Liv

Late July, 75 AD The problem with boat trips was that they, without exception, were all far too long. The moment Titus stepped aboard a vessel whether big or small, civilian or military, his stomach began to threaten to make its way out of his mouth and quite literally abandon ship and jump overboard. It had not yet succeeded, though it wasn’t for lack of trying. He knew all the tricks in the book and had tried each of them at least once, some to greater success than others. Travel on an empty stomach. Fix your gaze upon a far-off point in the horizon. Close your eyes. Try not to move your head. Press down on the inside of your wrist, approximately in the middle. Press down on the area between the thumb and the index on the back of your hand. Promise Neptune a great many sacrifices. Curse all the gods and threaten to withhold sacrifices. In the end, what worked best for Titus was lying on his back, eyes covered by his arm so he resisted both Sol’s unforgiving rays and the temptation to open them and look about and make matters worse, and distracting himself by reviewing what was to come. Aenaria had better be all the touts promised and more, or else he would personally drown them all once they were back on the mainland. Thinking objectively on it, they were probably right: a number of quality vineyards that offered wine tasting tours, quaint little towns, pristine beaches and hot springs and therapeutic mud capable of healing tiredness if nothing else. He looked forward to spending a few days there and sampling all those portents; it would give him the fortitude to mentally prepare himself for the journey back. Fully aware of how childish he looked and just as equally unbothered by it, Titus readjusted his head on Valeria’s lap and repeated the plaintive question he had posed some three-quarters of an hour earlier, though he kept his arm in place as a sun shield. “You spot land yet?” Any similarity to their children's 'are we there yet?' of some days prior was purely and entirely coincidental. @Joaquin @open-ish

"Even old men can be useful," Safinia retorted bluntly but without malice, as if she were stating a fact as undisputed as the sky being blue. Bassus was chatty, but amiable. Maybe she could gain his trust in the future and then rifle through his things when she had an opening. If he trusted her, he would not suspect her if some belonging of his went missing. She hummed in answer to his question, inwardly considering it a not-very-smart one. He had seen her pick the basin up in the kitchens, it followed that it should be returned there. Maybe he had hit his head one time too many while racing. Figuring Bassus was waiting for instructions - again an incomprehensible thing to do, since they had just come from the kitchens and the way was short -, she went in front of him, showing the way as he seemed to have intended. "Do you lift things when training, Bassus?" Even though he was no hulking Hercules like most gladiators, Safinia imagined he trained hard to keep in shape. After starting to work for the Whites she had discovered just how physically demanding racing was on charioteers, even if at first sight it looked like any man who managed to stand on two legs could do it. He raised a fair point. High physical activity demanded more fuel, and given the tight fist with which cook ruled the kitchen and the pantry, Bassus probably felt he wasn't being fed enough. As they entered the kitchen again, she hurried to scoop the leeks off the table and into her arms again and with her chin motioned for Bassus to put the basin on the spot she had just vacated. "I think I could fix a few slices of ham every now and then. Or bread." Cheese would be harder to spirit away, not least because of the smelly track it left. @Beauty

Had Titus been less preoccupied with the letter, now that it had been mentioned, he might have noticed how utterly out of character it was for his new wife to be so affectionate towards a person, and concluded that the icy façade melted away only when Luto was involved. He might also have felt a slight pang of regret at making the little boy cry and experience the pain of betrayal for likely the first time in his short life, though it would definitely not be the last. He did none of these things, however, because his being was entirely absorbed by the missive and its contents. Similarly, Titus ignored the confused looks the child gave him and the barbed comments Zia made as both barely registered in his perception. His heart sank to the pit of his stomach as he hastily grabbed the letter. His hands shook more perceptibly than he would have liked as he held out the papyrus, but Titus found that commanding his muscles to stay did nothing. Likewise was he unable to stop his eyes from roaming over the text, picking out words here and there and attempting to string them into a meaningful message, managing only to infuriate himself in the process. Breathing heavily through his nose, Titus forced himself to start at the beginning and take in one word at a time. This... was not what he had been expecting. Not when Zia had said 'his people'. The words had evoked the coming of some provincial officer, somebody attached to the propraetor's office; if he dared to dream high enough, maybe a tribune from one of the other legions. Not that it would have been proper for him to welcome such news, because he would have been expected to have offed himself long ago. And yet, for all his disappointment, the elephant that had all of a sudden settled on his chest grew feather-light and disappeared. Titus almost felt like laughing. He had nothing to fear from a tax collector. The Dacians might, though. It puzzled Titus as to why the man would give notice of his coming: to make sure the Dacians buried their valuables beforehand? Maybe he intended for the news to spread so that nobody could excuse themselves from the tally by going hunting or working the fields? Perhaps he fancied himself someone of great importance and wanted a grand reception, or was an old drinking mate of Cultellus' from back in the day. He returned the letter to Zia, blinking at her in confusion. By some mercy of a watchful god, his hands had stopped trembling. "I don't get it." What manner of riddle was this? How did this have anything to do with him? He owned nothing in this gods-forsaken place that could be taxed. Even his armour had probably been melted in a forge and reworked into something else by now. "Do you not know what a publicanus is?" @Sara

