Liv

To read myself, I get distracted if others read to me (probably why I'm not into audio books). Bathtub or shower?

This was not what he had signed up for when he'd requested outrageous tales. Titus had been expecting sordid stories of men deliberately wanting a shaved head to elude an angry mistress, or beards crusted in place by rests of porridge. Barbatius' razor chest was a fine piece, but the whole story behind it made Titus' eyes widen in silence as he listened to the barber's words. Slaves so distressed they would kill themselves had been the furthest thing from his mind. Longinus was equally alarmed going by the incredulous look he shot Titus, but all he could do to answer was give a minute shake of his head and turn a palm up. 'Do you think I'd have brought you here if I knew?!' (he definitely would have). "No, me neither," he concurred, wondering just how strict a master Marcus Barbatius really was. Had he learnt it from the barbarian Gauls in his native province, or was it something that Rome had brought out in the man? "I don't think I've ever had such... desperate slaves." It was the most politically correct way he could word it, but it really should have been 'miserable' instead of 'desperate'. Titus himself was moderately strict with his slaves, particularly in the beginning and until they learned to perform their tasks to his satisfaction, but once they'd proven themselves worthy they were mostly left to their own devices. The few that had been a wrong fit had been punished and then sold off, but all things considered, the slave turnover rate at his house was low and stable. He tried to lighten the mood. "I find they're a bit like dogs, honestly. You have to train them first and some take longer than others, but in general they seem to respond better to praise and small rewards than punishment." A happy, well-fed dog would come running to its master with its tail wagging and even let its owner take prey right from its mouth, whereas a skinny mistreated dog would cower and growl and be ready to bite at any moment. "It also comes down to temperament. Some people are easier to tame than others." @Atrice @Sara

"Good!" Clio replied energetically, bobbing her hand up and down. If Helenus' earnings were anything like hers, every single coin was precious, from a modest quadrans to a hard-won sestertius. Did he get tips from the richer patrons at the baths? Possibly, if they hadn't had their belongings rummaged through and valuables stolen. If they stayed long enough for another round, she decided, it would be on her. She had, after all, sent the invitation, and had the funds to buy a fellow slave a cup of wine or two. Helenus' somber explanation resonated with her, sending a rare wave of pity through her chest. Attending to one master was trying enough at times, but Clio had never stopped to consider how the free patrons of the thermae might have assumed that their entrance fee also entitled them to use the capsarii as they saw fit. "I'd never really thought about that," she admitted in an undertone and intertwined her fingers. The part he had left unspoken was sadder still: being made to steal was debasing, even for a slave. Plenty of people divested others of their possessions of their own free will, but slaves had to do as they were told always, even if it went against their principles. Yet the discovery brought a sliver of egotistical joy. If Helenus was forced to steal but did not really want to, then it must mean he was a good person. And spending time with a good person couldn't be so wrong, surely the gods would see it that way too? Even if her mistress did not. And could it really be so wrong, when it felt so comfortable? "We do," Clio chuckled mirthlessly. "It's not like we have a choice." The barman returned with their order and placed both drinks on the table with his trademark grunt, then sauntered off to tend to another customer. She wet her lips with fresh posca and gazed thoughtfully at the cup. "One owner is more manageable, but I wouldn't call it easier. They can be really unpredictable, telling you to hop left one second and run right the next. And you can't pass them on to another slave unless they tell you to." Her voice grew more animated, drawing from random recollections of episodes with her domina. "And if they really do like you... it can be good, of course, but it can also be a little..." She looked at the ceiling, trying to come up with the right word. "Suffocating." Yes, that described it well. Clio brought her eyes down and allowed them to stay trained on Helenus' handsome face. She gave him a tired smile. "But it's not like we have a choice. And compared to those poor souls at the mines, we shouldn't complain too much." But gods, how she wanted to complain about being a little more than a pretty doll. @Atrice

The vendor was a deft one, handling the other customer's drink as he waited for Safinia to make up her mind. She didn't quite like the excess familiarity, but as long as he didn't insist on calling her 'love', she would let it go and do business with him. "One pork, then." As she dug into her purse to fish out some coin, the man from the row below turned around and joined in on their little conversation, if it could be called that. He was brawny like the men in the arena and handsome in a rugged kind of way. Safinia gave the seller his money and gave the man's offer some consideration. From this little sample, he might be the flirty type. He also had coin, enough to buy the largest mug of wine. Combining the two observations, he might just buy her a drink if she joined him, which would save her money. Smirking compalcently, Safinia rose from her seat and pulled her skirt up to her knees, hopping down without much difficulty onto the vacant spot next to the bulky man. She let the skirt drop to her ankles and lowered herself into a sitting position. It was a snug fit between the man and the spectator on her other side, but not so tight that she couldn't have her arms at her sides. With what had to be Rome's most fake smile plastered on her lips, Safinia turned to her new neighbour. "Don't mind me, then," she chuckled as she reached across his (admittedly broad) chest to grab the pork roll the vendor was holding out to her. @Gothic @Atrice

