locutus-sum

As they walked side by side to a long table, Antheia risked a long, interrogative look at her companion. One the one hand, Cynane seemed to acknowledge that the life she knew as a child was irretrievably lost, stolen from her by the Romans. Yet there was no acceptance, just a certain intensity in her eyes, as if she were still fighting a battle with those invaders inside her mind, holding up against the barrage of degradation with sheer willpower and hope. A glimpse of this and suddenly Antheia found herself awash with a sense of... was that guilt? She'd stepped out and held up her hands in surrender a long time ago. But she was only ten years old when it had happened. Perhaps she didn't have the strength to be angry. And some part of her admired Cynane because she did. Antheia had always considered her placid acceptance a strength, which made her feelings about the Briton's mindset even more troubling. Eventually, however, she came to her senses. She would give up everything not to have to fight that battle. She had given up everything. But she suspected letting go of anger was a lot easier when you weren't being regularly forced to endanger your own life or to be raped by violent, wealthy strangers. The same suggestion was there in Cynane's own words. "Without the hope, I'm not sure I'd have been alive now." Antheia faltered, trying to find the words to show Cynane she understood. But one glance at those kohl-rimmed eyes shining like scarabs across the table made her bow her head as she took the first warm, vaguely aromatic mouthful of soup. @Atrice

Sergia silently thanked the gods for Uncle Tertius' suggestion. This dinner party was stifling - she could see the discomfort in the faces around the table as they pursed their lips to sip at their wine in an effort to seem casual. Secundus, it seemed, had different ideas. Clearly he thought that the best way to recommend her qualities to Longinus was to take charge himself, making sure she came across in just the way he thought she should. She had the distinct impression, however, when she met her potential husband's eye, that the operation would be more successful if Sergia were allowed to show these off of her own accord. This story again! It wasn't particularly impressive even, it simply happened to be the only anecdote which portrayed her in such a good light. Suddenly, Sergia began to feel quite angry. Her intolerable uncle would ruin this match for her, curse him! Sergia hid her face behind the wide brim of her wine cup and peered at her Aunt Livia in anticipation of the narration. @Sara@Sharpie @Járnviðr @Atrice @Liv

She'd noticed Teutus coming in, but he clearly hadn't noticed her, tucked away in a sconce under the portico watching a sparrow hop in and out of the hedges and glancing down occasionally to line up the next stitch of her embroidery. Her cousin's face looked harrowed (though maybe it was just scrunched up in a reaction to the sudden sunlight) as he plopped onto a bench at the opposite corner of the hortus. I hope he doesn't notice me. He did, of course, starting up off the bench as his eyes made out her shape among the shade, stumbling out an apology that neither he nor she really knew if he ought to be making. Teutus was a slave, yes, but he was also his master's son, and likely would become his heir, and a free man. There was no guide book on how to treat someone like that, and no way to alleviate the strange feeling of guilt she felt every time he was subservient to her. In truth, Sergia tried her best to avoid Teutus at all costs - if she needed something fetching, she got one of the other slaves to do it. She tried to ignore the sight of him slinking off to the kitchen out of the corner of her eye as she and her uncles went into the triclinium. But sometimes life threw the two of them together, as it had today, much to the embarrassment of both parties. "Oh, don't mind me," she said with a strained smile, flapping her hands to indicate he should sit down again. "You're not... bothering me." Sergia quickly ducked her head back into her needlework. @Sharpie

"Oh, that's good to hear," said Antheia, feeling genuinely relaxed for the first time in a while. She just hoped the mistress' definition of 'nonsense' was the same as everyone else's. If having her judgements questioned counted, teaching her anything about philosophy would be a Sisyphean task. But Volusa seemed like a sensible girl, and she doubted she would have praised Claudia so highly if the latter was indeed prone to bouts of unreasonableness. A pause. She'd now exhausted all possible lines of detached inquiry, so Antheia decided to initiate a more personal conversation. "So you're verna, then, I suppose?" she asked casually. @Sharpie sooo sorry for the delay, life has been a whirlwind!!!

