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Sharpie

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  1. Sharpie
    "It isn't mine yet," Teutus pointed out. "I'll only take it if you don't spot anything seriously wrong with it from a security point of view. I need it to be more secure than someone bringing olive oil into the city, after all." He wasn't about to discuss his actual imports out here, where anyone could overhear, but Alexius knew enough about his plans that he didn't need to, he thought. "As I said, you know far better than I do about how to guard things - if you don't think this can be easily guarded, or if there are other problems I haven't spotted, there are other warehouses and one of them might be better. Though I think this is a good one." It was certainly good from the point of view of transport and bringing things in without advertising what was on the premises to all and sundry who might have less than legitimate interests in the contents of the building. "As for working for me, I'd pay a fair wage. You'd be in charge of the guards, and I'd pay you properly for that responsibility," he said, and named a sum. @Atrice
  2. Sharpie
    Marcus had taken longer to return than Aulus expected. His father-in-law was a tough old stick, capable of looking after himself - usually. Right now, he was vey drunk (unless Aulus had misread the signs, which wouldn't be like him) and more than usually morose. He went to find him, more than a little concerned. His concern only grew as he found him, looking older and greyer than he had been, trying to hide the fact that he had thrown up. "You don't look well," he said, some of that concern seeping into his voice. "Let me call your slave - do you have a litter nearby? I can get you a carrying chair if not. I think you should perhaps go home and lie down. If you can't come to dinner tonight, it's all right, come another night - you are always welcome in my house; you know that." Horatia would worry, if she should hear about this. He wasn't sure whether he should tell her, or not - he didn't like to keep secrets from her, but this was her father's secret, not her husband's. Although, if she knew, she might be able to help; she knew her own father better than Aulus did, after all. @locutus-sum
  3. Sharpie
    Rufus accepted the hand, catching his lip between his teeth as the throbbing of his ankle reasserted itself, though it was duller now that it was strapped up and he'd had some wine to take the edge off. "I will try to," he said, hoping that he wouldn't be needed for anything too onerous when he reached home. "And I will, when I can. Thank you very much for your help." It had been a pleasant conversation with a nice man that Rufus wouldn't mind getting to know a little better; he hadn't been at all disdainful once he discovered Rufus' position in society, unlike the way that some people would react, even if Rufus was connected with the Imperial family. It had been a pleasant break from the realities of his day-to-day life - even though it had been caused by a sprained ankle that was going to give him grief on his way back up to the Palatine. @Chevi
  4. Sharpie
    "Yes. I see him fairly often - he's a house slave, does all the usual sort of things house slaves do. You might see him when the princess receives a message, he usually brings those unless he's busy doing something else." Volusa had a sneaking suspicion he positioned himself to be visible when messages were to be brought to Claudia; his way of checking on his sister even if they couldn't really speak to each other at those times. They managed to talk at other times, though; the advantages of knowing how the palace ran. There was a sort of wistfulness in Antheia's face and Volusa impulsively reached out to touch her arm. "I'm sure you'll make friends here; it might be busy but people are friendly, when they can take time to talk." And Antheia seemed nice enough. Volusa was sure she wouldn't be lonely for long. @locutus-sum
  5. Sharpie
    "Street theatre, yes - they usually do satirical stuff. You might need to know what the big news stories are to understand some of the characters and things," Teutus said. "If you prefer actual plays - either more serious things or comedy - there are several theatres out on the Campus Martius on the other side of the Capitoline from here if you want to see a play, and as I said, it doesn't cost much for a ticket." There were so many things to see and explore in Rome; Teutus had lived here all his life (well, he'd accompanied his father to his country villa for the summer months, but that wasn't home) and he didn't think he'd seen half of what there was to see. "The theatre is fun. The races are... exciting. You must have horse races or something like them at home? It's chariot races here - there are four teams and they race together, chariots drawn by four horses. It's very popular." Probably more popular than the gladiator games which his father preferred. @Atrice
