both die, for all I care, and. . . answer moronic questions." Batiatus wasn't an incredibly patient man, and the questions were already wearing on him. "Where's the fucking ferry and the dog? What sort of cheap, half-assed hell is this supposed to be?" He glowered at the quill as it took down his words.

3. What time is it where you are?

"Do I even need to answer that? I'm dead. Time doesn't matter anymore." But, it was curious just how alive he felt, for being dead. He was in possession of all his normal faculties, and somehow the huge gash in his throat was closed. But, his robes were still covered in the evidence of his demise, and he wasn't at his villa anymore, so it had obviously happened.

4. If you were Albus Dumbledore returned from the dead, which member of the Order of the Phoenix would you sexually harass? How would you harass them? If you are Albus Dumbledore, please answer as if you were Sirius Black.

"Jupiter's cock!" Although 'sexually harass' made sense, and the bit about returning from the dead was slightly interesting, the rest of the sentence was complete nonsense. "What is this nonsense? How am I supposed to know of the perverse desires of this 'Albus Dumbledore'?"

5. If you are pushing to be in:

A. Slytherin - please state the clever, witty name of the bar in which you bartend, in the dark.

"Since when did mortals get to have a say in their eternal fate? Why should I bother to please the judges when I already know that no matter what I do, the gods will laugh as they shove cock up ass. What does a name matter, once fallen into darkness? 'House of Batiatus' will do." He smirked. His line was ended. It was all over. The House of Batiatus, just another name that would fall into the darkness of the past, to be forgotten.

B. Gryffindor – Debate whether Harry should ultimately end up married to Fred or George. Use examples from a variety of world mythologies to bolster your argument.

This was getting inane. "What the hell do I care who some person named Harry chooses to wed? Whichever one has the higher social standing."

C. Ravenclaw – You guys are supposed to be smart. Explain why my desk is inundated with paperwork at all times, even though I’m constantly disposing of it.

"Not enough slaves," Batitatus snapped impatiently. "You'd think the underworld would have no shortage." He was, however, beginning to suspect that death was not very different from life.

D. Hufflepuff – Prove you are not useless.

"Why? I'm fucking dead."

6. Offer a bribe to the members of this community so that they will not squib you. Items used in bribery do not necessarily have to belong to the person offering the bribe. Do not threaten us rather than offering a bribe. A threat indicates you either don't really want to be here, or don't have enough sense to answer the question properly. The hat will automatically squib you, regardless of other votes, if you do.

Batiatus pulled a golden aureus from a small pouch. He tossed the coin beside the parchment. He doubted it was worth much- if the afterlife followed tradition, the ferryman would have taken the requisite coin by now.

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*sniff sniff sniff*

I smell blood!

Yes, thank you Wishbone.

"This isn't hell, this is a school to learn magic. Though considering we're on Earth, we could call it close to hell."

Well, there was the dog. But, it was rather small, and lacking two heads. Why the hell had he been sent to a shoddy afterlife where they couldn't even afford a proper Cerberus? His house may not have held as high a status as he thought it deserved, but, surely it held enough to warrant a decently three-headed dog?

And did it just talk? He'd never recalled the priests mentioning this bit- from what he'd interpreted Cerberus just growled and snapped a lot, mainly at those trying to leave the underworld. He didn't remember it caring much about those who entered.

"One would think that the smell of blood is a common aroma in hell," Batiatus told the quite unimpressive 'Cerberus'.

This isn't hell, this is Hogwarts! Wishbone wagged his tail. I'm Wishbone!

Batiatus stared at Turlough a moment- despite his strange dress, he appeared to be a flesh-and-blood, living man, and, not a shade. He definitely wasn't the ferryman, having far too much skin for the job. He could only stand blankly a moment, attempting to decipher the man's unexpected words.

"If this is a . . .school, how the hell did I get here? Last I knew, a fucking sword through the neck was a fast trip to the underworld." There was no denying that he felt alive, but, the logic of it was absurd. Death wasn't a matter that was easy to forget, or to confuse.

"Time matters even to the man who has entered eternity."

Paul shared this aphorism with grave and tranquil mien.

Turlough shrugged. "Some people have come here because they died. For them, this would be an afterlife."

"Hogwarts." Batiatus crossed his arms and looked at the dog for a quiet moment. "Wishbone." Had he somehow been send to someone else's hell?