Clio thanked the red-haired man with a nod and placed her food and drink on the table before sitting down. Sitting in such close proximity to the group, she had no choice but to involuntarily eavesdrop as they introduced themselves to one another. Her dark eyes widened as she blew on a spoonful of steaming hot stew. An Imperial slave at this sorry establishment? Was he not lavishly fed enough at his master's place that he had to come and sample the poor man's chow? Another of the men said his own name and that of his master; it did not ring a bell in the way the other hand, but it sounded fancy. Maybe some bigwig senator. She ate quietly, wondering to herself if there was some sort of slave meeting going on she was unaware of. The men weren't friends going out to lunch, or hadn't been when they had entered the popina, because in that case introductions would not have been necessary. If they started plotting their masters' demise, Clio would excuse herself and leave - she had no desire to be associated to modern-day Spartaci. A newcomer joined them, and he seemed to know the dark-haired chatty slave (Attis, Clio remembered he had called himself). A damned Greek, of course. She'd heard it the second he opened his mouth, the barely-there accent but oh so very familiar. No other people on earth could be so petulant and look so good doing so, even with the way he looked down on them all as if they were flies in his soup. He wouldn't laugh at Attis' joke either, she wagered. "I'm Clio." She wiped the corners of her mouth with her thumb and took a sip of her posca. "Nice to meet you all," she nodded at each man in turn without much enthusiasm. When her eyes landed on the man called Hector, she stopped and smirked. "Kaliméra."1 Don't go thinking you're better than everybody else, boy. We're all slaves here. @Sharpie @Chevi @Joaquin 1 - 'good day' in Greek

A common person would have firmly denied any accusations of eavesdropping; Bassus not only confirmed them but even sounded a little proud of himself. It threw Safinia’s algorithm out of whack for a moment, and unsure of how to react, she simply looked at him impassively. What was appropriate to say in return? Thank him for letting her know? Click her tongue in disapproval? After a couple of seconds of indecision, she settled for another one-armed shrug. “You do what’s best for you.” Bassus extended his arms to help her carry the leeks and Safinia carefully transferred half the load to him, nodding when she was content that he was holding them securely enough. “Those will be today’s lunch, so don’t drop them unless you want to eat bits of horse muck.” They’d be scrubbed clean and soaked in water and vinegar before going into the pot, but it never hurt to be careful. If even one batch of food turned bad, it could spell doom for the whole faction. Racers couldn’t race if they were too busy keeping their bowels from falling out of their bodies. With another nod, Safinia motioned for Bassus to follow her and set course for the kitchen again. "Not always. This is actually my first time working in the kitchens only. Before, I did a little bit of everything," she shrugged. The indifference with which she spoke of current and past tasks was real, but contrary to her nature, Safinia thought it best to clarify what she meant by ‘everything’; Bassus came across as the type whose mind was prone to wandering in the cloaca maxima too often. "Mended clothes, spun wool, cooked, kept house. The ordinary womanly and wifely duties.” In this way, her previous occupation was only obliquely referred to, and Safinia hoped to keep it that way. She had wanted a clean break when she had joined the Whites, and she did not fancy being drowned in requests to fix this and that or assist the seamstresses. Now that he had enquired about what she did before, Bassus probably expected to be asked the same in return. Safinia wasn’t invested in his answer, but small talk was an art and she a struggling student who needed to practise. “Have you always been a charioteer, Bassus?” @Beauty