Antheia smiled sadly. She had decided long ago that wishing for such things was only destructive. She was a woman who had accepted her lot in life. "Of course there's always a chance," she began levelly, "and I'd be crazy not to want my freedom. I wish, but... I don't hope." She swallowed. "And anyway, I wouldn't go back to Greece. I wouldn't know where to start." They had entered the refectory now, elbow-to-elbow in the queue of other slaves watching portions of vegetable stew being drawn from dolia embedded in the counter and slopped into bowls in front of them and pushed into their hands. Antheia was surprised at the smell the mixture gave off - perhaps it was actually lightly seasoned! - and thought to herself how pleasing it was to feel the gentle heat of the food reaching her fingers through the bowl. The slice of bread that someone placed across the receptacle's rim was fairly hefty too. As she reached the end of the counter, food in hand, and turned to wait for Cynane just behind her, Antheia plucked up the courage to ask, "Would... would you go back to Britannia, if ever...?" @Atrice

Antheia couldn't help but take a sweeping look around the garden, just to make sure they were alone. Asking the question she was about to ask could get a slave into difficulty, so she'd heard. "Is the Domina..." she swallowed. "Well, is she kind to you?" Ordinarily, Antheia would not have dared ask such a thing, but something about Volusa's confidential tone invited it. For some reason, the girl seemed trustworthy. @SharpieApologies for the delay!!

Well, this place didn't sound too bad at all, actually. Volusa had shown her that the other slaves were friendly, that she was allowed time to herself, that Claudia was not a harsh mistress, and that the sleeping quarters were superior to anything she was used to. And on top of that, Cynane guaranteed the food was good, "if you like Roman food," which Antheia did; she wasn't sure from her tone quite how Cynane felt, though. She might remember the food from Britannia, or Germania, or wherever she was born. Antheia did too, but she'd long got used to eating Roman. And the prospect of getting to sample the kind of foods Claudia consumed was positively delightful. "So it doesn't go to waste." Yes, Antheia approved of that. She'd seen many sickening examples of Roman decadence in her time performing at dinner parties, and so the fact the elite at least set the example of using up leftovers was a favourable reflection of the imperial family's attitude. "I hope it is not too personal, but... have you always been a slave?" Well, it was a personal question, but among slaves that never seemed to matter. To tell one's story unflinchingly and proudly was almost a mark of honour for many. And so Antheia did. "No. I was born in Greece as a free citizen. When I was about 10 and they sacked Athens, I was enslaved by the Roman forces and shipped over to Italy for sale. I didn't speak any Latin, since I was brought up in Greece." Antheia smiled grimly and dismissively. She didn't need to mention her family, the violence, her fear, the voyage - that was all implied. Cynane herself would understand, as would any slave born free in a foreign land. And it was all so very long ago. "And you? You... don't seem to have grown up here," said Antheia, her eyes flicking up to her companion's braided hair and unusual clothing. @Atrice

Sergia started into her wine, glad that the attention had been diverted temporarily onto Teutus. Though she didn’t dare look at him, she could feel even through the air a tide of disapproval from her Uncle Secundus. She was aware from the burning in her cheeks that she was probably blushing. Well, why didn’t he approve? She could hardly help it, and what was more, it showed modesty. Right now, she felt rather like those statues of Venus - presented for contemplation by the male gaze, but no more able to respond to it that than a block of stone. Her uncle’s presence made sure of that. She was hardly a master in the art of seduction, but then neither was Longinus, judging by his clumsy advances. But he was permitted at least to try them out, and she would have found herself crucified if she so much as dared to return the flattery. Perhaps it was fear of this that made her behaviour fall short in Secundus’ eyes. Perhaps she could at least allow herself to show some interest? She raised her eyes to try and catch Longinus’ attention. Oh, how she wished she could speak to him alone! Her own modesty would be enough to prevent any impropriety. Her accursed uncles were just a hindrance. Someone with a smile as… suggestive as Longinus’ would quickly lose interest in someone as stony-faced as she was being now. @Atrice@Liv @Sara @Sharpie @Járnviðr (Hello, Sara said it might be a good idea for me to jump in here now Sergia's in play!)

