[Manly Gladiatorial Spam Thing]

 [Dracula walked back into the gladiators' section, seized a bucket of water from one of the serving slaves and dashed it over his head, then shook out his hair as he heaved in enormous breaths. Blood sluiced to the straw-covered floor and tinkled through the wooden grates below. Most of it belonged to the tusked lizard-beast he had just slain. He examined the fresh scratches across his bare chest, and scowled. In this environment any wound was going to infect. His only hope was to stay alive long enough that they could be rescued, which would get complicated if he spiked a fever in this heat.]

[One of the guards leaned in to tell him he had half an hour to rest and prepare himself for the next bout. He took the offered cup of wine, nodding, and found a bench that was relatively clean. He sniffed it and examined it carefully before taking an experimental sip.]

[Footsteps caught his attention, and he turned to the barred inner door to the chamber. He looked up, schooling his face into a look of dull exhaustion that wasn't entirely a lie. Then the door unlocked, and they shoved someone in with him.]