It had become something of a habit for Clio to visit the same popina in Via Lata at some point during her days off. Oftentimes it was for a bite at lunchtime, others to end the day in a jollier note before returning to the ludus. On this particular day, it was the former. The path through winding narrow streets that eventually led to Via lata and the popina was a familiar one, her feet guiding her there practically of their own accord. Her mind, in the mean time, was busy reminiscing on that time she'd met with Helenus at that very place, and a small smile formed on her lips. The smells of food and drink hung heavy in the air inside the popina, some more pungent than others. The place was, as usual, alarmingly close to full capacity. As she stepped inside, Clio realised at once she might just have to eat at the counter, or even take it with her. She placed her usual order of posca and a small bowl of stew, collected it swiftly and set about finding a place to sit, surveying the stuffy room like an eagle looking for prey. One large table still had an empty seat or two and Clio wasted no time in making a beeline for it, striding past eventual competitors for the seat with purpose in her step and menace in her glare. If somebody dared to try and steal that seat from under her nose, there would be trouble. As she approached the table Clio noticed the seat was right next to a small group of chatting men, but they didn't seem to be drunk enough yet that it would be risky to sit there. One of the men had striking red hair, much like a certain wig her domina liked to don sometimes. "It's not taken, is it?" Clio interrupted the men's conversation, pointing to the vacant seat with her little finger (the only one she could spare, for the others were busy holding a full cup and the bowl). @Chevi @Joaquin @Sharpie

Finished reading Invisible Romans the other day. It was interesting, but I felt like I already knew much of the information presented there and I also found it a bit odd that the author would sometimes state that he would not focus on X and then the next paragraph was precisely about X. Also, the majority of the examples and evidence shown seemed to come from Roman Egypt, which I'm not sure would be generally representative of the lower class population since it was a province with special status and very Hellenised to boot. Now I'm reading Dammi mille baci ('Give me a thousand kisses') by Eva Cantarella, which goes into how sex, romance and relationships were viewed in ancient Rome and draws heavily from classical literature (including Catullus' verses from its title) - so the picture it paints is biased towards the higher classes, since that's what most of the quoted poets and writers belong to. There's also mentions of obscene Pompeii grafitti. Don't know if there are any English-language editions.

First the sausage, now the honey cake. Whatever Titus ate, Quintus seemed to disapprove of it. But why serve all these delicacies, then, when his brother knew so well how much he liked them? It could be Quintus' roundabout way of taking the mickey and making Titus feel like they had travelled thirty years back in time and he was just a gluttonous little boy, easily manipulated by promises of sweets from his older siblings and not yet quite clever enough to figure out just what said promises entailed. He pretended to be all contrite about the less-than-positive way he had spoken about Sulpicia, but it was all in good fun. Titus himself had had worse insults directed at him coming from their sister's lips, especially when the age difference had made their interests utterly incomprehensible to one another. He shot Quintus a bashful look that lasted all of three seconds before it dissolved into a fit of laughter as he batted away the napkin thrown at him. "First you condemn what I eat, then you scold me, and finally you attack me with a napkin. If I've worn out my welcome, brother, you need only say it and I'll show myself out," he joked, gasping for breath between laughs. Barring when with Valeria, he felt hadn't indulged in such familiar fun in far too long. Hearing that Quintus' family was doing well brought a satisfied grin to his face, and also a slight pang of sadness at not having had so much to do with them over the last few years. That had been his choice, and he was far from regretting it, but just like with his own children, it meant he had missed out on some of the simple pleasures of civilian life: watching his kids play with his nieces and nephews was one of them. "When is Quintus Minor donning his toga virilis?" Titus took another sip of his wine as his brother went on to mention his two wives, not in the slightest disconcerted by it. "I hope I get a chance to greet them properly later." Their arrangement - the particulars of which were of no interest or concern to Titus - had existed for a number of years and similar ones were certainly practised in domi all over Rome. He did not accord Venusiana the same deference he treated Cornelia with, but that had more to do with birth status and family prestige than the place each occupied in Quintus' life. "Oh, they're well. Flacca is delighted to be back," he commented, unusually referring to his eldest by her seldom-used cognomen to distinguish her from their sister Sulpicia; in Titus' own house, it would not have been necessary. "Rome's a lot more interesting place to be than the backwaters of the empire when you're turning into a young woman, you see. There's 'fashion' here." His eye roll and sudden falsetto were a faithful impression of his adolescent daughter. "Publius is doing fine too. He's not too fussy, thankfully. Which is more than I can say about Valeriana... Did you know she tied herself to a tree when we told her we were leaving? Didn't want to come." Now he could chuckle about it, but at the time it had been a veritable test on his patience. What god had he affronted so badly that they saw fit to make his youngest daughter take after her paternal aunt in character? @Gothic ________ It's totally fine, no problem at all! He does have a weak spot for honey cakes

