Liv

"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

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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

Ah, so his new friend was a child of the brothels, like so many others. Artemon held no prejudice towards such things: it was all the luck of the draw, the gods' caprice. It could easily have been him in the other man's place, and there was little point in wanting to rise above your station. Increasing your riches - yes, that was a possibility and a different matter entirely, but a cat would never be a camel no matter how hard it tried.

"Were you young when you left? Your memory is excellent!" he complimented, trying to cheer up his compatriot and completely failing to consider that his memories of youth might not be happy ones. At the question, however, he took a swig of his beer and grinned at the other man. To think that somebody was interested in Artemon's stories!

"Well, to tell the truth most of my career was spent sailing up and down the Nile. We carried grain, you see. Brought it to Alexandria from cities all over. Memphis, Heracleopolis Magna, Nilopolis, Thebes... Back and forth like ants. Unfortunately I didn't get to see much of the cities." There was always work to be done on the barge, whether guarding the cargo from thieves or loading and unloading the grain or mending a sail threatening to tear. "There was a time we had a stowaway on board and only noticed it hours later. A little boy who wanted to explore the world," Artemon reminisced fondly. The kid had reminded him of himself. "Another time, we all got a bit drunk at night and Wadjenes - that was another sailor - fell overboard. We all thought it was funny until he started screaming. The crocodiles got him," he concluded with a sad sigh, sending a quick silent prayer to Sobek. Sacrifices to the crocodile god were needed, but Wadjenes had been a nice man despite his gruff demeanour - now stupid Ptahwer, smug bastard that he was, would have been no loss.

@Sharpie

This was no damsel in distress, afraid of finding herself in a warehouse with a strange man or of getting a good whipping from her master - after having put his foot in his mouth so manifestly with his new Egyptian friend, Artemon had become more adept at noticing slave collars. She walked in like she owned the place, and Artemon narrowed his eyes at her, wanting to seem appropriately suspicious but instead managing to squint like he was nearsighted and end up looking like some alien bug.

"These crates belong to my boss. If you wish to see him you will have to come back during the day," he huffed, puffing out his chest and folding his arms across it. Good, now the woman should be suitably impressed. "I don't know anything about stolen stuff. Why are you here? Did your master send you?" Isis willing, the arrogant woman would leave on her own accord... because if not, Artemon didn't really know what to do. Gallus had told him how to deal with intruders, but he hadn't covered female slave intruders. Unless...

@Sara

Artemon beamed at his brother's praise, mouth full of food, and did not take to heart Iophon's incredulity about his ignorance. Of course he was curious! But first, he had had to prove to Gallus that he could be relied on. And one did not achieve that by poking their nose into other people's merchandise, or so a good decking during a stint near Cusae had taught him a couple of years prior. He felt the need to inform his brother about his reasoning.

"Indeed I have! But I was also gaining Gallus' trust, Iophon! I can't show him how smart I am, so I decided to show him I am hard-working and dependable." Artemon nodded solemnly, sauce dripping down his chin before he wiped it off his thumb and sucked it clean. "Besides, they are all nailed shut. I think he'd grow suspicious if i tried to pry one open," he added, looking wistfully at his bowl. It was almost empty now, but he wasn't full yet. Maybe tomorrow he would have more money for a more filling meal.

He raised his head again to ponder Iophon's statement. No, Gallus wasn't that rich, so it probably wasn't that herb after all. "Well, the crates aren't that heavy, you know? And they rustle a bit when you move them, like something dry is inside. Oh, and they also give off this faint smell... Kinda plant-y? It's hard to explain, but if you could smell it too I know you'd agree." In fact, why couldn't Iophon just come and smell for himself?! Then he would form his own opinion, and maybe they could find out what it was!

Time to propose his hare-brained scheme. "Iophon," Artemon cleared his throat as he sat up straight, "I've got an idea. Why don't you come with me and we figure out what's inside the crates?"

@Chevi

January 76 AD

The new year had brought about a slight increase in business, but it hadn't increased Artemon's meagre salary in the same proportion. Gallus only cared for his own purse, that's what he did, and Artemon grumbled under his breath in Egyptian as he flitted about the old warehouse, loading and unloading things here and there like a (badly) paid cargo mule.

