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The past few days had been productive. The children of the Wine God had hosted one of their famous bacchanals not too long ago, which meant that naturally Arthur needed to make an appearance alongside some friends and get some gambling going. Profits were guaranteed in these nights. The only thing one needed to remember however, was that taking too much and pushing people too far might earn one a brush with the authorities. But, among the high-class New Rome children were some big spenders looking to make a name for themselves by showing off their possessions. And these, the sharp-eyed Devereaux quite enjoyed. One never knows what might come out of these whales's pockets, after all.

This day, the man had come to test a some items that had fallen into his possession over the course of the previous weeks. As a son of Mars, testing the weapons he'd gained as trophies was something he'd always enjoyed immensely. Stepping into the Training Grounds, the man would be faced with the sight of Cheyenne in what felt like a rather foul mood. A soundless sigh escaped his lips, as testing the weapons he'd obtained through his dealings in front of the now sole Praetor was never a good idea. Let alone now. Still, while the woman seemed more concerned with tearing the Dummy apart than his antics, turning around and leaving might raise some flags, and that was no good.

Devereux pressed onwards, remembering that the woman before him rather enjoyed shiny and fancy things and had a bigger penchant for trophies than he did. Finding a suitable position, the man opened his bag and found the flashiest piece of equipment in there. An inscribed Gladius with an ornate hilt. This was far too ostentatious for the man, but business was business, and there were plenty of people who enjoyed this particular type of Legionnaire 'jewellery'.

Saying nothing, the man would stretch and begin swinging the blade a few times. Cheyenne's frantic rhythm seemed to be affecting him as the unruly amounts of testosterone one would find in a son of the War God himself pulsed through his veins. The exercise app in the man's phone responded to the more brusque movements and the music flowing into his ears through his headphones seemed to respond in kind, matching the tempos and genres to the man's mood. Soon enough, what was supposed to be a demonstration and inspection of the weapon had turned into a rather serious training session. After a fair period of time, the demigod, disappointed in himself for having forgotten his purpose here, and having had enough of using something that looked far too much like a ceremonial blade, took one final swing at the dummy and cleft into its left, wooden shoulder, leaving the golden blade there in the 'wound', pinned in the wooden flaps.

"Not bad..." - he spoke, out of breath, as a bead of sweat trickled down his face. His gaze would move to both the dummy and the sword, still wobbling slightly from side to side from the final impact, to double check. The thing had held up rather nicely. It seemed he'd be making a good deal of money out of it, provided he found someone vain enough to purchase this thing that would scream Look at me! at the top of its lungs at every waking moment, if it could. Tired of looking at it for the time being, the son of Mars would leave the sword there on a display of sorts, as he returned to his bag to retrieve something less... extravagant.