Liv

She was even more beautiful up close, if that was even possible. Artemon's body felt as light as Hermes' winged sandals, and he himself could have taken flight that very instant. His heart soared at the dulcet tones of her voice. This was his lucky day, the day his fortune changed and the gods smiled down at him. He just knew it.

His grin grew impossibly wider as the lady took his present, apparently pleased with it and entirely oblivious to her dwindling keenness. "Its beauty is nothing compared to yours, of course, but it crowns your hair like a kiss from Isis," Artemon said, watching as if transfixed as she pushed the flower into her elaborate hairstyle. He had scraped off the thorns, he thought - hopefully he hadn't missed any.

"But of course, domina! Anything to make you happy!" was his eager response, and Artemon almost took the young woman's hand in his before he remembered that such boldness would land him into trouble. "I shall come, rain or shine, to fulfil my vow to you!" First, however, he would have to check with Iophon or somebody equally wise just what flowers were in bloom that season. The neighbours downstairs sold fruit, maybe they knew a thing or two about flowers? Or the Dacian witch? No matter; he would find a way.

All he had to do was not mess this up. A difficult task and one he had never quite succeeded at, but Artemon was nothing if not persistent. "Domina, if you are not too busy, will you share with me the gift of your presence over a blackcurrant bun?" His eyes glinted with hope. The baker's stall was just across the street, so her attendants should be able to see that nothing improper would take place! Not that Artemon would even think of it, of course. He was a gallant, although often misunderstood, gentleman.

@David

Artemon could only hope she wouldn't tell Gallus to expect a long list. Maybe he would have to do some sleuthing and ask round - Iophon knew lots of people, so that was a good place to start. Alexius had guests over all the time too, maybe one of them would be interested in earning a few extra asses. In the worst case scenario, he could always take his skint bottom to Ostia and see if any sailors out of work wanted a job on land for a while. It might have been wise to ask for a commission, a fixed percentage for every successfully referred new worker, but wisdom was not Artemon's forte. He made some energetic noncommittal noises and prayed that Gallus could read Greek, because his Latin scribbles would put a young child's to shame.

Speaking of children, he couldn't recall Davus mentioning any little boys, but the attempt to dig deeper into his memory was aborted by the woman's confused tones.

"Yeah, this is my insula!" Not his his, of course. Still, the shock brought on by the witch's deduction made Artemon's jaw drop to the floor. "You mean Gallus and I are neighbours?!" His eyes grew impossibly wider, almost threatening to go flying out of his face like projectiles hurled by a sling. "That makes my life so much easier!" He took the woman's hands in his own and clasped them with enthusiasm, shaking them up and down. "I can just go ask him for an advance! Thank you, witch!" Her powers were truly wondrous.

Now it was his turn to shine - or rather, strut into the insula like he owned the place. "I live on the top floor," he informed gaily, forgetting to keep his voice down. "What's his?" They would have to go up at least one flight of stairs, anyway, unless Gallus secretly kept a shop and slept there too. As they went up, Artemon had regained enough brain power to allocate to the matter of little boys. "Um, if I do I don't remember right now. Sorry," was his contrite admission before brightening up again, "but I can ask my friend next time I see him!" The gods knew when that would be, but Artemon did not lose heart. "And this boy, what is he called? Is he your son or little brother?" Or maybe she wanted the child for more nefarious purposes, like a blood sacrifice! Faintly scandalised by his own conclusion, he gave the Dacian lady a suspicious side look. She didn't look the type to do such a thing, but ships didn't look the type to sink until they were taking on water.

@Sara

"I am sure they are well-founded and much deserved," was Titus' cheeky response to the slap on his back. It was, however, nice of Longinus to spare him from having to introduce himself to the young man sitting nearby. "No, I don't think we have, although I've heard good things about you and your brother," he told Marcus before rolling his eyes at the mention of Britannia. It wouldn't be Longinus if the bloody island didn't come up at least once in conversation. 

The reassurance that he had missed nothing of importance had him settling comfortably in his seat, Publius' lively conversation with Titus Calpurnius Praetextatus a familiar murmur. "Lexus? I thought he had retired many years ago." Titus squinted at the man in the arena whose movements almost seemed like a dance, so effortless they were. It was Lexus all right, beloved by the lowborn and elites alike. The gladiatrix was less familiar, but equally skilled and a more than worthy foe; she wielded her swords better than many a fresh legionary his gladius. All in all, a most exciting match.

"So you've placed bets? Who does our consul favour?" he grinned at Aulus, not really expecting a direct answer. Picking the right horse to bet on, so to speak, was going to be no easy feat from what Titus could see. "Drinks on me if the Thessalian wins. Shame we can't have her train a few recruits." Cocking his head to get a better look at Marcus, he addressed the lad, hoping to put him a bit more at ease should he be feeling shy. "Had you seen Lexus fight before? He was really good back in the day!" Only drove home how old they were all getting, really, as if Longinus' short explanation from earlier hadn't been enough.