Titus simply gave a contrite look in response to Longinus' comment on his mother, feeling anything he would have to say on the matter would only aggravate his friend. His experience was diametrically opposite: the youngest of three, by the time he had come into his own there was nothing his parents hadn't seen, heard or witnessed before. If anything, he could have done with a little more attention growing up, although he wasn't sure if he would have enjoyed being the target of a parent's suffocating focus the way Longinus seemed to be his mother's. Attis was awfully sensible today, making such reasonable suggestions. Perhaps the workout provided by the journey had refreshed his brain, or perhaps he wanted to prove to Longinus that he had learnt his lesson and did not need to be pawned off to unsuspecting friends anymore. Now that he was done with the strigil, Titus found himself very much fancying a massage to relieve sore muscles and do away with kinks and knots. There was, he contemplated, staring off at the fresco depicting the lovers, only one tiny thing to consider: submit himself to the ministrations of the decidedly curious and potentially handsy slave, or risk making Longinus' mood even darker by asking for another one? In the end, he opted to put the whole before the needs of one, as was the way of the legion, and got into a more comfortable position after nodding to the slave that some of his attentions were desired after all. Unfortunately, Longinus was right: their ilk did not really account for mourning unless it was a formal relationship sanctioned by marriage or familial bonds. Certainly not when it had been nothing but an engagement, as mutable and easily dissolved as salt in water in the minds of many but with its intricacies known only to a select few, amongst which Titus now found himself. "It's callous, but if you put it down as money issues, you may succeed in scaring off a few eligible ladies or their guardians for them. Paint yourself like Crassus, if you will," Titus made to shrug, but was stopped by the slave's hand on his shoulder exerting surprising pressure. If the barb about 'smug married couples' was directed at him, he decided to ascribe it to heartache and ignore it; he hadn't come all this way to pick unnecessary fights. "I mean, you could also shut yourself in and feign illness. Miasma fever1 or something. But the longer you stay here, the more rumours will flourish and tongues will speculate," he reasoned, eyes closed in pleasure at the slave's skilled touch. Turned out the man knew what to do with his hands. @Sharpie @Sara 1 - malaria

Letter dated 4th July 75, four days after the earthquake, delivered by an illiterate Dacian slave Titus Sulpicius Rufus to Praetor Tertius Quinctilius Varus, greetings. I am much obliged for your letter, allow me to present my regrets for not having sent one of my own sooner. I hope the recent earthquake has not been of consequence to your household and property. Fortunately we have only suffered some material damage, but nothing of importance. I do in fact remember your slave and the unparalleled tisane she prepared for me, and came much to the same conclusion myself not long after having visited you. The family resemblance is quite pronounced even if their colouring is slightly different. Nymphias is my eldest daughter's body slave and quite an obedient and docile one, so your proposition presents no issue. I should therefore very much like to accept your kind invitation when it is most convenient to you; I figure the earthquake has interfered with the routines of many households. As to what may happen afterwards, I leave it in the hands of the gods and the behaviour of our respective slaves. Should your daughter be in need of a playmate to distract her from recent events, please let me know if you would like me to bring my son along - I seem to recall they are close in age. Sincerely, T. Sulpicius Rufus @Atrice

