Zia

Slaves

Posts
132
Last visited
October 5, 2021
Player
Sara

About Zia

Slave of Titus Sulpicius Rufus

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Face Claim
Aurora Ruffino
Location
Rome
Activity Level
Leisure

Face Claim

Aurora Ruffino
Location

Rome
Activity Level

Leisure

Topics I Participated In

Flowers For All

Started by Zia · July 30, 2021

Zia rarely came out in the evenings to watch by her minions as they did their deals and made her gold, but needs must. The problem with having a lucrative business, she'd found, was that it meant everybody wanted a piece of it. Nothing had happened thus far, beyond a few gang low-lifes making offers to her own runners, but she wanted to keep an eye out and she wanted to see it for herself. Being here was a risk, she knew that, but the cloak she wore - even in the summer heat - hid the slave collar she was locked into and she kept her hood up. Gallus was - for all intents and purposes - the front man of the operation and only glanced in her direction where there was something she should see.
In this case, it was a small man who seemed to be gesticulating to one of her young employees. Zia arched a brow and watched from the shadows as the conversation got more heated. She called over to Gallus; "Gang?" And the man shook his head, looking equally perplexed. If this young man was in a Collegia then he wasn't being particularly subtle about his intentions. She slipped from the shadows to get a closer look and frowned when she saw that the man wasn't talking. "What do you want?" She called out and gave him a once-over. "We don't do charity here, if you can't afford it then leave."

TAG: @Chevi
Fire And Lamp And Meat And Bread

Started by Tarbus · April 4, 2021

Spring, 67 CE , Cumidava, Dacia

Sometimes… he wondered. He wondered if his cousin did these things simply to annoy him and make his life more difficult. Of course, she didn’t. He knew that. But he also knew that she would fully realize how her headstrong and impetuous decisions so often wreaked havoc on his own affairs, and that Zia wouldn’t give a toss that they did. That was so her. An idea came into her head and it must be done, immediately. Tarbus wondered if age would ever soften her sharp edges, or bring wisdom to sit more easily with impulse. He seriously doubted that it would. Yet one should never give up hope.

The days stretched long here, in Cumidava, and sat uneasily upon his shoulders. Nights were longer still, without the comforts – both of the body and the mind – that his sweet Docia brought to him so willingly and tenderly. He missed her. He missed their son, Duras, who had taken his first steps only weeks before this petulant move of his cousin. They passed word back and forth, regularly. And the distance between them was not great. But it felt like he might have passed into some other world, sequestered here to the north, forced into segregation by Zia’s wounded pride.

Yet another night was already well on its way to claiming the clear sky above. Soon Bendis would begin her ascent, and her path would sparkle with stars in the high vault of the heavens. Inside the homes of the village, behind wattle and daub walls and under snug thatched roofs, oil lamps would be lit, before families readied to retire and sleep. Wooden shutters and doors would be closed against the lingering chill of late spring, and the fire pits would be carefully tended to make sure warmth lasted through the dark hours.

Having seen to his horse already, Tarbus sighed inwardly and squared his already square shoulders, before pushing aside the leather flap that added an extra layer of insulation at the doorway. Four skinned and gutted hares he carried in one hand, tied by their feet with twine. In his other dully gleamed his knife, clean yet in need of sharpening, which he intend to do before he slept. Stepping inside he smelled meat roasted on a spit and other fare, seasoned with local herbs, such as dill, parsley, celery leaf, lovage and thyme. Salt mines right in the area provided an abundance of that precious commodity for all. He nodded at a servant who came forward to relieve him of the hares, asking, “Is your mistress returned?”

With Zia, there was never any telling where she might be, or what she might be about, although nine times out of ten, the answer to both might be ‘making mischief, somehow.’
Who goes there?!