@Atrice @Chevi @Sara @Sharpie

The fateful day had come. The day when Livia had run out of excuses to politely refuse a visit from her father and was forced to accede to his request. Her hand had shaken as she wrote the reply the previous week; her whole body trembled now as though she had a fever despite the summer heat, making it nigh impossible to put on her pearl earrings. Standing a few feet away, Ursa merely stared at her feet, having already been subject to two verbal lashings: the first for not rushing to help straight away and the second for being so infuriatingly inept at it that Livia was better off doing it herself. Aglaea's soothing manners were sorely missed, but Livia could not let her father or any of his retinue catch glimpse of her body slave, and so young Ursa was forced to take on the mantle - and, unfortunately for her, was not performing to her mistress's standards.

As the damned second earring finally went in, a bronze-skinned youth came into the room and murmured that her father had arrived and was being shown in. An quick expletive escaped Livia and she hastened to the atrium, smoothing the sides of her loose-fitting, rather drab brown stola and adjusting her honey-coloured palla so that it too was loosely draped over her figure. Behind her, Ursa followed with anxious steps, already preparing herself to be blamed for a treacherous brooch sliding off or a similar occurrence.

The atrium came into view and with it the silhouette of Marcus Horatius Justinus. "Pater!" Some of the elation in Livia's voice was genuine, and she used it to cover the uneasiness that lay beneath. She held her hands out to him, silently hoping he would be content to take them in his rather than draw her into a hug. "I trust you had a safe journey?" A sharp glance at a red-haired slave spurred the poor soul to action, and within seconds he was generously filling a goblet with wine and handing it to their esteemed guest. If there was one thing Secundus was right about was that their slaves were sorely lacking in discipline!

"You must tell me all the news from Rome! It always takes so long to get here," Livia complained as she motioned for them to move to the sofas, fully assuming the role of the spoil younger daughter that she was so adept at playing.

@locutus-sum

Archived topic.

Thank you.

Early July, 76 AD

It was a sweltering day in Rome like so many others, but the heat did not bother Artemon, who was used to Ra visiting worse punishment on him. It was also a very rare day off for him, and after sleeping in past lunchtime he felt very much ready to start his day - get dressed, eat, hit the thermae, steal a certain something from the nearest public garden and busy himself with people-watching.

In this case, however, there was one person Artemon was hoping to see, and even amidst the bustling crowd, his eyes found their intended target.

There she was! A nymph, the loveliest creature the gods had ever made. Nay, she was Ken herself come to Rome and walking among mortals, may his father forgive him for such blasphemous thoughts! From behind a marble column Artemon studied the young woman's activities. Such grace! Such beauty! And that hair, fairer than the emperor's togas and shining in the sun like a thousand aurei! She was a dream, a vision, a balm sent by the gods to rest his tired, bulging eyes.

And she was walking in the opposite direction.

Springing into action, Artemon left his hiding place and broke into a jog to catch up with the lady. "Domina!" he called out, hoping to get her attention, and produced a single, slightly crushed rose from a worn pouch around his waist. "For you, as a token of my appreciation," he beamed as he held out the flower for her to take.

@David

So he was getting a raise after all! Artemon uttered a sound of self-satisfaction as he followed the witch. Maybe she wasn't that evil after all. There was also the merit of his help, of course, and now that she had seen just how cooperative he could be, surely she thought he deserved more than his current pay. Already thinking of all the fabulous thing his new wealth would afford him, he was pulled out of his reverie by the witch's long hair slapping him in the face. "My... view?" Well, he did have a few friends, but he wasn't sure they would be interested. Iophon preferred to stick to storytelling; Alexius was big and brawny but the pay was perhaps too low for him; Davus was a slave, so he couldn't work... This was harder than it first appeared. "I'll see what I can do," Artemon replied with an air of self-importance - not that the woman could see it with her back to him.

Her second question was easier. "Yes! One of my friends is owned by a senator!" Artemon produced a smug grin that was just as invisible. All senators were noble, right? (These Roman classes were so hard to keep up with; things were much easier in Egypt.) And thus the houses they lived in must be noble too. Ah, how satisfying it was when all the pieces fell into place! "But that means he's not got a lot of free time. What do you need from him? You may have to buy him if the task is very... very..." What was the word again? "Exhausting? Exhaustive?" Eh, she knew what he meant.

Lost as he was in conversation, Artemon had until that moment failed to notice that despite the barely existing lighting, they were entering familiar grounds. Very familiar grounds. He looked all around him like an owl, blinking and rubbing his eyes to make sure he wasn't dreaming, and tapped the woman on the shoulder to get her attention. "Why did you bring me home?"

