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.
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.