Érik

Florus was doing an admirable job of not staring, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, at the man in front of him. He was fascinated by how a man could become so muscular. Himself, he wasn't too shabby, what with all the hard work he put in the gardens. He was young, but his body was starting to take shape. His shoulders weren't as broad, though, and he was more wiry than bulky. Still, he was toned, and when he occasionally glanced at himself in a pool of water, he didn't hate what he saw. Surely it was normal to wonder about other men's bodies. Surely anyone looking at the display of men on offer would need to excuse himself from a room too? The man was making him blush, however, and he wasn't sure how to respond to it. He was being kind, saying that Florus' gaze hadn't bothered him, but the gardener knew it was bad manners to stare. 'I don't know if I can,' he answered. Did he have permission to do that? And why was the other man doing him the kindness of offering him a drink? He was sure there wasn't much else he could say, apart from offering excuses, but since the other man had said he didn't mind... 'I don't know what I can explain,' he said. 'I don't have much in the way of money.' This man didn't look like he was strapped for coins, but Florus had just spent all he was carrying, which admittedly wasn't much, on a mutton skewer and the baths. @Atrice

Florus raised an eyebrow when Cinnia spoke about the unfaithfulness of some men. He hadn't ever found a woman he wanted to be with, physically or romantically, but to him, it sounded wrong to go looking for something else if you had found happinness in your home. 'I don't think I'm like that,' he said. He wanted to settle down on his land, and not go looking out for trouble. Whether someone else was involved or not was completely accessory. 'I just want to be happy and farm.' Someone who looked like a gladiator, or maybe a guard, walked past them, and Florus couldn't help but to look. It lasted for a brief second, before he remembered himself, and returned to Cinnia. How he would find a wife, he didn't know. He wasn't even sure what slaves were allowed to do. Everything was a potential reason to be crucified. Probably this conversation, too, but it didn't seem like anyone who could understand it was around. And if he could potentially get in trouble for his words, so could she, so he had to trust their conversation would remain between the both of them. 'My dominus is...' Florus started, uneasy. Rufus and Longinus had been decent, as far as Romans went, but they still kept human beings as slaves. They still considered real life people as property. As such, in the young gardener's mind, they were trash. The lot of them. 'Maybe one day I will. If not Caledonia, I hear some parts of Germania remain unoccupied. Are you not allowed to buy your own freedom?' @Atrice

Florus had gone to the baths after a long day of planting trees. He loved doing it, but there was no denying it was gruelling hard work. A bath was no luxury at the end of a day such as this. He had felt a lot more relaxed after his time in the hot water pool, his muscles finally soothed. It had been relaxing, that is, until the gladiators had come along. That had brought along a good deal of stress. Those men were loud, possibly obnoxious, and called a lot of attention unto themselves. Most of them were tall, and all of them were muscular, Florus could see. They flexed their muscles, and walked around the baths, in the nude, proud of their bodies. They certainly had reason enough to be. After deliberately trying to ignore them, the young gardener found he could not resist the urge anymore, and decided to look at them as discretely as possible. Of course, open-mouthed gaping was in no way discrete, but he wasn't one to know. Eventually, one of them turned towards him and smiled. Florus blushed deeply, and realised he had to leave the baths. After he had taken care of things, he quickly got dressed and exited the baths, hoping to get back to the villa without any issue. Issue found him, of course. The gladiator who had smiled at him was just ahead of him on the road, and he was talking to him and winking, which meant there was no way the gardener could avoid him. He was still flustered, he found, and though he was not small himself, suddenly felt very tiny compared to the other man. 'Apologies. I didn't mean to– that is to say, I wasn't–' Florus trailed off. He sure had seen something indeed. @Atrice

