Chevi

"Thirty. Give or take." "Well, alright, you are definitely not carrying food for that many" he muttered. But at least she complied and sat. Which was good, because he literally had no idea how to solve any of this. Time was good. "Why do you care." "I honest to the gods have no idea. You are not making it very easy." he winced as she winced, and saw the burns on her hand. "Please just leave me alone for once." "Nope." he decided stubbornly, opening up the small jar he had salvaged from the kitchen. "Give me your hand and stop being stubborn. You are punishing yourself, not me."

She was fine. Mostly fine. She was rattled, and in an incredibly foul mood, but he did not see serious injuries on her, and her eyes were focused. Focused and annoyed. Lucius sighed, a little relieved. "No. I'm fine. I needed to clear my head. I just...can't, right now. With them. With you." He could see she was shivering. It was not quite cold yet, but definitely too cool for running around in a tunica. "I need to go and get dinner. There's somewhere only a short walk away. I'm fine." "You... are going to get food for... how many people?" he arched an eyebrow, surprised. Her parents, her brothers, all the slaves, possibly guests... she was clearly not thinking straight. He sighed again. "Alright. Come on. Sit." He steered her away from the house, and around the corner where another domus' garden wall was overhung with greenery, and the branches of an orange tree. Some crates had been left out in the alley, and he nudged her to sit. "Let's take a moment and I'll help you make a plan to salvage the dinner. Deal?"

Luckily, Ovinia had not gotten very far. Lucius found her leaning against the wall with her eyes closed, looking pale and... not well at all. In a moment, his stomach sank, realizing she might have been more hurt than she'd let on, or not feeling pain yet from the shock. They had seen that before, with people getting out of a fire. "Ovinia?" he covered the distance between them in stride, looking her over for any telltale signs of a more serious injury. This time, his concern was more obvious. "Ovinia, look at me. Did you hit your head? Are you feeling sick?"

At least Ovinia took his advice and put her hands in the fountain. Burns, as Lucius was beginning to learn, hurt like hell even when they were not serious. Titus caught up to him as he headed to the kitched, pulling his scarf up again. "What was all that about? Trouble in paradise?" "What paradise?" Lucius rolled his eyes. "I am already on this family's shit list, and now somehow all of this is my fault to. I don't understand women." he sighed, gesturing at the kitchen. Some of it had survived. The sturdier tables were singed, but not incinerated, and some of the pantry and the pots survived too. Everything, however, was covered in wet soil and the smell of smoke. Lucius looked around, clueless. What was he supposed to do? The vigiles were not responsible for cleanup, beyond the pieces that were a hazard, and that was mostly already taken care of. Lucius noted a smaller pot on a shelf, grey from smoke but not damaged. He opened in, smelling it. "I'll be right back." Ovinia was not at the fountain, however. He looked around, frowning. Did she just go back to her family...? "Where is Ovinia?" he asked one of the slaves hurrying around. "She just went out?" the girl pointed at the side door. Dammit. "Titus?... I'll be right back. Trust me. She's in shock." he headed out the side door too, into the alley.

"I don't need to breathe! I want you to leave." Lucius sighed. He was usually good at talking to people, even charming them, but somehow Ovinia was immune to all that. She really had a serious, bone-deep hatred for him. Titus peeked out again, and Lucius gave him a shrug. "My family don't know who you are. My father is not best pleased with you - or isn't best pleased with Lucius Vipsanius Roscius, not that he knows what he looks like, so I suggest you get out of here before I tell him who you are." "Is this what all this is about? Me ruining the family reputation?" he sighed, tired of the whole thing. "Fine. Go ahead. Tell him. It's not like anyone appreciates us keeping the city from going up in flames." He knew he was going to get a lot of judgment for his choices, and he was ready for it, but it still got exhausting sometimes. "Doesn't have to be me, but you should show your hands to a medicus. In the meantime, put them in cold water." He headed to the kitchen to see how bad the damage actually was.

"Ow!" Lucius jumped. He had not expected to get kicked. The banter... was off. She clearly was still in shock from the fire, and not open at all to exchanging words. He saw her wince as she stood; as she gestured at him to get out, he could see her hands were red. "Leave me alone. Just go away. Go away! Why are you here? Why are you always here?" "I honestly have no fucking idea." he noted, lowering his voice. Titus had already warned him once not to bring the drama to work. Not like he could have avoided the drama coming to him, though... "Ovinia, take a breath. You know how many people have set their kitchens on fire today? Dozens." All of them patricians, obviously. He did not need to add that. "I know you don't think much of my job, but I try to do it well." He glanced over at the vigiles who were now carrying out burned pieces of rubble from the kitchen. "The fire is out. Your domus will be fine. But you are probably still in shock. Breathe."

