Liv

I too haven't been active in some time, and much of what has been said resonates with me. Being burnt out, having lost muse, real life growing increasingly more demanding. AeRo has given me a lot during my time here - fun, joy, sadness and excitement through posts, and a sense of community that is very hard to match, especially as few online roleplaying communities are as long-lived as this one. As a writing member, my selfish preference between a reboot and going freeform/sandbox would be the former. I've grown fond of and attached to so many characters here (not just my own), and would like to continue keeping up with them even if the lore and setting have changed a bit. Yet there are some things and elements I would like to see happen that I'm aware are unlikely to, and that's okay - we're humans, not tireless inexhaustible machines. As someone who has opened a post to start a reply and closed it after hours of staring at the screen because nothing is coming out far more times than I would like and each time the feeling I'm letting my fellow members down gets worse, my vote is to go with what is tenable and feasible, not just now but long-term - and the present status quo is neither. AeRo has had many incarnations and iterations over the years, and maybe that's why it has stayed alive for so long. If its next evolution is a more hands-off one and the alternative is the site closing down, then that decision makes sense to me. Ultimately, AeRo is your garden of creation @Gothic, and you've been kind enough to maintain it and let us play in it for all this time without asking for anything in return.

There was all manner of labouring women: some were terrified. Others could hardly wait to meet the being they had carried for nine months. Others still treated it as a task to get over and done with. Melia got the feeling her patient belonged to the latter group and couldn't help but chuckle at Metella's comment. "It will all be worth it when you have your baby in your arms," Melia smiled, conveniently skipping over any possible difficulties. No need to scare a first-time mother, as pragmatic as the red-haired woman appeared to be. It was hard to predict how quickly things would progress, so it was just as well they had all night. As if on cue, the slave from before returned with the requested items and mumbled something about being just outside if anything else was required. Knowing how bloody things could get, Melia couldn't blame her. She gave the room a quick sweeping look, concluding there likely wasn't a birthing chair to be had - maybe the household in general didn't have much use for one. In any case, it was up to the mother to decide how she felt most comfortable. Melia took Metella's hand into her own, trying to inspire confidence in the other woman. "No two births are alike. This is different for every woman and every child. So it's important for me that you are comfortable, so the child will also feel comfortable enough to come out. If you prefer to lie down in bed, that's fine. If you prefer to get down on your hands and knees, that is also fine. If you would rather squat and hold onto something, I will help you through that." And when the pain inevitably became more intense, the one thing that was the same for all births, the contents of at least one of the pyxides would have their moment in the sun, she completed the sentence in her head. @Chevi

Business had been neither great nor terrible. Babies were born every day, and people needed medicine every day, but there were more than enough people in Rome who shared Melia's profession. For the time being she was doing enough to keep a roof over her head, food in her stomach and her supply of necessary materials well-stocked. Word of mouth did not hurt either, although she was more than a little surprised when a senator's slave came calling on her, requesting she attend to one of his fellow servants who was with child. She had not realised news of her trade had reached such lofty ears. As the pair zigzagged through city streets Melia considered the possible consequences of this call. She had more than two reasons not to mess this up - despite mother and child's health being paramount, this was the sort of job that could open a few doors. A wealthy patrician who was sufficiently concerned about his slave's well-being to send for a midwife was bound to have many other slaves, presumably in good health. He would have friends with many slaves of their own too. Perhaps amongst the great servant flock she would one day find her siblings. After countless turns and ups and downs, she found herself being ushered into one of the majestic domi that graced the thirteenth region. Another solicitous slave led Melia to a more modest room where a young woman with red hair as bright as flame and a bulging belly rested on the bed. If she was still in the 'deep breaths' phase rather than 'scream and moan' it was a good sign. After a whispered requested for the other slave to procure clean cloths, honey, hot water and warm olive oil, Melia turned to her patient in a gentle tone and with what she hoped was a calming smile. "Hello. My name is Melia." A slave would probably feel more comfortable with just the one name; this wasn't a stuck-up Roman to whom she had to prove her status. "Your master sent for me, to help you tonight. Is this your first child?" As her lips moved so did her hands, already extracting a series of small pyxides and leather pouches from the bigger bag she carried and setting them on a small table next to the bed. @Chevi (and @Sharpie)

Hey everyone, This is something I should have done a while ago, but it was surprisingly difficult to come to terms with the fact that my inspiration up and left sometime ago. I've tried a number of things to get that spark back but no such luck, so I'll be taking a break from writing for an indeterminate amount of time. You've all been so patient and I'm really sorry I wasn't able to follow up to the level you deserve. That said, I'm hesitant to kill off my characters so they will be temporarily exiting the scene with the gist of it in the spoiler tag. I'll still be hanging round the server so feel free to contact me whether just for a chat or if there's anything you'd like to sort out, and thank you all for allowing me to write with you amazing people!