He had just put down his last crate and made a beeline for the water jug nearby when a figure came into his line of sight. That wasn't Gallus, or any of the other labourers he knew of. For one, none of them had such long hair. For two, none had such obviously feminine features either. Who was this lady? Had she entered the warehouse by accident, lost on her way to some other place? Artemon's first instinct was to greet her and ask her if she needed help, but Gallus wouldn't have approved of that. No, he was supposed to be serious and gruff so people knew not to mess with him!

"What are you doing here? This is private property!" he parroted in his best stern tone, wiping his sweaty hands on his equally sweaty tunic. "You need to leave."

@Sara

After a day's work Artemon all but stumbled in through the door of the tiny one-room flat he shared with his twin, body aching for some rest. It seemed like he was the last one to get home that day, he concluded as he spotted Iophon's figure in a corner. "I bought us food, brother!" he announced cheerily, putting down on the table a clay bowl with finger-licking good stew he had got on the way home from the place Alexius had introduced him to.

"Iophon," he started, brow furrowed in deep concentration. "I've been thinking hard about something. What do you think is in those crates I carry back and forth for Gallus? I thought it was some kind of spice, but it doesn't smell like any I know." Granted, Artemon didn't know a lot of spices as his finances only allowed for the most common ones such as fennel and cumin, but that was no skin off his nose as he broke a piece of bread from a round dark loaf and sat down to dip it into the stew with gusto.

In between loud mouthfuls he carried on. "Do you think it's that plant women use so they don't have babies?" Whatever it was, it seemed like business was booming. And Artemon would very much like to be in on it too.

@Chevi

Atratinus' little girl was going to make somebody a perfect Lucretia some day, if the way both her father and other little girls bent her will to theirs was anything to go by. Titus knew as well as both Sempronii who was in the right, but a stern talking to and subsequent punishment was to come later, in private. He watched the two girls for a few seconds as they left with their nurses, thinking to himself they'd be on good terms again when Gessilla and her father eventually left, necklace back in their possession. Atratinus' statement went acknowledged with a minute nod and a hum that could have meant anything.

"No, I've got another one who turns fifteen this year. And then a boy in the middle. But Valeriana is the most spirited of them," Titus smiled diplomatically, although his tone belied a degree of amusement. "All credit to their mother, though, since I wasn't always around. You know how it is." Or did he? They hadn't crossed paths anywhere Titus had been, and he couldn't recall his guest's allegiance during the civil war - if he ever even knew it in the first place.

He popped another grape into his mouth. "I was lucky to have them close by when I was in Dacia, however. Might also explain why my youngest is so lively," he chuckled. More freedom from the pressures and expectations of society for the mother and a lot more quality time for the baby, who naturally learnt mostly through mimicry; hence Valeriana's flair for theatrics. It would be probably squashed out in time as she grew up, but for the time being, Titus didn't want to set that particular process in motion just yet.

Time to do the polite thing again and turn the conversation back to Atratinus; Titus wasn't deep enough into politics that he could just harangue sanctimoniously about his own family. "Are Gessilla's siblings as polite and tactful as she?"

@Sara

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True to form, Secundus evaded her question by making a related comment that anybody with functional eyes and ears would have been able to produce. Livia was forced to agree that the woman did indeed sing wonderfully, going by the tunes that could be heard over the hubbub, but that did not change her disposition towards Vibia. 

Livia felt her jaw go slack in astonishment. How did he have the gall to ask such a thing? She could not answer with the truth, which was 'because you have never asked', but she managed to polish it into something less abrasive yet, in her opinion, just as correct. "I did not think you cared to hear me sing." There was a hint of carefully fabricated sadness amidst the reproach, in case somebody turned out to be eavesdropping - and to further play the part of the misunderstood wife, although she very much doubted Secundus had the emotional maturity to pick up on it.

But oh, how badly she wanted to please her husband! Enough to take a new cup of wine from one of the servants, look over her shoulder at her husband and walk over to their guest performer with something to soothe her vocal chords. Livia waited patiently until the song had come to an end, then extended the cup towards Vibia. "You must be in need of refreshments after straining your voice like that. What sort of training have you had to get past throat aches?"

