Cynane

Slaves

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369
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Player
Atrice

About Cynane

Briton Bodyguard

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Katheryn Winnick
Location
Rome (regrettably)

Quote

She's a killer queen...
Face Claim

Katheryn Winnick
Location

Rome (regrettably)

Topics I Participated In

Something New

Started by Tertia Charis · May 2

January 77AD
Charis fidgeted on the marble bench, trying to act cool, calm and collected when she felt nothing of the sort. She'd been unable to see her closest friend in Rome for close to two months now - their schedules hadn't aligned and their precious few days off were spent apart. She felt her anxiety increase as people shuffled past. The change felt monumental even now, after a couple of weeks.
She hadn't told Cynane of Tertius' plans - she still half-believed that it would never happen, right up until Saturnalia had rolled around and she'd been forced to wear that stupid hat for her manumission. She tried to make herself believe that she hadn't told her friend out of caution - why get her hopes up? But now she realised she had just been a coward. She didn't want to explain what the freedom was costing her to one of the only women in Rome she could count on. Anxiety and nausea seized her insides again and she gripped the bench with her fingers.
It was frigid today and she'd tried her best to conceal the expensive stola she was wearing under a thick cloak, pulled up over her head. The winters were nothing compared to those back home in Britannia but the cloak served a duel purpose. She'd shoved the palla she had been wearing into the bag at her hip that also contained honey cakes she'd purloined from the kitchens before she'd left that morning.
She heard sandals against the dusty track that led past the bench and looked up into the low winter sun to see her friend. She moved to embrace her immediately, forgetting about her worry just for a moment.

TAG: @Atrice
Closing Up Shop

Started by Bretta · April 17

It's dusk, the air is beginning to cool down from the scorcher of today's weather. Of course, Bretta feels none of it. She's been standing on her feet from dawn until now cooking various fried meats resplendent with whatever cheap vegetables she could sauté for her master's food stall. "Food of Wolves," it was called. At this point, she feels like a grumpy wolf. One more bad move from anyone, and she just might snap her fangs at them. Multiple times, whether from young men and women looking to get a rise out of her or from the most well-meaning of grandmothers, her pointed canines have been brought up as a point of conversation. The taunting used to bother her at first, but she grew desensitized to it after a while. All she has to do to ward off many a harasser is to flash a large toothy smile, one which grew larger when she saw the taken-aback looks on their faces and the way their faces paled slightly. Felt good to be scary. Felt powerful.
The Dominus (who cares about those stupid titles, he'll be Lupus to her in her mind always) wanted her to close up shop with another employee. Or, should she say, slave. If she were a freedwoman, she'd have moved on from this joint long ago. But nope, the gods were evidently having fun when they decided the trajectory of her life, because they decided having her move from working in a spacious kitchen to a position as a much-maligned frycook at a street stall was hilarious. Point and laugh, why don't they. She'll build a ladder that reaches to the sky just so she can hit them with the metal edge of her spatula, consequences of divine assault and battery be damned.
Food's almost gone, and she'd usually scrape them into a bin. Lupus already left, has long since taken away most of the money for safekeeping. He doesn't expect there to be as many customers, but the other slave can take orders and collect coins fine. Bretta can too. She knows she'll get a pittance for all of her efforts. All of this means she gets to lock up after-
the bell dings-
After this Juno-damned customer gets his fill and leaves. He takes his sweet time ordering, and by the time Bretta gets his order out, he's asking her if her hair is red everywhere. She does not have the time for this. "Leave, or you're not getting your change back," she says, voice icy. He raises an eyebrow.
"Or else what? I'll have you know you're nothing more than a girl-slave. If you dare try it, I'll tell your dominus. And who knows what he'll do to you." The other slave doesn't lift a finger to help her. Typical men.
Bretta is ready to slap him silly until she spots a tough-looking woman passing by. Someone strong. Against what she wants, she decides to delay the customer and wait for help to arrive. If he's outnumbered, he'll be wiser with his words.
@Atrice
Ringing True

