Liv

Hey Sybil, glad to have you join us! Being a crazy cat lady is the ultimate dream, hope both of us achieve it some day! In the meantime, feel free to reach out like Anna said if there's something on your mind!

Iophon was on board; great! Artemon beamed, excited at the turn their day had taken. They were going on an adventure, one full of dangers and perils but that could put them on the road to riches. "Of course I do!" They needed to bring their top game to the task. He rummaged around their shabby little flat to find the necessary tools and was soon putting on his threadbare cloak, a little leather pouch hanging from his neck and safely tucked under his tunic. He sneaked out and down the stairs, looking over his shoulder as though he suspected he was being followed, and took a deep breath of relief when the cool night air hit his skin. "Right, stay close to me," he whispered to his co-conspirator. Then he motioned for Iophon to come with, and began the journey through the narrow and often inadvisable streets and alleys of Rome. As they walked, Artemon couldn't help but make plans for the future. "What should we do with the stuff after we've taken a sample? Do you think that if we try to sell it, they'll know where we got it?" @Chevi

What a good show the publicanus was putting on, at times mellow and at times spurred to action. Apparently his precious little pride was wounded by the insinuation that he might be less than incorruptible, which at first was amusing to Titus as he watched the other man grow quiet. Until Densus bit back with some choice accusations of his own and a pointed finger - then it was no longer amusing. Hah! Like this poor excuse for a Roman had any honour to begin with! Titus crossed his arms and glared back, brow furrowed in patent displeasure. He didn't consider himself the most patient of men to begin with, and the way this idiot was running his gob was quickly exhausting what little he had left. A disgrace. Well, no need to state the obvious in front of everybody. Then again, it wasn't any worse than what Titus had called himself time and again in his internal monologue, so why did it sting so painfully? Why did it make him see red? His body seemed to move on its own. Before he realised it, he had stood up and reached across the table to grab Densus by the collar and bash the man's head against the table, hard enough that he hoped it would leave an indentation on the wood. "Easy for a civilian to say, isn't it?" he growled between gritted teeth before pulling him up again and delivering an impressive (for his state of sobriety) right hook to the tax collector's odious, ruggedly handsome face and wipe that arrogant grin off his face. Titus thought he felt something crack pleasantly, but adrenaline and the ruckus that had erupted all around them made it impossible to tell if it had been his fingers or Densus' cheekbone. Hopefully the latter. He thought he heard Zia say something to his side, but whatever it was, it would prove ineffectual. Chaos surrounded them. What had once been a tense but civil gathering had descended into anarchy, with pockets of Dacians and Romans going at each other not unlike the descriptions of fierce Gauls of old. At least two tables had been upturned, and Titus found himself rolling on the floor, mouth mysteriously full of blood that he noticed an instant later was thanks to Densus' fist making contact with his nose. How they had ended up down there he couldn't tell, but Mars damn him to Orcus and back if Titus wasn't going to teach this cunt a lesson he wouldn't forget! Seconds passed, or maybe hours. Cultellus's voice could be heard here and there, drowned out by the sounds of a good old fistfight, but it wasn't until one of the musicians, presumably commanded by the chieftain, blew on his tuba with all his might that the fighting ceased as curious heads turned towards the sound, leaving limbs idle. Titus treated Densus to a kick to the jaw for good measure as he stood up, wobbling more than he would have liked but nevertheless satisfied to see a bloody tooth fly out of the publicanus' mouth at speed. "He was calling you all thieves and liars," was Titus' innocent justification as he wiped some blood off his face, only succeeding in coating his hand with it. Spitting out a not negligible amount of the thick fluid before it made him sick, he continued in an unusually nasal tone, appealing to Cultellus and Zia's sense of pride. "You welcomed him and his men with a banquet, and he thanked you for it with insults." Gods, his nose was really hurting now. Maybe it was broken after all. "Are you going to let him walk away, boasting of how easily you were deceived, pockets full of your gold and your wives' jewels?" How supremely unfair it would be if these barbarians did nothing to this crook, when they had had no qualms annihilating a legion. In a more subdued and infinitely more tired tone, he cast Zia a pleading look. "And even if you are, can we please go to bed now?" @Sara

