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Florus looked over the woman's shoulder. The mutton was coming along nicely, it seemed. Surely the vendor would call them over shortly? It was difficult enough to just be hungry and standing in the direction of the wind while delicious smells wafted his way. It would be cruel to make the wait last much longer, but the gardener knew that was on the mutton, not on the cook. 'It's a name for a gardener,' he replied diplomatically. He didn't especially like it. It wasn't his name, it had been forced upon him. As far as names went, though, he was very conscious that a lot worse could have been bestowed upon him. Being asked if he was from Rome used to spark anger in his eyes. How could anyone mistake him for a Roman? They were the evil ones! Now, though, he had more experience. Barely any emotion flashed through his eyes this time. Emotions like anger at the thought of being associated with Romans was dangerous. 'I'm from Britannia,' he replied. He looked at the shorter woman, not wanting to presume of anything. 'And yourself?' @Echo

Florus only realized he wasn't alone in taking shelter when one of the other household slaves spoke to him, and she startled him. The gardener turned to face her with a surprised look. He'd seen her around often enough, but they hadn't really spoken much. Florus was polite, sure, but he was very guarded, and kept to himself the vast majority of the time. There had only been two people to break him out of his self-imposed mutism. Attis, who had weasled friendship out of him, and then there was Tranquillus... But there were other reasons for that, he had ended up learning. So he hadn't really had much cause to talk to the other household slaves, even if he had been in this villa for months. Nymphias, this once was called, he remembered. She seemed to know him a lot better than he knew her. His brow furrowed as she spoke. How in the world could she possibly know about his love? She had to be mistaken. No one knew. Except Attis. Maybe Attis had told her? Florus hadn't thought of that, and now he mentally kicked himself. What if Attis had gone and told the entire household how he felt? How else would Nymphias know? 'I don't know what you're talking about,' Florus said cautiously, though his red cheeks betrayed him. @Beauty

'Once a week, when I get the day off from my dominus,' Florus replied. Well, more or less. It depended on what he considered he still had to do. It was better to lose some spare time than to have a result he wasn't pleased with. 'I get one before heading to the baths.' Florus was a creature of habit. He craved routine, and the reassurance it brought him. In a world where everything was so decidedly abnormal, he needed to make himself a semblance of normality, and for him, that came in the form of repetitive activities. Get the mutton skewer, enjoy it for a while and watch the people milling by, then get a massage at the baths, enjoy the baths, and go home. He rarely diverged from that. 'Pleasure to meet you, Aglaea,' Florus said, still guarded, but very polite. 'I'm Florus.' He vaguely examined her for a brand of some sort, like the one that marred the inside of his right forearm. She had to be a slave, to talk to him. No Roman would. @Echo

How would anyone target him for his body? Florus was already a slave, he couldn't get double enslaved. Did slaves really get kidnapped to be used at other people's villas? He was already a gardener at Rufus' villa. Being randomly brought to some other Roman's gardens and told that he now had to tend to these would undoubtedly feel weird. He didn't know that it might really happen, but he surely didn't want to be thrust into a situation that might mean life would be worse for him. 'I would rather it be during my time off than during the times my dominus sends me out,' Florus said. If he abused of that time, he had a distinct feeling it would be taken away from him. And then he'd be beaten, or worse. It was best to do any unauthorized activity during his spare time. 'I generally get one free day a week,' he said. Truthfully him taking his day off depended on his evaluation on what needed to be done. He preferred having a perfect garden than a day off. And what did he even usually do with his free time? He ate a mutton skewer, and went to the baths. Nothing really special to await with anticipation. But training to defend himself, now that was something he could look forward to. 'How can I send word?' @Atrice