@Sara

Oh. Well, he had asked. Perhaps his friend's master was one of those idiots who saw no value in letting his slaves learn new things. Artemon swatted a fly buzzing about and looked around to ensure nobody was listening in on their conversation before leaning forward and lowering his voice to a conspiratorial murmur. "Do you think that works for dried plants too? Can they come back to life if you plant and water them?"

If, and it was a big if, that worked... Pretty soon Artemon would be rolling in the gold too! And all thanks to his fellow countryman, who would naturally be rewarded for his contribution.

His eyes bulged in awe. "You really are smart, uh..." Whoops - they hadn't exchanged names yet, had they? Or had Artemon simply forgotten it? Wouldn't be the first time - and thanks to prior experience, he knew a polite way of asking. "I'm sorry, what did you say your name was?"

@Sharpie

Emboldened by Iophon's trust in him, Artemon nodded back and focused on the task at him, lips moving silently in apparent inability to keep a solely mental tally. Once the guard was out of the way, he hurried after his brother, scurrying all the way to the window that was to be their way in.

"All right," he nodded, and hoisted himself onto Iophon's linked hands and up the wall, his calloused fingers quickly finding purchase. With surprising ease he pulled himself up through the window, feeling ahead to check that the usual crates were there and piled to the usual height lest he fall and break his neck. Phase One concluded - now to start Phase Two. 

Feet firmly planted on the top crate, Artemon hung his upper body out the window and pulled his twin up as agreed. The warehouse was peaceful; nobody seemed to have spotted them. "So," he whispered eagerly, "shall we try this one first?" He grabbed the file they had brought and switched it from hand to a hand a few times, trying to work out how to make these murine marks Iophon had suggested. Coming up blank, Artemon handed the file back to his brother. "Here, you use this and I'll make the hole." Producing a knife from the folds of his subligaculum, he waved it with a cocky grin, again forgetting the darkness didn't lend itself way to visual displays of prowess.

He sat down, folded his legs and started picking away at the wooden lid that was supporting them, oblivious to the mechanics of retrieving their prize.

@Chevi

To think attending gladiatorial games was such a complicated affair! To start things off, Titus' reply to Longinus' missive had been delivered to Lepidus Cassius Longinus instead and far later than it should have, thanks to a new and particularly dense slave that had been promptly taken back to the market following the mishap. Then, for some nebulous reason not even the gods must be privy to, his cunning big sister Sulpicia had chosen that very day to pay them a visit after weeks of forgetting Titus and his family even existed - probably to discuss summer arrangements and figure out how long she, Lucius and the boys would have the villa in Baiae to themselves for. By the time he had managed to extricate himself and Publius from said visit by claiming a prior and very important commitment (which wasn't a lie!), the sun was already dipping beyond the horizon and the event was well underway.

Nevertheless, they made it in one piece and wasted no time in finding their seats - one of the perks of being a friend of one of the Consuls was that they indeed were very good seats. Titus greeted his fellow patricians and sat down, mumbling an apology about their lateness and trying to gauge how far into the match the gladiators were. "Your cousin Lepidus sends his regards," he told Longinus as Publius too saluted the others and took his seat. "What did we miss?" As far as he could tell, not a lot - the gladiator had just tried to duck under his opponent's twin swords, and neither was yet covered in blood. It wasn't every day that one could witness a gladiatrix and a gladiator facing off against each other in the arena, but the Venus' usual brand of entertainment wasn't of your everyday variety either.

@Atrice @Chevi @Sara @Sharpie

Welcome, David! Glad to have you join us, hope you find Ancient Rome as interesting as Ancient Greece  Looking forward to writing with you!

Not for the first time Livia wished her skin could be made of fire to burn her husband's hands; since it wasn't, she powered through the thankfully brief touch, managing to unfreeze a heartbeat later. Why on earth Secundus elected to only occasionally remember he had manners eluded her, but since he was now exercising them for all to see, she would have to play along and select a seat; the choice fell on a spot further away from their host, so that the men might sit closer together and discuss what they had come here to discuss without having their authority passively questioned by placement. A quick exchange of looks and a barely-visible nod to Sergia that she should do as her uncle suggested, and all were comfortably seated instants later - even Teutus, who turned out to just be fashionably late instead of a no-show like Livia had assumed. "Now now, don't ever let Marcus hear you say that," she teased, playfully touching her hand to Secundus' arm as if the gesture would stay his tongue and drawing it back two seconds later as she smiled over at Teutus. "How lovely that you came too!"