Oh. That had been a short-lived delusion. But his new friend had a good idea: procuring a scribe! "Of course! Do you know of any scribe that doesn't charge an arm and a leg? They don't need to be too good, my brother is quite stupid," Artemon grinned, blissfully oblivious to the fact that said brother might say the same about him. "Is there anyone you would like to write to? A friend in Corinth? Or a love, maybe?" He elbowed the other man in the ribs while winking (or attempting to) at him with a knowing look on his face. It was said that sailors had a lover at every port - Artemon didn't fit that mould, but his companion's clarification emboldened him to tell a couple of stories of his own. "Ohhh!" His face was like that of a caveman who had just discovered fire. "Sorry, I'm not good at taking hints. Sometimes I pick up on ones that were never there at all, and sometimes I just don't get them." His sheepish smile betrayed no embarrassment; this was clearly a familiar situation. It was compounded by the fact that only very seldom did Artemon have a rapt audience; he was not like Iophon, a master wordsmith. In any case, perhaps he could bring some light entertainment to his friend's day. "Well, I know a few. Oh, I've got one! So a few years ago I was doing grain shipping up and down the Nile, right? In some random town an older man joined us, and he was pretty strong. So he stayed with us for a few months. A bit quiet, but nice. Then one day we dock at this village close to Thebes, and there's always people by the harbour selling and buying stuff." He paused to draw breath. "Anyway, the man goes and buys himself some dates, and before we know it the saleswoman is thwacking him with her basket! Turns out our new mate was married to her many years before, and just up and left one day! She beat him within one inch of his life, he didn't dare leave a second time. The boss wasn't too happy about that, though." Artemon finished his tale with hearty peals of laughter, unbothered by the violence of the story. He turned to gauge his friend's appreciation. "Good one, huh?" @Sharpie

Maybe the woman had a point after all, and that was why Artemon was stuck working for Gallus instead of being at the helm of his great as-of-yet-non-existent enterprise. Then again, she couldn't have been that successful, or she would have managed to buy her freedom by now. Whatever the plant was used for, it sold like hot honey cakes, the flurry of crates in and out like so many busy bees round their hive. He grumbled something in Egyptian as he trailed after the woman - something that was not meant to be repeated in polite company -, dragging his feet. Just how far away was it? He hadn't had food in almost a day, and his stomach was starting to have a thing or two to say about that. If Gallus was home, maybe he would invite Artemon and the woman for some supper! Dreaming was still free of charge. "Since a little after the earthquake last year?" Artemon raised his brow and wrinkled his nose, giving himself a profoundly daft expression. That the haughty lady had called herself his employer had whooshed right past him, never to be remarked upon. "But business has really been picking up lately! How come you're not dressed in silks and covered in jewels if you're that rich, huh?" His tone was one part malice and nine parts pure wonder as he sidestepped other nightly passersby, keen on not letting his guide out of his sight in the darkness. "Why did you choose Gallus to be your man? He could just rat you out to your master, couldn't he?" And lose a source of income in the process, but Artemon's reasoning didn't reach that far. @Sara

How curious. Secundus was cruel, and he was selfish - and Livia knew that these were sides of him he did not save for her alone, for he acted the same towards his brother and sister and on occasion showed his clients glimpses of what lay beyond the cracked façade he put on. Either he did not show it to Vibia (but could a tiger ever really hide its stripes?), or she was attempting to paint him in a positive light, most likely after he had left a few more coins in her purse. "Oh no, you mistake my intentions," she deflected with a carefree gesture, causing the wine inside her cup to slosh and threaten to spill. "I was merely interested in your opinion of my husband, that is all." What an annoying woman with that unnaturally coloured hair that she insisted on tossing this and that way at every opportunity; a wig bathed in lime, surely. "Is that not what a dutiful wife does? Concern herself with her husband's reputation, even amongst the lower classes?" She cast a look in Secundus' direction, frosty smile on her lips to lampshade the loving matron she was supposed to be. Finances weren't much her arena, true, but she would not see her husband squander her father's money in lowly prostitutes; he could use his own funds for that. And now to be treated to a serenade, Juno have mercy on her. How was she to know what pieces were in this wench's repertoire? Livia waved Secundus over, hoping for once he would have a suggestion. "I am not as devoid of worries and sorrows as you are," she muttered to Vibia in the meantime. Empty-headed, she would rather have said, but reading between the lines would have to be enough. "My smile is not something available to all who would see it. I keep it for those who deserve it," Livia concluded before diverting her attention entirely to her loathsome husband. "Darling, you have heard Vibia play before. What piece would you say she excels at?" @Járnviðr @Sara

Though he tried not to let it show as he finished his drink, Artemon was a little bit miffed that his new friend didn't show much of an interest in his seafaring stories. Granted, not everybody was a fan of boats and there were many who suffered seasickness, but his tales had it all: crocodiles! Villains! Treasure! A downtrodden hero (Artemon himself)! On occasion, a girl! But it was all right, Artemon reasoned - his compatriot had too much on his mind to be able to fully appreciate the rich tapestry that was Artemon's life. "Corinth? Hmm..." He tucked his tongue between his teeth, trying to jog his memory. The truth was that market cities began to look an awful lot like one another after a while, unless there was something or someone worthy of mention there. "It rings a bell, but I can't say what's remarkable about it," he confessed sheepishly. "There comes a point where you just come in, sell your wares, load up with new wares to sell and go on your way..." he said by way of apology, trying to fix his blunder. Now boats and water, he could talk about all day. "Don't worry, you're not the only one!" Artemon gave his companion a cheerful pat on the shoulder. "There are many sailors who are poor swimmers and end up in the jaws of Sobek's servants, more's the pity. But I haven't seen any crocodiles in the Tiber yet, so you're safe!" A hearty laugh left his throat and he patted his friend's back again. "Most find their sea legs after a while. My brother Hermolaos never did, he still turns pale as a toga every time he has to climb on board." The smile on Artemon's face was more than a little smug. "Wonder what he's up to..." An idea hit him, and he whipped his head so fast it was a miracle his neck hadn't snapped to look at his friend with huge, bulging eyes. "I should send him a letter! Can you write?" @Sharpie