'I have an axe,' Florus replied, trying to keep his tone nonchalant, though he was quite proud of how he was able to wield it. He was able to take care of dead wood and tricky roots with the least amount of effort possible. He was by no means lazy, of course, but it felt stupid to wreck your back for a chore when there were easier ways to proceed. 'And knives, too, but also shears.' And then of course he had a plethora of tools without blades or sharp edges. Florus dusted off an invisible speck of dust off his less and less white tunic. Being a gardener didn't do much for clean clothes. This moment enabled him to look away from Alexius for a second. Mouth slightly open, brow vaguely furrowed in concentration, the young Briton wasn't able to get any of the dirt off of himself, so he looked back at Alexius, meeting his eyes. 'Mostly I use my hands, though.' Florus took another sip from his cup, and a crooked half smile escaped him, his neutral expression returning to him quickly. 'You're a good drinking companion, too, for a first time.' Alexius moved closer to him, and the gardener found he didn't mind too much. That was normal, wasn't it? 'How is it like, to be a gladiator?' @Atrice

The man at the caupona had said the meat wasn't quite cooked yet, and that he'd have to wait. That was fine. It wouldn't take too long, and the Roman wouldn't have him in shackles and lashed for taking five more minutes to feed himself. Or, well, he hadn't up until now. He was hungry, so he would just have to hope Rufus would be reasonable today too. As he waited, the customer behind him too was told that she would need to wait. Rome was a curious place, and all sorts of people lived here. This woman seemed to have some sort of shawl on her head. Florus had seen some women covering their heads to shield themselves from the sun, but never this type of garnment. The woman was probably as much a local as he was. 'Good morning,' he responded politely, his expression neutral and guarded as it always was when dealing with people he wasn't close to. 'It's hard to resist a nice skewer when it smells this good, isn't it?' @Echo

Florus stared at the man's lips as he was about to bring the cup of wine to meet them. He didn't drink, and the gardener inexplicably felt disappointed. He blinked back the odd feeling, and focused on the conversation at hand. Yes, all slaves should be free. Of course. There shouldn't be any such thing as slavery. Even the Romans, he didn't want to see as slaves. How good a person were you really if the first occasion you got, you behaved exactly like your enemies? Talk about the rudis distracted him from further philosophy, though, and he put his hands to his cheeks, hoping to make the redness go away. Were they still talking about the rudis? Of course they were. What else would they be talking about? It wasn't as though Alexius might have followed his moment of distraction, after all. Florus tore his eyes from the ex gladiator's leg, unsure at what exactly he was trying to look at. The rudis. Obviously. 'I don't know. Swords aren't a gardener's tools,' he said, taking a nonchalant sip of his own cup. 'It's yours, I could never! What if someone saw?' Florus asked, lowering his voice as he scanned the tavern for overly curious eyes. If someone saw him wearing the rudis, they might think he was getting ideas above his station, and think his behaviour insolent. And report him to Rufus, who would no doubt have him crucified. Florus took another sip of wine, and a droplet lingered on his lower lip. A slow tongue reached out to catch it. He didn't hate this drink. 'Gratitude for the offer, though,' the gardener said, reaching his hand across the table. It was a weird gesture, and he retracted it immediately. That was the problem with wine, he figured. It made you do funny things. @Atrice

Florus continued to look at Cinnia with his neutral expression, but he was surprised. Of course, he probably shouldn't be. The Romans were terrible people. He knew nothing of them and their city, but he didn't care. The only thing he needed to know was that they were just the worst, and that they enslaved people, and often murdered them just for the fun of it. Still, though, there was no reason for him of all people to be attacked. He rarely left the villa, and when he did, he kept to himself, and avoided interacting with anyone. 'I don't carry enough coin to make me a target,' the young Briton said. Enough for the baths and a mutton skewer, that was it. He wasn't stupid. Besides, he didn't actually have much money at all. 'But all the same, I wouldn't hate being able to defend myself, if ever I needed it. You would be willing to teach me?' @Atrice