Florus blushed and looked at his feet when Cinnia complimented him. In Britannia, he'd been young, and didn't get much attention from anyone. Here in Rome, though, he was growing into a man, and some people took notice. Generally the attention he got was rude catcalls from men he assumed were making fun of him, or women looking at him coyly. Both made him uncomfortable. They were not the kind of attention he wanted. He didn't know what he wanted in those regards, but it was not that. A pair of warm eyes floated around in his mind, but it made no sense to him. 'Farming life is good,' he said. 'I was born for it. It's in my nature.' He looked up at Cinnia. 'I don't know if having a wife is in my nature, though,' he said candidly. Maybe the right woman would never come along, and he was destined to tend to the land alone. That didn't sound so terrible. He wrapped his arms around himself, briefly, and shrugged. 'That would be nice. Caledonia.' It was up north, so it was bound to be colder than the territory of the Silures, but any frigid wasteland would be better than the paradisiac place where he was enslaved. He looked around tentatively, to see if anyone was listening. Or if anyone spoke the britonnic language. 'I'd go anywhere that wasn't within the reach of Rome.' @Atrice

Florus nodded, scratching his ear. It seemed to him as though, generally speaking, a woman's position was not that enviable no matter where she was. No matter their rank, their lot in life seemed to be marriage and children, and their opinion on the issue didn't seem to hold much weight at all. Of course, for a slave it was much worse, because slavery was terrible, and you could fall into the hands of people who would forcefully use your body and then discard you like you held no worth as a person. It could happen to men, too, he knew, as one of his initial captors had told him, holding him up by the throat and saying he should be considered lucky he wasn't to be sent to a brothel. So maybe Cinnia also had luck on her side, in a manner of speaking. She didn't look like the type of woman who would be content with raising millions of children and cooking and cleaning. But what did he know? Maybe that had been her dream. And besides, the choice had been taken from her. 'I would be a farmer,' he said, stating the obvious. 'I don't know about marriage, though.' With two other siblings, the urge for him to marry and make children to keep working on the farm had never been drilled into his head. He'd been told he'd know when the right woman came along, that he'd feel it in his heart. But she'd never come, and no woman had ever come close, either. He wouldn't have minded being a solitary farmer, he thought. 'I've heard of Caledonia,' he said. 'But there's already Caledonians there. Our lands were ours. I don't think it makes us better than the Romans if we go there and try to take theirs.' Florus shrugged. 'I just want to go back to the way things were.' @Atrice

Guarding a princess sounded like a high position, but at the end of the say, Cinnia was still a slave. And whether she was the slave of a king or a pauper, it didn't really matter. A slave was a slave, and didn't have any worth past the buying price for any of the Romans. 'What would you have done with your life, back home, if there hadn't been the war?' Florus would be living a peaceful life, living in harmony with nature. He didn't really have any friends, because even then he came off as distant and aloof, but he hadn't really minded. Nature was better than people. Every day here in Rome was proof. 'I think home has disappeared forever,' Florus said quietly, more philosophically than most people expected from a young man his age. @Atrice

'I wasn't much of a warrior,' Florus confessed. He'd been captured at his first battle after the death of his brother. He could count on his hands the number of times he'd actually taken part in combat. Sure, he'd started out early, at twelve, but Balorix determined earlier on that his younger brother was far more useful on the farm than with a weapon in his hands. 'I'm a gardener now, which is the best that could happen to me, in the circumstances, I think.' Florus didn't usually talk to people, but she was a Briton, and he didn't have much occasion to speak his language, hence his unusual verbosity. 'Not where I lived. We had battles often. I don't know how it is now, if they won my tribe's land, or if we're still standing strong. I don't know if there would be much I would recognize if I went back now.' The thought made him sad. Rome was not his home, and never would be, but what if there was no home to come back to in Britannia, either? @Atrice

Florus shrugged. 'Weren't we all warriors against the Romans?' It wasn't as though there had been much of a choice. You either took arms against the Romans, or you let them take your lands, and in all likelihood, your life. And that hadn't been an option. He had been young, strong, able-bodied, a man... He had to fight. 'We were farmers, though, before.' Farming and fighting had very little in common. The noise, the people, the violence and the bloodshed were as far removed as it was possible to be from the lush green fields he had grown up in. War destroyed fields. Romans trampled on the harvest, and set fire to farms. They were barbarians. 'I take it you were a warrior, then?' Her words about still being a captive when promised the possibility to purchase her freedom made something drop in the pit of his stomach. Something leaden. He wasn't an optimist when it came to the Romans; he didn't trust them. He had always known he wasn't ever going to be able to be free again. But this sinking feeling he felt made him realise that somehow, he had still had some hope. @Atrice