"For once I find myself pleased that we are in agreement," Titus acknowledged with no mirth to match Attis' good spirits. As friendly as Ragum seemed to be, any burglar seeing a dog bigger than a goat running towards it might question their life decisions before a monster tongue viciously attacked them. "Does it bark at you at all?" he inquired none too innocently. "It sees you all the time, so probably not." Maybe one day Titus would come to visit Longinus and be greeted with news that his friend's body slave had succumbed to one too many of Licky's wet kisses. He answered the question with a sound of assent before elaborating slightly, still stroking a content Ragum. "A girl fetched me some wine. You need to tell whoever's in charge of the amphorae that they need to switch things up a bit, I could swear it's the exact same vintage I had the last time I was here." It was not bad wine by any means, quite the opposite, but either somebody was extraordinarily fond of it or it just happened to be on rotation that day as Fortuna would have it. Yet again Titus agreed with Attis, this time silently. He had never been round dogs this gargantuan to know when they were fully grown. "I could try to ask the man I got him from so you could have an idea... but it's more fun if you find out on your own, wouldn't you say?" he gave Attis a deceptively charming smile before Ragum caught his attention. The dog had presumably had enough of head pats and was now lying down on its back, paws half curled and tail wagging as it flashed them its belly like some unorthodox prostitute. "Is he like this with everybody?" What a trusting dog. It was clearly leading a good life. @Sharpie

Indignation shone in Livia's eyes at the sharp tone Horatia used, not expecting to be scolded as though she were a child and her sister a know-it-all teenager. For once she was honest in confessing her concerns, like she might have done to their mother had she been alive. So much for trying to to appeal to Horatia's humility, of which there was clearly none. Focusing on Faustus again was a welcome distraction, and Livia simply gave her sister an exasperated nod. Did she really mean it? If Horatia had lied with Publius' offspring she could certainly do the same now. But it didn't matter: her son would always be the most adorable baby in Livia's eyes."Yes. Unusual, isn't it?" To think she had dared defy tradition and select a name neither her nor Secundus could find in their family trees. Much to her amazement, her husband had not objected to her suggestion and had even mumbled his approval. Perhaps fatherhood was having a positive effect on him."But it felt fitting. We are indeed very fortunate to have him." She stroked the little boy's cheek fondly, distracting him from the momentous task of trying to fit all his fingers into his tiny mouth. "I can't wait for those days," Livia grinned, already picturing them in her mind's eyes. Would Faustus try to chase after her with his chubby little legs? What would come first, words or steps? Provided he wasn't robbed of them by the gods, and Livia along with him. She peeled her eyes from the baby and stared gravely at her sister for a moment. "I'll hold you to that promise." Since Horatia was on such good terms with the forces that ruled the world of mortals... "After what happened last time, I..." She averted her gaze, willing them to stay dry. No matter how much time had passed, Livia did not think she would ever be able to mention the subject without feeling emotional despite social expectations, nor did she think she would ever be able to put it behind her. It would always hover about in her memories like a faraway cloud on a sunny day. "... I didn't think I would have been able to handle disappointing people again," Livia admitted in a guilty whisper. Had she birthed the child herself she would have rather kept Horatia at arm's length anyway regardless of how caring and supportive her sister was - if things went well, she wanted to learn to know her baby first-hand rather than have matronly wisdom shoved down her ears; if they went wrong, there would be only her own grief to manage and not coddle somebody else's. She took a sip of wine and glanced at her sister's bump, fleetingly wondering if the outcome would be a positive one. "Would you want me to come for you?" Would Horatia want her younger sister to see her at her most vulnerable? Probably not. Livia moved on to a slightly different kind of speculation . gently teasing the other woman. "I imagine Aulus wants another boy, as all men do. What are you hoping for?" @Sara

The horse seemed to calm down as soon as it got what it wanted, leaving Melia to wonder if the chuckle had been directed at it or at her and her ignorance of equine behaviours. Even if it turned out to be the latter it had not sounded unkind, so she opted to chuckle as well. "You're quite right, this isn't a braid," she acknowledged with a strained smile. "But it's all I had time for today." How was the young man to know she had been up until late helping a fishmonger's young wife bring her (very stubborn) first child into the world? But he was removing the tie from his mouth, ready to start... but apparently not without proper introductions. Melia made out the letters without much difficulty, briefly wondering what sort of slave 'Azarion' was - perhaps a stable boy - and how he had ended up there. Seeing it as her own brain had posed the questions so quickly, it was only natural he would want to know the same about her. "I'm Considia Melia. Melia is fine." Maybe one day she would be brave enough to reclaim her birth name, but today was not that day; it wouldn't serve her purpose. "I deal in herbs and medicines," she patted the pouch twice in quick succession, "and I am hoping to expand my customer base. Don't know if that is something that might interest your faction...?" Not 'your master' - as a slave Melia had had enough of those words, not letting her forget even for one second that she was nothing but property without agency. Employing them was seldom her first choice when talking to those still in servitude. @Chevi