"Whatever the fuck it's called, I presume my soul's going to be assigned to one eternity or another?" He didn't expect Elysium. He didn't even expect the neutrality of the Asphodel Fields. He was definitely getting Tartarus for a while- anything less, and he'd feel as if his unexpectedly shortened life had been entirely unappreciated.

No. But you do get voted into a house to stay in while you're here! I'm a Ravenclaw cause I'm smart and can read.

Well, he is.

Mordi was definitely adding Jupiter's cock! to his repertoire.

"So what did you do to get screwed over so badly?" He doubted that the gods really had anything to do with it. As the man said, they were too concerned with shoving cock up ass to be concerned about the trials of Mortals.

"I'd anticipated something more dramatic than a. . .school. I'm not even going to begin to conjecture how the fuck education would benefit the dead."

He supposed that thus far, it could have been worse. He wasn't experiencing anything that might be construed as 'torment'. But it still made no sense. "So if some people call this an afterlife, what do others call it?"

"A vacation. Fun." Turlough glowered. "A prison. The only thing everyone can agree on is the Sorting Hat is fucking nuts."

This sort of bullshit, delivered with a grave demeanor, was somewhat more in tune with what he'd expected in an afterlife encounter. But, the man appeared as solidly alive as he himself still did.

"And you say this based upon personal experience? Or are you supposed to be some sort of psychopomp, spewing bits of bullshit 'wisdom' to convince me to embrace my fate and accept my transition? If you are, don't waste your time- if the gods had given a shit about my house and its fortunes, I wouldn't be here yet."

"Not a damned thing, that I know of." Batiatus shrugged. Although he was not a particularly religious man, he'd also never defied his religion, and had offered up the blood of many a gladiator in the arena. If the Gods actually gave a shit about people, it didn't seem likely that he'd be on their bad side. "I don't think they care about anything aside from their own amusement- they grant fortune when it entertains them, and, shove cock up ass when the urge strikes." Batiatus was quite fond of this description of bad fortune.

"They don't care. If it makes any difference, they're still messing things up centuries down the road, even when they're no longer considered gods." Thank you, great-great-great-andthensome-aunt Aphrodite for making life hell.

"Most people without troubles usually don't go around covered in blood."

Paul's face remained impassive, though the salty talk minded him of Gurney and of smugglers he'd known, and warmed him a bit as he'd not likely have been otherwise. Blue-on-blue eyes regarded the other's face unhurriedly.

"Transition? Each moment of consciousness offers transition. You'll find here no quietus."

Holy Roman Empire noted Batiatus' clothes and name with a thrill of excitement. Hadn't Austria said that a few of Roman Empire's bosses used to be here? So surely it wouldn't be impossible for more Roman citizens to show up.

"Did you belong to Roman Empire?" he asked hopefully.

So the fellow was another Roman, eh? Name like that, he'd have to be. And the whole "Jupiter's cock!" thing. Pullo hadn't met any others in his time here who cursed with those particular words.

"This isn't Hades, friend," he said, looking quite odd in his now-customary Hawaiian shirt open over a more usual Roman-style tunic. "Least, so far as I know. I was quite alive when I came to be here." He looked at the aureus with great interest. "You got any more of those, then?"

((Can Joachim read his mind, or would you prefer not? The most he'd use the info for would be to taunt Batiatus and/or play 20 questions about Batiatus' life, unless any more interesting plotty reasons crop up as they talk.))

So there wasn't likely to be a multiple headed hound to greet Batiatus on his sojourn into the wonderful hell that was Hogwarts, but there was a silver-furred, blue-eyed warg the size of a horse there, lazily sizing the man up as he sauntered around him once.

Joachim stopped in front of the applicant and sat back on his haunches, jaws parted and elongated canine teeth bared in a parody of a grin. It quite nearly managed to be a friendly expression.

"The application is incredibly asinine, isn't it?" he asked rhetorically, his speech accented, but not in any particular way that Batiatus might recognise. "And this is no underworld, as you've no doubt been informed by now, though it does in many ways operate like one. Oh, you shall find that out yourself soon enough..." He audibly sniffed as he tilted his head, seeming to look through Batiatus rather than at him. The sweet scent of blood was a little distracting, though not so much that he'd try snacking on the applicant any time soon, unlike a certain tormented sparklepire who was undoubtedly giving the Sorting Room a mile-wide berth by now. "You mentioned slaves."