@Sara @Járnviðr

It sounded as though there was no love lost between Atratinus and his daughter's mother, even though they were no longer bound my marriage. Hadn't they learnt to be civil to one another? Or maybe this was what civility looked like. How fortunate Titus was not to know. "I'm sorry to hear it. But the most important thing is that you're all in good health." Both of his guests looked well, even if the little girl was very (too?) prim and proper. Again Titus contemplated the fact that maybe it was his family that was the outlier, but he'd rather have a boisterous child running about than a little lamb like young Gessilla. 

Time to interrogate said boisterous child, then, and do what Atratinus' raised brow was bidding him even if he honestly couldn't care less. Schooling his expression into a more serious one for the other senator's sake, Titus gently lifted his daughter's chin so she would look up at him. "You met Gessilla and had a fun time playing together, didn't you?" Valeriana uh-huhed in agreement. "But did you forget to return her necklace when you said goodbye?" Big blue eyes widened with the kiddie variant of indignation. "No! She lent it to me!" Titus narrowed his eyes a fraction. "And until when was that?" Valeriana didn't miss a beat. "Until the next time we met." 

He suppressed a sigh. A 'he said, she said' story and whilst Atratinus probably had the right version of the facts, Titus wasn't any more willing to doubt his daughter in front of an audience than the man his own offspring. Taking advantage of her father's momentary distraction and slackened grip, Valeriana turned to blink innocently at her friend, tacking on a charming smile. "That's what you said Silla, isn't it? But I can go get it, since now is the next time." To Titus this sounded like a very sensible resolution, and it was his turn to shoot Atratinus an inquiring look. Hopefully his fellow senator would be satisfied too.

@Sara

Given how very enthusiastic Atratinus seemed to be doing the talking for his daughter, Titus suspected this would take more than a couple of minutes to clear up. He would have to resume his literary critique some other time, but Landicus was an agreeable chap who knew better than to put any stock in Titus' reviews anyway. Nodding at regular intervals as the other man told the tale of some silly necklace, Titus felt his attention wane, his train of thought veering off in a different direction. Even though Florus was good, he was no match for the imperial slaves that tended to the famed gardens nearby, but maybe there were some tips to be had there...? He would have to speak to him and tell him to go make friends with his fellow gardeners. Tell Tranquillus to tag along, too, under the guise of teaching Florus about some new plant; Titus didn't need his body slave all the time.

Pulled back from his mental tangent, Titus blinked and pressed his jaw to stifle a yawn. Apollo and Diana, so many words to describe a tiff between two little girls. Whoever the 'less than helpful' slave was, they deserved a reward for shooing this sod away. "Ah, apologies for my slave's behaviour, it was not meant to offend you. They are trained to be as protective of my children as if they were their own," he gave a little shrug of his own, then signalled to the slave to go fetch Valeriana as the man, ever observant, dutifully refilled their visitor's cup. There was no escaping it now - Atratinus seemed to want to play at catching up, even if it was likely out of politeness rather than actual interest. And Titus, also out of politeness, would have to humour him. "But where are my manners?" he smiled pleasantly, directing the pair to a group of comfortable sofas. "You must forgive me, I was in the middle of something when I was informed of your presence and I'm afraid a small part of it is still on my mind." It figured that the one time in recent memory he actually was invested in a story, he would be so rudely taken from it halfway through.

Reclining with just the bare minimum of ceremony, Titus nicked a grape from a well-placed bowl and popped it into his mouth, appearing to chew thoughtfully before agreeing with Atratinus. "Indeed, it must have been what - six, seven years? I think I left for Dacia at about the same time as your father passed, if memory serves me right." And if it didn't, it was no skin off his nose anyway. "What have you been up to? I see Gessilla is doing well," - barring her lack of a spine, the poor thing - "is her mother in good health as well?"