Started by Eppitacos · February 5

Late October, 76
"Did you forget everything I taught you in that short amount of time away?" Burrus snarled, forcing himself up onto his feet.
Eppitacos rose from his hunched posture, turning on his heel, and looked squarely down on his aging employer.
"I forget nothing," he said, very quick and to the point. "Rather, it's you who forgets that if you don't stay calm, your heart is going to burn out faster than this kiln. Now, sit," he insisted, and thrust his prosthetic arm toward the cot that Burrus had only just escaped from.
Their relationship had become stranger than Epp ever expected it would. In many ways Eppitacos felt more like a part of the family than an employee. He supposed it was because Burrus' own son was off finding his own fortunes and cared little for life in Rome. Who else did the man have to depend upon?
Burrus rolled his tongue around his teeth in contempt, not saying anything audibly, but very much stating his objection all the same. In the end, he stayed quiet until the very moment he returned to his cot where he uttered some criticism of Eppitacos' striking form under his breath. Anything else he said was quickly drowned from the distinct ping of the work being done.
Eppitacos' had only returned to Rome two weeks prior, and work had not stopped since the day he arrived back at the shop. Orders and requests had piled in on Burrus, who hadn't the strength to finish any but the least demanding. For his part, Eppitacos rested only to sleep and eat, and he had very nearly caught up on orders... or so he thought.
"Alfidius Burrus?" A Praetorian stepped in, eyes squinty and searching heavily through the heat and smoke.
Burrus had fallen asleep. He often told Eppitacos that the sounds of the forge were like a lullaby to him.
"That's him," Epp pointed.
"And you are?" The Praetorian's eyes narrowed further, now fully focused on Eppitacos.
"Eppitacus, sir," the response came, and widened the Praetorian's gaze.
"So you are," the guard said, looking over Eppitacos' arm. And after some time, "I lost a brother in Britannia."
"We all lost something."
"Aye..." The guard looked over Eppitacos again and after a short pause rattled off his business. "Our smiths are busy seeing to repairs for Caesar's singulares. We need these weapons refitted, wrapped, cleaned, the works. Someone will be by at the end of the week with payment."
"They'll be ready." The Praetorian nodded, took a last look around the place, and then left with the weapons all still loaded into a wagon in the middle of the street.
When Epp had at last finished unloading the weapons and storing them in the shop, he stepped into the street and let his sweat-soaked tunic press against the cool brick of the building's outer wall.
He closed his eyes and just listened to the city without a care in the world of who might be around...

@Atrice
Not Looking For Trouble

Started by Cynane · December 19, 2021

Saturnalia, 76 AD
Cynane was waiting just outside the palace and hoped that Tiranês would show up soon, as they had decided. It was, after all, Saturnalia! The one holiday the Romans got right, at least. The one holiday where slaves got to feel like free people and could do (almost) anything they pleased. As long as they’d show up for work the next day. Well there was always the next day. Sometimes she’d thought it was a way to mock the slaves, tell them to go and have fun, but remember, you are still slaves. There’s always tomorrow!
But tomorrow was not now. She was unsure of where they were going, but her blood-brother said he had a good idea and she’d happily see what he had in store. And keep him safe on the way. She had tried to dress up, but she still didn’t want to look like someone she wasn’t. So she still wore breeches and a thigh-long tunica, easy to move around in. She’d dropped the leather armor for tonight, but she still wore her braids. Maybe a bit fancier than on a daily basis, since it was Saturnalia. She recalled Tiranês speaking of many smaller braids in the hair, she didn’t know if it was a style the women among his people kept, but she’d tried to recreate it.
Casually she leaned against the wall, ignoring the stares of anyone passing by, like she always did. If they glared at her and she did look back, they’d wish they didn’t. She didn’t want their attention. All she wanted was the company of someone she liked, and she didn’t like many people in Rome. And luckily, soon enough it was Tiranês who joined her and she greeted him with a smile, “Finally! Shall we go? And... where are we going?”
@Sharpie @Chevi ( @Sara )
Two barbarians don't make a horde