'Gratitude,' Florus replied, showing Cinnia a rare smile. He did prefer to hear his own name rather than that the Roman had given him. Samorix. It was his name. It was something that belonged to him. Maybe the Romans thought they had stolen everything from him, replacing his identity with a fake, more convenient one. But he knew who he was, and he would never forget it. They couldn't take that away from him. Florus couldn't help but gawk at her when Cinnia said she'd been in Rome for a dozen years. He couldn't tell how old she was, but it was an incredible amount of time. Twelve years ago, he was a seven year old lad, running in the fields in his homeland, and chasing his sister around, dangling worms in front of her. He had been that lad until three years ago, but it seemed like a lifetime away. 'I was taken three years ago, but I arrived in Rome six months later.' He didn't know why he was using such defiant language. He regretted it instantly: he didn't know her, how did he know she was trustworthy? Perhaps it was the fact he was speaking in his mother tongue. He wasn't used to it anymore. The words felt lush and melodic in his mouth, they had a richness around his tongue he hadn't noticed before, and it was so completely different from the harsh sounds of the pig language he was made to speak every day. @Atrice

Florus didn't know why he had added to the woman's curse in the first place, especially since he had no idea who she was cursing at to begin with, and why. It just felt good to hear some Briton, and to speak it for once. He didn't know where the Brigantes originated from, but it was a tribe he had heard about. Mostly by the Romans, who often coupled their words with the charming fucking Brigantes. Hopefully they had made a lot of trouble for the Roman army. Decimated legions. Probably not, though, if one of their warriors had been a slave here for many years. Nowhere in Britannia did it feel like things were looking good for his people. 'I'm out on an errand for my household,' he said. 'Samorix. But they call me Florus.' It felt good to tell someone his real name. In his household, he hadn't told it to anyone. No one called each other by their real names, they just tended to accept the ones the Romans had bestowed upon them. 'How long have you been here, Cinnia?' He figured it would feel good for her to hear her real name said out loud by another person. The gods knew he wanted to be called by his name himself. @Atrice

Florus nodded briefly, his mouth a thin line, but his eyes twinkling enough for a careful observer to pick up on. Already he had plans for what he could do here. He listened to the words being spoken to him, but hardly registered any hidden meanings, intonations, or anything else. He was in his own mind, and what was going on there took precendence over reality. This was going to be the case at least until the gardens resembled what he was beginning to craft in his mind. The almond tree only a few metres away had many dead branches that would need to be cut, and not only for esthetic reasons. There had been a mention of children, and he would prefer it if there wasn't a chance of dead wood falling on them at any given time. 'Yes, dominus,' he replied. The bit about not being allowed to use poisonous plants was a bit disappointing. Many poisonous plants had distinctly beautiful flowers and leaves, but he understood the need to prevent children from being in danger. As for now, the drafting of a list of supplies would keep him busy. If he used the rest of the day to tour the gardens, he was fairly certain he would be able to come up with a list within the day. @Chevi @Liv

Florus detailed the woman who'd just spoken his language. She looked to act in some sort of warrior capacity. She couldn't possibly be a soldier, could she? Maybe she was someone's body guard. He hadn't seen women in that role before, but he saw no reason why she wouldn't be up to the part. She looked tough. And more importantly, she looked more like a Briton than a Roman, and familiar traits in a strange, foreign land were more than welcome. 'I am,' he replied. 'Silure.' By her accent he could tell she was not one of his tribe, but he couldn't place where she came from. Prior to his capture and transportation to Rome, he had never traveled outside of his native village. 'Yourself?' @Atrice