He was fortunately saved from having to inquire about other relatives he barely remembered by Valeriana's cheerful appearance, her long-suffering nurse in tow. A shameless "Hi Silla!"  echoed in a childish voice, followed by "Hello Silla's papa and nurse!", and the five-year-old climbed up on to Titus' sofa to become little spoon, helping herself to a grape on the way. "Had you met Valeriana before?" Titus inquired, running his hand through his daughter's blonde locks to her giggling delight. If not, there was no time like the present.

@Sara

Titus was quite sure he had no dutiful clients to listen to that morning, so when the slave came into the tablinium and interrupted his sneak preview of Landicus' latest opus to tell him he had visitors, he was a little surprised. When the slave told him the name of the visitor, he grew puzzled. And when the slave, wringing his hands, added that Atratinus was requesting not only his presence but also Valeriana's and why, Titus narrowed his eyes in distinct displeasure. Bold claims, but he would entertain the man's delusions for the sake of hospitality. He wouldn't bother to put on anything finer than the richly embroidered dark blue tunica he was wearing, though, and definitely not fetch his toga - best to show his unintended guest just how much importance he was accorded.

In the same vein, he would not go and get Valeriana before he knew what the fuss was all about. Either it was a matter for little girls to fix, or one for grown men, and he would find out which was it soon, Titus pondered as he joined his guests in the atrium. "Lucius Sempronius Atratinus, how unexpected." Titus shot the meek-looking child a kind smile, but she only clung harder to her nurse, avoiding eye contact. The poor thing had been dragged here by her father, then.

The slave from before popped back in, offering wine to the two men and water to the girl before slinking off to lean against a wall, in case more refreshments were needed. "My slave tells me you believe my daughter took something that belongs to yours. It's the first I hear of it," Titus took a slow sip at his wine, his tone one of slight amusement. "Would you care to enlighten me as to what has happened? Or perhaps the young lady herself would like to?" It was perhaps unfair to put the little girl on the spotlight like that, but Titus didn't take lightly to somebody dropping by uninvited and demanding his attention whilst at the same time calling Valeriana a thief.

@Sara

If only Zia was always this deferential, ‘my husband’ this and ‘my husband’ that, things might have turned out a bit differently. But just why she was looking at him in anger instead of the tax collector, Titus held no answer to. Fortunately Densus backtracked after a little while, before Titus had to do anything more than raise an eyebrow and look more than a little displeased with the turn the conversation had taken.

It came as a surprise that the publicanus also dabbled in Greek, and although his accent was atrocious and his wording inelegant, he made his point loud and clear. Titus' first instinct was to agree with the flat-chested part, and he had just begun to acquiesce when a sharp pressure on his leg stopped him. Right, a truly enamoured man would find no flaws in the object of their affections, if all those love-struck poets were anything to go by. They also wouldn't stand for said object to be insulted in their presence. Ugh.

"She makes up for it in other ways, although I don't expect you to be the sort of man who would appreciate any of them," Titus commented gaily in much smoother Greek, the curve of his lips hardening into a thin line before he continued in clear Latin. "My wife does not speak Greek. Latin is the standard around here, as I'm sure you well know. It would be impolite to deviate from it, especially given how hospitable her kin have been to you," he made a sweeping gesture towards the food and drink laid out before them. The tax collector had the decency of looking sheepish and his ears turned a shade redder even if his cheeks didn’t, but before he could talk his way out of it, Titus carried on as if Zal-what’s-his-name had personally appointed him orator defender of the Dacians. “Have you ever been to Britannia, Sextus Densus? There they welcome your sort with spears and stones, not banquets. It would serve you well to look favourably upon your circumstances, as it has me.”

A bald-faced lie if ever was one, but keeping the façade was important and if it came with the bonus of appeasing the tribe’s bigwigs and perhaps even the harpy, it couldn’t hurt. Feeling rather proud of himself, Titus took a sip of his wine, battling the impulse to treat Densus to a smug grin, and in what he thought was a stroke of genius, brought his free hand up to Zia’s cheek and gently ran his knuckles down the side of her face, shooting her a concerned glance as if wondering if his performance been good enough for this Cleopatra wannabe.