Started by Jason · October 30, 2021

It was the month the Romans called October, which mean that the city was cooler than it had been, though it was far from being winter - not that Rome had winters like those Jason remembered from his childhood, that forced his people to move for better pasture and when the steppe was covered in snow that meant they were confined far more to the camp.
He was in the garden today, the small garden near his master's quarters. Close enough to be to hand if he was needed, far enough away that he could feel he wasn't on a leash, or at least that the leash wasn't as short and tight as usual. Today, he was repairing a belt. Technically, he didn't have to, but it was something he wanted to do, and it was a skill he had, one among many. He'd had so many skills and things taken away he was not about to hand this to someone else to do when he could do it himself.
He looked up after a moment to find that he wasn't alone any more. He had been joined by his master's sister's bodyguard, a tall blonde slave called Cynane, who he hadn't really spoken to very much. He wasn't sure if she was sizing him up or merely watching out of curiosity, and offered a smile.
"Good afternoon."

@Atrice
Something a little different

Started by Spurius Antius Claudus · October 4, 2021

August 76AD
The morning auction was over and those couple of customers who had ventured inside his warehouse had been satisfied. The sun was approaching it's zenith, so Spurius ordered the warehouse doors closed, the slaves fed and his guards to cycle through taking their prandium, so that it was never unattended. For himself he made a habit of leaving his workplace at this time and finding food in the marketplace, partly because it allowed him to clear his head and partly because there was some truly marvelous street food available.
He carried with him a bag containing a fine clay bowl and cup, and walked his stilted gait towards the food stalls, pondering nothing more serious than whether he fancied duck with plums or clams with herbs and nuts. Hmm, maybe the latter. Alas but he'd left a few minutes later than usual and there was already a crowd growing at the more popular stalls.
Spurius disliked being jostled; his injurey meant that he was at greater risk of falling and he only used his staff on slaves, when needed. So he moved further along the row towards a smaller stall with only a few patrons. Usually that wasn't a good sign, but the smell of fish frying with spices drew him onwards, and he watched the proprietor fry sardines with herbs alongside slices of bread, seasoned with garum. The cheese was melted over the little fish and they were scooped up and dropped onto the bread. Someone left with three slices. Either he was an optimist or he'd eaten here before.
It would do.
@Atrice
My other half?

Started by Tiberius Claudius Sabucius · October 4, 2021

August 76AD
Tiberius hadn't had a chance to talk to Claudia in a while, and that always made him feel agitated. She was his twin, his other half, possibly his better half, and though they now both had their own roads to travel and lives to live, he liked to speak with her regularly. She was also sensible and witty and a great wall to bounce ideas off. And she would tell him when he was being a twit, which almost no one else would. That in itself was valuable beyond measure.
A question to a couple of slaves indicated that Claudia Caesaris had retired to her rooms, so he sought her there. However in the outer chamber he encountered only her Amazonian bodyguard slave, the one uncle Octavius had given her. A gift with both practicality and humour, it was so very typical of Octavius, but not whom Tiberius wanted to see. Claudia seemed fond of the woman though, and she protected his sister, and that he could appreciate.
He nodded to the woman in acknowledgement. "I'm looking for my sister. Is she in her rooms?" He asked the blonde haired barbarian.
@Atrice
New Kid on the Block

Started by Antheia · July 12, 2021

All the other slaves had been milling about in chaos before, but now they seemed to be gravitating towards one corridor. For the first time, the invisible defensive barrier of non-recognition seemed to fall away from their eyes and they laid down their arms, marking the dinnertime armistice in the battle to keep the Imperial household running smoothly.
Not wanting to be left behind, Antheia swung her legs off her wooden crib and hurried to follow the flock.
While her mind was focused on working out what was going on, Antheia's already muddled recollections of the unfamiliar passages of the slave's quarters slipped away: rounding a corner, she clean forgot that this was where she had nearly been decapitated by a pole-arm when Volusa had brought her here earlier that day. The other slaves hung left by force of habit, and Antheia, seeing the gap in the crowd as an opportunity to get ahead in the queue, decided to hang right. If Fate was watching from above, she must have been splitting her sides at the cruel inevitably of her handiwork. Smack!
The pole-arm collided with her shoulder, knocking Antheia sideways into a ratty-looking slave who gave her an evil glare.
Muttering hasty apologies, Antheia spun to accost - or at least look at (she wasn't really one to reprimand) - whoever was responsible for the rapidly swelling bruise on her arm.
The first thing she noticed about the woman was that she was tall, taller than a lot of men she knew. She didn't look Mediterranean, with blonde hair drawn up messily in braids on her head. Her expression was neutral, but her eyes were weapons in themselves, sharpened by being lined with kohl.
Antheia realised she was gawping.
@Atrice
Being Stupid Is An Art