Florus both liked and disliked the market. He enjoyed the semblance of freedom he enjoyed when he was able to get out of the villa. It was almost real, almost as if he was running his own errands rather than those of his master. He loved the gardens, but they were still a golden cage, of sorts. On the other hand, the introverted gardener disliked the crowded market, There were so many people, so much noise, and so many smells, many of them emanating from the many loud people. It was too much stimuli, and it was hard to deal with all at once. Often it felt like an assault on his mind. Coming to the market, though always an interesting experience, was never a relaxing one. Lemons. He had to buy lemons. His beloved lemon trees would have to be cut down and destroyed. Though it crushed him to get rid of the trees, he knew it was the only way to get rid of the citrus canker than affected them. His latest idea had been to hold his cutting instruments above a flame when he changed trees, to limit the spread of whatever it was that caused the lesions and scabs on the leaves, twigs and fruit of his trees, but that hadn't been enough, and felt like too little, too late. He wasn't sure what had brought this infection about, but nothing he had done seemed able to stop its progression. The only thing left to do, then, was to start from scratch. He needed new seeds. It would be longer, sure, but he'd only cut down the diseased trees when the saplings had reached an interesting height. And, of course, he wouldn't grow the new ones near the infected ones. Florus was reminding himself to breathe and stay calm among the throngs of people when he heard, very distinctly, some words in Briton that were unmistakeable. 'And their mother,' he added for good measure, looking at the woman who'd just uttered them. Of course, he had no idea about the context, but it wasn't everyday he got to speak his native language. @Atrice

Florus was uncertain about the looks exchanged between the Roman and his body slave. Tranquillus, his name was. He didn't know what to think of him. What kind of man accepted being a slave and thought he was close to his captor? It baffled him. It unnerved him completely to come to a country where it was the culture of the land that human beings were the property of others, and both slave and masters accepted and navigated this system unquestioningly. His gaze lingered on the man for a moment, then returned to the gardens until the Roman spoke again. 'How would I go about purchasing plants and tools for the gardens... dominus?' Florus' eagerness to think about his new domain cleared everything away from his mind. There were the gardens, and nothing else existed. And with any luck, even the Roman wouldn't exist. 'How much freedom do I have with the landscaping?' Freedom was an odd choice of word, to be sure, @Chevi @Liv

Florus continued to be silent as the man named Tranquillus spoke about citrus and pomegranates, looking at him. Citrus he had experience with. Pomegranates, less so. None whatsoever, actually, but he was a quick learner. And it wasn't difficult, with plants. Every plant needed, in amounts specific to its species, light, water, good soil, and fertilizer. All he needed to know was what pomegranates needed. His hard, pale eyes traveled from the body slave to the Roman, and he gave his new master a short nod. It was a bit late, this time of year, to plant something and hope for a quick harvest. If Rufus was planning for the next year, it meant he foresaw a future where Florus was still his slave. He didn't know whether it should come as a comfort or be depressing. 'Yes, dominus.' @Chevi @Liv

Florus' gaze was hard as he stared at a column. He held his hands behind his back and avoided looking at either the Roman or the one he assumed to be his body slave. His feelings would probably have been clear to see if anyone made eye contact, but his general expression remained neutral, as it always did. He had no idea what kind of master Rufus would be. Longinus was fairly decent, especially compared to the slave traders that had captured him and visited violence upon him. Rufus, though, he had no idea. It wasn't easy to rapidly size up a man who would end up having his life in his hand. 'No, dominus,' he replied in his quiet, low voice, the first words he said in his new household. He followed suite as the Roman led both slaves to the gardens. They needed some loving care, that was plain to see, but they were vast. Florus could already envision the things he would have to do to make them beautiful, or at the very least healthy. He scanned every last detail of his new domain, as though memorizing them, and refrained from commenting on how many insects actually were beneficial, especially in regards to growing food, and he would to well to favour them. He was used to being the wisest in all manners greenery, and he was used to holding his tongue. It didn't bother him anymore not to share his snarky opinions. Not when he knew the possible alternative. As he looked at the gardens, a small, involuntary smile crept on Florus' face, which he repressed quickly. He could make something good out of this. @Chevi @Liv

