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  1. Early November, 75 AD Today was just yet another ordinary day in the life of Marcus Barbatius, one of countless professional barbers in Rome. Some just had their shops in the street, but Marcus had his very own shop and insula just above it. Quite a nice insula too. One bedroom for himself, another for all the slaves, a small cooking area, a tablinum and a triclinium. And a few spare rooms for storage and other things. Then there was the shop. Large enough to hold a chair for clients in the middle of the room and shelves and tables and many little pots and flasks with salves and oils and everything else he needed for the business. And then the box with all the knives and razors in it. The key hung steadily around his neck and Aculia would have to ask, if she needed a knife to cook with. He once had a slave cut his own throat, which he had absolutely no right to, so Marcus had to keep the knives locked up at all times, so it would not happen again. The slaves were his property. They had no right to take their own lives while he was their master. But luckily, that was already years ago and life went on. Even with what he did recently, to that girl. Yet that was also in the past now and all he had was the lingering memory of her and her blood. He was thinking about that when he opened the shop this morning, which put him in a good mood and he was even whistling when he opened the door. His head slave or favorite slave, Manus, was already busy getting the shop ready for the first client. Now all they had to do was wait for someone to walk in the door. @Sains
  2. Early December, 74AD Longinus winced as withdrew his head from the fountain, the freezing water dripping down his face and the coldness making him gasp and shudder. He enjoyed the Thermae less than he did his long, endless walks around the city but it was better for him, and he knew that begrudgingly. He'd spent most of the morning here, running laps around the expanse of the gymnasium and using the weights provided for patrons. Few paid him much attention besides a few cursory glances at his physique or the littering of scars across his torso, given he wore only his subligaculum. He felt the familiar, satisfying ache across his shoulders and even the ungraceful head-dunking hadn't cooled him off. Longinus was a man that hated, detested being idle and after almost a full lifetime spent in the legions, the sedentary lifestyle of Rome bored him. Most days he woke well before dawn (poor Attis being dragged up with him), and today was no exception. But rather than the usual drizzle of this time of year, the sun was shining bright and (slightly) hot and he had decided to enjoy it and give his long-serving body slave a break. Having walked a little he had found himself at the thermae, and the mornings activity had suitably worn him out. For now. Withdrawing to the side and careful to miss a group of men who were proceeding in some sort of race, he took a seat on a bench and exhaled a puff of cold air. Running a hand through his sopping hair (in desperate need of a cut) and across his beard (also in desperate need of a shave). He glanced around, in no particular mood to socialise but spotted a familiar face and with a frown, jerked his head for the man to join him. "...Decimus? Is that you?" He beamed a broad, inviting grin. "Gods, how are you man?" TAG: @Sains
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