Longinus' surprise at the barber's origins was mirrored by Titus' own, although he only opened his eyes wider and raised his eyebrows. There was no point in asking the same question, they would just sound like a duo of poor actors. He didn't recall Barbatius having mentioned it before, but between his rather recent patronage of the man and the state of utter blank-mind relaxation he entered under his skilled bladework, it could very well be the case that Titus just hadn't been listening. In one scarred ear and out the other healthy one - or maybe it was the other way round, whichever made more sense. To Barbatius' credit, his Latin was impeccable and his manners likewise, even if it sounded like he had only come to Rome as a grown man. Still, Titus was curious, and he reckoned Longinus would also be itching to know. "Where are you originally from?" If he had to hazard a guess, one of the older, thoroughly Romanised provinces like Gallia Narbonensis or Hispania Tarraconensis would be his pick. The man might also have good stories from his time there. He pretended to give a great deal of thought to the decision of what kind of stories he'd rather listen to by humming and chewing on his lower lip, but Titus' choice had been mind from the moment Barbatius had voiced the question. In truth he was itching to find out just how tragic a plebeian barber's tales could be (had any throats actually been cut?!), but Longinus had not entertained the option and Titus, for once, was not going to call him out on it. For all his easy grins and apparent bravado, the loss of his wife did appear to have taken its toll on him. "Outrageous," he stated with a cheeky smile of his own after a few seconds. With any luck, Barbatius would regale them with a tale or two worth repeating to Valeria, though her fertile imagination was enough source of inspiration. And yes, if pushed to admit it, Titus was curious about what sort of events had taken place under the barber's roof. Funny anecdotes could be heard anywhere, but outrageous ones were a different matter, and life with Landicus had left him jaded to those, like going back to bland puls after weeks of sumptuous meals. Now that his unkempt mane of hair had been almost completely cut to a far more agreeable length, Longinus was beginning to look a lot more like the respectable Roman senator he purported to be. Titus nodded his appreciation at the barber, although the gesture could also be taken to mean his agreement with Longinus' admission. "Can't say I have a lot of business round here either." @Atrice @Sara

Safinia blinked in perplexity, big blue eyes trained on the charioteer. She had expected a patronising lecture on being an unmarried young woman in a male-dominated setting and the dangers that came with it (her wedding ring was gone months before she joined the Whites, traded for much more necessary coin). The simple, nonchalant statement on human nature came as a surprise, and yet it was completely truthful. There was no rhyme or reason to so much of human behaviour, and that was what made it so hard to figure out to her. His second reply fell more into line with her projections. News and gossip travelled fast, even more so in an almost self-contained miniature society like the White faction. Maybe Bassus had assumed the role of friendly neighbourhood spinster, knower and spreader of all important and less important information. "So you eavesdrop a lot?" She would have to be careful with this one, if he was as eagle-eyed as he claimed to be. Safinia broke eye contact and bit her lower lip in reflection; if she got caught, it would not be good. Not at all. Perhaps she should stick to the women's quarter for the time being or until another woman proclaimed herself similarly sharp-eyed. As Bassus pointed to the leeks under her arm her gaze naturally followed the gesture, and Safinia dropped her free hand from her waist, feeling more at ease with the man's talk. Food was a good subject to discuss. It was safe and predictable, and everybody had an interest in it; if they didn't, they were ill. "They're very fresh. Brought in from the market just an hour ago," she supplied. Another (harmless) piece for Bassus the Stable Crier. And then he had to go back to knocking Safinia off kilter a bit. Some people were kindhearted enough to want to help others without expecting anything in return, like Paula had been. Others appeared to do so but had future gains in mind. Which category did the charioteer fit into? "You may if you want to," Safinia shrugged, making the leeks bob up and down."That would be very nice of you," she added in a deliberate, artificial afterthought. People liked to see their good deeds recognised. "But I don't have anything of value to give you in return." That was clear to see just from looking at her: her stained clothes were plain in form and decoration and very well-worn, and the only adornments she bore were white strips of fabric braided into her dark hair to represent and support her employers. She was not a person worth blackmailing. @Beauty