With a bit of ingenious spellwork from the aforementioned sparklepire, Skwisgaar-as-a-mercreature was able to more easily move about when necessary by this point, having been effectively charmed to levitate with a near-invisible film of water constantly flowing over his skin and gills whenever he was on dry ground. He'd been returning from a trip to the lake when he'd noticed the brutal giant fucking wolf wandering the hallways, and had gotten distracted following him, hoping to possibly ask for a ride or to at least get him to come back to Hufflepuff so he could show Toki. Even at an insane place like Hogwarts giant wolves weren't an every day occurrence.

Skwisgaar only managed to catch up in the sorting room, and was surprised to see it so crowded. Another random jackoff must have been brought to the castle, and judging by the look of the old dude with blood drenched clothes, it was probably him. The Swede had arrived in time to hear most of the guy's answers, so didn't bother even picking up a copy of the application, instead "swimming" over to check him out more closely.

"Pfft, mights as well keeps your money, nobodys here needs it. De castle gives to you whatsevers yous want," he informed Batiatus, using the application table to pull himself higher, about to the level where he'd be if he had legs. His clawed hands left wet spots on the wood. "Brutals," he said as he got a better look at all the blood. "So yous likes to bathes in bloods, eh? I's done that in music videos and de live shows before, was pig bloods or something, de dildos crysbaby animals people gots all mad and shits their pants about it." He paused, raising an eyebrow. "Yous talk about cocks a lot, dids you knows that?"

Talking dogs who claimed they could read? Ridiculous! Of course, for a dog that could talk, reading didn't seem that far of a stretch, but, Batiatus still failed to approve of the general principle of the experience. Particularly the aspect of 'voting'. Who the hell voted for the dead? A divine triumvirate of judges definitely sounded a bit better than having one's fate voted for. But with any luck, it would be the damned talking dogs doing the voting and not anyone he might have known in life. Although he'd have gotten a few good votes out of people he actually knew, he was a businessman, and a smart one- which meant that he had more in the way of enemies than friends. Even if they might act polite to one's face.

"While I am here?" In his culture's primary religion, 'Hell' was a 'temporary' thing. So was he already in Tartarus? If so, it was proving amazingly undramatic so far. "As for houses, I am, or was, the head of my own."

"A 'Sorting' Hat. Since when was fucking headwear in possession of sanity, or the lack of it? This is not the afterlife I'd come to expect." Not that he'd usually thought much about it- still, like most others of his time, Batiatus did believe in the gods, and therefore, in the underworld. He'd seen what appeared to be pretty good evidence of the existence of the gods with his own two eyes in the form of sacrifice followed by immediate results. But this experience conflicted with everything he'd ever been taught.

The man's weird blue eyes suggested to Batiatus that there was something more to Paul than the surface indicated. But he talked like a damn philosopher, and, his current "afterlife" experience was nothing to encourage a high opinion of divine intelligence. In short, Paul seemed somewhat too well-spoken and thoughtful to be actually divine, when to all appearances the gods acted like fickle children. "Philosophy's not my strong point, but, as I've no interest in quietus, I suppose I can't fucking complain." Batiatus wasn't actually entirely unphilosophical- in fact, he had quite a good grasp of human nature and the urges that motivate men. But, his interest in this was for purely physical results, whether it be in the arena, or in his coffers. "I've been told that this is a . . .school." He plainly found the idea ridiculous.

"You speak as if you know the future." Not really a surprise, as, Batiatus was still convinced that he was in the underworld. "But I can't say it causes me a second of grief to hear that even gods may one day fall."

Batiatus actually managed a dry, sardonic chuckle at Mordi's comment about troubles and blood. "Or they are covered in less of it. This is mostly mine, and I didn't offer it up for a fucking exhibition. But, I suppose it may be the less tedious alternative, considering the pile of shit that bitch Fortuna's heaped upon my house." On reflection, it probably was better to be dead, than to be facing the responsibility associated with the rebellion of his gladiators and the inevitable cost of putting it down.

Batiatus looked curiously at the young boy- at this point, he was starting to get used to people in odd clothing asking him questions. But, at least this child was not a talking dog, and, he was aware of the Roman Empire. He answered him quite politely, as the unknown child could be anyone's son, and possibly that of someone who mattered at whatever this place was. "Yes, I am- or was- a citizen of Rome. I was the master of a ludus near Capua." He left off the bit about 'until my slaves revolted'. It didn't sound good, and didn't seem that straightforward honesty was going to win points in this strange 'afterlife', which in his opinion was a good thing. It wasn't one of his strong points.

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Application: Quintus Lentulus Batiatus (Spartacus : Blood and Sand)

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