"I am calm. They. Are calm. Job done, well done." Oh, she was most definitely not calm. Not even remotely. And she also did not look fine, but refused to show her hands. Lucius was starting to feel like somehow he was becoming the one to blame for all of this. "No. You work for me, remember? I don't take demands from you." "Seriously? It's not a dem..." "Go and tell my father everything is fine with the kitchens and you'll tidy it up and then leave. Off you go. Run and be a good little vigile." Oh, she had finally gone too far. Lucius took a deep breath, and tilted his head. "I am sure you are enjoying this." he noted. She was punishing him, he had just no idea why. "But you forgot one thing." He reached up, taking a burnt flower from her crown. "It's Saturnalia. Which means, the people who work for you... are in charge." He smirked at her, flicking the flower away. "And a whole lot of them are going to hungry, because that kitchen won't be tidied up inside of a week. Shame."

"The stupid kitchen girl told me to use oil. How was I supposed to know where to put it?" "Generally... in a pan? Have you really not seen anyone cook, like... ever?" Lucius arched an eyebrow. He was trying really hard not to judge her, and he knew he had had an unconventional upbringing, but it was really trying his understanding how someone would just pour the oil... "No, I'm fine. Why do you care? Is this part of the vigiles premium service?" Lucius sighed. "This is the vigiles deciding I am a rookie most useful as someone who gets the patricians to calm the hell down, because I speak their language." He admitted with a shrug. "But also, seriously, that was pretty bad in there. Show me your hands."

"It's not that bad." Oh, it was bad. But she looked miserable enough for him to stop pointing it out. Who would pour oil... whatever. "I was cooking. Owners cook for their slaves on Saturnalia. My mother couldn't this year, so I did." Ovinia Camilla. Cooking. For slaves. It was such an easy target. But again, after their last meeting, and seeing her now, taking cheap shots at her did not feel like good fun anyway. "I presume the domus is not going to catch alight from the kitchen?" "Not anymore, no. The potted plants seem to have done the trick." he sighed, waving at Titus as he poked his head out of the kitchen. After all, Lucius was here as the patrician whisperer. "You can't pour water on an oil fire. It makes the whole thing spread... Then again, you should not pour oil a fire either, in general. You mother didn't tell you that?" He was genuinely curious. Sure, he had experimented in a kitchen before, but not like that... he moved to sit down next to her. "Are you hurt?"

"It's my fathers domus." Of course it was. Of course it was Ovinia's house on fire, after the fight they had last time and swearing they would never cross paths again. Titus made an appearance, and pretended not to speak Latin. Dick. Lucius handed his pot off to one of the other men. There was still smoke coming from the kitchen, but the idea must have been working because they kept coming back for more pots. "The fire's not that bad. My slaves can put it out, my father just wanted to give them the night off." "Oh, that fire is a shit show in there, trust me." he huffed, pulling the scarf down. Ovinia coughed, and looked singed. Lucius arched an eyebrow. "You went in there? Why would..." Oh. Oh. "You did this?" Titus was never going to let him live this down.

Well, at least they had a working idea to try. The vigiles headed to the gardens, grabbing large pots and taking them to the kitchen to unceremoniously dump on the fireplace and any other burning surface. Lucius headed out too, grabbing a larger pot of whatever decorative flower, and turned, when he heard a woman's voice calling out his name. Wait... he knew that voice. He already dreaded the moment before he turned around to look at the very familiar figure over the pot. Ovinia Camilla looked more disheveled and bewildered than usual, but she was still unmistakable. What have I done to offend the gods?... "Ovinia?... You live here?" Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit.

"Is your domina a fucking moron?" "Titus, please. The polite term is fashionably unskilled in essential labor." Lucius smirked. The poor cook looked about ready to faint, and the kitchen was still smoking. However, none of the family bothered to show up to see if their house was about to go up in flames. "Stop! It won't do any good if the oil is what's smoking. You got any sand?... Any bright ideas, new guy?" If they threw water on the oil fire, it would just sprinkle the flames everywhere. Lucius already knew that, with a few weeks of experience. Sand... they didn't carry sand. Too heavy for the carts. Maybe they should think about it... Lucius looked around, and glanced the opening that led to the atrium and then the gardens. He blinked. "Potted plants. Would potted plants work?" he asked, glancing at Titus, but already heading towards the garden "Not sand, but soil would work too right?"