Florus - 4 - yellow - Ejder @Anna

Chlorus hadn't known he was going to be traded off to another dominus that morning. Hadn't known, in fact, until the moment Longinus had had him sent over from the gardens, where he was pruning the lemon trees, to his atrium, where another Roman was talking to him, a vast slave behind him. Chlorus had wondered what the fuss was. He hadn't said anything or done anything to warrant punishment, as best he knew, but who could tell, with the Romans? They weren't especially fair, in his eyes. You didn't need to have done anything in particular for one to want to punish you. That's why it was best to keep one's head down at all times. Don't get noticed, and they won't think about you when they're raring for someone to beat. He knew that, now. At any rate, he was fairly certain Longinus hadn't had him sent up to compliment his garden in front of his friend. It didn't seem like something a Roman would do. Even if, as he had been told, the citrus trees had never been so healthy since he had started to take care of them. And then of course it happened. He was being traded off. Like his work wasn't important. He wasn't being asked for his opinion. Like he didn't matter. He didn't matter, he was coming to realize. Romans didn't care about their slaves, and he was a slave. It was offputting every single time he reached that conclusion. Chlorus hadn't said much of anything as his new dominus led him to his new domus. It wasn't as though his opinions mattered to the Romans anyway. He stood in the atrium with his back straight, immobile, and looked into the distance as his new master started to talk to a slave he couldn't see. The dominus moved out, but Chlorus didn't bother looking at the other man, and kept his usual neutral expression throughout. He was much too busy being absolutely insulted that he was being renamed. Chlorus had been offending enough, and now Florus? That was not his name! His jaw clenched, but he otherwise remained still. At least he supposed the names were similar enough that he wouldn't take too long to adapt... @Chevi @Liv