For once he found himself in agreement with Attis; 'Licky' was very apt indeed. Ragum too, given how the dog's jowls wrinkled and crinkled and creased and folded like some discarded piece of fabric, but Titus' brand of rather limited creativity was much more in tune with the cheeky body slave's own. "Both suit him," he acknowledged with a nod, watching as Ragum-Licky again used an enormous paw to relieve an itch. "If your slave friend at the door did his job he should," was the curt reply as he slowly reached out a hand to stroke the dog on its gigantic head, wary of any sudden movements that could startle the canine and have it chomp down on said hand. Titus' relationship with Longinus was informal enough that he would essentially let himself in without waiting for a slave to announce his presence to the unwitting host, and for all he knew Longinus was busy redecorating some room with even more eclectic accessories brought from some plundered British village the gods knew where. The dark fur was surprisingly soft. Licky seemed to enjoy it as its foot-long tail started wagging from side to side in typical dog fashion. An amicable giant, then. "He's not a very good guard dog, is he? If this is how he greets strangers..." Not much of a thief deterrent apart from its size- what was this dog good for, then? Despite his doubts, Titus turned to Attis with a less impolite question. "Do you think he's done growing? If he gets any bigger you might have to build him a stall." @Sharpie

The way the young man's gaze stayed trained on her had Melia wondering if he was not entirely convinced by her explanation. Did he suspect her of being some criminal? Denying it would only make him more sceptical, and he hadn't quite accused her of anything yet. She resolved to ignore the look, but not without first admitting to herself there was something funny about the whole image with the tie hanging from his mouth - almost like a child caught red-handed doing something they were not supposed to. The tentative smile that had begun to form on her lips faded into a startled expression as the horse snorted, possibly demanding attention as it touched its nose to its caretaker's face. Was it upset or just impatient? Melia knew too little about horses to tell. "I can do it for you, if you'd like," Melia offered, realising a moment later that he probably wouldn't learn much from somebody else braiding his hair. "Or I could show you how I usually braid mine and you could try it on yours?", she pointed at the messy bun on her head that was very much not a braid but just as practical as one. @Chevi

'Celsus' - wasn't that the wooden Dacian he had traded Longinus for Florus? Not an unreasonable choice: a brute of a man for a brute of a dog. "Hmm," was Titus' disappointed response. "They are certainly a good match in terms of size." Whether the same could be said of their respective tempers remained to be seen. As if it had somehow understood it was the topic of conversation, the dog sprung into motion with surprising agility. Its intentions, albeit friendly, were not those of a sharp mind - yet another point of similarity with its caretaker. With only a few seconds before impact, Titus weighed his options. Kicking the dog would be ill-advised in more ways than one. Taking cover behind Attis would probably be extremely ineffectual as the dog was more than capable of toppling them both. Distracting it would have been nice, but he had no bone or stick to throw in the opposite direction. That left withstanding the crash. Even with mind and body ready, the dog's enthusiastic tackle-greeting nearly knocked the wind out of Titus. A useful experience if any enemies of Rome ever considered using elephants again. He managed to somehow bat the monster's paws away before it succeeded in hugging him and directed it towards Attis, hoping it would choose a new target. The dog barked again and sat on its haunches, apparently expecting something as it looked up at the slave. "Is it always this energetic?" Truth be told it had not done much yet, but the little it had had been intense. "What's it called, by the way?" Something like Polyphemus would suit it. @Sharpie

It was a slightly disappointed Artemon that nodded as his nymph explained she would save her half of the bun for later. He had hoped they could discuss its rustic yet exquisite flavour and that in doing so he might entice her to sample more foods in his company, but her reasoning was perfectly sensible. In fact, now that he thought about it, it was very flattering indeed! "I hope you enjoy it," he mumbled with uncharacteristic shyness. It was the first time in forever that he was the target of such a nice compliment. That hair really was something. Artemon watched as if in a trance as the fair strands moved and bounced in synchrony with their owner's movements - he could swear they did a little happy dance of their own when she laughed! Or that might have been his heart fluttering instead. "Wow!" he let out, unable to hide his awe. It was not a wig, could you believe that?! Artemon was sorely tempted to bring his clean(er) hand to a silvery golden lock and give it a good tug, but the lady would not appreciate that at all. Her slaves would probably beat him up if he even tried. What a shame it was not to be able to touch it! "So your ancestors had the same hair colour? Is it common amongst people from the north?" He wasn't quite sure where or what Noricum was - all these Roman city names sounded the same anyway, and 'the north' was as faraway a concept to him as the source of the Nile: he knew it existed somewhere but that was about it. "It is not only beautiful, but very practical as well! I imagine lice are much easier to detect, aren't they?" Like dark stains on a white toga! "Lice are a big problem in Egypt, lots of people wear wigs instead," he commented with the most serious of looks before finishing up his half of the bun and licking blackcurrant juice off his fingers. "I remember when I was little one of my sisters got lice, my mother had her hair all shaved off before they spread to the rest of us." Unconsciously, Artemon ran a sticky hand through his own unruly mop. No lice there! At least not as far as Artemon was able to tell - sure, his scalp itched every now and then, but it was mostly due to sweat what with how hard Gallus worked him... or so he thought. @David