Artemon listened in rapt attention as Iophon detailed just how they would be using that file. Of course! Not only would the marks tell them which crates they had already opened, but also fool others into thinking it was rats that had been sniffing about rather than the twins! Iophon was a genius; no wonder they were related. "We can also use the pouch to stash away some of the herb, in case we don't have enough time," he added in conspiratorial excitement. "Then we can check it out here at home." Nobody would notice a handful going missing, surely... His excitement gave way to puzzlement, and Artemon looked at his twin as though he was trying hard to remember something. "Umm... To be honest, I don't remember if they opened any. Sorry." The sheepish smile he wore was genuine, but no less irritating for it. The question that followed was a lot easier to answer: after all, Artemon made the trek twice a day and had for a few months now, so he had a pretty good estimation. "Close to an hour, depending on how crowded the streets are. Should be a little faster at night..." He worried his bottom lip, eyes widening in realisation. "Do you want to go now?!" It would be risky. But when wouldn't it? @Chevi

What a bore. Attratinus didn't take the bait, much as Titus expected he wouldn't, and deftly navigated any implications surrounding possible matches for his daughter. It dawned on Titus with a hint of alarm that he had possibly been spending too much time round Longinus if he had grown used to every interaction being so... animated. "It is as you say, there is plenty of time. I'm sure you will select an appropriate candidate when the time comes," he agreed in a conciliatory manner, taking another sip of his wine. Mars Ultor, why did acquaintances have to be so interested in his political inclinations? Sharing his opinions amongst friends was one thing; doing the same with a near stranger who could or could not end up being trustworthy was quite another. What did he expect Titus to do, proclaim a plan to enter the Senate and go on a stabbing spree? None of this could exactly be expressed out loud, of course, but he had a duty to entertain his guest and that included humouring such topics. He shifted slightly in the sofa to get more comfortable. "I used to love playing with toy soldiers as a child, guess that part of me still lives on," Titus chuckled, his humour genuine. "I find it all quite exciting, to tell the truth. There are those who think it's nothing more than men with swords and shields hacking away at each other, but it teaches you a lot. Discipline, strategy, resilience, how to think like your enemy and see through their subterfuges. Tests your mettle. Wouldn't you say those skills are useful in a civilian career as well?" The circles they moved in were as much of a battlefield as the edges of the empire - only rumours and intrigue were the weapons of choice. And if this little piggy was sniffing for rumour fodder, he would find none. Titus let the loose half-smile on his lips disappear into his usual resting bitch face as the girls' happy squeals sounded in the background. "Indeed. My sister-in-law is a first cousin to our esteemed emperor," he expanded drily, all previous traces of cheer gone. "I would not, I'm afraid. I'm not a betting man, much less one to question Caesar's judgement of young men he knows better than you or I could ever aspire to." His cup had run empty, and a quick glance at the attending slave saw it promptly refilled along with Attratinus' cup. "Would you place a bet?" Titus rather thought the man already had. @Sara

Letter dated 21st of February 76 AD Titus Sulpicius Rufus to his dearest friend Longinus, birthday greetings! No invitation for a celebratory party has arrived yet, but I'm sure that can be explained by a disoriented slave rather than forgetfulness on your part... although you have just grown a year older, so that's not outside the realm of possibility. Ageing takes a toll on mental faculties, I've heard. I've heard a new search was afoot, and I do hope it comes to a fruitful end and that you rejoin the ranks of the happily dutifully married. I will be expecting a full report at your earliest convenience. In the meantime, I hope your birthday present succeeds in lifting your spirits when good wine no longer can. Should you be displeased with it, do not return to sender as it makes my youngest cough and wheeze like she caught her grandfather's affliction and I don't care to witness that again. Farewell, my dearest friend and brother. ------------ The letter was delivered by a bumbling Briton slave along with a small wooden crate that wiggled suspiciously at random intervals. @Sara