June 75, before the earthquake Florus was still unsure whether or not he liked the market. Its hustle and bustle of constant activity gave some the thrill of being alive, but for him, it reminded him of the time where, as a child, he had looked into a beehive. There were so many people milling around, going about their day and doing the things they needed to do that it always made him kind of dizzy, gave him a vague feeling of uneasiness. He didn't like to be surrounded with so many people. He preferred the peace and quiet of his gardens, even if that peace was sometimes disturbed by the totally unwanted presence of a certain body slave. It was a distraction! He had some time off, today, and was planning to go to the baths afterwards, but right now, his priority was finding pistachios. It felt like the general public didn't know, or maybe they simply didn't care, but there was really a lot to be done with the discarded seeds of the food market. And even the discarded scraps, come to think of it. With enough time, and quite some straw, scraps stopped smelling bad and became a rich compost, perfect to use as a fertilizer. He hadn't yet broached the idea with the Roman. He had a feeling most of his ideas would be shot down, anyway. On his excursions to the market, Florus found he often liked to buy street food. It was a pleasant change from the slop Betua cooked up for the slaves. The sounds of sizzling meat and the enticing and inviting smell that came from one caupona was calling to him. He was but a young gardener. Who was he to resist the call of a delicious mutton skewer? 'I'll have one, please,' he told the cook. @Echo

'Two and a half years,' Florus specified. He hadn't much been able to leave the domus before, so he had no idea what kind of place Rome was. All he knew was that he hated it. It was not home, and it was indeed a rat's nest. He didn't need to visit it to know as much. 'She died?' Florus was oblivious to Cinnia's change in tone. 'Why was she attacked? Do you think I'd get attacked?' Why? Why would anyone attack him? No one knew him. All he knew was that when he got out to the markets, some men yelled things out to him and jeered, and he couldn't really understand their accents, but he was uncomfortable enough that he took detours. @Atrice

Florus didn't have any objection to seeing Alexius again: the man was friendly, and he had the shape of a gladiator... Wait, no, that was irrelevant. Alexius was friendly and generous, and made him feel at ease. Yes. That's what it was. His gaze followed the rudis as Alexius put it away, and lingered on his belt. It was a nice thing to own, and it suited the other man well. 'It would please me too,' Florus blurted out, then returned to thoughts about the rudis. 'I like it. You are lucky to have one.' It was awful that he needed one at all, but in a world where he needed on, he was lucky. 'Does it bother you to have that thing along your leg every day?' Florus realized he was still looking at, well, presumably the rudis, but also realized he was picturing something else, too. How random. He flushed. @Atrice

Florus was distracted in his thoughts about lemons by Cinnia's proposal. He knew carrying weapons in the city was forbidden. It was probably better this way. Romans didn't need to use more weapons against other people. He looked at the other Briton in confusion. Why would he need to know how to fight? The only reason he would need that would be to fight against the Romans, and he would never do that, because it would get him crucified. And funnily enough, he wasn't exactly keen on that. 'Why would I need to learn how to fight?' He wasn't in immediate danger, surely? Not in any more danger than being held captive by the Romans represented, surely? @Atrice

'I've not had it often enough to compare different tastes,' Florus admitted. Back in Britannia, he had mostly still been a child, and as such, the mead he drank had been reserved for special occasions. After his father's death, and after his brother's death, there hadn't really been many celebrations in his family that called for the drinking of mead. He wondered if Alexius licked his lips after drinking mead, briefly, and shook the thought out of his head. Then he wondered whether Tranquillus drank mead sometimes. These thoughts were really random, and he pushed them away easily. Alexius made his stomach squirm. Florus didn't know that wine could do that so quickly, especially not after so little time and only a single sip. Maybe things would get better after another sip? He drank again, and waited. Difficult to notice any change. 'If it please you, then I will accept,' he said. Florus was always polite, and especially so with people older than himself. He grabbed the rudis, and examined its length, touching it, mouth slightly agape. He ran his hand along its smooth surface, inspecting its notches and liking the feeling of it in his hands. He wouldn't ever get one, because he wasn't a gladiator, but still, it was nice to hold something that meant freedom. Eventually, he handed it back to Alexius. 'Gratitude. You're lucky to own such a thing.' Even if it meant he had had to endure the previous years to earn it. Freedom shouldn't be earned. @Atrice