Up until the present time, Titus did not think it was possible to die of boredom. To him it had always been the product of an idle, lazy mind. The last two weeks had proven him oh so very wrong! His new wife was a clever little snake, he'd give her that: put him in a nice, golden, utterly safe cage. Even his food came readily sliced so he wouldn't have to be provided with a knife. Such luxury, and such distress. In the beginning he thought he'd go crazy, which was probably what he deserved: left all alone with his thoughts, they descended into a predictable dark spiral - but even spirals reached a bottom, Titus had found out. A good training session was still out of the question, would be for probably another month: press-ups and sit-ups and crunches would only undo recent progress. Then he'd moved on to scouring his memory for all the dusty works of Euripides, Homer, Hesiod and Ennius he'd managed to hide away in some corner of his mind decades ago, and was surprised to find he remember far more than he had expected. His old paedagogus would have cried tears of joy if he'd shown such dedication as a young pupil. The nights were no more exciting, after a series of failed attempts at consummation. He wondered if when the weather turned cold Zia would still want to sleep on the other side of the bed, and immediately chastised himself for thinking that far ahead. There was no way in Hades the state of things would still remain the same when winter came. At some point Titus had had the brilliant idea of asking for the little boy. And finally boredom dissipated, at least for the brief hours Luto came to visit every now and then. it was a good partnership, Titus concluded: the kid taught him Dacian, he taught the kid Latin, and together they played with small clay figurines. The kid had a figurine for every possible farm animal, but was somewhat lacking in the soldier department; so they had to make do with talking horses and a pig for a general. A few days prior, Titus had drawn a circle intersected by four lines that met in the middle, and with three cow figures and three avian ones (hens? geese? ducks?) taught Luto to play terni lapilli. It had been an unexpected hit, and even occasional defeat didn't discourage the boy (because Titus wasn't letting him win every single time, life didn't work out that way even for little boys). He'd barely convinced Luto, with a little help from his nurse, to put the game aside for a bit and have dinner; after a show of defiant whinging Luto had finally acquiesced, and thrown himself at a bowl of chicken stew with all the appetite of a healthy four-year-old. They had only just finished when the door clicked open and Zia let herself in, probably aiming for some dramatic entrance that failed completely. "Good evening, my princess," he retorted, disdain dripping from every syllable. Unlike Luto's, his hands were mostly clean, and he silently willed the boy to go and wipe them on his mother's dress under the pretence of a hug. Unfortunately, Luto only grew confused as the nurse started blabbering rapidly, and the dress remained clean. Well. All hope was not yet lost, Titus remembered before addressing the child in his best Dacian. "You tell your mama what I tell you?" The little boy nodded enthusiastically and puffed up his small chest as he turned to Zia, proudly exclaiming in shaky Latin "Dacians suck!" Behind Luto, Titus produced a smug smile, clearly daring Zia to take the bait as he switched to his mother tongue. "Kids at this age are like sponges. It's just about the right time for him to start learning a new language." Why was she here? It couldn't be to pick up Luto, surprised as she looked to see him there. "If you came to join us for dinner I'm afraid you're a bit too late," Titus ventured, taking a better look at her as he spoke. Her posture pointed to business, not pleasure - if that had been a possibility in the first place -, and she was clutching something in her hand. Maybe unwelcome news, then. And if it was bad news for her, it was probably good news for him. "Or if you're so eager about giving Luto a sibling, I'd rather not in front of him," he added with a shit-eating grin as he gestured at the little boy. @Sara

Feeling rather at a loss, Titus sighed, stretched again and began to climb his way out of the pool. Any more soaking and he would resemble a dried fig. The slave that had taken his clothes earlier came trotting solicitously over with a fresh towel, and Titus hastily dried himself off before giving back the towel and looking round for body cleaning supplies. Longinus was free to stay in the water and conclude the prunifying process if he wanted to, but he would rather wait for his friend outside the pool. Having located a pot of oil and a strigil, Titus picked them up and sat on one of the benches, keeping the overly attentive slave at bay with a stern look as he poured some olive oil into his hand and then rubbed it onto his skin. Hopefully Attis would be a dear and tell his fellow slave that Titus would not be requiring any extra nighttime service from him. It couldn't even be that it was his scars the man was curious about; Longinus had a fine collection of his own too. Being ogled at the public thermae was one thing - he did not expect it to happen at Longinus' very private bathhouse. "I don't see why not," he replied, busying himself with running the strigil over his body. If the slave from before stared any harder, his eyes would pop out of their sockets; Titus was increasingly inclined to do like the Egyptians of old and shove the strigil up his nose. "Say you're concerned about her health and whatnot. Rome gets awfully hot in the summer, it's cooler here." As for the matter of the graffiti, he remained silent. It sounded more like it was Sestia's father that was the bitch, but it had not been nice of her either to just up and leave without first letting Longinus know. "You don't think your mother would have the sense not to nag you about that for the next few weeks?" Old matrons were supposed to be wise, but many of them defied the trope. From what Titus knew of Longinus' mother, she might be one such matron. @Sharpie @Sara

Unusually - at least in Titus' admittedly and blessedly short experience -, Attis was also choosing to remain silent, perhaps in solidarity with his master. Not that Titus was complaining: there were surely many things to appreciate about Attis, even if he couldn't recall a single one at that moment, but the ability to reign in his tongue was not one of them. He spied Longinus assuming a floating position, and briefly debated feigning a plunge on top of his friend before scrapping the idea; he would never be able to get out of the pool in time without Longinus catching up to his intentions. Plus, the pool wasn't deep enough to perform such daring manoeuvres without risk of permanent injury or even death, and if he hadn't died in Britannia or at the barbershop then he sure as Hades wasn't going to die in the bathhouse of Longinus' country villa. So he instead scooted over to the edge and half-sat there, underwater from the shoulders down and legs stretched out on the mosaics that covered the inside of the pool. Fourteen years was a long time. Even if Longinus occasionally spent time at this villa, it did not sound like he had ever stayed long enough to do something about the furnishings. Perhaps his friend had never had any reason to pay attention to them until now. "Well, it's nice enough," Titus countered, unsure if it was wise to join in on the character dissection of Longinus' father, "just... a bit sterile, I'd say. Lacks the personality of your domus." He spoke in a neutral tone, for once not mocking his friend's taste openly nor in a roundabout way either. It was something that would draw the attention of anyone who had been to both houses and probably cause them to assume different people lived there. "For what it's worth, I don't think you take after him," Titus added quietly during a lull in the conversation that was now directed at Attis, disregarding the fact that he had never met his friend's father. But sullen and salty were not traits Longinus possessed, at least not permanently. Titus hoped they came to give way to his usual easy laughter and boundless energy soon. @Sharpie @Sara