It seemed to Melia she had caught the young man unawares, going by the way his gaze shifted from her to the horse to her again. He did not look particularly alarmed or hostile, though, which she took as a good sign. Yet he did not immediately question her presence - perhaps he did not speak Latin, although he seemed to understand it. Even without words he made a good point: braiding hair was even harder with one's hands full. "Oh, this..." Melia put the herbs back into the pouch with slow movements so both human and horse could see she wasn't hiding anything nefarious in it. "It's medicine." She did not elaborate further, figuring that if the information was of interest to the young man he would pick up on it. Either way, it couldn't hurt to act friendly towards him; he could be Melia's in to the faction, whatever his actual role was. "I meant with your hair," she gestured at his untamed forelock. Overall it did seem long enough that it would get in his way, bobbing before his eyes like a patchy curtain. "Are you looking to braid it? Or tie it?" With the piece of leather in his mouth he could do either. @Chevi

Name: LivDiscord: liv#0609

Preposterous. Livia nearly snorted at the blatant falsehood, but curbed the instinct just in time to produce a less obviously doubtful reaction. "Silphium is said to help with such plans, although I imagine it is no obstacle for the gods' will if they have other designs," she countered, holding Horatia's gaze as though she had not got the message. She was no little girl to be scolded anymore, not even by a consul's wife. Besides, what could a letter have changed? Absolutely nothing other than giving Livia more time to digest the news; her response would still have been the same. "No, I suppose you're not. The older the mother is the harder it becomes for both, isn't it?" Livia mused, managing to infuse her tone with some sympathy for Horatia's self-inflicted situation. "Does it not scare you?" She took her sister's hands into her own, genuinely wondering if Horatia's hubris made her unafraid of the risks childbirth at any age entailed. Would the gods stand for it? Or did they perhaps support it? "That you might leave Titus and Calpurnia bereft just as they approach adulthood and will need your guidance?" Livia's eyes grew moist, though not out of concern for her niece and nephew - it was the never-quite-healed sadness of having been robbed of Livia the elder's presence for her own milestones and the unsuitability of the two substitutes: Aglaea present and faithful until she wasn't and Horatia too full of self-importance. She let go of her sister's hands, all of a suddent fed up with the contact. It was all too easy to shift focus back to the small form that gurgled at the hand touching his cheek, making Livia grin despite herself. "Isn't he just?" He was beautiful, yes, but most importantly, he was hers, Secundus be damned. The outburst of emotion from Horatia was unexpected, confusing Livia with its genuineness and leaving her to stare wide-eyed at her sister before her hand took on a mind of its own and briefly clasped Horatia's mid-air as it retreated. "Thank you," she swallowed the lump in her throat that had appeared out of nowhere before it could grow any bigger. An enraptured glance at the little boy confirmed Horatia's statement, and Livia found herself chuckling along. "They looked like rosy little frogs when they were babies, it's not hard to be more handsome than that!" Truth be told, Faustus had also looked a little squashed in his first few days of life, but had thankfully gained a cuter and chubbier mien quickly - not that Livia would ever admit to having thought of her son in such an undignified way. The candid atmosphere was disturbed by the slave from earlier rushing in with platters of fruit, cheese and olives, followed by another diligent slave carrying bread and wine. They were swiftly dismissed much to their relief, but knew not to wander too far in case they were needed again. Livia pensively eyed an olive for a few seconds before finally plucking it and popping it into her mouth. "When does it get better?" The look she gave Horatia was one of anxiety. "When do you stop fearing he's going to catch a fever and die, or stop breathing in his sleep, or get dysentery, or anything, really? How do you know he will be fine?" It was hard to imagine the bouncy baby next to them as anything but healthy, but Livia knew how quickly things could change. For the first time she acknowledged Horatia's bump with no malice, her gaze descending for a moment before meeting her sister's blue eyes again. "Aren't you afraid something won't be right?" Why subject oneself to that torture again after two healthy and mostly grown children? @Sara

Artemon had just begun nodding in response when he caught himself again. The problem with being a naturally very expressive person was that it was hard to remember not to act his usual way whilst sitting in a chair with a barber's blades mere millimetres from his flesh. "No problem!" he chirped, trying to sit very still as Barbatius' body came into view - he did not want to leave the shop with lopsided hair. "What would happen to the Reds if everyone liked the Whites, eh?" For once Artemon managed to stop a shrug in time, and he beamed with pride before acknowledging his new barber friend was probably not used to socialising with the, ah, not wealthy or comfortable. "I understand. You prefer to make friends with people of higher station and heavier purses. From one businessman to another, I cannot fault you for it!" His blue eyes shone with seriousness and he would have clasped Barbatius' hands for emphasis had they been free rather than about to snuff the life out of his stubborn and overgrown curls. He was good at obeying, and so he closed his eyes like the other man suggested. Ending up with an eyelash in your eye was painful enough that he had no desire to find out if it would be any worse with hair. "Speaking of business, it must have taken you some time to build your clientele. How long have you been established here?" Hopefully this line of questioning would segue into an opportunity to enquire about patronage and investments; yet before Artemon could formulate the next question in his head, a voice coming from outside interrupted his thoughts unceremoniously. "Hello? Is this the barbershop of Marcus Barbatius?" Great. Now it wasn't just Artemon's thoughts that had been interrupted - his chance to conduct self-serving research was most likely gone. Unable to stifle a disappointed sigh, he opened his eyes again, barely registering that the quiet slave had moved towards the door. "It seems like your skills are in high demand today," Artemon commented in a sulky tone, knowing perfectly well this was to be expected but wanting to feel all posh and special for just a little longer. @Atrice