Florus continued to eat the cake while looking at Cinnia, his expression neutral. No, it didn't depend. All slavery was bad. No one should be held against their will in servitude. It was wrong. If she was going to make excuses about it, it wasn't going to go very well. She didn't hold the moral high ground on slavery just for being a slave. She had to be opposed to it in all its forms for it to actually count. But hey, at least they agreed that the Romans were terrible. It was not enough, though. Florus was distracted in his musings by his work. 'I want to buy lemons from different kiosks to make sure that they came from different trees. That way, I know that they're going to have different characteristics and be healthier in the long run when I plant them.' It didn't make sense to everyone; it certainly hadn't made sense to one of the slaves he'd spoken to about it, when asked why he needed to leave the domus. 'I can fight. Sort of. You take the sword or the spear, and you just thrust it in the enemy's gut. That's all there is to it, isn't it?' He wasn't sure if he had ever managed to kill anyone, but that wasn't to say he hadn't tried. @Atrice

Florus looked in wonder at the other man's wooden sword. So that little piece of wood, that was a symbol of his freedom? Did he have to carry it always? What if he lost it? Would he be enslaved again? What of other freed slaves? Did they also get a rudis, or did they get a little piece of wood that was symbolic of the work they had done? Fifteen years was a long time, though. It certainly was the majority of his life. It felt crazy to him that anyone could spend that long catering to someone else' every whim. Florus blushed as the other man made friendly banter with him. He wasn't used to people being so friendly with him, but maybe that was because he didn't interact with people a lot. The older man made him feel strange, but he gathered it was because of the wine. 'I've had mead before,' he protested. He was not some innocent child! He'd lived a little! 'Gratitude, but you don't have to get me anything.' They barely knew each other, why would the man want to pay him anything? He wouldn't mind seeing him again, of course, but it was rather intriguing that Alexius would go all out for a practical stranger. 'Can I touch it? Your rudis?' @Atrice

June 75. Unlike in Britannia, most days here in Rome were sunny during the summer. Hot. Not rainy and muggy. Everything in Britannia was so green and lush. Here, the skies were blue, to the point it gave Florus a headache to look into them for too long. They seemed to stretch to infinity, to be so blue they became black. Much like everything else in Rome, the blue skies made him feel very small. The lovely weather usually meant that the gardener had to spend a lot of time watering the plants almost every day to make sure the gardens were beautiful. Today, however, he wouldn't need to do any of that. The rain was falling as though the heavens had broken. It had been going on all day, now, and showed no sign of stopping. In the beginning, Florus had taken it as a sign from the gods that they were ready to drown Rome, but it happened every now and again, and invariably, Rome never drowned. He'd worked all morning under the pouring rain without an issue, but now that the afternoon was well underway, things just looked to be getting worse. Florus had run out to the edge of the villa, sheltering himself from the weather beneath the roof. The rain was making so much noise, but it was actually kind of soothing, and while he was already soaking wet, at least the gardener was out of it now. This would be good for the plants. @Beauty

Florus was torn between gaping and furrowing his brow. Alexius didn't remember his own name? That was just... It was sad. How long did you have to be a captive for before you forgot your own identity? Would it happen to him? Never! It couldn't possibly. No. Florus would rather die than forget he was Samorix of the Silures. He gave the other man his usual neutral expression so as not to show him his bewilderment. It must be upsetting not to remember your own name, and the gardener didn't want to remind the man of it, or make him think he pitied him. The story of Alexius being freed was really inspiring, and it was so, so, so much better than Cinnia's story about her friend. Between that and the horror stories of crucifixion, Florus didn't have much hope for the rest of his life. The best he could hope for was a master who wasn't too much of a brute, and to fall under the radar and be noticed as little as possible and never get in any trouble. 'You asked him for your freedom, and he gave it to you, just like that?' It almost sounded too good to be true. Had Alexius had to do something unspeakable to earn his freedom? He took the cup of wine from Alexius' hand, and shook his head. 'Never. I'm relatively new to my household, I haven't been able to leave the villa until recently.' And why would his first placeto visit be a tavern? 'Gratitude,' he said, toasting the other man. He pursed his lips and contemplated Alexius for a second. Should he really be giving out his name just like that? Might he get in trouble for it? It hadn't been the same with Cinnia, he figured. They were compatriots. He took a sip of the wine, which was cool and went down well, although the taste was surprising. After a moment's consideration, he looked back at Alexius. 'Samorix. I've never really had wine before. It's... pleasant.' @Atrice