She was not as skilled in the ways of seduction as that tart Secundus had brought into their domus some time before - nor ought she, in her role as respectable matron from a good family and sister-in-law to one of the esteemed consuls - but here was a good opportunity to demonstrate to Sergia how to draw and keep a man's interest at least for one evening... and provide some insight as to what tickled Longinus' fancies whilst she was at it. Witty conversation? Innuendo? A demure and obedient woman? Regardless of what it ended up being, hopefully Sergia would pick up on it and adapt her own demeanour. Livia reached for her wine and took a sip, savouring its sweet taste. "Oh, this is excellent! Is it Caecuban? My father is quite fond of it," - a little too much - "and rates it above Falernian even. I'm afraid I'm not as adept as him in telling the difference," she giggled with deliberate obliviousness as she put down the glass, inwardly not giving a fig as to the wine's provenience. If it was made from grapes from Longinus' own property, he would be pleased; if he had bought it from someone and was now being congratuled on his choice, he would be pleased. 

"Indeed," Livia agreed with Tertius, dipping her head. "That is an issue this family have not experienced, praise the gods. My sister-in-law Quinctilia has Sergia and Marcus," she shot a warm look at the younger woman, "-Tertius has Teutus here and little Antonia," (and a baby boy by a slave, but no need to mention him) "-and we are working on it," she concluded in fake cheeriness with a flash of a smile at Secundus, hoping her little exposition was enough to get the wheels in Longinus' head turning with regards to possible fertility. All men wanted a son, that was what it inevitably boiled down to, and before she started seething again at the situation Secundus had put her and Aglaea in, Livia smoothed an inexistent wrinkle by her knee and took another sip of her drink.

@Sara @Járnviðr @Sharpie @Atrice

Livia's immediate reaction at being told of this party had been to rein in an eyeroll. Trust her insufferable husband to go round arranging get-togethers when they had agreed she should be keeping a very low profile away from Rome - and all thanks to his appalling scheme, no less. Common sense prevailed soon afterwards, however, and she was forced to acknowledge that it was indeed high time Secundus got serious about finding his niece a husband and that squandering this opportunity would reflect very badly upon him, and her by association, and upon poor Sergia the most through no fault of her own.

She played her part by attempting to put Sergia a little more at ease whilst on their way to dinner, quietly extolling the purported virtues of this Longinus to the best of her knowledge - good friend of her sister's husband the Consul's, legatus and conqueror of barbarians several times somewhere, wealthy and no squabbling siblings to share the family fortune with. Of the blessings of married life Livia spoke nothing, because she could not draw upon a single example of a blissful event as Secundus' wife.

The litter reached its destination soon enough and they stepped out, Livia walking behind Secundus in a loose-fitting dark green stola and a flurry of lighter-coloured and soberly decorated shawls as they were welcomed into the domus by a sollicitous slave. Like her husband, she took in the eclectic decor, hoping Longinus' apparently unconventional tastes found a sufficient outlet in showing off his home lest Sergia find herself being asked to put on a pair of antlers and cover her body in dark paint on her wedding night. If the other woman was similarly taken aback, she hid it well. Hearing the drone of Secundus' grating voice, Livia straightened to attention and plastered a convincing smile on her face, surreptiously gesturing at Sergia to do the same. "Greetings, senator Longinus. How very kind of you to invite us to join you for dinner."

Well. She could add 'handsome in a rogueish way' to the list of portents. 

Another familiar voice and Livia turned her head to see her brother-in-law. Tertius' presence brought her a small measure of relaxation; she wouldn't be alone in trying to keep Secundus' temper curbed. "Tertius! What a delightful surprise," she beamed, fully aware her husband did not share her opinion and all the more pleased to rile him up for it. Teutus was nowhere in sight - perhaps he had not been invited at all, or had but had elected to pass. Lucky him.

@Sara @Járnviðr @Atrice

The old woman had indeed been formidable, and it was on such occasions that Artemon was glad he did not have a wife of his own. For one, he could barely afford to feed his brother and himself, let alone yet another person. For two, if she left like his erstwhile comrade had done to his wife, Artemon would probably be sad. And definitely colder at night. "Right? I don't know why he left like that! Maybe she snored a lot," he tapped his chin with a knowing look.

"Eh, a few, but there's not always time to explore much," he replied, going uncharacteristically pensive. Now that he thought about it, the cities he had seen the most of were Alexandria and Ostia. "We mostly stay near the harbour if we're not aboard, and it's much the same everywhere. Warehouses, taverns, brothels, shipwrights, fortunetellers..." Artemon had parted with much coin in a great number of such places, but somehow never seemed to learn his lesson for the next time.

"Up until recently it was grain! We sailed up and down the Nile to collect it and bring it to Alexandria. I did this for, uh..." he started counting on his fingers only to get lost halfway, and aborted the mission. "Many years! And then I decided I wanted to see where the grain went, so I came to Rome. Nowadays it's something lighter, I'm not sure what it is. Textiles or medicine, maybe. It smells herby." He punctuated his ignorance with a shrug, not even slightly embarrassed by it.