  6. Sharpie
    There wasn't even the variety in fabrics worn by the Romans, not really - linen and wool and cotton, leather for belts and sandals and vambraces and the like. But no fur (well, that was understandable - it was far hotter here than it was for a great deal of the year on the steppes). Jason had seen silk, though only on the extremely wealthy women; his own people had traded much further east for that, but it wasn't limited to just the women of his people. Of course Cinnia couldn't stay out here; Jason couldn't stay for too much longer himself. He looked up at the sky, too, marvelling how small it seemed here, though it was just as clear and blue as it was on the vast plains of his home. "I am glad you did come out here; it was nice to talk with you and get to know you better." He showed his own wrist, the small cut now scabbed over. "I hope it scars," he said. It didn't matter too much if it didn't, but if it did, it would be a tiny permanent visual reminder that they weren't alone here any more. @Atrice
  7. Sharpie
    It wasn't much help, but it might be something. "It was a dark green cloak, Domine," Jason said to the man behind the desk. This was slow, but quicker than the yes or no answers they'd be limited to otherwise - so much of that was based on guesswork and asking the right questions. It really wasn't much of a description at all, so far - someone taller and younger than Marcus, with dark hair, wearing a dark green cloak - there could be hundreds of such men in Rome. "Was there anything remarkable about his face - a scar or a beard or anything unusual?" Marcus asked. @Chevi
  8. Sharpie
    He wanted to give his cousin a hug or - something, in sympathy for his friend, but couldn't. Not right now. He wished he'd had a bit of warning as to what this was all about. "A long cloak, Domine, down to his knees, with a hood." And if Azarion's master hadn't figured that bit out without Jason's help, he was blind. "He had the knife under it. He didn't seem to be a soldier, though. Maybe a hunter." He turned to Azarion, asking in their own language, "Your master said it was dark - did you see the colour of the cloak? Earth, grass, sky?" Meaning, of course, brown, green or blue - not that the signed language of the traders and the hunters had signs for the colours, but it did have signs for the world around them by which the actual colours could be inferred. Which was something that only someone familiar with the signs could ask, too, unless they wanted the yes or no responses that they'd be limited to without Jason. Marcus watched the pair of them. They were getting somewhere now, a little faster than they would have without Jason, at least. @Chevi
  9. Sharpie
    Jason switched back to Latin before he got thrown out on his ear; he was pretty sure his master would want a good report - and whether Eppius Parthenicus knew it or not, he had a hold over Jason and Azarion in that they were cousins and needed his permission if they were to be allowed to meet again after this. "He doesn't know, Domine. The man just wanted to get away without being seen. He'd been looking around the place where his friend died." He indicated Azarion; he wasn't entirely certain it was a good idea to let on just how well they knew one another - although it was obvious that they did know one another, simply from the fact that he was standing here having apparently been asked for by name. His Roman slave name, anyway. "What was he wearing?" This was probably where the trade sign would get interspersed with actual gestures. Jason braced himself for the game of charades that was surely about to follow in answer to that question. @Chevi
  10. Sharpie
    "I'll take the not right now," Gaius replied. "I mean, it's freezing, you really should have dressed a bit warmer. Not that I don't like what you're wearing, it just... doesn't go with the somewhat blue complexion you have right now." He had turned them back towards where they had left their slaves. "I really do think the very best thing you should do right now is go home and warm up," he added. "My slave will go for your litter - please tell me you didn't walk here in this weather?" He had no idea why she might turn him down; if it was purely about his brother's actions, well, Lucius would soon no longer be related to him in the eyes of the law, and it was hardly dishonourable to be an equite. If Lucius had decided to throw it all in and become a gladiator or actor, with all the associated infamia of those trades, he'd understand it a bit better. Maybe. @Sara
  11. Sharpie
    "Maybe not, but they'd get as spiky as a set of porcupines if you flat out told them they didn't have as much honour as they think they do," Gaius rejoined. Apparently he was less than sober by now, not that he cared. "Probably the last time any of them went on a campaign anywhere, Hannibal Barca was a little boy dreaming of storming the gates of Rome." He raised his cup. "We all know you needn't go getting your hands dirty by getting involved with the gangs, even at a remove, and all your insulae are perfectly sound and serviceable." @Sara