"Aptly put," Titus conceded with a nod before closing his eyes again and submerging himself entirely for a few seconds. Swimming in the river with eyes open was all very well, but hot water and saltwater made them prickle for some reason. When he resurfaced, his hair looked much the same as it did before going under, only more waterlogged. The exact opposite of Longinus' current cowlick - maybe Titus should have brought a tonsor too instead of just Attis. He noticed his friend mumbling something to himself - probably nonsense, or something he didn't want him and Attis to hear, and made a point to call him out on it. "What's that? You know I can't hear too well." Being left to his own devices for the best part of a month had resulted in Longinus' current unkempt state, and Jupiter send a thunderbolt to strike him if Titus was going to let him take another month to approach a resemblance of a functioning man. Longinus smiled, though it didn't look as though he was aware he had done it, and Titus produced a wistful smile of his own. He would have liked to think his friend was silently thankful for the company, but something inside told him that was not the case. Longinus was probably reminiscing on what could have been and no longer was. It was very odd, now that he thought about it, to be sitting - or floating - in silence with Longinus. It was a seldom occurrence that felt wrong. Unnatural. Silence did not suit Longinus any more than sullenness did. But Titus didn't know what to say to break it, so he just lazily examined the frescoes from afar until it grew too stifling and he saw himself pressed to make small talk. "How come this house is nothing like yours in Rome?" It was very nice, no doubt about it, but there were no traces of Longinus' eclectic tastes anywhere. @Sharpie @Sara

Either Livia had drunk slightly too much wine without realising and only now were the effects starting to make themselves known, or she didn't quite follow Horatia's line of reasoning. Even though her sister explained what she meant, it still didn't make enough sense to her. "How do you figure that's a good thing? Should there be a child, to whose household would it belong?" she frowned, pursing her lips into a thin line. Different tasks and even different locations within the same household was one thing, and a workable prospect, but two slaves each under their own master's roof was simply too much trouble. Livia shook her head, dismissing the suggestion. "She gets half days off every now and then, and I allow her to go pray at her people's temple." Livia took another date from the platter and popped it into her mouth. She didn't think herself a terribly difficult mistress: while she was very attached to Aglaea, anybody under the same constraints as her would act in the same way. If Aglaea met somebody to her liking in her own free time, it was still better than shacking up with a slave belonging to somebody else. Livia refrained from commenting on her sister's body slave - if the girl had mentioned it, and this Felix was being allowed to take a wife, what were they all waiting for? Just give them a spare room and call it a day. Curse Horatia and her desire to be the perfect hostess and inquire about Secundus' family. They were all terrible as far as Livia was concerned, even the best of them - Tertius the youngest brother with the son he had taken far too long to manumit. Had she been a young foolish girl, she would have exempted Marcus from her harsh judgement, but Livia was under no illusion: he was young and good-looking and ambitious, but love? She was convinced he would drop her like a hot coal when the time came. And while it didn't, she enjoyed it for what it was - a much needed escape from everyday life. "It's not so bad, actually," she smiled, sipping at her wine. "It's so quiet in Tibur that I welcome the bustle when we're here. They're all doing well, Quinctilia and her children." They could hardly be called that, with Quinctilia's daughter being only a handful of years younger than Livia herself, but it was what it was. Another opportunity to go off on a tangent present itself. "Now that I think of it, Sergia - Secundus' niece - is having some difficulties finding a husband." Rather, her guardian had seemingly all but forgotten about it, and Livia would not be the one to remind him for fear of what that might set off. "Since you were in Raetia, do you think she should start looking out of Rome and towards the provinces? Any eligible suitors from good families there?" @Sara

Letter dated roughly a week after the earthquake. Titus Sulpicius Rufus to his dearest friend Aulus Calpurnius Praetextatus, greetings. Hope all is well with your domus and familia after the recent event. No casualties on our end of thing except for parts of the roof, a couple of trees and a bust I never liked. To take our minds off all that's happened and because it's the right season for it, my brother and sister-in-law are travelling down to Neapolis for a while and inviting friends and family to join them for their beach parties. There will be entertainment not unlike that party you hosted a few months back, as well as more family-friendly activities. As you may remember my brother Quintus was consul in 72, and given your current aspirations (which I fully support), I took the liberty of assuming you might be interested in fostering that connection. It goes without saying that this invitation extends to your lady wife and your lovely children. Mine are also coming, so they will not be left to their own devices. We will be heading down on the 13th (I expect the Via Appia will be fully up and running again by then), and our good friend Longinus is coming with. He has been rather morose as of late, so I will be counting on you to help raise his spirits. Farewell, my dear friend. @Sharpie