A lightning-fast idea struck him, and Artemon turned to grab his new friend by the shoulder in excitement. "Do you know much about herbs? You look smart, so I bet you do! Your master is rich, so he must have lots of herbs in his food." To Artemon's pea-sized brain it was unfathomable that there could be senators who weren't rich. That they, regardless of wealth, did not share their richly-spiced meals with their slaves did not occur to him.

@Sharpie

As you can probably tell by the title, the most wonderful time of the year has come for me! It's highly dubious that I'll have regular access to a computer or wifi, and taking into account some other RL commitments, unfortunately I don't think I'll be able to be on much for the rest of the month - but you can still catch me on Discord! I look forward to getting back into the swing of things in July, work and RL permitting (knock on wood)!

What could those crooks do to Iophon indeed? Artemon was not keen on finding out; he liked him very much, and the coin his twin occasionally brought in had more than once kept them from going to bed on empty stomachs. "Poor Iophon..." Artemon muttered, shaking his head dejectedly but still keeping his hands in front of his privates. This witch would not trick him into defencelessness by bringing up his brother!

The ugly smile on Zia's face told Artemon she was enjoying this very much, and he let out another squeak at her threatening words. "M-more?" What could be worse that what she had described? He hurried to shake his head no with zeal in case she took his rhetorical question as an invitation to show him. Perhaps he would have to spend some of his hard-earned money on some thick protective underwear in case she tried to catch him unaware.

"Umm, it varies," he scrunched up his nose, managing to look even less intelligent than usual. "Most of the time it's only a sestertius, but on days where business is booming he'll throw in an as." Artemon's features slacked into wide-eyed curiosity, and forgetting about his earlier fears, he let his hands hang by his sides. "Do you think you could convince him to raise my pay? Maybe to a sestertius and an as on normal days and two sestertii on good days?!" With that kind of funds, he and Iophon would be able to afford new tunics in a couple of months! Already lost in his pipe dream, it did not occur to Artemon to be suspicious of exactly what sort of help Zia needed. "What is it? It's not stealing, is it? I can't because I might get caught and be imprisoned or have my hands cut off and then we'd be out on the streets and starve to death," he justified in a single breath.

@Sara

Livia took the silver mirror without a word and brought it up to her face, craning her neck this and that way to catch a better glimpse of the string of pearls about it. Aglaea would surely be proven right: it wasn't every day that your husband was made consul, so the party's guest list was bound to extend all the way to Syria and feature the crème de la crème of Roman society. "Be sure to give her some pointers on how not to embarrass me. I don't want her making merry with the other slaves and forgetting herself."

She put the mirror down, ready to hand it back to Aglaea, when the body slave's outburst made her stop and tighten her grasp around the handle; her fingernails dug half-moons into the fleshy heel of her hand. The tears threatening to spill from Aglaea's dark eyes made Livia's lip quivered, and she clamped down on it hard to stop it, a metallic taste reaching her tongue as the thin skin broke. She dipped her head, turning her gaze away - she couldn't take it. After a long pause, Livia opened her mouth. "So do I," she admitted, voice barely above a whisper, still not bold enough to brave eye contact again. "You are more of a sister to me than Horatia ever will be." Wetness was beginning to pool at the corners of her eyes, and she wiped it away hastily with the back of her hand. "But we can't turn back time, can we? Not even the gods can!" Her tone was louder now, shriller. " 'Before' is gone forever... You're going to have my husband's baby, how can things go back to the way they were after this?" Livia shook her head helplessly, having given up on fighting back tears.

It was all Secundus' fault.

If not for him, things would not have changed in the first place.

Why was he the one coming out of this mess that he had created unscathed?

The teardrops that spilled down Livia's cheeks were hot with rage.

@Echo

Oh, how important Zia thought herself, and how wrong she was. Titus did nothing to suppress the eye roll her stupid question elicited. As if the propraetor had nothing else to do but sit around and wait for reports on corrupt citizens. The outrage that followed his own question, on the other hand, was soothing; she was a sadist hands down, but not that far gone yet.

He pursed his lips in disdain, though the gesture only lasted a few seconds thanks to a smarting and very unpleasant sensation in the space between his nose and upper lip. "Your usual, then," Titus jeered, his mind's eye briefly occupied by a dried-up well with its walls covered in coarse sand. A rather unmanly giggle escaped him, interrupted by the sound of fingers clicking. "That would be a nightmare within a nightmare," he observed sagely with a slow nod, too sluggish to dodge or intercept the rap to his head. His belated response was a cross groan and a dirty look at Zia. "The flower, obviously." What kind of question was that? Still busy taking offence, Titus failed to notice the mass of hair flying towards him as Zia spun round and batted at it two seconds too late, after it had already struck his face and retreated. Fuck Dacians and their guerrilla tactics!