Started by Artemon · January 24, 2021

January 76 AD
The new year had brought about a slight increase in business, but it hadn't increased Artemon's meagre salary in the same proportion. Gallus only cared for his own purse, that's what he did, and Artemon grumbled under his breath in Egyptian as he flitted about the old warehouse, loading and unloading things here and there like a (badly) paid cargo mule.
He had just put down his last crate and made a beeline for the water jug nearby when a figure came into his line of sight. That wasn't Gallus, or any of the other labourers he knew of. For one, none of them had such long hair. For two, none had such obviously feminine features either. Who was this lady? Had she entered the warehouse by accident, lost on her way to some other place? Artemon's first instinct was to greet her and ask her if she needed help, but Gallus wouldn't have approved of that. No, he was supposed to be serious and gruff so people knew not to mess with him!
"What are you doing here? This is private property!" he parroted in his best stern tone, wiping his sweaty hands on his equally sweaty tunic. "You need to leave."
@Sara
Io Saturnalia

Started by Titus Sulpicius Rufus · December 19, 2020

For the fifth time that day Titus had to shoo away Betua's anxious form that kept hovering about the entrance to the kitchen. Yes, it was her territory as much it was his possession, but there was a tradition to uphold. If she found the results of said tradition inedible she was free to go and serve something up on the sly. If Titus had to be honest, though, he thought he and this three helpers were faring quite well and did not warrant such levels of worry. Valeriana had helped pluck a chicken with unfettered, gleeful abandon, tearing out the feathers in small but forceful fistfuls before gathering an amount she deemed sufficient and running off giggling, possibly to disturb her indisposed mother. Publius was surprisingly adapt at peeling fruit and vegetables; in another life he might have made a fine tailor, or perhaps a medic. Still, the boy was just the right amount of both careful and daring with a blade in his hands. And Titus? Well, he had finished plucking the chicken, quartered it - clumsily, yes, but he was no butcher -, taken out the nasty bits and tossed the good ones into a big clay pot where onions, lentils, carrots and chestnuts awaited company. Copious amounts of garum and red wine and a handful of assorted herbs and spices, selected with no concern for how well they would go together but merely for their fragrance, had followed suit and the pot, properly lidded, had been placed in the oven to work its magic and hopefully turn all that food into a passable stew.
At the same time, his eldest hadn't been idle either, and had prepared quite the artfully decorated platter of assorted cheeses and cured meats before moving on to dessert: apples boiled in a mix of red wine and honey with chopped walnuts and more honey on top, and some stuffed dates and preserved plums on the side in case someone didn't fancy apples. Titus felt a surge of parental pride well up inside him: if his attempt at preparing a meal for the slaves failed, Sulpicia would save his honour by making sure they would still have something decent to eat.
The clay pot was smelling like it might be done cooking, and after a moment's deliberation with his son on how they would take it out of the oven without incurring serious burns, Titus spotted two thick and seemingly well-used squares of leather hanging from a hook just by. They served their intended purpose and soon enough the pot was set on a table and uncovered, belching out a great curtain of steam. It smelled like food, which was a start. As he portioned the stew into two big bowls Titus dipped his ran his fingertip along part of the edge of the pot and brought it to his mouth to taste. All right, so maybe he had been too careless with the garum and the gravy was a bit saltier and thicker than intended, but he had had worse. All in all, it was a valiant effort; he was pleased.
Now all that was left was to serve it to the critics. He picked up one of the bowls, Sulpicia the other and Publius the charcuterie platter and the three of them made off into the triclinium, where bread, wine and olives had already been freely made available to the servants. Titus had the feeling it wasn't only just Betua's expectant look that was trained on him, and that made him a little uncomfortable - nobody liked to be judged, after all. But a natural inclination for resting bitch face and years of making intentional use of it meant his expression remained mostly neutral, even as they placed the food on the table and began ladling the stew into individual bowls for the slaves' convenience.
"Dinner is served, my fine ladies and gentlemen. I hope you'll enjoy it."
@Chevi @Ejder @Sara @Sharpie
_____________
I suggest no set posting order since there's a few of us. Also, feel free to NPC Betua and any other slaves!
Entrepreneurial Spirit