Livia remembered the forgetfulness, the sleepiness, the hunger. The butterfly movements that she had originally thought to be an upset stomach. But she hadn't had the chance to feel actual kicks to the ribs, or toss and turn endlessly at night because no position was comfortable enough to sleep in. She did not want Aglaea's dreams to be dyed a blood red, nor for her not be rewarded with a cry of victory at the end. Until things had come to a successful conclusion, Livia didn't dare fully hope. "We don't know if it's a boy or a girl, do we? Hence it," she observed, voice as cold as ice as she took the earrings with a hasty motion and put them on herself, trying to ignore Aglaea's harrowed expression. She mustn't give in too much. The necklace was Aglaea's job. Livia stood with her back to the slave, scooping any stray locks of hair out of the way so that access to her nape was unobstructed. "I think it would be good for Ursa to come with me this time. She needs to learn how to behave in such situations." Particularly if, the gods forbid it, something happened to her esteemed body slave. She willed the thought away, not wanting to entertain it for even a second. "Besides," Livia added in a tone that was both snippy and concerned, "you should get some rest. Clear your head of worries, and find your focus again." More Livia, less baby - just as it had been before and must be afterwards. So that the charade would not be uncovered. So that things went back to the way they used to be and the two of them could be thick as thieves again. "Will you get me a mirror?" It was unnecessary, really; Livia knew well how the pearls looked on her. The request was an assertion of control more than anything, a bastion of normalcy when so much was changing. The change in subject was that too. "I wonder how many guests there will be. Horatia will go all out, I'm sure of it." For once she hoped Secundus' lack of patience for social get-togethers would work to her advantage and allow them an early retreat - Pater would be glowing with pride, eyes on his lucky eldest daughter with nary a thought for his less fortunate youngest one. @Echo

Artemon blinked again, squinting as though the sun was shining straight in his eyes (which was of course impossible at that time of night and inside a warehouse to boot). "Your employee...?" This made no sense at all. And the woman was looking more displeased by the second; Artemon felt himself wilting under her intense gaze like the flower inside the crates. It hadn't looked much like a flower to him since it was all dried up and had no petals anymore, but she wasn't wrong. Which made the situation all the more dire for him. Well, it had been his idea, so he had to stay true to his word. His father always said that keeping one's promises was very important to get ahead in life. "F-fine!" he replied in an indignant tone, entirely fabricated to give himself some courage. There was always somebody coming and going - the warehouse wouldn't be left unattended. With an uncomfortable sensation that resembled fear pooling in his stomach, Artemon followed the woman to where she stood waiting for him by the door and tried to give her a glowering sample of his own. "It's because I've been hard at work!" Yes, he was tired, but he was also used to running on little fuel. "You, on the other hand, don't look like you know what work is," he harrumphed with a very out-of-place smirk. Maybe the woman was attendant to the lady of the house, if there was one. Artemon saw them on the streets sometimes, some twice as plump as he was and clad in much better quality fabrics, and always concluded that it must be a very cushy job. "Lead the way, then!" he gestured towards the streets. It didn't occur him to ask how she knew where Gallus lived. @Sara

This woman was looking incredibly displeased, and reminded Artemon of his mother whenever he did something particularly stupid. He swallowed audibly, throat suddenly as parched as the land where the Nile didn't reach, and blinked at the woman as she addressed him. "Your employee...?" Artemon stared at the woman, a deep crease forming between his eyebrows. But she was a slave. Slaves couldn't do business, or so he thought he knew. Or could they? Panic started to course through his veins as he pondered the likelihood of the woman speaking the truth. He could be in so much trouble if she was right. Might even lose his job, and end up hungry and on the streets! He would have Iophon's company, but that was a very small consolation. He needed to talk his way out of this sticky situation - and not just because he didn't think it was acceptable to hit women, but because if he did her master might come looking for him demanding reparations. And there was no way in this life that Artemon could afford that. His brain kicked into overdrive. "Well, in that case you should have no trouble telling me what's in these," he patted one of the crates, satisfied with his ingenuity. Until it occurred to him that if this wasn't her first foray into the warehouse, she might already know what the crates contained. So his brilliant idea might not necessarily work. "Maybe we should go find Gallus? If what you claim is true, he will be able to confirm it." Possibly flay Artemon for entertaining a stranger too, but it didn't even cross his mind. @Sara

Artemon grinned daftly at his brother, bolstered by the incredibly smart ideas he'd been having. How nice it felt not to have his suggestions shot down right after coming up with them! Iophon's contributions were valuable complements too. Rats could definitely work, although Artemon didn't know if they were inclined to nibble on wood. Then again, they were rumoured to eat pretty much anything. "Yes, rats! And if somehow we're caught, we can say we were investigating the situation. Like where the rats came from and what they ruined!" Perfect. A master plan. He was feeling bolder and bolder about the whole thing. Until the file threw him for a loop. What did they need it for? To file the nails away? He wrinkled his nose and gaped at Iophon. "What are we doing with the file, though? Isn't a crowbar better?" Artemon proposed, failing to see just how suspicious it would look for two scrawny men to be headed towards a warehouse carrying a crowbar in the wee hours of the morning. "And what if you don't know what it is? Should we take a small pouch with us?" What with the amount of preparation that went into figuring out what was inside the crates, Artemon couldn't grasp how thieves just went and stole stuff. It was hard not to get noticed! @Chevi

Another cat lover, welcome! Glad you've joined us, hope you'll enjoy writing with us!