Gabinius shifted from foot to foot, but he kept his chin held high as he scanned the forum. He'd gathered quite a nice crowd of some pretty eminent people, he noticed, channelling his smugness into a particularly sickly smile and aiming it at a nervous looking patrician girl standing next to her father. Hmm, I'd like to get a leg over that! The girl's brow furrowed - quite a shame, she ruined her good looks completely - and grabbed her father's arm, leading him away from the crowd. Damn. Gabinius smoothed back his hair, swallowed and turned to his slave-boy. "Adonis!" he hissed through his teeth while beaming a simpering smile at an acquaintance who'd just shown up. Adonis stepped forward to his side, looking perfectly bronzed and coiffed. "Domine?" "More rose-water," he said, his eyebrow quirked in irritation, his hands passing over his slicked-down hair to indicate that the slave-boy should apply the unguent to it. "And while you're doing that, tell me what in the name of Venus this word says." He stabbed a slender finger at the scroll, sighing lightly and letting his eyes flick closed as the slave's strong fingers massaged his scalp. No reply. He opened his eyes again. "I can't read, Domine. Apologies." Of course. Gabinius grunted and pushed the boy away. "Get out of here," he said. Adonis had many talents, all of which Gabinius appreciated; unfortunately literacy was not among them. His audience were starting to hop from foot to foot themselves now, which Gabinius took as a sign that he should probably start his recitation. He gave a loud cough and raised his dark eyes to sweep the crowd. "Erm... esteemed ladies and gentlemen. I thank you for coming along today to hear me recite what are to me, um, a very personal and very... richly-felt suite of poems. They do say that to write, one needs a good muse. I mean, I would hardly attribute the... elegance of these carmina to my own particular genius - ha, ha - far from it, no. But whereas Vergil and Homer had the divine inspiration of Calliope, I have what I would say is an even greater stimulation for the mind, and that is the favour of a true Venus. There is truly no better..." Quite by accident, Gabinius found his lecherous gaze alighting on a figure lurking at the edge of the crowd. His words got lost in his throat with a sort of gurgle. He recognised that man - his nose recognized his musk, too - as... now who was he, the owner of that impertinent stare directed at him from between those matted curtains of hair? He failed to stop a flicker of amusement register on his lips as he remembered a particularly moving performance of the Eumenides during which Apollo had ended up landing face down in the orchestra in a pool of his own vomit, then said something which made a lot of patricians go whiter than their toga candida. Best bloody performance of Aeschylus Gabinius had ever seen. "-truly no better, umm..." Shit. He'd forgotten what he was saying. "Hm, well, I think without further ado, I'll just... start." He could feel the actor's eyes on him like a suggestive touch as he opened his mouth and began to read the first line. @David

Soon the corridors came to an end, and Volusa stepped aside to give her a good view of the garden they had just entered. It was not small exactly - about the size of the average villa's hortus - but it was cozy compared to the larger gardens she'd glimpsed on her way in, and much more private, enclosed on four sides by a peristyle deep enough to provide decent shade on all sides, no matter the time of day. And it was decorated in colours a good deal more expensive than those you'd to see in a common garden. Antheia twisted round to give Volusa a happy smile. "Oh, this is nice. I hope I shall be allowed to spend lots of time here," she said, taking a few paces forward into the garden to look around, playing at the edge of the box-hedges with her fingers. "Do you come here often?" @Sharpie

LIVIA CALAVIA (deceased) Suggested Face claim: young Judi Dench because LOOK Though feel free to choose someone else :)Age & Birth Position. Patrician, a bit younger than Marcus? up to youPosition: Senator's wifeParents: unspecifiedOther family: Husband - Marcus Horatius Justinus; Sons - Publius and Lucius Horatius Justinus; Daughters - Livia and Horatia JustinaPersonality: dutiful wife, intelligent and literate, reserved but witty, very much in love with Marcus, a doting mother. Rest up to you (talk to Sara and Liv too to make sure she's in line with what they want)History: Met Marcus as a child while both their fathers were serving in Germania in the 10s CE. She became betrothed to Decimus Tullius, Marcus' best friend. Was married to DT before 30CE. Met Marcus again when he served as tribunus laticlavius under DT's father. Here Marcus began to fall for her and was distressed that she was already taken. Decimus was killed in action around 33CE. She and Marcus stayed apart out of respect for the late Decimus, but by 35 CE they were together, marrying that year after Marcus returned to Rome. Son Publius born 40CE, Horatia born 42CE, Livia and Lucius born 48CE. Livia Calavia fell very ill after the birth of the twins but managed to survive, albeit weakened. In December 61, Livia was tragically killed by happening to be caught up in a violent riot.Who to contact: locutus-sum#9606 (Marcus Horatius Justinus), but also please talk to Liv (it's her family originally) and Sara (she plays Horatia)