@Sara

The words caught in Safinia's throat all of a sudden, although it was not from screaming herself hoarse. Try as she might, the only sound coming out was a gruesome gurgling. No air was coming in either, and her chest burnt with the lack of oxygen. Oh... A split second later, she understood what had happened. He had sliced her throat. She was dying. 

Before realisation fully sunk in, she was spared from having to go through the sputtering and fading vision that asphyxia brought on as the knife pierced through her chest. There was sharp pain, followed by a sickly wet sensation of all her strength leaving her body, and then... Nothing.

@Atrice @Chevi

Juno! She had managed to hit him, and the satisfying cry that escaped him gave Safinia a burst of self-confidence. Even in spite of her obvious trouble with running away, she felt like she might just stand a chance, if she managed to take the knife from him or throw it far away into the darkness. Time was of the essence, and as quickly she could Safinia spun round, looking about her with wild eyes in search of refuge. The bleeding cut high on her back was of no consequence, drowned out by the urgency of getting away. Where could she hide before the man got back up? She could at least try to put the pile of sacks between the two of them...

She had barely begun to scamper towards the opposite side of it when a blow sent her tumbling to the ground, and she landed on her bad leg with a yelp. The criminal must have used the tactic before, for he wasted no time in getting down on the ground and restraining her movement. Bastard! Was there really no shaking him off? Overwhelmed by the realisation that there was no way she was getting away from him now, Safinia abandoned all rationality and let instinct take over, doing the very thing the man had been telling her not to all along. She screamed, as loudly as she could.

"HELP!! SOMEBODY!"

@Atrice

Whence or why those red cheeks suddenly appeared on Zia's face, Titus couldn't be entirely sure, but he did have an inkling. Interestingly enough, he found out he didn't like it. So a reasonable (although on occasion terribly stupid) specimen of fine senatorial stock such as himself evoked no passion in her, yet a burly and corrupt provincial did? Women were indeed strange creatures, and Barbarian ones even more so. Some saying about pearls and swine he had once heard from an acquaintance who had spent time in Judaea came to mind, but although it felt relevant Titus failed to recall the whole thing.

If only she could have been as convincing in every aspect! For what was supposed to be an adoring look, Zia was making a terrible job of it. Titus knew she was capable of producing genuine ones; he had witnessed more than a few every time little Luto was around and behaving. Maybe that was what good actors did to fool their audience, but that was a lesson come too late for the current ruse. He found it exceedingly hard to draw on previous experience to get out of the trap the sly bitch had set for him, though, because he had none. His late wife hadn't lived long enough for them to get to that stage, and drunken bouts of proclaiming his appreciation for his friends did not carry the meaning intended for the present situation.

Still, since Densus seemed to have swallowed her story with only a few reservations - slow nods, doubtful grunts, eyebrows shooting up into his somewhat receding hairline as if to reach father Jupiter - Titus supposed he could do no worse. A bit of liquid courage to make the lump in pit of his stomach easier to bear first, then a fond squeeze to the harpy's hand and a show of meeting her gaze with a cloyingly sweet one of his own, " Of course I do. I could never forget our wedding night," - and oh how true that was - and then the final touch of a bashful chuckle before he turned to the tax collector. "It's hardly unnatural to forge a special bond with the one person to show you kindness in a bad situation, wouldn't you agree?"

Densus did of course agree, and an inkling of understanding crept upon the man's handsome features. It would not be the first time a prisoner grew sympathetic towards their captor... or a tribe towards their publicanus. "Indeed it was a blessing that even in a complicated situation you found comfort in each other. That which starts bitter may sometimes end sweet," the man drawled in his raspy voice, dark blue eyes glinting. "And how very brave you two are, to defy tradition in the name of love. I can't imagine your Roman relatives were understanding?"  Densus suggested, training his shrewd gaze on Titus for an instant before directing it to Zia. "Or your tribesmen, that you held their enemy high above all others?"  The man's look didn't waver, clearly expecting an explanation. "Why would they listen to the whims of a besotted woman who is old enough to know better?"