Night had fallen early and quickly as it tended to do when winter approached, leaving the small room and the rest of the domus to rely on a profusion of oil lamps, braziers and fireplaces. The wet nurse had retreated to the kitchens for a well-deserved meal - the only other resident to eat as well as her employers thanks to her status as single source of nourishment for their precious heir. Livia remained leaning over the cradle, holding a rattle that little Faustus followed with rapt attention as she shook it and waved it back and forth just above his face. Sometimes when she looked into his little curious brown eyes she thought she could see Aglaea's gentle ones gazing back at her. Other times she wondered if this was how her husband's eyes had looked like before cruelty had taken over him, if there ever had been such a time. A knock on the door interrupted their routine, and Livia had scarcely turned round to glare at the slave for daring to disturb them when she was met with her older sister's vivacious greeting. "Horatia," she replied automatically, "how good to see you." A frown of confusion marred her face for a second, disappearing as remembrance smoothed it over. She was supposed to have sent a letter cancelling the visit because of some made-up indisposition, but it was only now hitting Livia that she had not actually done it. "I am so sorry, I totally forgot you were coming!" She put the rattle down by the baby's feet, stomped the urge to roll her eyes and instead faced Horatia with open arms, crossing the short distance between the two of them. "Babies make you so forgetful, don't they?" An unusual prominence as they hugged had her quickly glancing down, the confirmation of her suspicions making her release Horatia and take a terse step back. Of course she would do this. How very typically Horatia. Of course she had to show off the flawless matron she was, the consul's perfect wife. Of course Horatia would parade her own fertility in a visit ostensibly dedicated to her nephew, even after all Livia had been through! She smothered the words on the tip of her tongue and replaced them with honeyed, venom-laced ones in a tone that could be interpreted as keenly interested or mocking or both, depending on the listener. "Did my baby make you miss a new one of your own? Or are you and Aulus already planning for a reelection?" Nothing screamed more dedication to Rome than managing to conceive a future upstanding citizen amongst all the duties that surely kept a consul very busy. "Oh, but where are my manners?" Livia smiled, gesturing for her sister to take a seat before raising her voice towards the open door. "Caenis! Bring us food and wine!" The silly slave should not have gone too far. "You must be so tired after your journey! Is there anything in particular you would like?" she asked her sister as she sat next to the cradle where Faustus was making gurgling noises typical of his age, and very much expecting Horatia to bring up some inane craving she was having. @Sara

Melia approached the compound with steady steps, ignoring the frantic galloping of her heart threatening to leap out of her chest. How would she be received, if at all? They might refuse to see her, or send her away immediately. But the chariot factions attracted people from all corners of the empire, enslaved or free - and amongst them might be her brother. Would she know Izem if she saw him, or him her? A young man with a horse in tow came into view. They seemed approachable - more than a giant of a guard, in any case. Melia stuck a hand into a leather bag the size of a large apple; it reemerged seconds with a small fistful of symphytum root in it. Good for people and good for horses. Good for explaining what she was doing there too. The horse whinnied, seemingly unhappy that its two-legged companion did not give it his full attention. She took it as an opportunity to get closer, producing a quick smile despite herself as she realised what the young man was trying to do. How many times had she and her sister braided each other's hair? Perhaps he had nobody to teach him how. Her feet stopped a few feet in front of the pair, where the horse could see her and she could see it. The last thing she wanted was for it to be spooked and kick about. "Are you in need of assistance?" @Chevi

The barber did not like parties, he said. Artemon gasped as his eyebrows shot up and nearly disappeared into the curls Barbatius hadn't got round to yet. How could one not like parties?! Where there was - most of the time - food, drink and merriment?! He started to shake his head in disapproval, stopping as the cool metal of the scissors touched his skin and he remembered where he was and why he was there. It would be foolish to ruin this very expensive haircut with a thoughtless motion. "Maybe you haven't been to a good one yet!" he countered gaily, eager to change the other man's mind. "Tell you what, I will check with Alexius when the next party will be and then I'll come and invite you and we can go together," Artemon explained without so much as a pause for air. "And then when other guests ask you who you are, you can just say 'ah, I came with Artemon!" And then Barbatius would see for himself that parties could be really fun. "We live in an insula on the Esquiline. I live at the very top with my brother and Alexius lives downstairs with his son. It's a nice place!" Sure, it was a bit shabby here and there, but it wasn't like he and Iophon could afford much else. "Not as nice as this, of course," he waved his hand in a sweeping motion, "but it's cosy! People are nice and there haven't been any fires yet!" Yes, that clinched it; his new friend Barbatius should really come and visit. @Atrice