The conversation between his feisty wife and the meek slave at her door eluded him almost entirely; focusing on the words required an amount of focus he didn't possess at that time. The slave girl eventually scuttled off to do whatever her mistress had bidden her - hopefully to get the goods, unless Zia kept a secret stash under her bed. For all he knew, maybe she did.

"Get me something to wipe it off, then," Titus grumbled, obediently doing as he was told and stumbling into the room. It was blissfully quiet, and he hoped it would stay that way when he inevitably woke up in a few hours with a raging headache. A drowsy look about the space spotted something even better than a good seat, and he trudged towards it with foolish glee. "Rufus!" A big ginger cat curled up in front of the fire opened one lazy eye at the sound, then shut it again, ready to resume sleep. Unfortunately for him, Titus had other plans, and sat down next to it with clumsy movements, nearly squashing the feline. The cat eyed him again at this disturbance, and he took it as an incentive to pick it up by the underarms and dangle it from side to side. "What if I got blood on you, huh? You're already red." He looked over his shoulder at Zia and threw her a defiant smirk; just she watch him! 'Rufus' meowed his disagreement, but made no move to scramble away, seemingly indifferent to being swung like a doll.

A few seconds later Titus put the cat down, arms tired of supporting its weight, and was rewarded with a furry headbutt to his knee. "We're friends," he told Zia as he stroked the cat's orange fur, scooting in place to face her, "he's almost as good as keeping my bed warm at night as that rosy-cheeked kitchen slave." Of course, if these barbarians had proper heating, he would have no need for the cat's services... but he had, and 'Rufus' had stepped up. Besides, 'Rufus' didn't speak Dacian (though it didn't speak Latin either), which was a plus.

A knock on the door sounded before it opened quietly, and the slave girl from before poked her head in, face the very picture of fear. "I g-got what you wanted, mistress... But this was all I could find..." She took a cautious step inside, hands laden with some sort of brazier and a plate tucked between her side and her arm, making her tilt sideways. She set the brazier down with some effort and placed the plate atop it, then produced a small fabric pouch from under her clothes and set it on the plate. "Is... is that all, mistress? Or d-do you need me to light it?" It was painfully clear from looking at the girl that she was not comfortable with what Zia was up to.

@Sara

An idiotic answer, befitting a barbarian. His Latin was quite passable, though, and if nothing else, at least the man had got that out of slavery. Another benefit of Roman expansion: provide few opportunities for barbarians to use their pig languages until they faded into oblivion, replaced by the civilised duet of Latin and Greek. The deferential term the Dacian tacked on sounded to Titus' ears rather neutral, as it should. Any sign of animosity would have made him more inclined to set the slave straight as to his position, and a subservient tone would have been as fake as the wares of dodgy sellers that littered the markets. "How diligent. Still a few hours to go before your work day is over, I reckon." Presuming they rested when the sun went down, all the wishful thinking in the world wouldn't make night come any faster. The thought wiped the wrinkle from his forehead, and he almost smiled.

Tarbus, the slave said. Probably his original name, but it was easy enough to pronounce, and he inconsequential enough to warrant a change. It rang no particular bell in Titus' recollection, but he filed it away for later just the same - maybe inquire in a letter to his former tribune or the now-retired camp prefect, just to make sure he hadn't overlooked anything of importance. He gave the slave a dismissive grunt and looked down at the arm being held out to him, supported by a makeshift brace. The bones had set poorly, and Tarbus might have lost some function - not that Titus was a medic, but he had seen a few injuries of this sort before and risked an educated guess. He gripped the arm none too gently and twisted it up and down a few times, then from side to side, completely indifferent to any pain or discomfort he might be causing the slave. If the Dacian and his kinsmen hadn't been fools, they might still be in their homeland with full use of all limbs - they only had themselves to blame. 

Titus let go of the lame limb with a quick, careless movement, as though it no longer merited his attention. That was not the case, however, and he frowned again, shooting Tarbus a quick but hard look before before focusing on his arm once more. "Move your fingers. All of them." Time to see just what the man could still do, if he wasn't stupid enough to try and deceive his master. Titus' tone was as stern as before. "What are your tasks in this place?" Should anything raise suspicion, he could always go to Parthenicus for confirmation.

@springy

Iophon had a point - even the best laid plans fell victim to Tyche's whims, so it was best not to tempt the goddess if they wanted her on their side that night. "You're right, it could be something sketchy. Or dangerous," Artemon shuddered, suddenly aware of the possibility that it was something poisonous after all. He had heard the upper echelons of Roman society were rife with betrayal and backstabbing; maybe that was who Gallus was catering to? In that case, Artemon didn't think he wanted in on it anymore. The last thing he needed was to aggravate some bigwig.