Women were idiots, and the one sat next to him more so than any other. The urge to admonish Zia for her hubris was too strong for Titus to overcome, and although he switched to his faltering but improving Dacian just to be on the safe side (might try and affect closeness while he was at it, because that was the most ridiculous thing of all), he took great delight in it. "Good job telling to him you have more bracelets. Now he will want all them." That was the worst thing about tax collectors, the more you owed the more you owned. Out to bleed people dry, the slimy lot of them. It turned out their guest's exhilaration wasn't solely due to being thoroughly fed and entertained or to the quality of the vintage on offer. Titus knitted his brow, feeling fooled and foolish all at once. Why the Dacians had kept quiet about the wine to him was obvious, but no less annoying. The flower was pleasant enough even if it led to unnerving and absolutely regrettable experiences, but poppy? That was a game changer. He would have to go digging thoroughly one of these days, maybe even interrogate a slave or two. Densus, on the other hand, seemed to be none the wiser as he undressed the slave girl with his eyes - and none the wiser in more ways than one, for Titus knew that in spite of being a looker, this particular girl was no more animated than the marble statues that populated Rome. Whether it was thanks to ineptitude or inexperience, however, he didn't know, and had not been interested in finding out or remedying it after a lackadaisical, highly disappointing tryst. But that was for him, and eventually Densus, to rue and for Zia not to find out, he supposed. "Indeed! Your generosity and kindness tonight are beyond anything I could have expected or hoped for." The publicanus stole a final glance at the slave girl before raising his cup in a toast his cronies were quick to join in on, praising Cultellus and his kin. Titus had to bite the inside of his lip hard enough to taste metal in order to stop himself from producing a derisive snicker, and instead mimicked their guest's gesture at thrice the speed, washing the blood down with his unfortunately unadulterated wine. The compliment seemed to get tongues loosened and conversation flowing, the rudimentary exchanges punctuated by boisterous laughter and exaggerated gestures. Further down the table, an inebriated Dacian seemed to be having great fun demonstrating the size of his balls whilst one of the tax collector's goons was already pulling his tunic up and his subligaculum down for a comparison. Titus rolled his eyes and figured he could see if the publicanus was disposed to mindless chitchat; get him talking about little things so his tongue might loosen. "So where did you grow up, Sextus Densus? Not in Rome or Italia as far as I can tell." Nor Gallia, nor Britannia, and probably not Dacia either for obvious reasons. The man didn't seem to mind the question, and his mouth widened in a grin. "Ah, because of my accent? You're quite right! I grew up in Noricum, although my father was from Gaul." For some reason the answer did not surprise Titus, though he politely nodded and kept inquiring as to the man's family, childhood and life in general - as if he gave a rat's arse! Still, the knowledge that Sextus Densus was divorced and childless and was now coming up on his second year in Dacian territory might turn out useful; no destitute widow and offspring or close connections that might want to investigate his thereabouts should he... mysteriously disappear. He hoped Zia had made the connection too, but if not - and this time Titus couldn't blame her, as Densus' increasingly slurred speech was starting to present a challenge even to him - he could always clue her in later. Talking led to drinking which led to more talking which led to more drinking, and hopefully the publicanus was now sloshed enough to be as forthcoming about his duties as he had been about his private life. Titus wasn't entirely sober himself, but as he looked at his now empty cup and mourned the lack of sleep aid in it, he reckoned he was still in better shape than the man sat across the table, who was now blinking owlishly as he turned his head this and that way over his shoulder, almost as if he were looking for someone. "How have your duties been progressing with the other tribes? Got many of these?" he pointed at Zia's bracelet with a playful wink. "They're surprisingly well-made too, aren't they? Bet they'd be worth a fair bit if you were to sell them." Did he sell them? Or did he keep them? Or did he deliver them to the imperial treasury as he was supposed to? @Sara

In other words, the harlot would sell herself to the highest bidder, and wasn't even good enough to secure steady patronage by a wealthy client. Why had her husband invited her, then? Did he intend to talk business with her later, when the guests had all left? He could have done that at whatever infected establishment Vibia frequented without needing to parade her to Livia. Secundus' intentions were as inscrutable as his moods. Livia nodded at the artist, lips curved in a pitying smile. "I imagine you cannot miss what you've never experienced." She couldn't really expect a woman of Vibia's... calibre to appreciate a fine piece of embroidery or even know how to do it. Clearly her fingers were used to holding less delicate things in them than a needle and thread, cithara notwithstanding. No wonder she claimed to enjoy Secundus' brutish pursuits, and even that was probably because of the gold he was dropping in her purse. "Strong as bull indeed," Livia inclined her head and sipped at her wine. More reminiscent of the Minotaur in his crude pigheadedness, really. "So you prefer men who care only for themselves, ignoring even you? Few women would be satisfied with that sort of arrangement." Livia took another drink of wine, irritating smile still in place. "Then again, women of your ilk are perhaps used to being a means to an end?" For all the talents Vibia supposedly possessed, she was a tedious conversationalist. No amount of wine was going to make her more tolerable to Livia, but the drink gave her at least something else to focus on. She took a new cup from a slave passing by with a tray and handed him her old one, deliberately failing to get one for their esteemed guest. "How much did he pay you to come here tonight? I'm afraid I don't see you putting in an appropriate amount of work." No doubt he had paid her far more than she deserved, the boor. @Sara @Járnviðr