Marcus choked on his wine. "Which goddess?" he gasped. "My dear, what does that matter?" It took him a few seconds of staring at Horatia's concerned expression to realise what he'd said. "Well, I mean... of course it matters, but..." He knew exactly to whom he wished to dedicate the temple, that was the thing. But if Horatia realised exactly what he meant, she'd think he'd finally gone round the twist. Really, it didn't matter which goddess - Livia Calavia had been all of them to him: a dutiful Hestia, an quick-witted Minerva, an enticing Venus - just that it would be her. Could he manage to go in secret to the stonemasons with the clay funeral mask under his toga, clutching to his chest that face that still greeted him every time he entered his home, just with empty terracotta eyes? Could he look the man in the eye and tell him that this was to be the face of the goddess? Could he stand the mason's curious gaze without striking him for his impudence? And how long before Horatia would look up at the marble features being chiselled away and connect the soulless stone to that face in a wave of recognition? All these things tugged at Marcus like a small child hanging onto the edge of his father's toga. For once, though, he ignored his reason and gave in. Yes, he'd do it. Maybe he really had gone round the twist this time. But once Marcus Horatius Justinus got an idea into his head, it was not an easy thing to get it out again. "What I mean is, choosing between so many worthy deities will be no easy task..." he blundered, praying Horatia wouldn't think any more of his strange reaction. "I favour Juno myself, but she already has a temple. Perhaps Venus, then, to thank her for granting me this wonderful family." But then again, would a temple to Venus be misinterpreted? He hadn't so much as looked at another woman since... well. "Or perhaps... yes, Hestia! Rome could do with a reminder of the values of the home," he said, gazing off into the distance, before snapping back to reality. "What do you say, my dear?" @Sara - sorry it's a bit rubbish today! I am exhausted

A tour! Sounded like a great idea. It hadn't really occurred to Antheia that she'd need to stray outside of the princess' apartments on official business. Incidentally, she was keen to see some more of the place; so far, it seemed bloody breathtaking. She swung her feet off the cot and stood. "Thank you, Volusa, yes. I would like to see more of the palace." Volusa nodded obligingly and led her out of the dormitory room and into a passage leading away from Claudia's apartments. Antheia craned her neck to look at every detail they passed. "So, where to first?" @Sharpie

“I hope you’re alright. Are you hungry? Or do you want to retreat to our quarters?” "Oh yes, I'm fine now, thanks. It doesn't hurt... much," replied Antheia. She felt quite pleased as Cynane seemed to extent an invitation to spend more time with her. Fundamentally, she seemed like a kind person, despite scaring the living daylights out of Antheia. Honestly, she would have liked just to retreat to their quarters and chat, but her stomach was gurgling audibly. She needed some food. "I'd quite like a bite to eat, if you don't mind," she said, heading off down the passage where the other slaves had gone, and where she was trying to head before being suddenly and painfully forced to make Cynane's acquaintance. Her companion seemed quite happy with this, falling into Antheia's own slower pace beside her. "So, what's the food like here?" began Antheia cheerfully as they reached their destination, readjusting her chiton to partially disguise the bandages. "I hope the portions aren't too stingy, and that we do at least get some bread." @Atrice