They huddled in the dark, watching the guard bumble around the perimeter as he let out a big yawn. Artemon found himself doing the same; it was late, he had worked all day, and everybody knew yawns were highly contagious. "Umm..." he scrunched up his nose, thinking hard on whether he had ever seen the door being locked or unlocked. "... I don't know," he admitted with a sheepish smile. "But I know a window we can try! Some crates are stacked up high on the inside right next to it, so if we are are stealthy as spiders, nobody will notice us. It's on the other side of the warehouse," he gestured with a flourish. "Should we wait for the guard to pass by this spot again, so we know how long it takes him?" Tyche was blessing him that night with such clever inspiration! It was clear she wanted them to succeed. If they did, Artemon vowed to make a sacrifice in her name.

@Chevi

"Uh, yes!" Artemon bristled, and would have looked like an offended cat if he had more body hair (alas, he did not, true to his Egyptian stock). "I'll have you know it's a very respectable name! It's after the goddess Artemis, although I don't expect you to know much about that," he scoffed at Zia, affront momentarily overruling the little sense he had and which hadn't been enough to suggest that maybe it would have been wise to provide false information. With a sassy glare, he kept on prattling. "Hah! Let the burglars come, I have nothing of value to steal!" This should be nothing to boast about, but he wore his poverty like a tunic of immunity against the misfortune of thievery.

He didn't know if Gallus liked discretion so much as he believed the man just didn't really care. Why would their competitors come knocking for him (and who were these competitors and did they pay better?)? "Am I that important to your business?" he asked, already moved on from indignity to self-importance. Well, it made sense now that he thought about it! Without him, there was no way they would have loaded and unloaded so many crates, and if it weren't for his expert instructions, they wouldn't have known how to store them to maximise floor space! "Hmm, maybe they should come then..." he caressed a non-existent moustache. "I don't have a wife, though. I live with my brother."

And if what Zia said next was true, he would not have any luck keeping one in the future! Artemon cowered under her words, eyes growing to the size of dinner plates as he instinctively dropped his hands in front of his crotch to protect it. He floundered for a bit, fearful gaze flicking back and forth between her little finger and his family jewels. By the great Sobek, why had he provoked the ire of a witch?! A German witch, at that! Egyptian witches he knew how to contend with; Greek and Roman ones, he was learning. But a German witch was uncharted territory, as scary as what lay beyond the Pillars of Hercules. His words came out in an embarrassing squeak. "I h-haven't... Wh-what can you do?"

Hopefully not kill him! On the other hand, some witches could be kind. Zia didn't seem like that type, but maybe, if Artemon ingratiated himself with her, she could use her magical powers to his advantage?

"Yes, just one." He adjusted his hands' protective stance. "if I don't cross you, will you make me rich with your magic?"

Playtime was over. Cultellus had apparently had been touched by Titus' little impromptu speech, or had simply had enough of the affront, and was keen on asserting his authority by having the tax-collecting posse imprisoned. Not a moment too soon, Titus silently agreed as he watched the Dacians gleefully stomp out of the hall, poking and prodding their new captives and taunting them with loud jeers. He almost wanted to order a slave to wake him up in the middle of the night just so he could go and very literally piss on the holed-up Densus and his friends; then again, getting a (mostly) uninterrupted night's rest was even more appealing given not only the aches and soreness he was beginning to notice more and more as adrenaline wore off, but also the aftermath of the brawl come the sobering light of morning.

Zia's stern tone brought him out of his petty revenge reverie, and Titus shot her an unimpressed look. He would have rolled his eyes, but feared it would aggravate the throbbing coming from his nose and so replaced it with a one-armed shrug before spitting out some more blood, oblivious to the stray droplets that found a new home in his wife's dress. "Less of a problem than you think. Send the gold directly to the propraetor along with a message about having uncovered a corruption scheme and you have bought yourself a couple of weeks to get your story straight while he investigates the claim." Gods, how he hated the way he sounded! He would have to get this nose thing looked at in the morning and get it set right if it no longer was where it was supposed to be.

Her next question had him shooting her a decidedly more impressed look. "Will it help?" Titus wasn't sure he knew what he hoped it would help with: pain relief? Drifting off to sleep? Forgetting about the chaotic evening for an undetermined amount of time? All sounded like great options from where he was standing. He assented with a woozy nod. "Sure. Lead the way." The gods knew where Zia was going to produce it from this time - but she had better be quick about it, because Titus had an inkling that the moment he leant against a steady surface and closed his eyes, it would be a few hours before he opened them again.

As they left the great room, his mind embarked on a drunken tangent. When it concluded its reasoning, Titus couldn't help but stare slack-jawed at Zia's form in front of him, wondering to himself just how... she was. How... How...? His overtired brain tried to find the right word and came up blank, and in doing so let go of its fragile control over the filter between thoughts and speech. "... Did this turn you on?" was the incredulous question that escaped his lips, accompanied by a rather befuddled, wide-eyed and clearly less than sober gaze.