Livia narrowed her eyes, staring unblinkingly at her slave's form as Aglaea walked around and the robes billowed about her. An outsider's perspective was more useful than Livia's own muddy recollections of what it had felt like to have her clothes adjusted differently to accommodate a growing bump, and Horatia's attention to detail would not forgive any mistakes, however innocent. It occurred to her with a mirthless smile that the life of a politician might be full of such subterfuges, designed to pull the wool over his opponent's eyes. A shame that the sisters stood on opposite banks of the river, but it was what it was. "You may stop," she instructed as she went over to Aglaea to adjust the belt a fraction of an inch higher. "You're right, pearls would suit the occasion. Expensive and understated - don't want my dear sister to think I'm stealing her thunder," Livia added with a coquettish smirk, fingers doing their nimble dance. She took a step back once again to evaluate the change and nodded to herself, taking a mental note of the exact height the belt sat at; when she wore the stola, it would have to be adjusted again, but it was good to have a starting point. The question posed was more complicated than it seemed at first approach. Although part of her resented it, she decided to enlighten Aglaea as to her reasoning all the same - after all, until recently her body slave had had a good head on her shoulders. "That's the tricky thing. She needs to believe it just so. An inkling, nothing too obvious. If it's very noticeable she will want to touch it," Livia wrinkled her nose in displeasure, "and if it's not noticeable at all she will ask inconvenient questions when it comes. What I need is for her to suspect it, but only to the point where she would be vexed if she were to ask and be told she is mistaken." Relying on Horatia's decorum and sense of propriety was key to the plan. "Fetch me those pearls, will you?" Though her eyes were still trained on Aglaea, Livia's gaze was far beyond the other woman. So much depended on appearances, if their deceit was to be successful. Would they be able to pull it off? The gods willing, Horatia would be too busy being the perfect hostess to preoccupy herself too much with her younger sister. @Echo

That Iophon agreed that it must be spices only filled Artemon with resolve, and he inflated like a pig bladder right before a game of trigon. He stood up with a sprightly movement and began pacing the small room as he went over his plan, completely undeterred by the fact that he was coming up with it as he spoke. "Well, first we need to go to the warehouse, obviously. It's better just before dawn, because that's when the people working at night want to go home and rest and so they don't pay as much attention." How did Artemon know? He'd been one of them many times before, and by the time the sun peeked over the horizon he usually only had two things on his mind: a piece of bread and his straw bed. "The crates are nailed shut, so we'll need an iron bar or something. Or something sharp to make a small hole in the wood?" The questioning tone at the end was a call for help - he didn't really know if it was a good idea. Tapping his fingers on his arms, he shot his brother a hopeful look. "Unless you could tell what it is just by smelling it...? But we still have to get to the warehouse." That was the keystone of the whole plan, because Artemon couldn't very well bring a crate home to investigate it. It would have been very suspicious. @Chevi

From her own unsuccessful experiences Livia knew that pregnancy could bring about severe cases of forgetfulness, but she hadn't expected it to extend to a lack of common sense. Aglaea asked the silliest questions nowadays, almost as if she was afraid of thinking for herself. Where was the intelligent and perspicacious companion Livia had grown so accustomed to? "Of course!" Whether she wanted to or not was of no importance. "Her husband has been appointed consul, so I can't very well not attend," Livia explained in a patronising tone as she bent over and inspected the hem of the stola covering Aglaea's toes, delaying the inevitable. "Well, perhaps I could, but that would just send Horatia sniffing about like a hound and make things even worse," she concluded, pinching the hem to draw it up the equivalent of their height difference and satisfied with the way it looked around the feet. Aglaea was right that green suited Livia better than her own darker complexion, but the colour was superfluous; it was all about the fitting. "Hmm, sure," she acquiesced absentmindedly, straightening up again and examining Aglaea's midsection with a critical eye. The roundness was more prominent by the day, staring Livia in the face like a ripening melon and reminding her of her failures. But this time was going to be different. This time she would not need to undergo such trials. She frowned, unhappy at how the flowing fabric caught in her slave's belly. Drawing attention to it was exactly what she wanted to avoid. Perhaps if she tied the belt a little higher, right under the breasts, it would make the bump less noticeable...? "Aglaea, breathe in and hold it." With surprisingly deft hands for one attended to all her life Livia set to work, brow smoothing over as the new adjustments neatly hid the bump under artful draping and folding. "Good!" she beamed eerily, clapping in contentment. Now she knew how to replicate it so nobody would ask uncomfortable questions at the dinner, and if they arose later on, well - babies arrived early all the time, and given her history nobody would find it odd. Not even nosy Horatia. "Walk around a bit," she commanded as she took a few steps back, hand tucked under her chin. "What pieces were you thinking of? Would emeralds make it too much green overall?" @Echo