  12. Sharpie
    Jason very nearly clipped his cousin around the head before catching himself. "Of course you would," he said in his own language. "But you can't go around Rome looking at everyone, he'd be dead of old age before you got halfway. Did you see very much of him? Or just what he was wearing?" Marcus had rested his elbows on his desk and his chin on his hands, trying to squash the temptation to massage his temples as the conversation devolved into a language he didn't know. Jason was here to translate, not to argue, and turned back to the man behind the desk. He looked irritated, which Jason could understand. "The man could have killed him, he had a knife. But he decided not to." "Why?" Now, wasn't that a good question - though Jason was grateful he hadn't. To have lost his cousin for good so soon after finding him alive... @Chevi
  13. Sharpie
    "It's all I've known," Volusa admitted. She knew her way around the service corridors of the Palace - and even some of the more decorated public and private areas of it - but would get completely turned around if left to her own devices out in the streets of Rome itself. The Palatine with its houses and temples that were all for the use of the Imperial family were all the home she needed. Her mental picture of Athens resembled Rome, though perhaps with fewer hills. "It's busy, here, but you get used to it," she said. "If you get really lost, ask for me, or Cynane - or Helenus, who's my brother and could find his way around if he was blindfolded." @locutus-sum
  14. Sharpie
    Jason nearly choked at Azarion's blunt 'he is shit at asking questions' though he managed to recover his equilibrium. You are going to get in trouble. Big trouble, he signed back rapidly, before saying aloud, "Slower. You are signing in Sarmatian and I have to translate to Latin." "He's taller than you, Domine, and younger. Not fat - strong. Maybe with dark hair." Marcus nodded. "It was dark, it would have been hard to see. Was there anything unusual about him - like a scar or anything?" Azarion wouldn't need the question translated and Jason fell silent, waiting as Azarion thought it over. @Chevi
  15. Sharpie
    "I live in an insula on the Esquiline," Teutus said. "That same hill as my father's house... you know the street his house it on. On that street, before you get as far as his house, look for a fountain with a dolphin. The stairs to my apartment are between a basket-weaver's and a shoe-maker's shop. Or ask anyone around there, they'll point you in the right direction." He shook his head. The Subura... well, there were worse places to live, but only marginally worse. Crammed in between the river and the Capitoline was worse, but the Subura wasn't what Teutus would call good. But then, every Roman thought their own particular area of Rome was the best. "At least you'll have stories to tell at home, about visiting the greatest city on earth," he said. "Have you gone to the chariot races or the theatre yet - the theatre doesn't cost much and the races are free." panem et circenses, the way to please the masses, ensured that, at least, although Wulfric wouldn't be entitled to claim anything from the corn dole, not being a citizen. @Atrice
  16. Sharpie
    Jason took in his cousin's appearance - not much had changed from the last time he'd seen him, although the bandage on his left arm was new. At least it wasn't his dominant arm, and they seemed to be taking care of him, which was something. "I think your master might know that," he said dryly, hating that the presence of the other man meant he had to talk Latin. And not being alone with his cousin reinforced the fact that they were both slaves. "I want as much of a description as possible," Marcus put in. "Height, age, anything at all." If it was the same man who'd attacked and killed Safinia, he was going to put the Whites on alert and stop them using that alley for the foreseeable future. Two members of the faction attacked in the same place could not be a coincidence. Jason nodded, hoping that the trade sign - and Azarion - would be up to this. @Chevi
  17. Sharpie
    "I'm used to living simply," he said with a shrug. Gods knew he had few enough friends who'd want to come to some extravagant party of other - none of his real friends (who were few enough) would care to attend something of the ridiculous ostentatiousness of some upper class parties he'd heard of. Some nice food and good conversation were all Teutus really wanted at a party, after all. "I would like that," he told her. "I want it to be your home too, you can run it just how you want to, I won't interfere with anything." It would be something for her, as his business was for him - an escape from the past and a way to make the present their own. He shrugged. "No, not really. I probably ought to think about marrying but... it can wait for a bit." A prosperous freedman who had a well-known and respected business in trade would be a better prospect than a freedman who had nothing at all. "I'm the guardian of Charis' son and Antonia Varia," he said. If anything happened to Tertius, Teutus would be expected to do everything for them that Tertius would have. Just one reason why he had to hope that nothing would happen to Tertius before Peregrinus came of age, even though on a more personal level, he wouldn't mind too much if it did. Something he would never admit to anyone, ever. @Sarah