FLORUS 19 | 22 Augustus 55 | Slave | Gardener | Gay | Wanted | Burak Çelik Personality. Florus is a temperamental man with a lot of opinions, but he keeps everything to himself for his own sake. He is angry about his condition, angry that this is his life, angry at the injustice of it all. He learned the hard way that voicing his opinions about how awful the Romans were only earned him beatings and lashings. It didn't take long for him to adapt. He still thinks it, but he doesn't say it. Because he would rather hold his tongue than put himself in danger, he is mostly a silent person, who doesn't really care to mix with others. Florus prefers the company of the plants he works with to that of other people, but he is nonetheless a kind person, who will be polite, if a little closed-off, to every slave in his household. With the Romans, he has artificially polite interactions, or, well, he used to. He's beginning to get used to his condition as a slave, and hate it though he might, as long as he's around plants, he's actually happy. Florus is a diligent guy, a hard worker. He puts his back and all his soul and heart into the gardens. They are his passion, his life blood. Though he might be reluctant at first to engage with strangers, any conversation regarding plants will expose a completely different side of Florus, showing a man who's fiercely passionate, loves what he does, and cares very, very deeply about life. Appearance Florus is of average height and build, although his hard work as a gardener is beginning to show in his muscle mass. His skin is tan from spending every waking moment out in the sun, and is a bit more weathered for it. He has pale brown hair, and clear blue eyes. His lips are full, and his jawline is sharp. He doesn't cut quite as sharp a figure as he could if he spent more time around people than he does with plants. Indeed, he seemed not to be noticed by most, until he came to the Sulpicius Rufus household. Of course, that could be because he is a man, now, rather than a boy. For the most part he is indifferent to the attention. He has other things to worry about. He bears the brand of his capture on his inner right forearm, an unsightly reminder of how he came to be in servitude. Family Father: Vocorix Mother: Eppacta Siblings: A sister, Netelia, and a brother, Balorix. Both older. Spouse: None Children: None Extended family: Well, they're probably dead, now, thanks to the Romans. Other: None History Child: Samorix was born in Brittania in the year 55 to a family of farmers in a small village belonging to the Silure tribe. From a very young age, life was arduous, and required hard work. It was all hands on deck in the fields, and that was before the Romans came. When the Romans came, all the men were called upon to defend their land. Vocorix was often absent, and it fell to the rest of the family to tend to the fields. Samorix learned a lot, and found peace with nature, peace he didn't quite find when he was around other people, as it was easy for him to find conflict with others. Teenager: Vocorix died in a battle against the Romans when Samorix was still very young. After that, the family leadership fell to his mother, Eppacta, and his older brother, Balorix. It was even harder with one less family member, but soon that hardly even mattered, as the Roman attacks increased in frequency. Shortly thereafter, all boys strong enough to wield a weapon were called to war. Samorix was twelve when he participated in his first. He didn't actually do much fighting at all, but he didn't have much of a choice. Luckily for him, Balorix had other plans for his brother. To keep his family fed, he mainly stayed home in the fields. Balorix was the one fighting. But when the twenty year old died, it was up to Samorix. He was captured in his first battle after that. It was in 72. Samorix was barely seventeen. He fell in the hands of the Roman legions, and in the beginning was outspoken about the horrible conditions they were kept in. He didn't do well as a caged animal, and was raring for a fight. He found one, though it was unevenly matched. Quickly he learned that he needed to shut up if he were to stay alive. He was branded, asked about his profession, and eventually given as wartime loot to some sort of Roman man called Longinus, as a gardener. He wasn't treated badly by Longinus, but even the beautiful gardens he discovered and tended to upon arriving in Rome were not enough to soothe his anger and bitterness about his condition. He was like a pacing lion, angry and biding its time. He kept to himself and didn't really grow close to any of the other household slaves, despite many of them also being from Brittania. Just when he was starting to get used to things, Longinus traded him off to some other Roman. Adult: Titus Sulpicius Rufus let him have free run of the gardens. Of course, he wasn't exactly keen on having a master, still, but at least there he was beginning to heal. He had the opportunity to make something truly beautiful, something meaningful. This would be his reason to keep on going, even if life was meaningless. And maybe he could start connecting with other people. He hasn't been so good at it so far, but who knows? Florus is barely an adult, now, and he has the world, or, well, the very limited world of a slave, ahead of him. Ejder | GMT -5 | SuperBambi#8552

God, I wish there was a template for this. I am super awkward, so you'll just have to deal with that. XD Name: Ejder (I respond to pretty much anything, including E and hey you) Date of birth: 29.04.1990 (I know, I'm turning 30 this year, can't believe it either...) Pronouns: He/him Location: EST (GMT-5) °°°°°°° Occupation: When there is no pandemic, I am a student of horticulture/agriculture at an agriculture college. Hobbies: Reading, writing, listening to music, going to the movies, Netflix, biking, and y'know, just stuff. Oh, also gardening and plants. And languages. Favourite ice cream flavour: Vanilla Favourite pizza topping: Onion and bacon is where it's at. (I'm a pretty bad vegetarian...) Favourite animals: Cats, frogs, sloths, kakapos, and bumblebees. Favourite plant: Saintpaulia ionantha, the African violet. Also hibiscus. Favourite colour: Yellow. Also red. And black. With an honourable mention for blue, green, and orange. Colours are great. Spoken languages: French, English, German, Spanish Favourite song: That changes all the time, but consistently I love Heroes, by David Bowie. Favourite movie: The Lord of the Rings trilogy Favourite series: Plenty of stuff! Give me a good, old-timey detective series and I'm a happy camper. Crush of the moment: Kontra K °°°°°°° Preferred thread genres: Anything interesting. Lately I reaaaaally want to do romance, though. Fluff or drama, either way. Post length: Usually pretty short posts. I don't typically err on the side of description, but sometimes I do get carried away. Post frequency: Honestly I'm usually on every day, but my posting frequency will vary according to the research I have to do. Thread length: Whatever makes a story. Exceptions: I'm open for mostly anything, but I will not take part in threads dealing with spousal, sexual, animal, or child abuse.