Started by Sara · August 24, 2020

August, 75AD
Zia leaned against the wall of an inn - half demolished by the earthquake and utterly unfixed. It had to be two, perhaps three in the morning and she stifled a yawn - green eyes hawkishly watching the passing trade. She didn't dally with the job herself, and preferred to keep a watching brief - back to the wall and picking up the names and mannerisms of clients that came back again and again, or brought their friends. She left the heavy lifting to Gallus who had a particular way about him which kept the poor in his thrall and the rich who frequented this part of the city for vice and depravity, intrigued. She smirked to herself and stifled another yawn - her bloodshot eyes fluttering shut for the briefest of moments.
The scheme had started some months prior. It had been luck and chance more than anything, although in years to come she'd claim it was a visionary idea she'd been harbouring for a while. She left the house most nights now. Her nightmares, which had started almost immediately after her capture last year and the ordeal she had been subjected to at the hands (and cocks) of the legion had disturbed her sleep and ever since that irritating run-in with the master of the house past midnight, she had sought solace and to calm herself down out of the house. So every night, pretty much, she slipped out of the slave entrance and into the dark of the city. She had smelled it before she saw it and heard the chatter of her mother tongue down by the Tiber. Back in Dacia, the flower1 was largely only smoked or inhaled by their priestly class, but as the wife to a future chieftain she had held her own plentiful supply. She missed it, and the smell had brought her right back. She was not a friendly woman by nature, but she had made an exception for this lot and before the week was through it had been her little ritual to meet them down by the river to share the smoke of the flower and relax. Her mood had improved immeasurably, and it had only helped her see a way out of all of this mess. She smirked to herself now at the memory. That had been three months ago.
In that time, those friends had long since departed this world or Rome - she didn't care to know which, and their supplier - a foolish man that liked a fuck more than he liked his money, had readily admitted his own source of the flower before he'd even climaxed. Men were too easy. He too was currently whereabouts unknown (many thanks to his once-employee, Gallus). Once she'd got the name and understood the distribution network he'd set up (the man was a fool), Zia had swooped. She'd employed Gallus on credit, the man also liked a fuck but he was canny and could respect intelligence and drive when he saw it. He had been the fools, but equally couldn't stand him. He came willingly to her venture, she hastened to add. Over the last three months they had successfully, together, taken over the distribution of the flower in Regio IV, carved out a little corner of a warehouse near the spice markets to store their stash and made a decent few coins. The first few always went to Gallus to pay off the credit she had endured to take him with her, but the rest was hers - and in the future they had agreed a 65-35 split, Zia to Gallus, once the debts were settled and the runners paid.
She smirked again as she leant against the wall. She never used her name, but should anybody in the city be looking for that sweet, calming high they knew where to come. Gallus the Great, would show them a good time. Nobody knew her, and that was the way she liked it. She lurked in the shadows for now, reaping the rewards of her ingenuity, and when the time was right? Well. She couldn't wait to see the look on her dominus' face.

- FIN
1Marijuana
A Tale of Two Cats

Started by Beauty · June 8, 2020

Nymphias was a little self-important now, if only because she had been promoted. No longer was she the whimpering little child that she was. She was a grown woman now. She was mature. At least, that’s what she thought. Now she even tried fashioning her hair in ways that appeared Roman-like, after much struggle and awkwardness, of course, and she prayed to their gods now, Helios had told her it was a good idea and if she continued to listen to him, she would be free in no time. Together, they would be married and have a humble number of seven children. After working many long hours, she was dismissed, giving Nymphias time to herself.
She walked with her head held high and tried to adopt older mannerisms. She had been promoted, after all. This was how promoted individuals behaved. Rome was hot now, so hot that she felt her skin bubbling and the air around her was thick. Wandering through the domus, her gaze fell onto a familiar figure. When she first met Zia, she had looked up to the woman, even wanted to be like her, she had seemed so confident despite enslavement, but as time went on, Nymphias’ wasn’t sure anymore. She did not have a single cruel bone in her body and hoped in some small way, they could one day become friends. And she was promoted now, who was she to fear anyone?
“Zia,” Nymphias said, playing with her fingers, for a moment her “mature” façade disappeared, showing her youth and evident nervousness. “What are you doing now? I want to ask you something. It is very important.” In reality, the thought just popped into her head. “Are you free?”
@Sara
The A to Z of settling in

Started by Sharpie · May 23, 2020

Attis had already decided that he was not going to wear his best tunics while here, if he could possibly help it. Especially if he was relegated to helping in the kitchens. There was no need to let them get grubby and stained with gods-knew-what in the course of his duties, though he would probably have to sacrifice at least one of the three tunics he'd brought with him (quite apart from the one he'd been wearing yesterday).
The other slaves seemed decent enough (unlike their owner) and Attis proved he was no stranger to hard work , which might help him get on the good side of the cook. She'd rapped his knuckles when he tried to sneak a bun that was cooling and he'd given her his most charming grin. He'd get there with her, in time.
He had a few minutes to himself and went to splash himself with water from the fountain, ignoring the tablinum where the master was working, straightening up to find that he was being watched, although not by the master.