Florus took another bit of the cake, still savouring it. The Romans were pigs, but they did their honey cakes right. And, left in the right hands, namely his, they did their gardens right. 'I believe if the seeds don't sprout, my dominus could still purchase mature plants, but it's more expensive than buying a few lemons.' No one in Florus' village had owned slaves. He'd been unfamiliar with the practice until his capture by the Romans, and then had been brutally made aware of it. As far as he knew, this was not a practice in Britannia. Then again, his experience of life was limited, here as it was there, now as it was then. Again he looked left and right before he spoke. 'Anyone who owns slaves is bad,' he replied. There wasn't much room for nuance in his view. People weren't cattle to be owned, sold and traded. It was unfair that his life rested in the hands of some idiot who didn't know who he was, and had very little respect for him as a human. He'd heard all the horror stories from his captors about what masters could do to their slaves, and what horrors they could visit upon them. 'I hope your friend's fate is much different.' Florus started to walk towards the fruit stalls. 'Do you mind if I keep working while we talk? I don't think my dominus would be too keen on me taking more time than necessary.' @Atrice

The other man was friendly, and helped put Florus at ease. A lot more at ease than he was around Tranquillus, at any rate, who always just stood there, staring at him as though trying to pierce holes in his soul. The gardener wasn't sure why he'd congured up the image of the body slave. He didn't have anything to do with this situation, after all. 'I didn't choose this name,' Florus replied automatically. It sounded like a joke when he introduced himself. A gardener named Florus. How appropriate. Well, it hadn't been his choice. Samorix was just as fine a name as any, and it was his name, which made it even better. He wasn't about to share it with the other man, though. It felt too intimate to give out to the first stranger he met. He'd told his name to Cinnia, but then, she'd told him hers, and they were both Britons. In a city like Rome, he had to believe they were not strangers. 'I would make a bad gladiator,' Florus confessed. He hadn't made a great warrior. Captured in his first battle without his older brother to protect him, it wasn't something he was very proud of. But honestly, he was a farmer, not someone avid for combat. He liked peace and quiet and nature, and there was nothing about war that offered that. 'You were freed?' The young Briton turned eyes full of wonder at the gladiator. So apparently, it was possible. 'What do you do now? How were you freed?' And especially important to the gardener, how long had it taken? Some people had been slaves their entire lives; it sounded like an intolerable amount of time to the young Briton. Eventually they arrived to the tavern. It was quite small. Alexius seemed to be well known here, because already they were bringing him wine, along with two cups. The girls smiled at the both of them, and Florus offered them a neutral look in exchange. They made him feel uneasy, but in a different way than Alexius was. 'I've never been in a tavern before,' he said. He'd barely ever tasted wine, either. Mostly just a sip here and there, out of curiosity, but never a ful glass, like he sensed Alexius was goign to serve him. @Atrice

Florus' village had a similar tradition, only with mead instead of bread, so he didn't make the association with the honey cake. Still, he was grateful for it. As a slave, in Rome, he was never offered sweets. Attis had shared his with him, the other day, but other than that, the cook never offered him more than the usual slop. 'Gratitude,' he said as she handed him half the cake. He quickly bit into it, not realizing how famished he was. The sweet taste filled his mouth, and made him happy, though he wasn't very good at showing it. 'I hope I can,' he replied. 'My dominus is counting on it. He's very disappointed the lemon trees have got to go.' The new trees had to work. His enthusiasm about meeting another Briton gardener was short-lived. Apparently she'd been punished for months, and her dear friend had not seen her since... Who knew what fate had befallen her? 'People shouldn't own other people,' he said, scowling. 'I hope your friend is alright and you get to see her soon.' @Atrice