@Sara

The clear spring morning had heralded perfect weather for chariot racing, and young Publius had wasted no time in using it to his advantage and dragging his secretly rather entertained father to the Circus Maximus, where they could join the excited crowd in cheering for their favourites and jeering at their least-liked aurigae. The end result, a smashing victory by the Whites over the Greens, brought no particular joy or sadness to Titus as a Reds supporter, but Publius was over the moon and would happily extol Menelaus' virtues and prowess to anybody who would listen. So endearing was he with his boyish enthusiasm that Titus figured he could try to pull a few strings and get them a backstage tour of the stables; to look at the ten-year-old's unabashed joy, one would think his birthday had come half a year earlier.

With the approval of those in charge and after they had been treated to thorough explanations about everything from the best horse breeds to how chariots were actually made, Publius went off with a slave in search of his idol, whilst Titus was more or less left to his own devices. He had no particular desire to meet charioteers and his interest in horses did not extend beyond their usefulness, so there was little for him to do. He had half a mind to leave for a quick visit to the nearest baths just so he could shrug off that unbearably hot toga and come back later for his son, when the sight of a man leaning against a passage across the wide yard brought about a flash of recollection.

Of course. One of the Dacians he had added to his collection of slaves two years prior - part of his property now, as much a possession as the domus on the Quirinal or the gold ring on his little finger - was working here. An afterthought, really, although if he prodded his memory, Titus thought he remembered it was the tall dark one with the crippled arm, and grew slightly curious as to how the man was faring. If that arm turned out to have healed to a greater extent that he thought was possible, perhaps the slave could be assigned more intensive tasks - and if not, Titus had got no word of complaint from Eppius Parthenicus via his secretary, so letting things stay as they were was just as viable. No news was good news, and the old saying had proven true to the point where he had all but forgotten he had leased the former warrior to the faction in the first place.

His curiosity was piqued, though, and he found it appropriate to indulge it by crossing the yard at a leisurely pace. Titus' only greeting to the Dacian was a lazy smirk and a quick look of general appraisal. "Don't let me keep you from your work, slave." Idle hands made for an idle mind, which was never good as far as slaves were concerned; especially not relatively new ones like this one. To his credit, the man remained impassive like a marble statue, showing no obvious signs of anger or discomfort. "What was your name again?" He took a few steps closer, arms folded over his chest and mocking smile giving way to a furrowed brow and a tone that brooked no room for disobedience. "Show me your arm."

@springy

The corners of Livia's mouth drooped downwards in an unmistakable expression of displeasure. No, Secundus was no connoisseur of music and that was something she knew well - the most talented artists would sound like elephants to his hopelessly rustic ears. "I would like to judge her musical talent, but I do not wish to embarrass her in front of everybody by accidentally selecting a piece that is above her skill level," she drawled as if explaining things to a stubborn child. Why was it so hard for him to be agreeable for once in his life? Livia cast him a look of disdain before continuing. "After all, it would reflect poorly on you as host if you happened to have selected a subpar musician to entertain our guests..." She let her words hang in the air, looking about in a pretence of concern that someone might have heard her. It would only be too fitting for all these people to know what Secundus really thought of them!

"But very well." She took a sip of her wine and turned to Vibia, at the same time signalling to a slave for a refill. "How about hearing the Carmen Saeculare in the sweet tones of your cithara? I don't suppose you sing as well...?" The cup of wine grew heavier on her hand again and Livia quickly brought it to her lips as the slave retreated, drinking as though every gulp bought her a little more patience (and was she in need of it!). "Does she, Secundus? Or is she more skilled with her hands?"

@Sara @Járnviðr

What was the point in being rich, then, if you weren't allowed to show it off? Artemon scoffed. The woman clearly didn't know what she was talking about. "Then what use is gold? Even if you leave it all at home, burglars may still take it," he shot back, voice full of scorn. "If you flaunt it then thieves will know you're rich enough to send people after them to get it back." Big burly hired goons, maybe former gladiators that would frighten any criminal into giving up stolen goods. When he was rich, Artemon too would hire such goons so he could flaunt his gold all he wanted.

His stomach, however, clamoured for food and not gold, and answered the woman before his mouth did. "I don't want to starve," he admitted, flicking his eyes away from hers. She was a bit intimidating, almost like a weary mother - and she was reminding him of his, with her exasperated tone and dwindling patience for the daftest of her flock. "I'm Artemon. I live in an insula on the Esquiline, why?" He scratched the side of his nose. If she was intending to call on him for supper in the future, she was very wrong!

"What would happen to him? He's free, you're not. He could just say you bewitched him and hand you to your master." Artemon narrowed his eyes in suspicion, as if an idea had just occurred to him. "Are you a witch?" That would explain so much - her sway over Gallus, the herb she needed for her poisons... He needed to be very careful now!

@Sara