@Sara
A Happy Union [M - S & V]

Started by Sara · May 16, 2020

AU - 72CE - Dacia
Zia slammed the door to her quarters so loud she was sure the wood would snap off and splinter. "Zia!" The voice beckoned from outside, booming through the wooden walls that made up the Chief's residence. "You have to listen to reason now girl." Zia huffed and kicked at a box that lay at her feet, aiming it at one of the slaves who squealed and jumped out of the way. From down the hall she could hear Luto cry. He hadn't stopped crying since she had broken the news that his Papa wasn't coming home. The handle to the door rattled and then the oak opened up and the face of her father-in-law, stony but sorrowful, loomed into view.
"Get out of my room." She swore and aimed another kick - this time at a loose bundle of clothing - which landed at his feet. The man raised his hands, and she could see from few paces away that tears pricked in his eyes. Weak. Pathetic. Scared. Was all that came to mind as she looked upon him. "He's all we have. You have to see reason." She scoffed and shook her head, a glower on her face. "At least meet him with me. And then we can see, hm?" Zia huffed again and appraised her father-in-law Cothelas (or not her father-in-law, now?). She only nodded her assent, and it was reluctant assent at that before clicking her fingers at the slave. "Find me something to wear." Her father-in-law smiled, relieved and inclined his head - backing out of the room slowly. She noted he didn't turn his back to her as he walked away. Smart.
---
It was some hours later that she was in the great hall. Those survivors of the battle two days prior were there; a motley court of the injured and the afraid; filling the room but leaving a gap in the middle. Zia was arrayed in her finest, gold glinting from her wrists and her armbands and a diadem atop her hair which was left long down to her waist. Her son sat next to her - between her father-in-law and herself, eyes still red raw from crying but mercifully quiet for now. She could tell Cothelas was nervous. He picked at the skin around his nails and his eyes were red-rimmed from tiredness. She supposed losing both of one's sons in one fell swoop was bound to do that. She dared not dwell on Diegis lest her face crumple. No, keep projecting strength, that was what she told herself. Somebody has to.
The battle had been short and bloody. The Ratacenses, her husbands (late husbands) tribe were fearsome and well equipped, and had decimated the legion that had surrounded them. A winner could not be declared; they had both lost their commanders. The Dacian's had lost Diegis and his older brother, heir to the chieftaincy, and the Romans had lost their legate and tribune. The former of which had been sat stewing in a dank little hole for the past two days, but now he'd finally see the light and the Dacian's own particular brand of mercy. Many had called for his execution; something public, something painful. He had taken their hope in the form of the two heirs, and Zia had at least initially agreed. Yet Cothelas, in one of his rare moments of intelligence had held a different idea. Luto, her son, was now to be named the heir. He was, however, only four and utterly fatherless and frail in the way that all children that age are. Besides, Cothelas knew that the Romans would be back - braying for blood - and Luto would be first on the pile. Hence his simultaneously utterly ridiculous and utterly brilliant plan. What better way to appease the Romans than by aligning yourselves with them? And what better way to do that and keep your independence then by matrimony?
Zia had been appalled, but understood. If she married this Roman and eventually had further children, they would be of both Roman and Dacian blood. Half-brothers and half-sisters to their future chief, and beholden to two lands. It would show that their tribe was serious about peace, but would not surrender in the traditional way. Yet despite the logic, she didn't like the idea one bit. Cothelas knew that as well as anybody and so had arranged, after a public greeting of the man (whose name Zia had already forgotten), there would be a private summit between his daughter-in-law and her future spouse to...test the waters, as it was. Her nails dug into the wood of the chair as she gripped onto it.
The doors at the end of the hall broke open and the room was bathed in light. She squinted those narrowed green eyes at the figures that approached, a man bound in rope at the wrists, escorted by two of the surviving (and purposefully largest) Dacian warriors.
She turned to Cothelas when the Roman was in earshot and scoffed. "This is him?"