Tertius was as gracious a host as he was straight-forward in speech, inviting his guests to the manumission of his slave son. Titus gave the man a non-committal smile and murmured "It would be an honour." He reckoned it would be more of a familial event, but from what little he'd seen so far, Varus was a contact worth exploring. He'd have to confer with Valeria later and get her opinion on it. It was kind of Longinus to omit the rather carefree way in which Titus had referred to Tertius' niece in their correspondence, which only proved how seriously he was taking the meeting. Ordinarily, such a golden opportunity for ribbing would not have gone to waste. In exchange, Titus would refrain from badmouthing Britannia and any native habits Longinus might or might not have picked up there. "Thank you for your kind words. It's still bothersome, though," Titus admitted, feeling more than a little self-conscious as his eyes darted back and forth between the two pitchers. Water might be the better choice for once since not all spices were created equal, particularly when one was sick. "And your niece sounds like a very fetching young lady, which is why it came as a surprise that she is not yet married. Have you not found the right man yet?" he asked, sharing a meaningful look with Longinus. If his friend had any wits about him, he should be paying very close attention now. The master of the house sent his body slave to get someone, and in the meantime Titus had no choice but to grab the water jug and pour himself some water. Varus was nice and all, but his slaves could do with being more attentive. This kind of lapse wouldn't fly at his own domus. As he took a large gulp of water as quickly as his sore throat would let him, Tertius' body slave returned with a female slave in tow. She looked strikingly familiar, but Titus' fever-addled brain was unable to place the resemblance right away. Prolonged staring to jog his memory would not be polite; going by the fine garments on her and the way she settled next to her master, this was a slave of some importance to Varus. Gods, where had he seen the likes of her? It had been very recently, that much Titus was sure of. Was it her face or her hair that looked so well-known to him? Perhaps both. Even her build was like one he'd seen before... but where? He furrowed his brow in contemplation and saw no other solution but to steal a glance at the woman every now and then when their host wasn't looking and see if it came to him. @Atrice @Sara @Joaquin

I'm game too! Wonder who'll be the first to crack under the pressure

Clio was still nervous, overanalysing practically everything both she and Helenus said, but she wasn't yet sure if that was a bad thing. As a body slave, she tended to be hyper aware of her mistress's moods and subconsciously took note of all the tiny changes that came with them, but even in her own free time, she found it nigh impossible to turn off that part of her brain. The disadvantage of mingling with one she didn't know well, like the thermae slave, was that it was seldom clear which signs meant what, if they meant anything at all. With that in mind, Clio decided to stick to posca. Wine might dull her senses if she got carried away or overly excited. "I could use a refill." She thrust the nearly empty cup at the servant and was about to hand it over when the sudden sound of metal clanging on the floor jolted her, almost making her drop the cup which would have rolled off the table and joined the coins. Unsure of what to do, Clio remained seated, looking at her hands while Helenus hurried to pick up his money. He probably felt embarrassed enough that her helping him with the coins would only make it worse. The hairy man took the coins and Clio's cup with a grunt and ambled away; he would be back soon. "It's all right. Did you get them all?" She spoke softly, hoping it would relay to Helenus how unimportant the blunder had been. Everybody, slave or senator, had surely dropped a coin or two in their lifetime. Talking while they waited for their drinks would also help to move on from the little incident. "Nope, he's not," Clio replied, shaking her head in a teasing manner and dislodging a few tufts of black hair in the process. Despite her apparent gaiety just then, she didn't want to say too much about her dominus either; he was even more terrifying than his wife could be, and a lot less willing to forgive any transgressions whether involuntary or on purpose. But at the same time, she couldn't say too little either, because that might make Helenus curious and send him on a personal investigation. She'd have to share some tidbits and hide others, hopefully in a balanced way. "They're well-off, but they're not patricians." Maybe Helenus would assume they were some sort of rich merchants... which could be spun as truth, in a way. "What's so bad about being a public slave?" At least they didn't get sold that often. @Atrice

Helenus seemed to be in quite a state thanks to the odd episode he'd been through; Clio recalled him being a tad more outspoken at the baths. The uncertainty of it all had to weigh heavily on his mind... but was that the only reason he was looking so downcast? She hoped he wasn't regretting having accepted her invitation to a drink, or feeling bored to death. Oh, she knew exactly what he meant when he described the woman. She lived with one herself, and one thing Clio had learnt over the years with her mistress was just how flighty such women's moods tended to be. Things could be sunshine and roses one instant, then fire and fury the next. Their unpredictability was what made them so fearsome. "Yup, I know," she nodded in commiseration. If the wheels of complaint had been set in motion, it was just as Helenus had said: he had no power to decide anything; but if he had been a model capsarius thus far, maybe his supervisor would take that into account and soften the blow if he could, or rather, if he wanted to. His eyes finally met hers, and Clio smiled at him in encouragement. His question seemed to be more for confirmation than anything, as he'd probably have connected the dots after their previous encounter. "Correct. I've been with her for over two years now. She treats me well, I can't complain." Although she was speaking the truth, Clio was reluctant to share her domina's name right off the bat, though she couldn't quite put her finger on the reason why. She didn't think Annia Comna's name would be known to a thermae slave - though he might have heard of the Ludus Dacicus, if only in passing -, but if Helenus was more deceitful than Clio had been able to discern, knowing who to go to with blackmail in mind would have made the task even easier. "She's a bit like the lady from your story. 'Beautiful but deadly'," she quoted, wondering for a split second just how deadly. Well, everyone had their own secrets, and those of Annia Comna were of no concern to Clio unless the woman wanted them to be. The hirsute barkeep came round at last and grumbled out an impatient "What'll it be?". @Atrice