It was Lucius' first Saturnalia as a member of the vigiles, and it was abundantly clear by the first afternoon that it was not going to be as fun as it used to when he was still just a young patrician. This time, it was all hands on deck. Because everyone was drunk (by the late hours of the morning), everyone was rody, slaves were running amok, and patricians, by all the gods' grace, had no idea how to cook. His official appointment to centurion delayed, Lucius was assigned to the neighborhood on the Esquiline with the wealthier homesteads. Even though he had put in a lot of work in the past weeks, he was not quite the other vigiles: he used to be nobility. And his centurion begrudgingly decided, that if he was going to make himself useful, he could show up to whatever emergency rich people decided to have this holiday season. And maybe charm them into hating the vigiles a little less. He had no idea who he was dealing with. Smoke was billowing out of the kitchen of the domus by the time the vigiles walked in through the door. Cooking fire. "That's the fifth one today, if anyone's keeping score" Lucius noted as they hauled buckets of water and moved in. Some of the slaves already carried buckets of water, but seemed to be struggling with the situation. Lucius pulled the scarf up over his nose and mouth, and ducked into the kitchen to take a look. Then ducked out again immediately. "What in the name of Dis happened in there?!" One of the slaves shot him a stunned look. "She poured oil... on the fire..." "... what?" Lucius blinked, looking over at Titus. If oil was burning, the buckets of water were not going to do any damn good... @Sara

"Anyone would think it's a prelude to drowning you or something," I can swim, Azarion scoffed, eyeing the building. He knew what the baths were like, in theory. He was not afraid of drowning in them. He was afraid of the whole thing being ridiculous, which he was. "There are some benefits to living in a city. Maybe not many, but some, and baths are one of them. I won't let them drown you, if that's what you're worried about." I am not worried, Azarion insisted, but then he folded his arms tightly. He knew that the people in there would be other slaves and freedmen, but still... He jumped as someone else spoke up next to them. “I hope no one will drown here. You are going in?” Azarion glanced between the newcomer and his cousin. Tiranes would have to do the talking. I go in. But I don't swim. @Sharpie @Atrice

Samorix was a bright young man, but he never really prioritized education when they were around each other. Which made things harder, because he had way to make Tranquillus feel the same way. 'I don't think those kinds of poems lack educational value. There are so many things I don't know about, and I really need a tutor to help me,' Tranquillus rolled his eyes, but without much malice. He could have pointed out that if Samorix wanted to educate himself in those matters, he would have needed a much more experienced tutor. As things stood, Tranquillus was making things up as he went. 'Oh, I'm very focused on my education.' Another strawberry was toyed with, and Tranquillus shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Samorix decided to start spelling letters on the bed. L-E-C-T-S. Tranquillus chuckled. "What do you know. Not bad at all." He stood up, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. "You missed a letter, though." He noted, tracing a finger on Samorix' back. "L-E-C-T-U-S. There." @Ejder

'Why don't you give me an example of just how detailed?' "I most certainly will not." 'Maybe you could act it out?' Tranquillus swallowed, watching Samorix roll around on his bed. Damn that man, he was doing this on purpose, it dawned on him. Not that he had not played games like this before, but it still took him a while to catch up. When Tranquillus was trying to teach someone, he meant it. Until he didn't. "That's a shame, a scholar like you. It doesn't matter, though. You could read me a treatise on architecture and it would still be the most attractive thing I'd ever heard.' He accepted the strawberry, although he was suddenly self-conscious about what to do with it, after the show the gardener had put on. In the end, he popped the whole thing into his mouth with as much dignity as he could muster (which was not much). "If I read you anything, it will be texts that have educational value." he noted, once he had chewed the strawberry enough to talk again. "Although something tells me you are not focused on your education today at all." @Ejder

They rode side by side across the plains, their horses keeping pace. The cousins were both good riders, just like everyone in their tribes, and the horses they had chosen for themselves were carefully reared and trained. Azarion leaned forward, whooping as they flew over grass and flowers and splashed in streams. He was somewhat lighter than Tiranes, which would have been an advantage had his cousin not started out precious seconds sooner. This way, they were still side by side by the time they got to the hills that rose in a soft wave between them and the great river. This was usually as far as they came, unless their tribes had trade or negotiations to do with the Romans. Azarion glanced at his cousin, trying to see if he planned on slowing down. @Sharpie