Letter dated roughly a week after the earthquake Titus Sulpicius Rufus to his dearest friend Longinus, greetings. Hope all is well with your domus and familia after the recent event. I suppose it would be too impudent of me to ask if Attis has been too busy coughing from dust inhalation to open his gab in his usual manner, so let's pretend I didn't. To take our minds off all that's happened and because it's the right season for it, my brother and sister-in-law are travelling down to Neapolis for a while and inviting friends and family to join them for their beach parties. And why am I telling you this, you wonder? Because we - and that includes you - are heading there to take them up on their generous offer as soon as repair works on the Via Appia are completed. Pack light, you won't need too many clothes. You may bring Cassia if you want, there will be no shortage of kids for her to play with during the day (at night it's the adults who play, if you hadn't surmised that yet). And please get a cut and shave before that, or you'll be the subject of many disappointed looks and make me look bad. That said, I expect you at my gate on the 13th early in the morning and all ready for departure. If you fail to show up I will hunt you down to Britannia if need be. Farewell, my dearest friend and brother. @Sara

Titus made no effort to hide a victorious smirk, rather pleased with himself. Given the circumstances, he could have hardly hoped for a better result, even as the Dacian woman squirmed and attempted to break free. She might succeed when sleep claimed him - which wasn't a long time coming, what with the way his eyelids seemed to be growing marginally heavier with each passing second - and his muscles relaxed, and if the evening had been anything to go by, Titus wasn't sure he would be alive to greet the rise of a new day when dawn came. Well, if she decided to choke him with a pillow or something, she would probably be punished somehow when the chieftain found out about it. The thought had him pursing his mouth wider. Did these savages not know the concept of hand grooming? The persistent little jabs with her absurdly sharp nails were as annoying as insect bites, and deserved being treated like it. "No, Roman women I treat with respect," he rolled his eyes and loosely slapped her somewhere on the head (hopefully the nose!) with his free hand, much like if he were batting away a bloodthirsty mosquito. With all that hair covering her face, he had no idea where he'd hit, but there was that satisfying flat sound that meant contact had been achieved. "We go to sleep," Titus corrected her, failing this time to abort the yawn that followed. He closed his eyes and exhaled, but didn't loosen his hold. "Think of how pleased the slaves will be in the morning when they come in and find us all cosy and happy like this..." If Zia voiced her objection to it, he never heard it, already drifting off into Somnus' domain. @Sara ___________ Time skip to ___? Following day? Following week? Month? Year? Your choice xD

"An excellent choice," Titus agreed, inwardly thanking whatever deity had inspired Longinus to make it. Few things sounded as unappetising at that moment than ending up covered in a layer of sweat mixed with grimy road dust. He followed Longinus' example and entered the pool, slightly more reassured now that his friend had almost willingly gone from moping in his garden to making an attempt at personal hygiene. The temperature was just right and Titus stretched with abandon, groaning in satisfaction at the few pops and cracks that followed. Between the inevitability of growing older and the stiffness brought on by hours on end on a horse, letting the water work out the kinks and knots sounds as close to reaching the Elysian fields as he would probably ever get. "Oh yes, we're the best of friends now." Titus looked up at Attis with a grin so fake even a statue's smile would have seemed more natural; yet there was humour in his eyes, as if daring the slave to contradict him. "I did say I couldn't promise he'd change his ways, but he stayed out of trouble as far as I know." He didn't think Attis would ever change - he was too set in his ways and his master, even if not directly encouraging, was certainly lenient. Titus sunk deeper into the water, closing his eyes like a cat as he savoured the feeling of the warm liquid lapping up round his shoulders. When he opened them again, it was to glance at Attis once more. He could hardly deny he enjoyed taking the piss out of Longinus' body slave for a little while, before irritation won over amusement. "Think he's quite capable of taking over for Cassia's nurse now, if needed. But why don't you tell your master about your time in my place, Attis?" @Sharpie @Sara

Great ideas! Sent you a DM on Discord so we can work out the details

Livia's jaw clenched almost imperceptibly, the only sign that her sister's comment had not sat well with her. Did Horatia really think her as cruel as Secundus? If only she had an inkling of what that man was capable of, then perhaps she would not joke so lightly... but this was not the right moment to tell Horatia of his habits, and there would most likely never be one. "I suppose I could, yes," she conceded, helping herself to another sip of wine. Remove temptation by allowing controlled access to its object? Worse ideas had borne better fruit. Livia thoughtfully examined her goblet for a few seconds, mind considering the possibility. "Find someone within the household that would be acceptable..." Acceptable to whom? Aglaea was the interested party, but Livia wanted naturally to have a say in it - and the last word, of course, would be Secundus' as the paterfamilias. She didn't think he would so much as entertain the thought, but that was also something she had no desire to share with Horatia. "As you say, it would be best for everyone for it to be out in the open." The chances of either running away would probably be lower, too. When she and Aglaea left Horatia's house, Livia would ask her companion what she made of Aulus' slave. From a cynical point of view, it would be most convenient if Aglaea did not make much of him at all - for the opposite would mean that either this Felix left his household, which did not seem likely from what Livia knew of her sister's husband, or Aglaea left hers, which Livia had no intention of permitting. She drank the last of her wine and helped herself to another date. "How about your body slave? Does she not dream of the same? Perhaps alongside this Felix of yours?" Another evasive turn meant as a distraction; let Horatia keep talking about her household's servants. @Sara

Hi @Hope! Will be back later to add to this, but: What's got dark hair, a gaggle of kids, was a legate in Dacia until 74 and is named Titus? That's right, our bois. With these many similarities there's only two ways it can go: either they get along swimmingly, or not at all I've also got a senatorial lady, Livia Justina, who is sister-in-law to Sharpie's Aulus and Atrice's Tertius. More words to come later when I get home.