So Bassus was simply after preferential treatment in matters of food. From a logical point of view it made sense to attend to his request, for a well-fed charioteer should perform better. However, Safinia was not sure just how high up the food chain Bassus was: he looked twice her age and so his career could very well be on its last legs. She would have to confer with others before committing to such a deal. She followed his gaze downwards with her own, not instinctively comprehending what he was hinting at but having a good idea thanks to a decade of living surrounded by, and a part of, the hoi polloi. Like so many men, it seemed this one fancied himself a comic. Safinia knitted her brows and stared at him unblinkingly; fortunately he saw fit to clarify he was only joking... or was he? This encounter was getting stranger by the second, even down to the friendly patting of her arm. "I always ask why," she nodded, still unsure of where this was leading. How did it go from food to a promise of protection? Had a horse trampled on Bassus' head one time too many? It was difficult for her to follow the shift in topics, but he was not being unkind. Her expression relaxed into one of marginal interest but her hand was still firmly planted on her hip. "Why should anyone mess with me?" she asked, shaking her head slightly. Safinia was only an inconsequential cook's assistant, and a very new one at that. Nobody had any reason to quarrel with her. Yet. "And why do you know my name?" @Beauty

Snip snip snip went Barbatius' scissors as locks of dark hair started littering the floor around his feet. The man worked at a leisurely pace, but each gesture was masterful and precise; fascinating, even. The barber's question snapped Titus out of his study, and he flashed the man an apologetic smile. "Pardon me, good Barbatius. I meant no offence to your skills, only to senator Longinus' face." Boom, arrows shot. Behind the joke, he shared Barbatius' wish that his friend wouldn't leave the shop dissatisfied; a poor experience would reflect as badly on the barber whose skills were deemed subpar as on the one who had introduced businessman and client. Titus nodded as Longinus couldn't and gratefully accepted the wine from the woman slave. "Just the wine is fine, thank you." He wasn't particularly peckish yet, and whatever delicacies Barbatius could offer them would almost definitely pale in comparison to what he could have in his own home - but he wouldn't be so rude as to disparage any bites if the barber offered. His friend's description of Dacia made him chuckle, although he cast the sitting senator a look that could be described as intense or murderous, depending on the observer. "They have surprisingly good wine there, and the weather is generally fair. Compared to Britannia, it couldn't be anything but lovely." The one thing both provinces had in common was the resilience of their peoples, though they had no choice but to submit in the end... but Titus didn't think Marcus Barbatius was the type to relish tales of military feats. Titus sipped at his wine, pleasantly surprised by its quality. Barbatius seemed to aiming for a good impression, and decent drink always helped. Titus needed no further impressing since he was content with the man's skills as was, but Longinus might enjoy the liquid help to leave his preconceptions behind. Going by the way the latter was chattering, Titus got the feeling he wasn't quite at ease yet, but maybe Barbatius did have some good stories to tell. The divine Julius couldn't have been the only man who tried to hide a receding hairline... @Atrice @Sara

The gods were on his side and seemingly more than happy to smite Longinus and his flimsy tent. It was very satisfactory, and as pleasant as it would have been to add to the wetness of the scroll by throwing his wine cup at Longinus' desk, Titus had had enough of their back-and-forth bantering. "I'm not joking. Do you honestly think I would come all the way here from Londinium at full speed just to play a practical joke on you lot? I value my time more than that, and thankfully so does the proconsul," Titus retorted with an edge to his voice, and pinched the bridge as he closed his eyes for a second and inhaled deeply. He needed to calm down. It was not Aulus' fault that Longinus was a complete arse with an uncanny gift to get on his nerves. He'd be having a look at those records later - provided he found them -, but first he wanted to know if the two officers could have a particular suspect in mind. "Good. Make sure nobody else touches them." The rolls would be essential to finding out the extent of the fraud, and possibly even at what level it was committed. If he had to go through the whole mess scattered about the tent to find them, then so be it. Aulus, at least, was according the matter the seriousness it deserved, and Titus found himself thankful for the man's presence. He was sharp of mind and sensible, and might have some useful pointers. "From what we've been able to gather, some 120 new slaves, give or take, have disappeared from your records between the last two to four months. Mentioned in the earlier records, declared dead in the newer. But that's a rather high mortality rate, don't you think? Two slaves on average dying every single day, when other camps having been losing at most a third of your numbers in the same two months. And no mention of disease that might justify this." Titus drank a little more wine to wet his lips and throat, then resumed talking. "There's also some inconsistencies with valuables, gold and silver for the most part. But we can get into that later. For now, I'd just like to hear your thoughts on who in this camp may have a hand on this." The two officers in front of him were, of course, above suspicion, since neither needed to acquire even more wealth in such schemes; that they were also not inclined to corruption helped their case. @Sara @Sharpie

I'd love to see @Atrice's Helios and @Sara's Vibia trying to outsmart and outplot each other.