Started by Marius · April 12, 2021

Why the fuck did they always stick him against big Germans?!
Here he was, rented out to perform for the very finest of his captors, and he was losing. The bugger was three inches taller, about six wider, and he was wielding a bronze axe that probably cost more than...than Owyn did, actually. He'd smashed up Owyn's collarbone, the links of his ringmail just barely holding, so now the Briton was looking like he was going to be out of it. The haze of combat was still right up inside him, so most of the pain was a buzz in the back of his skull. The spectators weren't the rough sort - they didn't cheer, but you could see them thinking about whether or not to let Owyn live.
Bad news, but the German had lost, he just didn't know it.
See, Owyn had got a nick to his back leg near the start of the match. Now he could see the wound opening up more and more, and the brute's left foot was starting to drag. Owyn was right handed. Didn't take a fool to work out what came next.

The German came up high in a big swing, Owyn traversed to his right, and leapt past the man's left shoulder. As he did, he switched his sword to his left and lanced out at the other gladiator's kneecap. It hurt like everliving fuck, with his collar screaming across his chest, but it was worth it. Usually, a decent fighter could get their leg out the way, but not this time. Owyn felt muscle and sinew give way beneath his tip, and it was all done. The German was down to one knee, bleeding like a pig, and becoming faint.
A look, a signal, and that was that. His opponent had been allowed to live, and 'Marius' saluted his hosts with one arm, and was dismissed.
But now? NOW HE HAD TO FUCKING WALK BACK.

He was removed to a slave's quarters to wait for his escort back to the Ludus, and he didn't bother to remove his chainmail. They'd taken his sword off him, and bound a few of his cuts. Once he got back, he'd acknowledge the pain. Until then? Best just to sigh and pretend to be a big dumb animal.
@Atrice
How We Met

Started by Tarbus · April 3, 2021

April, 76 CE
“Tst, tst…” Tarbus gave the headstall a shake with his good hand, to get the stallion’s attention. He spoke gruffly to him in Dacian. “Stop being an asshole. You’re not going to get to fuck her so just keep your dick to yourself!” He gave the stallion’s flank a flick with the tip of the lead, making the animal side-step skittishly, its partially released member swinging pendulously as its hooves beat a little tattoo on the stone flags of the yard.

On the far side of the stable area, a mare in heat pranced, aware in her own way that she was garnering interest and causing a ruckus. She too might be receptive to some four footed frolicking but that was not going to happen. Typically, mares in heat were not brought to the stables at the circus, just for this very reason. Someone must have screwed up and miscalculated her cycle. Tarbus wished he knew who to thank for this added headache to his day. He chucked the lead strap once more, moving his hand closer to the halter, just in case the amorous racer decided to give him any trouble.

The horse leapt a bit, this time towards the slave, but Tarbus stood his ground and muscled the knucklehead, with their shoulders pressed hard against each other, man to beast. “The gods take you! Be still!” Tarbus grumbled sternly, as the groom approached once again, in their combined effort to get the excited animal harnessed and ready to be brought together with the rest of the team. In this the two men were falling behind, and that was never a good thing.

Suddenly, the mare nickered, a true ‘come hither’ call. The stallion reared, cowkicked – narrowly missing the groom’s head – and plunged forward, almost knocking Tarbus, cursing, to the ground. But he managed to keep his feet and was running after the horny animal, trying to grab the leather lead that flapped in the air, while those many people in the yard jumped to the left and to the right trying to avoid the fractious creature, who trumpeted his love song to the heavens.