@Sara 

The plan had that seemed so feasible moments earlier quickly crumbled to dust, much like the insula she had called home during the earthquake in the summer. Besides slight pressure and a hint of cold metal, there wasn't much the scar tissue on her back could recognise, in contrast to the whole skin elsewhere; and between the adrenaline coursing through her veins and wearing cheap, coarse clothing the overwhelming majority of the time, Safinia had completely forgotten about it. It was like a massive whirlpool had opened inside her, sucking in all hope and leaving despair in its place.

She hadn't been bad. Not worse than so many inhabitants of Rome, stealing and lying to survive. Who did this bastard think he was, to punish her for slights not even against him? Safinia trembled - from indignation or fear, she could not tell. Both, surely. Yet being lectured by a criminal, so sanctimoniously accusing her of foul behaviour to justify his own appalling actions, struck a chord within her. "But you are not a god or an officer or the emperor. So you've got no right to punish anyone," she accused him with surprisingly steady words, an angry inflection breaking through their surface.

Before she could consider the sensibility of it, her limbs had moved of their own accord. Both elbows shot out backwards, quicker and sharper than she had thought they could, aimed at the man's chest. If his knife hand was also hit, all the better - but even just knocking the wind out of him would be a boon.

@Atrice

What a shame this ridiculous woman wasn't a slave, so Livia could order her away with few to no consequences. She opened her green eyes wide as though she had seen something fascinating, and fixed an empty gaze on Vibia. "Imply? Oh no, I meant no such thing." Livia had a very good inkling as to this guest's true occupation, and her vacant stare said what her mouth could not. "I hope you didn't take offence" she said with a little cough that could have signalled embarrassment to the uninitiated but came across as disapproval to anyone used to reading between the lines.

The mastermind behind the scenes seemed to be enjoying himself in this area of his own making, and Livia hid the sneer that threatened to surface behind a sip of wine. What Secundus' real motivations for the encounter were was a mystery known only to him, but had she been a gambler she would have bet on a perverse sense of fun. Since he could not stand the real arena games, he fashioned a pathetic substitute for it pitting his wife and his whore against each other like gladiatrices. Despicable, Livia thought to herself before taking another drink from her cup - which at the current rate would be empty sooner rather than later.

"If you say so. I don't really see it myself, but then again I'm no musician." Livia inclined her head minutely as Vibia sauntered away, willing her lips into a fake upwards curve that seemed quite fitting for the evening's mood. Before she had any chance to quietly and discreetly berate Secundus for his choice of performer, however, a few eager guests demanded her attention as hostess, and so Livia indulged in small talk and exaggerated compliments to clothes and jewellery and everything in between.

Taking advantage of a lull in the comings and goings, she shot Secundus an acid whisper. "And where did you come across our blonde entertainer?" Some high-end brothel was doubtlessly the correct answer, but Livia wanted to see just how much of a fool her husband thought her. 

@Járnviðr @Sara

Had Artemon been a less experienced man in the domains of the heart, he might have found himself falling hard for his neighbour, longing for him like a dog after a juicy chunk of meat. Despite his proficiency, however, he was not immune to Alexius' charms and the words that flowed from his lips - spontaneous or well-rehearsed, they were as pleasing to the ear as their speaker to the eye. 

If Alexius was sure his boy wouldn't mind then that was good enough for Artemon, although a small part of him was disappointed at not being able to show Lucilla, even through a flimsy wall, just how good in the sack he was. But there would be plenty of opportunity for it later... maybe. Plus, if he were to be practical about it - although lust and practicality seldom went together -, chances were Alexius' bed was a lot comfier than his thin, hay-filled mattress. This place was a lot nicer in general.

"Oh, getting restless? Guess we can skip straight to dessert then," he teased with what he hoped was a sexy wink, wilfully ignoring the fact that he had never quite been able to close only one eye and thus all of his attempts at winks were more like blinks. Taking advantage of their linked hands, he stood up abruptly and tugged at Alexius' arm to make him do the same. "So if that-" he pointed at the curtain that hid the kid's bed with his free hand "-is his bed, is that one yours?" His index was now stretched out towards another curtain. "Very well, I'm eager to see if you're as good a hands-on teacher as you are with the theory!" And with those words he dragged Alexius off to what was hopefully the bed and not where the other man kept his chamber pot.