Attis was making a lot of sense - one could only hope his master got the hint and followed suit. Wine in the bathhouse could be questionable if there was an excess of it, but Titus trusted that Attis would make sure they didn't get a near-unlimited supply before dinner. He did not need to be told twice to follow - the thought of a nice soak after scraping off the dust from the travel was an appealing one. "I suppose so. I mean, most people know you are not like that, but..." They don't know that she isn't like that, Titus completed the sentence in his head. The costly house renovation Sestia Vaticana had embarked in could very well have been a reason for such a disagreement had it been real. "If there have been other rumours other than the stuff on walls all over Rome, I'm not aware of them," he explained as he trailed after Longinus through the villa. He didn't care much for gossip nor did he actively seek it when out and about. "Attis may be better informed, though. Slaves hear a lot of things." The baths were spacious, and Titus wasted little time in making himself ready for them. The slave that took his clothes was smart enough to look downwards for the duration of their brief interaction, but gave in to curiosity moments later. Titus ignored it; they probably didn't see new faces round the villa often, and could quite literally be considered as much part of the furniture as a table or couch. Instead, he cast Longinus an expectant look. "What do you want to do first, soak or sweat?" @Sharpie @Sara

Oftentimes actions spoke louder than words (almost always, except where the Senate was concerned). This was one such time. He had half-expected Longinus to push him away amidst angry objections, but for once it was good to be proven wrong. And however the gesture made his friend feel... Titus hoped that for as long as it lasted, Longinus did not feel so utterly alone. Predictably, however, his moody friend soon extricated himself, and he made no effort to prevent it. Attis seemed to have dispensed physical consolation at some point too, given how his arm was drawing away from Longinus's general direction. Titus reckoned there would be more of that particular type of consolation after it got pitch dark and they retreated to their respective rooms. "If that's what you're into go to the Venus, I'm not doing that just to cheer you up," Titus grumbled back, at first making a show of being offended but finishing his sentence with a playful smile. All hope was not lost, even if it had not wanted to be found. He picked up his goblet again and took a cautious sip, saved from having to reply by it - although it didn't quite sound as though Longinus expected him or Attis to agree or disagree. The last comment, however, was easier to acknowledge. "Already working on it," he raised his cup towards his friend in something resembling a toast and drank on. "But Attis made a good point earlier about a nice bath." They had better get that out of the way before raiding the amphorae, lest they end up like old men from urban legends who drowned in the thermae after passing out drunk. And after a nice bath, a nice dinner, like Attis had suggested. Plus a gloomy little chat. But it was better to pick at the wound and clean it to keep it from festering, however much it hurt, than to leave it to its own devices. "Speaking of which, when was the last time you had one? Or actually ate something?" Even if Longinus should grow stroppy now, hopefully his body slave had a few tricks up his sleeve to get his master to start taking care of himself again or letting somebody do it for him. @Sharpie @Sara

It did not sound like Bassus knew a lot about Jews after all. Maybe he had just acted that way to come off as worldly and wise, but Safinia had called his bluff and he had grown quiet on the subject. Ah well, he had at least taught her something interesting - that they only worshipped one (supremely busy) god. She wondered briefly if there were other, stranger peoples with even more gods than them Romans. The basin filled with water at a slow but steady rate; it looked as leisurely as Bassus' drawl. She gave him a slightly disappointed look: that was it? For somebody who proclaimed they knew a lot, they were willing to share surprisingly little. "I do my part." Unlike a few other assistants, Safinia did not shirk her responsibilities. The deal was simple: perform these tasks and receive money. She wanted money, so she did them. As for staying out of trouble, well, it if she did it would be no thanks to the charioteer and his cryptic statements. And death... that was for the gods to decide, not mortals. She brushed another sweaty lock of hair away and pushed the basin to the side, away from the water spout. There was enough water in it now, and as a natural consequence it had also become a lot heavier. Safinia's feeble attempt at lifting it distracted her from Bassus' question, her brain registering it only superficially. "Huh? Of course not." A thin layer of sweat formed on her forehead and her arms shook under the strain, but the basin barely budged. She let go of it. An idea came to her. If she told Bassus what he wanted to her, maybe he would carry the thing for her - even if he didn't look that strong. Now, what was it he had asked? Right, what if he was Jewish. "I would think you're still the same person. Will you help me with this?" Safinia pointed at the basin, making the corners of her mouth curve upwards in what had to be the world's less spontaneous smile. @Beauty