Early January, 76 AD - at the villa in Tibur Livia read the missive once more, although by now she knew the words in it by heart. She should have been happy for her brother-in-law for attaining such a prestigious position, but all she saw at the moment was the sanctimonious Horatia gloating yet again at how perfect her life was. Wife to a consul! That was something Livia would never be; Gnaeus' flame had been snuffed out far too early, and the thought of Secundus even dreaming of it sent her into a fit of disdainful giggles. As much as she wanted to refuse the invitation, she knew it was an impossibility. To be absent would be not only insulting but proof of bitterness and envy, and whilst she did feel that way, Livia had to keep up appearances. She put down the letter with a grunt of annoyance and went to her room, mentally going over the clothes she possessed that could fit such an occasion. It would have to be appropriate in all respects... and in order to be as accurate as possible, she would need a model. "Aglaea!" she called out, already rifling through a few stolas. The dark green one always complimented her eyes nicely, but Livia wasn't sure there was enough fabric to make the folds have the desired appearance. At the sound of her body slave's steps, she turned round with the green stola in hand and held it out at Aglaea, pointedly averting her gaze from the slave's waist; just because she had mostly come to terms with things, it didn't make them a less touchy topic. "You must try this on. My sister has invited us to dinner later this month." @Echo

Titus was a poor actor, but this Densus fellow was a boring one; his 'make sarky comment first, apologise later' gimmick was getting tiresome. Could he maybe be drunken into passed-out silence? Titus took a sip of his own drink, a little surprised that fingers hadn't melted off given the acid that Zia exuded. Too bad they all couldn't go the way of the previous publicanus, himself included. At the man's biting words, Titus felt his cheeks heat up like a fire had been lit under his skin. The nerve of this arrogant provincial, thinking he could call him out like that! He regretted not having got the old man to lace their guest and his posse's wine, but quickly moved on to pondering how best to get rid of the nosy bastard. Doing away with a tax collector and the subsequent loss of revenue would surely set the imperial treasury on Densus' trail, which would result in comeuppance for the bloody Dacians. Exactly what Titus wanted, then. Or was it? Bemused by the sudden indecision that welled up inside of him - and more than a little unsettled by the image of a very familiar four-year-old nailed to a cross and crying for his mummy that his mind felt the need to supply for some reason -, he put it aside for later brooding and settled for giving the publicanus a predatory smile. "I would be happy to. It is never a bad idea to pick up new skills." Such as cutting off Sextus Densus' hands and tongue, for example, before sending him back with the taxes due; that would require access to a sharp blade, though, and Cultellus and his gang still didn't seem too inclined to humour him with that. "When would you require my assistance? After the feast, or perhaps tomorrow? I don't know if you're the type to mix work and leisure." He gaze Zia a quick keen look, then affected a rueful smile. "Guess that's goodbye to your bracelet, honey." As if she only had the one! "Rome's unforgiving appetite for gold is well-known," he added, shooting Densus a smirk. The man took the implication in his stride and waved a hand as if to say such things were beneath him, then raised his cup. "It would be discourteous of me to go into details of my work when you have been so kind to welcome me with good food and drink." And quite the farce, his dark blue eyes seemed to say. "Why, it might give you time to hide your precious goods before I got to them!" he chortled, slamming his fist down on the table and sending drops of wine flying everywhere. Sextus Densus too had his own farce to keep up, namely that of feigning a certain degree of drunkenness and the crass humour it brought. Titus' fingers tightened their grip round his cup, wanting nothing more than to smash it on the man's face, but he reigned in the impulse and instead inched closer to Zia to whisper to her. "Think the wine's not agreeing with our guest, dear...?" @Sara