Titus took his place opposite on the couch opposite his friend and contented himself with listening to the other two talk about their respective families. Two widowers in lofty positions with young daughters and slave sons; even if no marriage plans came out of the meeting, a political alliance or play dates for the girls could very well become a thing. Who would have thought Varus and Longinus had so much in common from the get-go? He wasn't oblivious to Longinus' furtive glances at Tertius' body slave and then at his own, almost as if he was comparing the two (and their host's servant was the winner in physical attractiveness, although Titus was staunchly devoted to the fairer sex). As far as Titus was concerned, he didn't think the action to be especially wise considering the subject that brought them to Tertius' domus, but as he too plucked and ate a juicy grape, he gave a mental shrug. He wasn't there to be judged as a groom and his judging of the potential bride had already been done in written form - he was only there for moral support, possible connections and a well-timed fit of coughing if a distraction was called for. "I truly am lucky, Fortuna has been very kind to us." He lowered his eyes in a display of humility, but his cheesy smile spoke volumes of his agreement with the other two's praises. And was it not perfect? He was happily married to his first and hopefully only wife, all of their children were living and sound, and save for the occasional spell of illness like the current one, everyone was healthy. The same went for his siblings' families, and the grim exception belonged to his father-in-law, who'd mourned a wife and two sons and was not doing too great in his old age. Compared to the other two senators, though, he was doubtlessly blessed by the gods, although he didn't know what he'd done to deserve such favour and would not wonder nor complain lest they think him ungrateful. "Although it gets a bit rowdy sometimes with three children. My youngest is particularly boisterous, even though she's a girl." Hopefully she would grow out of it in the coming years, but if not, pity the man who ended up with her. A second grape turned out to be a great offence to his throat and lungs. For a few seconds he coughed into his elbow pit with no respite, but at last it subsided. "Apologies," he muttered gravelly when it finally went away, eyes even more watery than before. "I'm afraid you'll have to put up with quite a bit of this today." Maybe some honeyed wine would help, if one of the slaves could be bothered to serve them... He liked Varus already, though. The man had wasted little time in cutting straight to the point, although he remained polite enough. Why waste time with empty platitudes or long-winded speeches about nothing of interest? Titus gave a silent nod of approval, curious as to how Longinus would phrase his intentions. @Atrice @Joaquin @Sara @Sharpie _______ Worry not, it's just the common seasonal flu.

The hot autumn day found Safinia carrying a hefty bunch of leeks under one of her arms, headed to the kitchens. Leek and ham puls was on the menu that day, and she needed to get started on slicing the veggies while the cook portioned the ham. Wisely, she stuck to walking in the shade, and had just stopped to wipe the sweat off her brow when a man approached her and interrupted her simple task. She knew him to be one of the stables' most competent charioteers, but his name escaped her at the moment. Balbus? Gallus? Not Menelaus, this one wasn't as good-looking. But soon her memory was refreshed, and what was more, Bassus knew her name. Why? Had the boss told everyone about her, a mere cook's assistant, joining the Whites? "Yes, that's my name," Safinia nodded blankly. She didn't know about sweet-talking, though; she'd asked for a job and received it, and if pity for her situation was involved, it had only helped achieve the end result. "But I wasn't watching. I'm working." She motioned at the leeks with her head, cocking it a bit to the side. What use would it have been to her to watch the men train? She was not a gambler, and watching would not have helped predict how much food they would want, because they always acted like they were starving anyway, and wanted second and thirds. Uh-oh. Was this one of those tricky questions with a hidden meaning? Even if she did not always (okay, almost never) understand them, Safinia had learnt to recognise them thanks to frequent exposure. A database query drawing on previous experiences put the odds of a double-entendre at 50%, since this Bassus was an unknown quantity. If she managed to observe more of his interactions and establish an empirical model, the probability could go up or down. She decided to go with the more literal option: that the man meant food. "What, something like dates?" Cook would be angry. They didn't like anyone messing with the pantry even if it was just snacks, and Safinia thought she was entirely too new at this job to risk getting the sack, especially for a stranger of a charioteer. She put her free hand on her hip and stared at the man. "Why should I?" @Beauty