Merda. That was well and truly a clusterfuck, and Titus felt a pang of remorse at having probed so insistently. He stared down at his wine, feeling very much like a child who had done something wrong. Yet if that was how he was feeling after merely hearing what had transpired (albeit from the horse's mouth), he couldn't even begin to imagine the emotions that must have been swirling and festering inside Longinus for the past weeks. All things considered, throwing a cup at the wall was a rather measured outlet for anger. Attis or another slave would undoubtedly pick it up soon and bring their master a new one. Titus opened his mouth to speak - of what? Offer condolences for the lost child? Claim he understood? He did not. Thank Fortuna and all the gods he did not, and hopefully never would. But he had suffered loss and disappointment and powerlessness throughout his life, and thinking back to those days, it had not been words that had comforted him. It had been reassurance, however flimsy it had seemed at the time. Empathy. Titus put down his goblet down with slow, measured gestures and gave Longinus a long, cheerless look before pulling his friend into a tight hug. Words weren't his forte anyway, but this much he could do. And if Attis or one of the others thought it a funny spectacle, he prayed that Jupiter took everything they held dear, violently. @Sharpie @Sara

As Attis produced his admittedly inspired speech Titus sipped his wine, secretly impressed by the seemingly heartfelt eloquence of it. The bathhouse suggestions was also a very sensible one, the sort his own body slave might have made - maybe a thing or two had rubbed off on Attis after all. He would have to quiz the slave another time on what else Attis thought he was, though, preferably out of Longinus' sight. "Do you mean to tell me he was this reasonable before?" Titus quipped back from behind the cup he was slowly nursing. Longinus had not flat out denied his slave's words, but neither did he seem to have appreciated them. It was hard to say if his anger was abating. Titus shifted in his seat so Longinus had more space to get up and watched him intently. That willow-bark drink was no fan favourite by all appearances. At the revelation that followed, Titus could only lower his gaze and look sad. He was sad, for Longinus. He had seemed so happy when the two of them and Aulus had gone out drinking... no wonder Longinus had become so grim, especially considering how it had seemed to be a mutual understanding between him and his bride rather than old men pulling the strings and donning the matchmaker's role. "I am so sorry," he offered, genuinely regretful. Longinus might take the words as empty platitudes, but they weren't. His friend's insistence on gossip was starting to intrigue Titus. Why was Longinus so hung up on that? A flash of remembrance gave him a clue, and he looked at Attis for some assurance of sorts, that he was not recalling incorrectly. "Do yo-- did the graffiti have anything to do with that?" Nearly all of Rome had seen the very unflattering drawings and accompanying text depicting Longinus and Sestia Vaticana. "Did she leave to protect her reputation?" Retreating before more damage could be done was clever, but they were both free and about to be married, anyway - so why bother? It did not entirely make sense. @Sharpie @Sara

The blissful darkness lasted only a few moments before a kick to the shin had Titus groaning in exasperation and taking his arm off his face to throw it to his side and bat her away. Zia was glaring at him, naturally - it was all she ever did -, seemingly slighted at his blatant lack of interest. With bleary, red-rimmed eyes he glared back, also quite naturally. If a glaring contest was how she asserted dominance, he wasn't going down without a fight. He let out a quick string of obscenities under his breath, calling Zia a selection of carefully-curated names of which the nicest was lupa. Even if Titus were so... desperate, or thirsty, or misguided, or skilled, or all at once that he would put effort into it and make her come once or twice, she would never admit to it; of that he was absolutely sure. He bet Zia was the type never to compliment the cook on a great meal, either. "Why bother? It's not like you'd be singing my praises in the morning no matter what I did." Whether it took thirty seconds or thirty minutes. Not man enough? More like she wasn't woman enough to make a man want her! She rose unexpectedly, trying to balance herself, and Titus found himself looking on with a mix of dread and curiosity. What was she going to do now, use his chest as a footstool? Step hard down between his legs? Within seconds he was spared the trouble of guessing as the woman began to jump on the bed, making sounds that would sound fake even to an inexperienced boy. All Titus could do was gape at the spectacle, too stunned to even laugh. He had never hallucinated while drunk before, but the gods knew what these savages put in their wine or what plants their bees visited to make honey. Somehow he managed to get out a few disbelieving words. "Is this part of your wedding rituals?" It was mesmerising, in a way - like being on firm land and watching a storm at sea, miles away into the horizon. Only in this case it was not more than two or three feet away. And the show, or ritual, or hallucination or whatever it was came to an ungraceful end as she lost her balance and used Titus' arm to cushion the fall. For a split second he regretted that she had not tumbled down to the floor instead, before the sudden added weight registered and he tried fruitlessly to yank back his arm. All it did was awkwardly bring her an inch or two closer. "If you changed your mind and want to snuggle you could've just said so," Titus ventured with a hint of sarcasm as he brought his other arm protectively over his chest. At this close a range, things could get very painful very quickly. Maybe, just maybe, he could try to hook his arm under and over her and lock her into place against his side, preferably with her arms trapped between them? The 'under' part was already taken care of, and kicks to his legs he could manage. With as much strength as he could muster whilst also fighting the (very regrettable) urge to roll on to his side to make it easier, Titus attempted to hold Zia in place with his free hand so she would have more difficulty escaping, and heaved his trapped arm just enough to partially free it and forcefully wrap it around her, drawing her up against him in a mockery of intimacy. There. Now he still had one free arm to protect himself with if need be. Feeling quite pleased with himself, Titus stifled a yawn and peered sternly down at the woman. "You done fucking around yet? If you had put this much effort into turning me on from the start we'd both be a lot happier by now." Gods, it was like scolding a petulant child. @Sara