TAG: @Liv
No sleep

Started by Liv · April 19, 2020

Mid-Spring, 75 AD
Yet another night of sleep cut too short by nightmares or memories – Titus didn’t bother to try and tell the difference anymore. He didn’t bother to stay in bed anymore either, tossing and turning and pleading in his head for sleep to return and getting invariably frustrated when his prayers went unanswered. He rose as slowly and silently as he could, freezing mid-action as Valeria stirred and murmured something unintelligible before rolling over; the sound of her even, deep breathing reassured him that he hadn’t woken her up.
The house was as quiet as he expected it to be, with some very faint snoring coming from different directions. A glance at a big clepsydra, dimly lit by a couple of candles, told him that dawn wouldn’t come for at least another hour; he could expect some degree of peaceful solitude until then. The peristyle was equally quiet, but a cool breeze flowed through the air, causing leaves and petals of various plants to rustle pleasantly as it touched them. No frog had dared to make a home in the shallow pools and it wasn’t quite so hot yet that mosquitoes would be attracted by those same pools.
Titus sat down on a bench, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees as he looked absent-mindedly at the waning moon’s reflection in one of the pools, small ripples running across the surface as the light wind blew. He stayed like that for some time, though he couldn’t possibly say how long – almost in a trance-like state, his brain flashing through episodes and incidents like it was browsing a catalogue of horrors and picking things out here and there.
A sudden, closer, louder sound had Titus snapping out of his haze with a start as he instinctively looked around for anything that might be fashioned into a weapon. Given the time of day and place, a decorative rock was the most suitable candidate, and after picking it up Titus creeped up behind a marble column, just in time to see a human-shaped shadow walk cautiously into the peristyle. It was hard to tell in the dark, with only faint moonlight to counter it, but he thought he saw long hair. Reason advised him to wait for the person to come close enough to be seen in case he did regrettable damage by acting too hastily, and although it went against his trained reflexes, Titus decided to do just that, squinting from behind the column with a loose grip on the smooth rock.
@Sara
A Walk Interrupted

Started by Sara · March 7, 2020

Mid February 75AD
Zia glowered at those she met on her walk. The meeting with Diegis had not gone well. Well, the first part - a hurried greeting and then a heady, lust filled few minutes up against the wall of the room assigned to him were excellent but the conversation that followed had riled her beyond her usual irritability. Whilst she saw her husband far more than she saw her son, it did not stop the meetings descending into petty squabbles. She'd seen the way he glanced at the girls as they walked to his room and the way he talked with such animation about his new role. She had snapped, exclaiming that he seemed to be enjoying his life of slavery and his stuttered denial had ended with her throwing a half-cup of sour wine over his face and leaving the building in a storm of fury. She'd send a message by some stupid, gullible slave, with an apology at some point. But not yet. Now she needed to stew in her anger.
The walk back to his domus, her newfound home was long and her feet were already aching. Even her anger wasn't enough to carry her through and with a mumble of discontent, she stopped to rest against a building. Swatting some of her loose - dishevelled hair from her face (those few minutes of passion had suitably destroyed her respectability) and pulling at the itchy, plain tunica she huffed. Even in winter, Rome was unbearably hot to her and the irritation she felt at that moment wasn't helping.
She heard footsteps to her left and before she had a chance to caution the person, their sandalled foot stomped down on her toes. She let out a yowl of pain, and without stopping she snapped, standing to her full height; "Watch where you are going you cretin." She glared. It was something she had said, in such a tone, hundreds of times when she had her own slaves, when few men and fewer women outranked her but now she was the lowest of the low, and after blinking she realised that such a tone, such a statement was entirely inappropriate. Swallowing her anger and her biting comments she dipped her head, "Apologies." She said with a sigh, "It hurt."

TAG: @Open!