'Indeed,' Florus agreed. It seemed somewhat callous to whine, even if only to himself, about being a garden slave, when others, maybe from his own tribe, were dying in the mines. He supposed that was what the Romans wanted: to foster feelings of forced gratitude and terrified obedience in their house slaves. Good way to never encounter any resistance, he figured. He didn't want to come off as whiny to this woman, though. She seemed tough. She seemed like she had had her share of hardships, and would make a single bite out of the issues he faced. Maybe he ought to emulate her toughness. 'I would like that,' the gardener said. 'If it's no bother to you.' Always the same politeness, the same cautious distance, though somehow their shared tongue made breaching his walls somewhat easier. 'Lemons,' he replied. 'I need to buy lemons, for their seeds. Our lemon trees have come down with some sort of canker, and there appears to be no solution but to cut them. I'm hoping I can restart a few trees from seed.' The plan seemed to be good. Plants, provided they had enough water, seemed to grow faster here than they did back in Britannia. He supposed it was the climate. 'You know another gardener from Britannia?' Florus was becoming more and more interested. Speaking about his gardens, in his own language, to someone who would understand him, that would be amazing. 'Does she work in a household nearby?' @Atrice

'Likewise, Alexius,' Florus twittered back, cheeks still pink, liking how the name sounded on his tongue. It was difficult not to stare at the man, with his impressive bulk, and muscles, and face... Florus wondered what they felt like to the touch. It was exactly thoughts like that that had made him need to leave the baths, earlier, though, so he needed to simmer down. Looking at the stones on the road was much easier, and provided some much needed distance. The steam in the baths must have gotten to his head: he didn't normally behave like this. Sure, people like gladiators were hard to miss, but he kept his distance away from them the rest of the time, as he did with everyone. 'Two and a half years, but I have not gotten out much,' he said. 'I'm a gardener, I am kept very busy. What is it you do?' He felt very brazen. @Atrice

Florus swallowed hard as the other man stated he was inviting him. With his own money. He wasn't sure why, but it felt like butterflies had colonized his stomach, fluttering around, and even making his head light. The sun was shining brightly, and the young gardener figured it must be hitting his head a bit too hard. Drinks were something he could acquiesce to. At least the one drink. That seemed fine. He had enough time for one drink. 'If you're certain it's no trouble, then I accept,' Florus replied politely. 'They call me Florus,' Florus wasn't his name, but that was still what he was called in Rome. He didn't have much of a choice but to use it. @Atrice

Florus looked at Cinnia with the same kind of forced polite expression he gave to the Romans. Sure. Maybe he'd be good to a wife. The prospect didn't enthuse him overwhelmingly, but what was the other option? Again, the same vision imprinted behind his eyelids, the same person. He was quick to shake it off. He was also quick to shake off the impression the bulky man made as he passed. The neutral expression returned to his face afterwards. Florus wasn't one for smiling to others. He rarely did, of his own volition at least. Talking and thinking about his gardens made him happy, and made him smile automatically, but it wasn't something he controlled. His expression, otherwise, was well controlled. Neutral, and polite. 'There are people worse than my dominus,' Florus finished, as though that were granting Rufus anything. Still trash, though. On the other hand, his situation could have been so much worse. He supposed slaves who worked in households considered themselves lucky not to be working in the mines, and that was what prevented them from rising up. Fear that things could be worse. 'I don't have much to spend my peculum on,' he said. 'Just the baths.' As a gardener, who toiled ceaselessly, he had quickly learned to stop seeing his visits to the bath as a luxury. They were necessary, if he was going to be working this hard every day. 'I have tasted a honey cake!' Florus replied, his interest perked as a rare smile vaguely flirted with his lips. 'A... a friend in my old household shared one with me, not very long ago.' And had planted those images he saw in his mind at night, too. Attis was a friend, right? That's what he'd said they were. @Atrice