Going to keep this one short and simple. Since Aglaea up and left, my Livia has been making life hell for the poor soul below, who has found herself involuntarily promoted to body slave (at least until Livia finds a more suitable one). Name: Ursa Age: late teens to mid twenties Playby: very open! The only physical trait of hers mentioned so far is curly hair, so feel free to pick whoever you like that fits the bill. History: also very open! I'd say she's been with Livia and her family for at least the last 2-3 years. What happened before that is up to you. Personality: even more open! Make her meek, make her spiteful, make her angry, make her cheerful - whatever suits your fancy. Other information: This is not a happy household. Livia's husband and paterfamilias Secundus is more volatile than ether, Livia herself is a bitch childish, petty and vindictive, and the whole situation was made worse in late summer 76AD when Livia's beloved body slave and companion, Aglaea, gave birth to her master's child and ran away shortly afterwards. The baby is being raised as though he were Livia's and is the couple's only child. Ursa would be aware of at least the gist of it, eventually the whole story depending on how curious and resourceful she is. The family own a villa in Tibur and spend most of their time there, even more so in the last year, but travel to Rome frequently. A few relatives of Livia and Secundus are in play, as are other characters connected to them, so you'll have no shortage of people to write with :) For more information PM me here or DM me Liv#0609.

What a bore life must be without friends! Artemon raised a sympathetic eyebrow and would have given the man a look full of pity if he had been able to see him, but people didn't have eyes in the back of their skulls and even if they did they would be obscured by hair anyway. Then again, it made sense for Barbatius not to have many friends - they would all want a free shave or haircut! Artemon was well familiar with these parasites: they had accosted him in Egypt and they still accosted him in Ostia and Rome, always looking for freebies. The tangent his mind had gone off on was cut short by the barber's words, the rhythmical snip snip snip of the blade their background music. Not even the slightest tug! Artemon was impressed with Barbatius' skill. "Um, yes. So a few days ago I was looking for my brother, and when I went down to ask my neighbour Alexius if he'd seen him, he was throwing a party, so I decided to stay." He smiled at the memory; despite it being the shortest and most poorly supplied party he had ever attended, it had still been fun. Alexius was a good entertainer. "There were quite a few people there! Some were our neighbours, like the fruit lady and that doctor, but the others I didn't know. I don't know how he and Alexius became acquainted, he's really not that good-looking," Artemon concluded with a frown. Sure, Alexius' reputation preceded him, but he could have his pick of the comely denizens of Rome! Why he would go for that scowling kid was beyond Artemon. "If you would like to make more friends, maybe I can ask my neighbour when he's next throwing a party and tell you? And then you can come too?" he suggested, certain that nobody would mind an extra guest. After all, this Barbatius guy seemed quite alright. @Atrice

January 77 AD The remains of a letter can be seen amongst the ashes that a dutiful slave clears out of a fireplace. Were the slave literate, he would have noticed a wildly inconsistent hand behind the few words that can still be made out, as if the writer was overcome with emotion. The ashes and burnt pieces of papyrus are unceremoniously dumped by a cabbage patch, although the wind will carry most of it off before they can enrich the soil. To Aglaea, from her mistress Livia Justina It has been now almost half a year since you pulled your little trick and I still cannot believe you continue to be so impudent as to not have returned home. Do you have any idea of the lies I have had to tell to justify your absence?! Never in my life have I seen such an ungrateful slave and you are wise to stay away, for if you come back I will have you whipped to within an inch of your life and shipped off to the mines! How could you do this to me?! How could you leave me alone with him? I thought we would be together forever. I really did. But that man poisoned you against me! I know this isn't like you. What did he offer you that you would betray your mistress like this? I could withstand anything with you by my side; I thought the same went for you. Clearly I was mistaken. I shall not make the same mistake twice. Maybe I will send slave hunters after you to teach you a lesson. i shall tell them not to hurt you, they are simply to bring you back unharmed. Then things can go back to the way they were, and you can comb my hair again. Ursa is as useless as ever; even a blindfolded monkey would be more competent. It's so hard to find decent slaves these days, you know? Won't you come back? She's going to scalp me some day, I just know it! Faustus is teething and is utterly insufferable these days, much like his father. I pray that is the only way in which they will resemble each other. I should pray he grows up to resemble you instead, but then if he does he will run away and leave me too. So I won't, and the gods curse and damn you all if it is in his blood and he betrays me anyway! All boys leave their mothers when mother Rome comes calling on, but I shall make sure he stays with me until the last possible moment. I can't let him run off on me too, can I? It is my greatest wish to see you again in this life. I pray to the gods every day that it might come to pass. May they guide your way to your rightful home. Livia