"It will be better soon, you're right," replied Chiron with a smirk. "Shouldn't hurt a bit in a while, so long as you don't go rolling in dirt and getting it all gangrenous. Nah, shouldn't hurt at all." Antheia felt a sudden stinging in her arm. "Bet that did, though, heh heh." Chiron flicked the leftover droplets of vinegar off the bottle's neck and set it down. She could see Cynane's reassurances as to Chiron's medical expertise were true. She could, however, have done with some reassuring about his manner with patients. The wound really did hurt, but the fact there was an ex-gladiatrix standing watching made her feel that complaining would not have reflected well. She and Cynane had a lot in common - taken prisoner in a foreign land and shipped back to Rome as slaves, torn from their families, made to sacrifice their dignity for the entertainment of Roman men - but really, she got the impression that Cynane's experience had been a lot worse than her own. There was something magnificent about her that made Antheia's breath stop a little, and it wasn't just her imposing physique. "Alright, love, you're all patched up. And you," he said, smirking at Cynane, "I don't want to see you or another of your little accidents in here for at least a week, OK?" @Atrice

Well, Volusa seemed to like singing well enough, even if she was just saying so out of politeness. Antheia laid down the cithara with reverential lightness, running a cloth over the wood to polish off any fingermarks then swaddling it in its wrap and stashing it under her bed. What now? She didn't want to take up too much of the girl's time, but she didn't want to shun her, either. Volusa was nice to talk to, it was just there wasn't very much to talk about. @Sharpie

"You're cleverer than me.” Oh, she hoped she hadn’t made Volusa feel small - that was the opposite of her intention! “First of all, that’s not true, and secondly, you don’t need to KNOW anything. Just what you’ve heard from…” she didn’t want to say your parents, because one could never guarantee a slave knew them, “from whoever nursed you.” “arma virumque cano..." Antheia nodded with encouragement. Volusa wasn’t half bad at singing. Not half bad at all. And it was a lovely thing to hear Vergil out loud, far different from muttering it to yourself in a corner of a library. Volusa seemed to feel it too. "You play very well.” Antheia laughed. “Oh no, I’m just an amateur. But thank you. Music is a passion of mine. And nobody told me you could sing like that! We’ll have to do that again,” she smiled. And she meant it. Sharing music with someone, even someone uninitiated like Volusa, would make this place feel a little more like a home. @Sharpie

“At least they spared you from entertaining them otherwise.” Ah. Yes, many were less fortunate than herself in that respect, and Antheia got the feeling that Cynane was one of them. She snatched a glance at her companion, but her face was neutral, save perhaps for a certain heightened intensity behind those kohl-rimmed eyes. Dignity was something that a lot of slaves worked extra hard to preserve, perhaps to show they still had some, despite the constant violation of it by their masters. Antheia could understand; her whole regulated demeanour was a result of her life of servitude. Cynane’s reassurances as to the doctor’s qualifications were a comfort, even if there was something slightly unnerving about the man as he looked up from where he’d been scrubbing half-heartedly at a pair of tweezers as they entered. The room was dark and stuffy, lit by a single oil lamp. Simple box shelves had been fixed to the walls, and on them he’d lined up slightly wonky glass bottles filled with all sorts of liquids. The counter in front of him was covered in a fine layer of flakes of dried herbs. As Cynane introduced Antheia, Chiron simply nodded. “Wondered how long before I’d see you in here again, Cynane, with some poor sod you’ve maimed.” With a groan that made Antheia wince, the medicus heaved himself to his feet. “Bloody joints. They’re killing me. And the tremors are at it again. May the gods pity any bastard who has to come under my knife.” He looked incisively at Antheia. “Well, come on, then, let’s have a look!” Antheia obligingly stuck out her arm. Chiron poked at the wound, letting out a grunt of amusement. "Heh. Drop of vinegar and a dressing, should sort it." As he moved closer, she could smell his reeking breath. Trying her best not to look disgusted, she turned her head towards the door and searched for reassurance from Cynane with her eyes. @Atrice

A slave's time was not their own, as Antheia was now reminded. It had been nice, giving her undivided attention to him, and he his to her. But that time had come to an end. Duty called. They parted with an apology in their eyes, though both knew there was nothing that could be done to prevent the conversation coming to such an abrupt end. "It... has been a pleasure to meet you, Antheia." "Yes, nice to have met you," she said, something she had not genuinely meant for quite a long time, until now. "I hope we meet again." There was the apology again, in the unspoken language of slaves. Both of them, they knew, could only follow in the paths of their masters, unsure whether those paths would intersect again. "Yes, I hope so too." She might as well have said, "if only we could." @Chevi (feel free to take one last turn if you'd like or just leave it there, whichever you prefer. It's been nice writing!!!)