@Atrice

It was very, very rare for Artemon to possess knowledge others didn't. It was almost always the other way round, and the extremely few times it was't, like now, he was going to milk it for all he could, even if his lack of book smarts invariably limited him in his gloating. "I'm quite sure of it," he insisted, straightening his shoulders and puffing out his thin chest just a little. "I don't remember who told me - maybe my brother, or my father, or my grandfather. But senators can't go to Egypt because of the grain! Imagine if one of them was cross with the emperor and decided to buy all the grain or blockade a harbour ? It would be ruinous for us sailors!" he exclaimed, taking another swig of his beer, before adding a few mollifying words. "And for the people of Rome, of course." The gods knew he had already been lucky once not to offend his new friend, he shouldn't risk it twice.

He stroked his chin and stuck out his bottom lip, going over the area around the famous Library in his head. House of Isis... was his compatriot not a godless soul after all? But then he would have said 'temple' rather than 'house', wouldn't he? Or could that be some feature of the Alexandrian dialect Artemon wasn't familiar with? Isis... Isis... But yes, there was one such place! Not that Artemon had dared show his face there too often, after that blunder with Herankh the courtesan and her cat early in his stint in the Egyptian capital. How was he to have known that 'tickle my pussy' wasn't referring to the lovable critter? He would have rather scrubbed all traces of the establishment from his memory, but if the other man had some sort of connection to place, the least Artemon could do was stay true to his word.

"I... uh... may know of the place you speak of. It's been years since I last visited, but it was home to beautiful yet feisty ladies. Is it of meaning to you?" His friend was right about the size of Alexandria, and to that day Artemon wasn't quite sure which of the two cities was the biggest, but perhaps the gods were feeling generous enough that the two men were indeed speaking of the same establishment, never mind the strong possibility of there being far more than one 'House of Isis' in the port city.

@Sharpie

Unfortunately it wasn't poison; the other slaves were good eggs for the most part and didn't deserve to be indiscriminately offed when a much better transaction for all parties involved would be to sell them. Titus reminded himself - and not for the first time - that if he ever went off gallivanting again to the borders of the empire, haughty natives who didn't show signs of being able to learn their new place would have their mouths sewn shut and then be crucified where everyone could see them.

But it was Saturnalia, and it was also too late to have that one slave nailed to a cross without it putting a damper on everybody's mood but his, so in the spirit of the holiday Titus answered with a shrug and a cryptic smile as he set down the last bowl and stepped back. "Nobody's forcing you to eat it." She could starve herself for all he cared, more left for the others. At least Davus looked properly appreciative; he really was a good lad.

"If it's not to your taste help yourself to the rest." It wasn't Zia's critique he was most curious about, anyway: it was Betua's. Out of the corner of his eye he watched the old woman dip a piece of bread into the stew and eat it, though he couldn't quite tell what her expression meant. She seemed surprised and almost pensive as she chewed, but as their eyes met she swallowed quickly and gave Titus a quick smile and nod before turning her attention back to her bowl and peering critically into it. That was a stamp of approval, right...?

@Chevi @Ejder @Sara @Sharpie

If this crazy man wasn't a thief, it could only meant he did this sort of thing for the pleasure it gave him and not out of necessity. The realisation made bile rise in Safinia's throat, and she grimaced as she swallowed, feeling the pressure of the blade against her throat mounting and mounting until it broke the skin with a piercing pain. A small, warm wetness bloomed in the area, and she recognised belatedly that the man had actually cut her. Did the pained gasp come from her mouth? It had to to have, because the criminal was smiling in sick satisfaction. Immobilised by fear and feeling like there was nothing but wool inside her head, it took more than a little while for his demand to sink in.

Her back? That was what made this pervert tick?! He was in for a surprise then, because hers was not the smooth, creamy, pale blank canvas he probably imagined hid under her clothes. Perhaps he would be so jarred - better yet, so disgusted! - by the burn scars on her back that he would let her go? The sad reality that was dawning on Safinia was that she would not make it out unharmed unless the man somehow let her, or if some passerby scared him away; the latter was nigh impossible, given the cover of darkness and the mound of sacks obscuring them from view.