Who knew but the gods? Artemon shrugged, completely oblivious to the effect the motion could have had on his haircut had Barbatius already begun. Well, maybe his witch employer had some spell to predict the future, but he hardly dared think about it - what if Sobek took offence and cast misfortune upon him? What if crocodiles appeared in the Tiber? Frightened at the things his brain was coming up with, Artemon shook his head and vowed never to tempt Tyche in such a way again. Ah, now it was happening! His hair was thick, but the barber combed through it effortlessly; clearly he had done this many times before. Artemon hummed, pleased, before entering a state of slight panic at the questions Barbatius was now posing. So many of them! Clearing his throat to gain a few seconds and collect his thoughts, Artemon launched into his reply. "Yeah, he looked younger than me, although I couldn't tell you his age," he admitted, squinting as he recalled the young man's appearance. Definitely younger but not by more than a handful of years, he reckoned. "And yes, he had very dark hair. I suppose it was a bit longer than mine, now that I think about it." Terribly unfashionable it had been, too! He hadn't noticed no collar, but then again, he had been more focused on his growling stomach at the time. "Don't remember if he had one." What master would let his slave wander off to a party, though? Perhaps the same who let the witch run her business. Somebody very clueless, obviously; Artemon's superior intellect could easily discern that. "Is he your friend, perhaps? Someone at the party said this boy had a barber friend. Of course, it could very well be someone else!" he chirruped, backtracking in case were not friends but rather sworn enemies. The combing session was over, much to Artemon's disappointment. Oh well, it had been good while it had lasted. Now, the real action was about to begin! Artemon shuffled in his seat, as excited as though he were watching the races. @Atrice

Early winter, 77 AD It felt like a lifetime since he last had paid Longinus a visit, but surely it could not have been more than a few weeks - or months. Not much had changed as far as Titus could tell, the decoration still as exotic as always and the slaves just on the verge of slacking off. Well, one thing was markedly different. He watched in morbid interest as the dog scratched its ear with a paw the size of a toddler's head, somehow not ripping it to shreds as it did. The thing was humongous, really. He had done the right thing by passing it on to Longinus; a creature this big would definitely have a voracious (ergo expensive) appetite. The puppy of a few seasons ago was no more, in its place a one-headed Cerberus who was now deeply engrossed in nibbling at its own tail, presumably to scratch an itch. It wasn't even that old - a year or less by now if he recalled correctly. Was it even finished growing? A child could ride it like a horse. Titus had a blissfully brief vision of his youngest wreaking havoc in his domus with such a dog as her mount, and again told himself he had absolutely done the right thing. Whatever damage it caused would probably go unnoticed amidst all of his friend's dubious ornaments. A rustling noise coming from the right caught his attention, and he peeled his eyes from the dog only to find himself with the empire's cheekiest body slave. "Well met, Attis. Tell me, who is in charge of this four-legged giant?" Please let it be you went unsaid, although the expectant smirk on Titus' face betrayed his thoughts rather eloquently. @Sharpie (and @Saraand @Cheviif any of your people want to join in at some point)

A smug grin blossomed on Artemon's lips at the barber's admission of not being well-travelled. "Indeed I am lucky! Not everybody has had the fortune of being an important part of a successful enterprise," he gloated in soft tones, bringing a cocky hand to his chest and patting it a few times. "I hope you are able to visit it in your lifetime, my friend," he added with heartfelt conviction. Everybody deserved to see that city so great, second only to Rome. "Uh, I am a ladies' man!" he interjected, his feathers suddenly a little ruffled. "And a gentlemen's man!" Why miss out by restricting yourself to one or the other? Still peeved, Artemon sniffed at the new vial, taking a good whiff of the scent before proclaiming his acceptance of Barbatius' suggestion. "Yes, this one will do." It was a pleasant herby fragrance, although it faintly reminded him of food. No matter. He had come here to take care of his hair, like the barber pointed out. "Right. So I usually get it cut short, but not too short if you know what I mean?" Artemon tried to demonstrate with his hands, failing miserably at depicting anything beyond a toddler's attempt at invisible pottery. A new flash of brilliance struck him - maybe he could kill two birds with one stone... "There was this lad I met with hair just like how I want mine. I tried asking him about it, but he didn't really speak." This was one of the biggest lies Artemon had ever told, because that boy at Alexius' party had had an absolutely unappealing hairstyle. "Did he come to you, perhaps?" He got comfortable in his seat, waiting for Barbatius to start snipping away. @Atrice