Antheia smiled at his no-frills summary. "Ah, how did you find sailing? Personally, I think it's ghastly, and I've only once been at sea," she said, in an effort to make conversation. Admittedly, she had been chained up in the dark for most of the voyage from Athens to Rome, which didn't make seafaring any more pleasant than it already was. They'd had to put chains round her chest because her wrists were too slim and kept slipping out of the manacles. As Felix inhaled to give an answer, Antheia sensed movement from far off. The pinging noise of hobnails on marble and the muffled noise of cordial valedictory well-wishes from Caesar's study. She looked at her new companion. His master would surely soon be out. @Chevi

SERGIA AULETIA @Gothic or @Anna 22 | 52 AD | Patrician | Heterosexual | Canon | Jennifer Ehle Personality Demure and polite when she needs to be, but is aching to show her real personality after years of being part of the furniture. When unfiltered she can be gregarious, witty and generally likeable. When she's in this mode, though, she's not one to hold back her thoughts - she's had to do that far too long, and feels she has the right to say what she feels - and this can lead to her accidentally hurting those she loves. Her trust is hard to earn as a result of her childhood, and she can occasionally be overly judgemental about others, but she cherishes those of whom she approves and has a lot of caring in her heart to give to the right person, if one should ever come along. She enjoys reading and writing, but also the more traditional female pursuits, such as weaving. Sergia is a dreamer, and is frequently driven to depression when her life does not match up with her ideal. Although she scoffs at the idea, she's a romantic at heart. Appearance 5' 2'', brown hair and blue-brown eyes. Family Father: Marcus Lucilius Auletius (deceased) Mother: Quinctilia Varia (alive, b. 34 AD) Siblings: Brother: Marcus Sergius Auletius (born 55 AD) Spouse: Lucius Cassius Longinus Children: None Extended family: Uncle: Tertius Quinctilius Varus (b. 30 AD)Cousin: Antonia Varia (b. 64 AD, daughter to Tertius)Cousin: Teutus (b. 50 AD, Tertius' illegitimate son with a slave)Uncle: Secundus Quinctilius Varus (b. 28 AD) Other: History Sergia doesn't remember much about Pater, other than that he'd been there until she was about six years old, and then... well, he wasn't there anymore, and now there was only Uncle Tertius. He wasn't mean to her, exactly, but he never sat her on his knee like Pater used to or said 'well done' when she did her reading. And whenever she was cheeky, Mater warned her not to be. But Uncle Tertius wasn't a bad person, per se, not like Uncle Secundus. Uncle Tertius wouldn't hit her so long as she was respectful of him; this new man, however, would gladly aim his fists at anyone when in a particular mood. Well, that was just what men were like - tolerable only if ignored and unprovoked. It was easiest just to sit with Mater and weave, or read a book. She liked reading about Penelope, who would unpick her weaving to stave off the suitors, and so she herself would sit with a scroll in front of her face, so that the young men couldn't see her. The problem with this approach, however, was that the alternative to marriage was remaining in the care of her uncles. Secundus had got even worse recently, ever since he married that insincere, sneering girl Livia. And it wasn't as if she hated men; all her girl friends were now happily married, and she envied them. Sergia was not a shallow sort interested only in superficialities, but she would often receive pieces of papyrus by messenger long enough to have several books of the Iliad pasted together on the reverse side, letters from her friends full of overblown phrases and tantalising details. Now, at 22, she finally sees a glimmer of hope. Whether Longinus is really that interested in her, she can't tell - she hasn't learnt how to read the signs, really - but he seems different from all the stuffy senators and violent egomaniacs she'd been surrounded by up till now. There is something about his manner, his clumsy but unapologetic flirting and his wide smile, that really makes Sergia want to believe that romance is a thing. But her fatalistic streak keeps reminding her that men are never that simple, and besides, Uncle Secundus would have to agree to the match. locutus-sum | GMT | locutus-sum#9606