  18. Sharpie
    It was early in the morning when a slave had come by Tiberius' rooms with a most unusual message and request, and Jason was still as confused as he had been then as he followed the messenger down the Palatine hill and across the city, passing under the shadow of the Circus Maximus, a route he had traced for the first time recently. He had no idea why he had been sent for - or rather, why his master had been asked for the loan of his body slave for the morning - but hoped that it wasn't for anything bad. They were drawing closer to the large building that Jason recognised as the White stables, and his confusion was growing by the second, until he was shown into a room that reminded him strongly of his master's private office. There was a man seated behind the desk. Jason didn't recognise him, though he was more exotic-looking than the average Roman, with dark curly or wavy hair cropped short, dark penetrating eyes and a white tunic woven from a fine wool, over which he was wearing a green pallium pinned with an expensive-looking brooch. The expression on his face seemed unamused. "You are Jason?" Jason swallowed. "Yes, Domine." At least, he thought, his own master knew where he was. "You are Sarmatian?" Now even more confused, Jason nodded. "Yes, Domine." "My name is Marcus Eppius Parthenicus, I have been informed that you might be able to help." Before Jason could even begin to try to puzzle that one out, the man behind the desk had clapped his hands, summoning a slave who was sent to fetch Azarion. Well, that explained some of it. But only the smallest fraction. "I am hoping you might be able to translate for me," Eppius Parthenicus continued, before Azarion entered the room. Jason's eyes went first to the bandage around his arm, then to his cousin's face, then to the face of the man behind the desk. @Chevi
  19. Sharpie
    Marcus all but threw up his hands in disgust. Though, the signs that Azarion was making (and that were surely hurting his injured arm) were not the simple mime he was used to, but something more complex. "Fine. I will send to ask if this Jason can come. Tomorrow; it's far too late to bother anyone this evening." Azarion had best be on his best behaviour for the rest of his life after tonight; Marcus could not quite believe how much he had let him get away with! @Chevi
  20. Sharpie
    Marcus surveyed the four stark words in confusion. The Palatine was where the emperor lived - though the name scribed into the golden wax was a one-word Greek name, presumably that of a slave who served in the palace complex somewhere. It was probably too late in the evening to request that any of the palace slaves come down here from the Palatine, though. What Sarmatia had to do with any of this, though, he couldn't imagine. "You want me to send to the Emperor's palace for a Jason to help? A slave, I imagine... a Sarmatian?" If that guess was right, then they might be able to pinpoint the right Jason, which would at least be something. He pinched the bridge of his nose, imploring Ahura Mazda to send some sanity into this whole mess. For an equite to send to the palace on the word of a slave... at least it was to request the services of a slave, rather than, say, the Emperor or his brother! @Chevi
  21. Sharpie
    "All women like their jewellery," he said with a teasing smile, though Cinnia had never worn anything that might count as 'jewellery' - even the simple wooden beads that he'd seen some other female slaves wearing, though he had seen her with a ribbon woven into her hair on special occasions. That was rare, though. "I don't understand the Romans," he admitted. "It doesn't matter what rank a man is, they all seem to want to look the same, with the same sort of tunics, and short hair." He was perhaps being a bit harsh; tunics varied in colour and length and style, but there still wasn't the sort of personal variation between Roman men that there had been between men in his tribe at home with their different ornaments and tokens even if their outer clothing was pretty similar. "I guess that most men you've spoken to here don't have the sort of story you and I have," he added, a bit more soberly. Not that he wanted anyone to have that kind of story - he wouldn't wish his memories and nightmares on his worst enemy. Well, maybe he would, but only on his worst enemy. "Anyway, you're a warrior, I'm a warrior, that makes us the same, doesn't it? Who cares what anyone else thinks." @Atrice