CONSIDIA M. l. MELIA 21 | 28th August 55 CE | Freedwoman | Midwife and herbalist | Bisexual | Original | Malika El Maslouhi Personality A woman of few words, Melia tends to hide her thoughts behind a façade of constructed neutrality and hard-working compliance. The least she says, the least likely the other party will feel slighted or misconstrue her words. She hates the Romans and their appetite for slaves yet realises she is entirely dependent on them to achieve her goals – and that it is in her best interests to appear reliable and irreproachable to as many of them as possible, even though that means curbing many an acidic remark she would love to let out or letting them order her around as though she were still a slave. Were she to let somebody get close enough to drop the mask, they would discover an insightful woman with a wry sense of humour and a bright mind who enjoys sharing her knowledge with others – at present, however, she doesn’t entertain the idea as it would mean more competition. Her dedication to her causes, some a bit more obvious than others, is clear for anyone who knows Melia to see; her enthusiasm, however, is saved for those she trusts. Working with plants has taught her patience and being a midwife has taught her decisiveness - good traits to have when she is desperately looking for what is left of her family. Rest assured that she will find them. Appearance Melia sports very dark brown eyes framed by thick eyebrows and wavy dark hair that flows past her shoulders but is often put up in a bun as work dictates - features common in her people, as is her olive skin. She is thin and gangly as many slaves who grow up with just enough food tend to be and which makes her look taller than her 5’1”, with full lips that seldom curve in a smile. Now that she’s got the freedom to choose and buy her own clothes, Melia dresses modestly, the quality of her tunics just good enough to make her seem reliable and professional but without any luxuries that would deter from her goal of saving as much as possible. She uses earrings but keeps her hands free from all adornments, her nails short and her skin smooth with ointments she prepares herself – all to better perform her tasks as midwife. Family Father: Ameqran (deceased) Mother: Jidji (deceased) Siblings: Tifawt (sister, b. 52 AD, whereabouts unknown), Izem (brother, b. 59 AD, whereabouts unknown) Spouse: N/A Children: N/A Extended family: Ghanim (uncle and stepfather, deceased) Other: N/A History 55 AD: Tamemt is born on a pleasant summer night, the second child to a young couple living in coastal Cyrenaica near the city of Darnis. Her mother Jidji is disappointed she has not given her husband a son, but Ameqran is happy the baby is healthy. Her sister Tifawt is very excited about getting a sibling to play with. 58 AD: Ameqran is presumed dead whilst on a fishing trip with a friend after a storm wrecks their little boat. Their bodies wash ashore two days later. As per their tribe’s customs, their father’s brother Ghanim marries Jidji a short time later so that the family unit is more or less preserved. Tamemt is confused that their father is gone, but happy that uncle Ghanim is there to play with her all the time. 59 AD: Izem, the son Jidji so longed for, is born. Unfortunately, she dies of puerperal fever and Tamemt resents the small crying bundle that took her mother from her. Tifawt tries to take up the motherly mantle, but she’s only a child taking care of her younger siblings. 60-64 AD: Like most in her tribe and following in the footsteps of her uncle and sister, Tamemt jojns the silphium business. Selecting the healthiest plants, extracting their resin, drying it and grinding it into a fine powder is hard work, but her small fingers are surprisingly adept at it. Ghanim tells her people all over the empire use it as medicine, and that’s why it’s so important to have a good product. 65 AD: on a clear winter day pirates attack their small village, keen on lining their pockets with slavery gold. They kill the elderly and infirm and those, like Ghanim, that put up a fight defending their homes and families; the survivors are taken across the Mediterranean to Rhegium, where the market awaits them. Tifawt is just at the right age to be sold to a brothel and this is the last Tamemt sees of her. Izem, being too young to be of much use, gets thrown in as a bonus when a buyer acquires a burly youth for farm work. Tamemt is purchased by Manius Considius Musca, a middle-aged herbalist with failing eyesight keen on making good use of her familiarity with silphium, and is taken to his small apothecary in Vibo Valentia. 65-72 AD: Musca and his wife Insteia teach Tamemt, now renamed Melia, the tools of their trade. The years pass by amongst about learning of herbs and remedies, collecting plants for Musca and helping him turn them into medicines. The couple are pleased that their young slave is a quick study and mostly keeps to herself, although she asks about news of her brother and sister every now and then. After an embarrassing occasion with an influential customer where Musca felt she spoke out of turn and the punishment that followed, Melia stops asking. 72 AD: Considia, Musca and Insteia’s pregnant daughter, comes to stay her parents for a few weeks, bored of being at home with her slaves in Tarentum whilst her husband is serving in the east. Although Considia expected to return to Tarentum with ample time to prepare for the birth, the child thinks differently and decides to make a very sudden appearance several weeks ahead of schedule. With half the household panicking and the other half gone in search of a midwife in the middle of the night, Melia suggests they take things into their own hands, to her distressed mistress’s surprising agreement. Remarkably given the circumstances, mother and child survive the birth with no sequels, and Insteia learns Melia’s hands can also be skilled in bringing babies to this world. Melia takes advantage of the new goodwill towards her and begs Considia to enquire about Tifawt and Izem when she goes back to Tarentum, which the latter agrees to do as thanks. 73-75 AD: With her masters’ permission and encouragement, Melia spends time learning midwifery in addition to her apothecary duties. Musca rents out her services to women in need and very generously allows her to keep a small amount of the profits. 75 AD: Melia receives word from Tarentum that Izem, now going by Leo, had been working in the olive groves near Canusium up until the previous year, at which point he was sold – although Considia was not able to find out whom to. Melia continues to slowly add to her savings through a fraction of the earnings she brings the family, now focused on getting enough to find her brother and buy his freedom, Insteia dies of what in modern times would be diagnosed as a ruptured appendix and subsequent sepsis. 76 AD: Musca follows his wife into the afterlife after a short bout of sickness and frees his few slaves in his will as reward for their service. After a few weeks of indecision and getting used to her new status, Melia resolves to head north to Rome: a city so populous would allow her to make more money as midwife and herbalist and at the same time look for Tifawt in the city’s countless brothels as she visits them in a professional capacity. On the way there, as well as after arriving, she never stops trying to discover her brother’s whereabouts. 77 AD: four months of Rome living haven’t turned anything up on either front, and Melia is starting to feel the bitterness of frustration. She eventually concludes that approaching one of the gangs behind the brothels might be her best shot, however dangerous it may be. Liv | GMT | PM/DM @Gothic