Attis had absolutely no love lost for Tranquillus' master, and that did not exactly change during the time he'd spent in the household. He was also snarky enough to say that out loud, which rubbed Tranquillus the wrong way. He had respect for his master, and Attis, well, was not a person who was easy to deal with. But even he had to admit that allowing the slaves to read and write as kind of him. "Well, then. Maybe not a complete bastard, but Florus is absolutely terrified of him - probably thinks he'll get crucified for sneezing or something. I don't know what on earth my master did that convinced him all Romans are terrifying monsters but it seems to have stuck." "He is not verna." Tranquillus pointed out. Samorix had not been born into slavery, or even into the empire. That made all the difference. "He's letting you teach Florus to read and write? I take it back, he's only half a bastard, then. How's Samorix - Florus - doing, learning it?" "He is..." Tranquillus blinked, and smiled a little. "He is a very capable young man. He will learn in no time. Provided he puts int he effort and... can keep from being distracted." @Sharpie

'Or else?' Tranquillus opened and closed his mouth, but he really could not think of an appropriate punishment for being toyed with. 'What do you mean, indecent poems? Like how?' "Like... Indecent?" Tranquillus was still fighting the distraction, and it was not the best time to try for a definition of indecency in literature. "They... detail sex." he finished, a little sheepishly, knowing full well that this was where everything was headed. But by the gods, did the Romans need to tell everyone about it out loud? In writing?! 'Why don't you read them to me. And I'll be the judge of that?' "I do not own a Landicus book." Tranquillus stated, trying to salvage some of his shredded dignity. "And I am certainly not going to quote it from memory." @Ejder

"You mean, you don't want to miss out on an adventure. I can understand that." Azarion rolled his eyes at his cousin, patting Borena's nose. Of course he liked adventures. The two of them got into trouble more often than not, and if one of them came up with a reckless idea, the other usually followed, even if he snarked about it. This time, the idea had been Tiranês'. But Azarion was happy to come along. "Race you to the river?" "You enjoy losing that much?" Azarion grinned, pulling himself into the saddle in a swift motion, and nudging Borena into a gallop. "I'll be waiting for you there!" @Sharpie

Azarion managed to sneak out of his family's tent at dawn, before too many people were up to see him leaving the camp. If anyone asked, he was ready to claim he was going hunting, and he carried his bow and arrows to sell the lie. Or half-lie. Maybe they would hunt, once they were done staring at the Romans. He led Borena away from the camp and over the hill, just to find his cousin already waiting. "There you are! I thought you weren't coming," "Like I would let you wander off alone" Azarion grinned at his cousin, tossing him a bread roll he had put away for breakfast the night before. "If you didn't find your way back, I'd be the one sent out to fetch your ass anyway." @Sharpie

Early December, 76AD Even though Azarion had been living inside the city for more than a year, there was still a staple of Roman urban living that had eluded him so far: the baths. Sure, he knew how to bathe, and kept himself clean using the facilities that belonged to the stables. But if everyone else could be believed, that was a far cry from the bathing culture the Romans invented. In the eighteen years of his life, Azarion had only been familiar with washing, first in the rivers and lakes of Sarmatia where he learned to swim, and then more or less improvising as much as slaves were allowed. Now that he was a charioteer, slowly rising out of the masses of slaves in the city, Marcus kept reminding him that he was allowed to go to actual thermae if he wished. A real Roman bath house. Azarion avoided the issue as long as he could, but eventually Tiranes found out too, and somehow now here they were, in the doors of the part of the thermae that was open to slaves, and the freedmen of the nearby faction stables. Azarion frowned, but very enthuastic about the visit. He looked at his cousin, shrugging. Do we have to? @Sharpie

Tiranes hugged him, and Azarion froze up. He did not know how to react to someone comforting him; he had not had anyone do that for such a long time. And he was barely holding it together to begin with anyway, thinking of Safinia. In the end, he bit his lips, and sighed, enduring the hug a little longer before he stepped away. Thank you. He doubted the investigation would amount to much. But at least he felt a little less alone. @Sharpie

"You know, the more people who know about this, the better. And now I know about it, too." Fat lot of good that was gonna do, Azarion thought. Some slaves knowing about some man who went around hurting people, but not knowing who he was or where to find him? No one was going to care. Even if Jason was a slave in the imperial household. He had given up his faith in Roman justice a long time ago. "Tell me about your friend," Azarion sighed. He did not like remembering the last time he had seen Safinia. He still mourned her loss, as she had been his only... friend, for a long time. She worked here. Cooking. The signs did not do much justice to any of this. She was clever. And beautiful. And a little scary. He added with a small smile. @Sharpie

Azarion rolled his eyes at his cousin again. He was only stating the obvious, but the obvious right now was not welcome. "Is there anyone else who knows about this man?" Azarion nodded. Probably a lot of people did, but not many had started to put the different attacks together. And who knew how many women had been never found at all. There is a man. He came here, asking questions. He knows women were attacked. He talked to the chief. He shrugged. Even so, there was no plan for doing anything about it at all. @Sharpie