"You're welcome," Livia smiled courteously, as full of good intentions as a butcher eyeing the lamb he would slaughter next. She ignored Vibia's question in favour of her own; talk of playing music brought back memories she had no interest in - like that of a young girl tentatively plucking a lyre under the approving look of her mother, or being encouraged by her teacher to go show Livia the Elder her latest attempt at adding a few notes to a declamation of one of Crinagoras' works. "I was under the impression outstanding artists had no difficulty finding a patron to support them. Have you not had success at it?" she inquired, green eyes full of honeyed concern as if happening upon a begging orphan on the streets. Vibia's musical portents were apparently not enough to charm the wealthy into keeping her; neither must her other skills be, since she could be found dallying at parties, belonging to no one. Livia deftly launched into her own pastime. "I'm quite keen on sewing. The embroidery on this veil is my handiwork," she claimed with a note of pride in her voice as she pointed to the diaphanous fabric of a much lighter blue than her stola that hung from her hair and down her shoulders; it was decorated with beads kept in place by dark blue thread. In truth, Livia derived no extraordinary satisfaction from it, but it kept hands and mind busy and could be engaged in under Secundus' watchful eye without arousing suspicion - it was exactly what it looked like. She was, however, intrigued about one thing. "But do tell. What do you make of my husband's passions?" Did he subject this whore to the same unpredictable moods and flights of fancy? @Sara @Járnviðr

"Yes, earlier than usual. I was in my early twenties. Looking back, I think it has its merits." No great ideological gap, for instance, although women weren't really expected or supposed to have strong political opinions. No burden of care for either party either, since both had been in mostly good health since - barring his handful of souvenir scars and the dangerous business that was childbirth. And there had been other benefits not intended for disclosure in polite company. Speaking of which, Atratinus deserved to squirm a little for sticking his nose in others's business. "You know, my wife was older than my daughter is now when we got married. I'm sure you didn't mean to imply my father.in-law didn't do a good enough job there," Titus innocently suggested, taking a sip of his wine before shooting his guest a sardonic smile. "Or were you perhaps putting your eldest forward...? Although that is a bit too young. Younger than me, even," he added, stifling a mean chuckle with more drink. The man did have a point - one so valid that it was exactly why Titus had been waffling on the subject. How could he even start thinking of suitable husbands when the would-be bride was still a child in his eyes (and, he suspected, would always be)? His fellow patrician's next question left Titus a little puzzled by the perceived scepticism. Jealously? Hardly, given the distance in Atratinus' behaviour with his young daughter. "Because I wished to have them near and was in a position to do so," he explained with an almost inquisitive lilt, as if the answer was obvious. They were his family, how could he not miss them? "My wife enjoyed the change of scenery too, said it provided inspiration for her writings. Mind, they were quite safe and away from the troublesome areas. It was no emulation of Germanicus and Agrippina, if that is what you were thinking of." All right, maybe it had been in an instance or two - but Publius had been so excited to see a whole legion and an actual camp, and the men didn't seem to have minded fielded his excited, puerile questions; they were probably picturing their own boys doing the same. Titus raised his cup in a quick, silent toast to the deceased young Sempronii and formulated an equally quick and silent thanks to the gods that such pain was alien to him. "My apologies. I didn't intend to bring up unpleasant memories." The change in topic saved him from more awkwardness, but he did wish Atratinus would have chosen a different subject. It was a question he had asked himself over a thousand times in the past year, and although he had mostly made peace with the conclusion he had reached, he still wasn't sure it was the right one, or if there even was one. But such musings were best kept to himself, or gingerly shared with his faithful body slave after much imbibing. "I'm not nearly as ambitious as my good friend Aulus Calpurnius Praetextatus," Titus acknowledged, drumming his fingers on his half-full cup, "but I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy my time in Dacia. I don't think I would say no to another commission, whether there or in another province. And in the mean time, it's been entertaining to watch the fray from the sidelines and catch up with all that's happened while I was away. What would you say has been the juiciest development?" @Sara

Why wasn't the woman leaving?! Artemon shot her a threatening look (or one he hoped was threatening), hoping she would turn tail and he could finally get that water. His tongue felt like a dry log inside his mouth, but he didn't dare turn his back on her; there was no telling what she might try to do. Maybe she was hiding a rock somewhere with which to knock him out. Increasingly suspicious and just as increasingly uneasy, Artemon cleared his throat. "He is called Gallus. And if you had any business with him, you would know that. So I assume you do not." If only Iophon and the rest of the family had been there to marvel at his deduction skills! Encouraged by his flash of genius, he stepped closer to a pile of crates as if to protect them from this possible thief. Nothing would get past him, and certainly not a cheeky slave. "The who now?" His newly-found courage dissolved into dimwitted ignorance, and Artemon gaped at the woman like a fish out of water. He had no clue what this Praetor... Praevaricator was. Gallus hadn't told him about it? Him? Them? And if this entity was of importance, then Gallus definitely would have. Artemon concluded therefore that the woman had to be bluffing, and spoke accordingly. "If these truly belonged to your master, he wouldn't send a slave woman in the middle of the night to recover them! I'm sorry if he's had stuff stolen, but this is not it." He shook his head forcefully and laid a hand on one of the crates. "Of course I do! What kind of fool would I be not to know what I'm working with?" He did know. Sort of. Some kind of herb. Deep down, he was still convinced it was some rare spice. "But you'll never get me to tell if that's your plan. Now leave, you're making me waste my time," he scowled, pointing his finger at the door. @Sara