With a shaky nod that sent the rivulet of blood streaming faster down her neck, Safinia slowly turned round to face the wall, tugging at the fabric on her chest and shoulders to give the man what he wanted. It was dark so he might not actually see anything unusual at first, but if he touched her he would undoubtedly notice something was up. "Why... why do y-you do this?" she whispered through ragged breaths, hoping to delay whatever it was he was planning on doing.

She couldn't really see anything with her back to him, but if he touched her, she might just be able to tell in which hand he was holding the blade and aim her elbow at it, and whilst he was distracted treat him to a back kick between his legs... And if he did what all men did and dropped everything to reflexively cup his aching privates, maybe Safinia would have a shot at taking the knife from him and disposing of him before he could do the same to her. It was the only plan her feverish brain could come up with, and the alternative wasn't any better... Muscles tense like a new gladiator entering the arena for the first time, she waited for him to make his move.

@Atrice

For the fifth time that day Titus had to shoo away Betua's anxious form that kept hovering about the entrance to the kitchen. Yes, it was her territory as much it was his possession, but there was a tradition to uphold. If she found the results of said tradition inedible she was free to go and serve something up on the sly. If Titus had to be honest, though, he thought he and this three helpers were faring quite well and did not warrant such levels of worry. Valeriana had helped pluck a chicken with unfettered, gleeful abandon, tearing out the feathers in small but forceful fistfuls before gathering an amount she deemed sufficient and running off giggling, possibly to disturb her indisposed mother. Publius was surprisingly adapt at peeling fruit and vegetables; in another life he might have made a fine tailor, or perhaps a medic. Still, the boy was just the right amount of both careful and daring with a blade in his hands. And Titus? Well, he had finished plucking the chicken, quartered it - clumsily, yes, but he was no butcher -, taken out the nasty bits and tossed the good ones into a big clay pot where onions, lentils, carrots and chestnuts awaited company. Copious amounts of garum and red wine and a handful of assorted herbs and spices, selected with no concern for how well they would go together but merely for their fragrance, had followed suit and the pot, properly lidded, had been placed in the oven to work its magic and hopefully turn all that food into a passable stew. 

At the same time, his eldest hadn't been idle either, and had prepared quite the artfully decorated platter of assorted cheeses and cured meats before moving on to dessert: apples boiled in a mix of red wine and honey with chopped walnuts and more honey on top, and some stuffed dates and preserved plums on the side in case someone didn't fancy apples. Titus felt a surge of parental pride well up inside him: if his attempt at preparing a meal for the slaves failed, Sulpicia would save his honour by making sure they would still have something decent to eat. 

The clay pot was smelling like it might be done cooking, and after a moment's deliberation with his son on how they would take it out of the oven without incurring serious burns, Titus spotted two thick and seemingly well-used squares of leather hanging from a hook just by. They served their intended purpose and soon enough the pot was set on a table and uncovered, belching out a great curtain of steam. It smelled like food, which was a start. As he portioned the stew into two big bowls Titus dipped his ran his fingertip along part of the edge of the pot and brought it to his mouth to taste. All right, so maybe he had been too careless with the garum and the gravy was a bit saltier and thicker than intended, but he had had worse. All in all, it was a valiant effort; he was pleased.

Now all that was left was to serve it to the critics. He picked up one of the bowls, Sulpicia the other and Publius the charcuterie platter and the three of them made off into the triclinium, where bread, wine and olives had already been freely made available to the servants. Titus had the feeling it wasn't only just Betua's expectant look that was trained on him, and that made him a little uncomfortable - nobody liked to be judged, after all. But a natural inclination for resting bitch face and years of making intentional use of it meant his expression remained mostly neutral, even as they placed the food on the table and began ladling the stew into individual bowls for the slaves' convenience. 

"Dinner is served, my fine ladies and gentlemen. I hope you'll enjoy it."

@Chevi @Ejder @Sara @Sharpie

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I suggest no set posting order since there's a few of us. Also, feel free to NPC Betua and any other slaves!