Titus' frustration was evident in the way he bit his lip and closed his eyes for a moment, counting to ten in his head before opening them again so that he might extract another small measure of patience from Jupiter knew where. If he was going to be staying at the villa for an undetermined amount of time, he would need a whole legion's worth of it. His eyes met Attis' and he nodded in reply to the unspoken question. Whatever the body slave thought was the best course of action at this moment, he should go and make it happen - and now Attis had the perfect motive to excuse himself for a couple of minutes. The little barbed comment Longinus made hurt him more than he let on; was this really what his friend thought of him? That he had come collect information with which to feed Rome's ever-spinning rumour mill? He wanted to believe it was spite and annoyance talking, told himself it had to be so. He also wanted to believe those same emotions were responsible for Longinus' lack of interest in confiding in him, because the alternative was so much more saddening: that they weren't such good friends after all. Good for a night out drinking or exchanging legion stories, but not for when a wedding was cancelled practically the day of. He gave Longinus a look heavy with something between despondency and disapproval and shook his head briefly, holding eye contact. Contrary to what Longinus had implied - hoped for, maybe - Titus was not running away. "No." He ignored the rude bait - sarcasm and petty insults were low-hanging fruit, but he was serious. And he wanted Longinus to understand he meant it. "We came because whatever is plaguing you has had you shut off from everyone for close to a month. Because we care about you, Lucius." If this first-time use of his friend's praenomen didn't impress significance to his words, then he wasn't sure what could. "Do you trust us so little that you would rather suffer alone? That you think we would mock you or tell the world about your troubles rather than lend an ear and offer no judgement?" Gods, now would be the perfect time for Attis to exercise the rash tongue that had seen him sent away and speak freely of his concern and devotion to his master's wellbeing. Titus thought he spied some movement out of the corner of his eye and prayed it was the slave, but didn't turn away from Longinus. @Sharpie @Sara

Horatia's reaction to the mere mention of imbibing fun was exactly why she would be the one to benefit the most of a drink or two or a whole jug. "He would probably appreciate the company," Livia retorted with irony in the sweetest, most innocent tone she could muster. It went without saying that their dear pater could outdrink all of his progeny, and thanks to many years of training did a better job than any of them at remaining minimally functional even after having had three times his fill. Yet - gods, would it kill her sister to lighten up every once in a while? Horatia had probably been reading too much by Stoic authors lately, or subscribed to the ideology herself. Discussing philosophy, however, was not what Livia had in mind for the rest of the visit, and she was inwardly pleased and relieved when Horatia took the bait and moved on to the matter of slaves and manumission. Livia listened attentively to her sister's words, genuinely curious about the reasoning behind them. As expected, it made perfect sense: body slaves to matrons were jacks of all trades and masters of none, having passable knowledge or skill at a number of things necessary to their mistress's well-being yet not being specialised enough in them in order to fashion themselves a career - as far as a slave could have one - should the conditions of their servitude change. "No, far from it." Livia shook her head, making a handful of artificially tight curls move sightly around her head like a bracelet with so many charms. "It's rather the opposite," she admitted, tipping her head towards the gardens where Aglaea had been chatting to one of Horatia's slaves. "I refuse to think of parting with her. You can't really find loyal slaves these days, and think of the time it would take to train a new one!" Livia's eyes widened and her voice turned higher in pitch, as if the mere notion were utterly preposterous. "But..." she lowered her gaze, finding it safer to examine the details of Horatia's stola and how well the hem was sewn rather than make eye contact again and with it be subject to intense scrutiny, "... she has recently mentioned to me that she would like a family of her own, eventually." It was what every woman was taught already in the crib she should want, and the measure of her worth - a woman lacking a family was either disreputable or a slave. "Can't blame her for it. Isn't it what we all want? But I can't possibly free her." Not at this point in Livia's life, and if things did not improve, probably not ever. She sighed and rubbed her eyes, suddenly feeling bone-deep weariness. "Yet what if she runs away with some dimwit with a nice smile and pretty speeches? I don't think she's the type, but..." she shrugged, at a loss for words in the end. Livia did not think herself to type to have ended up in her current circumstances, yet there she was. How could she claim to know Aglaea when she did not even know herself? @Sara