Volusa began to hum, shyly and uncertainly. Antheia strained her ear to listen for any familiar refrain. Volusa's eyes met hers, and she gave the girl a smile of encouragement. The tune was unfamiliar but now audible. It was a wistful lament in the doric mode. Antheia closed her eyes, inhaled and conjured up the memory of those rough, lined fingers running over the strings as she watched. Aristo had played this one that would fit with Volusa's tune quite nicely. How did it go again? Her own fingers found the strings, barely a whisper, just like Volusa's quiet hum. At first she had to concentrate to follow the tune, but in time her fingers moved of their own accord. She smiled at Volusa again. "Now sing me a story," she said. "Tell me about Troy." @Sharpie

"Oh, no, please!" protested Antheia, a little too quickly, she realised. "I'm only needed for giving Mistress Claudia lessons, and she's out right now." They lapsed back into silence. What now? She'd asked all the standard questions. He'd mentioned the Civil War, but was that really a good topic for someone she'd just met? 'What's your traumatic experience?' wasn't exactly the best starter for light conversation. Still, it was getting very awkward. She needed to say something. "So, what happened to your master during the war? If you don't mind telling me, that is," she said timidly, watching his face to determine whether he might be willing to speak on the subject or not. @Chevi

“Ah!” said Marcus with gusto, earning him a glance from the people from the next table - not that he noticed. “Young Titus! Well, it would make sense, would it not? He’s a good boy, he’s Caesar’s son. I for one will support him wholeheartedly when power is transferred to his hands. Though of course I would not wish our dear Caesar’s reign to end any time soon, indeed, I hope I shall be long departed from this world when the boy does take over. Well, you're the sort of man who knows what the haruspices say, undoubtedly. I'm sure Caesar has many years ahead of him yet." Marcus flapped his hand in the air to summon a server, watching unfocusedly as he poured wine into the empty glass before him. “Keep going! That’s it! Erp, a tad more… hmmm… that’ll do. Now the same for my friend here,” he said, dragging Aulus’ cup out from under his nose before he could grab onto it and presenting it to the server. If the boy protested, he would simply ignore him. Once he had returned the cup to Aulus and dismissed the man with the wine-jar, Marcus raised his own glass. “To the health of our agnificent Memperor! Agnif… gosh, silly me. Magnificent. M. Yes. Ha, I’m surprised you let me oversee Titus learning his letters! Drink up, my boy!” The part of Marcus that was all performance and bluster was dominating as he downed the goblet's contents. But another part of him, one that was slowly drowning in wine, looked at himself and made him want to burst into tears. Marcus started to laugh. @Sharpie

Ah, this conversation again. Another explanation of her repeated humiliation at the hands of Roman men. She looked down at her toes for a moment then adopted her usual detached smile. “I was a curiosity. You’ll know how the Romans like to bring in Greeks to amuse them at dinner parties, providing them with suitably intellectual entertainment with philosophical discourse when they get bored of dancing girls. I was… a novel fusion of the two ideas,” she said delicately, with a quick, dry laugh and a glance at Cynane. “I’d give them an idea, like at a symposium, you know, and they’d… debate it with me.” Well, debate was one word for it. She’d sit on the steps in the gardens all day, moving spot gradually as the shade shifted across the peristyle, treading every alley of thought again and again to make sure her arguments were as watertight as possible. The problem was that there was no point reinforcing a bucket if said bucket was just going to get upended anyway. Antheia learned very quickly that the raucous laughter that would erupt every time she said something insightful (‘oh, very good!’ ‘where did you get your hands on such a delight, Gaius?’ ‘clever thing, isn’t she?’ ‘my my, whatever next?’) would very quickly dissipate if she started making things too hard for them. She realised she’d been zoning out and quickly pulled herself back to reality. “It was… fine, really,” she said with a dismissive smile. "And they didn't ever want anything more from me than philosophy." As they approached the medicus’ room, something started nagging at Antheia. “This medicus, he’s not… well, you know some Greek doctors can be… well, quacks.” @Atrice