  22. Sharpie
    Marcus nodded, the ghost of a smile hovering at his mouth. He hoped that Azarion had connected with his assailant and that it had hurt. He probably wasn't supposed to wish things like that, but gods knew Azarion ought to have some sort of justice for that gash to his arm. He looked mildly surprised when the youngster signed a request for something to write with; he hadn't thought Azarion could read or write. That would make things much easier, and he turned to one of the hovering slaves. "I want a writing tablet and stylus." The slave disappeared in his errand and Marcus returned his attention to Azarion, though he didn't say anything further to him just yet, snapping his fingers to draw the attention of one of the other slaves. "Help him sit up, if he's able to, and get him something to eat and drink - not too strong." The tablet was passed to him and he handed it to Azarion. "You two can wait, everyone else can be about their business." @Chevi
  23. Sharpie
    "Thank you," he said, twisting to give her a better angle to work at. "Yes - not just in the hair. We like pretty things, unusual things - you'll be hard-pressed to find a Sarmatian who hasn't got all sorts of little trinkets in their hair or on their garments. Or even on the horses' bridles." Beads, coins, all sorts of interesting things, each one with a story or memory to it. It wasn't so easy to do here in the palace in Rome - Jason certainly couldn't wear the little things he had collected, but he kept them safe. He'd even managed to keep hold of one or two of his original things that he'd been wearing on that day. "We sometimes give one to a friend, though mostly we find our own, anything that is pleasing to the eye, or special in some way," he added, turning back round once Cynane had finished. "Don't your people do anything like that?" It was... interesting, to share this information about his own people. They never needed to say it, it was just a cultural thing that they did, and nobody else had ever really asked about his own people and where he'd come from. Cynane was the first one who'd taken any sort of real interest in Jason as a Sarmatian and it felt... good, in a way that he hadn't felt good in a very long time. @Atrice
  24. Sharpie
    Teutus didn't know when he'd grown so cynical about his own life and his relationship with his father, but sitting across from a brother (half-brother but who was counting?) whose expression was guileless and so utterly uncynical, he felt suddenly like some of those grumpy old men muttering to one another, "Children in my day wouldn't have dreamed of doing..." whatever innocent pastime had brought censure this time. "I wish you'd had better luck than you found here," he said. And better relations than my family, he added mentally although he didn't say the words out loud. He believe Wulfric when he said he hadn't been looking for any money or anything - he had noted the quality of his clothing at that disastrous dinner, even though the fit and form was not Roman in the least. He had behaved impeccably - if anything, it was Tertius who seemed the barbarian in comparison. A thought he was not going to share with his father or anyone else. "I am a little surprised you'd still want that." He gave a half-shrug. "But yes - it would be nice to have a relation I can get on with." One who didn't seem to be silently judging everyone and everything around him to impossible standards. "I would like you to meet my mother some time, I think, while you're still in Rome," he added, though it remained to be seen quite how his mother would feel about meeting the son produced from a relationship Tertius had had while she still carried a torch for him and hoped that he would come home to free and her son. "I will need to tell her about you first, though - maybe the day after tomorrow? Let me know where to find you and I can give you a proper invitation." @Atrice
  25. Sharpie
    Marcus turned the slave tablet around in his hands, examining it before looking back to Azarion. "I don't have to put an actual collar on you, do I? This was taken off deliberately, I can see that; the cord hasn't been cut. Now, was it for protection, or because you needed some sort of weapon?" Technically, it could have been both (Marcus might have made a professional career in the chariot racing... stadium, but he was aware of gladiators and the games. Enough to know that weapons could shield in certain circumstances.) He set it aside; he wasn't angry that Azarion had taken it off - desperate times and desperate measures, after all, and if he'd been wearing an actual collar riveted on, he wouldn't have had even that slim defence. He'd been injured even with the meagre protection of the wooden board. "So. Your assailant. Would he have been about my height, taller, or shorter?" @Chevi
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