The stands were as crowded as ever as the first day of the games arrived. Safinia came more out of habit than real enjoyment; some of the fights were spectacular, but she had never been able to immerse herself in the deathly dances of the gladiators and gladiatrices with complete abandon, unlike everybody else. As long as the admission price didn't rise too much, though, she could keep coming and trying to fit it with the rest of the crowd. Around her, the other spectators were busy shuffling about and settling down. As a natural consequence, people dropped coins all the time, and in many cases Safinia took notice before anyone else. An upstanding citizen would pick up the money and return it to its rightful owner, but she was not an upstanding citizen and she was hungry. The rowdiness of the games made her want to eat: it gave her an excuse to sit still and look busy while her bench neighbours gasped, whistled, booed, stood up and sat back down. If she returned home with a full stomach and a fuller purse at the end of the day, all the better. One row below her, a man had signalled to a shouting vendor, who looked like he was wasting no time in coming to his new customer. Since he was already headed this way, she might as well take the opportunity, and so Safinia raised her hand at the seller. "You said meat rolls. What kind?" For the sake of politeness, she should have waited until the dark-haired man below had received and paid for his drink, but she didn't care. Surely the vendor could handle two customers at a time.

Orange was not too bad; it was fresh and fragrant and not too womanly. A shame that Barbatius took his job seriously, because it would have been so much funnier to see and smell Longinus doused in something dainty and elegant like rosewater. And, truth be told, as feminine as those oils and fragrances appeared to be, they elevated a good shave to a full experience of well-being. Silly Longinus hadn't probably felt his own jaw as smooth as a baby's skin in ages, but hopefully he'd see the error of his ways soon enough and return to the fold of Roman-looking Romans - if not permanently, then long enough to woo his possible future wife and her closest male relative. "You couldn't look this good if you tried," Titus retorted without missing a beat, inspecting his half-bitten fingernail; now it was more or less the same size as its nine siblings. If he thought about how such displays of familiarity between friends might affect how the barber saw them, it didn't show on his posture. Marcus Barbatius was a skilled man, and a useful acquaintance, but he wasn't so important that Titus felt like he had to be all stiff and formal with Longinus in the plebeian's presence. Just as Longinus didn't fancy his hair short, Titus didn't care to let his own grow much longer: it would tend to get wavy and stick up in random places and take even longer to dry and it just... didn't look right. He adjusted his position against the door and observed the barber's practised gestures. That he made it all look so easy and effortless was a testament to his prowess, and Titus found himself more interested in the whole process than he'd ever expected. @Atrice @Sara

"Oh, I'm just having some posca. Wine hasn't been agreeing with me lately." 'Lately' was in fact the last few hours and, more likely than not, it was simply because of the butterflies in her stomach, but she didn't feel like sharing that. Clio glanced around for a barkeep to make eye contact with and raised a hand to head height, signalling an incoming order. The hairy man who had served her before raised his hand back in a 'just a moment' gesture; even if they had coin, slaves weren't usually the highest-priority customers. She took another mouthful of her sour drink as Helenus explained himself again, looking a bit flustered despite his well-groomed state. It was actually cute how he avoided looking at her, like a child being scolded, and Clio found herself smiling a little despite not being entirely sure she believed his spiel. It could indeed have been a mere miscalculation of time on his part, so she decided to take his word for it, at least until he said or did something else suspicious. It would certainly be nice if he proved to be someone she could open up to, in the end... "You're right about that. Just because you weren't punished at the time, doesn't mean they've forgotten it," she commented in a sympathetic tone. Slaves, whether treated well or poorly, were always at the mercy of their masters' whims, and how much time had passed since an offence had taken place played no role in the strength of the punishment. Poor Helenus, he would surely be living the next few days in fear of getting what he assumed was coming to him. "Let me guess, she was one of those snobby matrons with more coin than wits and a few dozen slaves at her grand domus..." Clio was passingly familiar with the type: it was the type of woman her mistress desperately sought to befriend for the gains such a relationship might bring. She sought out Helenus' dark eyes with her own, bowing her head but staring straight at him to encourage him to look at her again. "But does your superior know about it?" Her voice was soft and tinged with worry. Even she did not dare imagine what could happen to the capsarius, but maybe he had already formed his own ideas. "What do you think will happen now?" @Atrice