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Found 51 results

  1. Jenn

    A 'day' out

    Summer in Rome meant heat, but they were heading into early Autumn which for Tacita meant relief. There were so many tasks that needed done daily regardless of the weather. Sweltering heat made tasks less enjoyable. This day was a slightly cooler day and she was using the opportunity to check out the market as she had part of the day free. Normally she would come to the market with someone to help translate, but Corva and Linus were both busy today. Corva warned her to only use their ‘regular’ merchants. By regular it meant that they knew her deficits & they knew who her master was- there was less chance that they would take advantage of her. Tacita arrived at the market, took a quick look around and then headed towards one of the stalls. At the first stall she picked out a few items to make herself a little ‘lunch’. The vendor told her the price and she used her fingers to ‘negotiate’, although not much was required. Tacita placed the items in her drawstring bag then headed off to a bench under a tree-glad for some shade. She settled herself down on the bench and pulled out the bread and fruit.
  2. Mid July 75AD The sun was hot today, blisteringly so and as always it impacted the passing trade of her stall. Few ventured out at this time, and if they did they were always in a foul mood - rushing to get this or that for dinner based on a change of their dominus' whims - nobody wanted to be out in the midday sun if they could help it. Her included. She swatted a bead of sweat from her neck and adjusted the strip of linen that held up her dark hair into a loosely piled mass of braids. She was out here alone today; Appius was trying his luck with a small stall outside one of the thermaes, selling fruits to those citizens desperate for something fresh. It wasn't an oddity to see her alone selling their wares, and nor did she feel particularly troubled by it; she knew her fellow stallholders either side of her well, and as chance would have it her apathetic ex-husband was just across the way; trying and succeeding in not paying any attention to her. They'd have her back if she needed it. Her stall was piled high with an abundance of produce; both savoury and sweet although nobody seemed to want to touch the vegetables that were on offer and most flocked to her to buy a lone apple or a solitary peach. Cheapskates, she thought but tried to brush it aside. Being midday at the height of summer in Rome, foot traffic was low and she paused to sit down on one of the stalls she had convinced Appius to pack for her. No point making her feet blister and ache if there wasn't any custom to be had. She stifled a yawn as she sat; she'd been up since well before dawn doing deliveries to her regulars and the markets were a tiring affair - even if not busy - owing to the fact that it meant lugging various fruits and vegetables up and down all day, and putting up with the riot of colours and smells that invaded the senses at every opportunity. She fiddled with the edge of her plain tunica and hummed to herself, bored out of her wits as more people came and went - idly eyeing the peaches placed proudly front and centre, yet nobody stopped. Not until a shadow loomed and she blinked up, to greet her customer. TAG: Open!
  3. Anna

    Cake By The Sea

    mid july 75 | naples The summer's heat was smothering in the city, which was still cleaning up from the earthquake, prompting Cornelia about mid July to plan to progress down the coast to Naples on a hired ship, desperate for a reprieve. To get away for a month or two before life would start up once more for them in the heart of the empire. So invitations were sent to her brother and Quintus' siblings, a long with some others randomly sent out to random people. She didn't care whose hands they landed in. An offer to follow their household south, to breezier and sandier pastures. Then they had made the trek to the port city of Ostia and then made their way southwards via ship. Now, a few days after they arrived to their villa, Cornelia left her children's room leaving them with their ever watchful nanny. The villa was largely empty at the moment, slaves only exiting the kitchens to head out to the beach that stretched out from their property to the sea. The evening tide kissing the shore. Cushions and blankets and low laying tables had been set up and about the large area. Torches were being lit and should it be needed a large bonfire was prepared to be lit the darker it got. The things she noticed as she stood at the columns that looked out over the area that was being prepared. She wasn't dressed at all the way she would be in the city, instead dressed down. Her loose curls hanging to her waist with only a gold broach fashioned as a hair accessory pulling some of it back to keep it from falling into her face. Even the dress she wore was simple. White bellowy silk that both danced in the breeze and clung to her figure as she stood there, sheer enough for anyone to see what Venus had graced her with in the right light. A goddess overlooking her play ground. A smile playing at her lips as she looked over the view and out into the horizon, the sun was setting casting its amber haze on the world. She heard someone approach her from the side and she turned and smiled, "Shall we go down then?"
  4. Early June, 75 AD Of course she knew she needed to find a new husband - or at least try. That was a woman’s role and lot in Rome. Grow up, get married, get kids… if you lose your husband, get another or your family will dislike you. She didn’t want to be disliked. And she did want to find a man who would marry her, for how else was Gaius to have a proper father to raise him? Her brother did well, of course, but he had a wife and kids of his own too and Gaius was just a nephew and not his own child. She needed a man of her own. But she also needed Lucia. She hoped her future husband would accept her. Pinaria could not imagine marrying and never embrace Lucia again, like she had done it the past year. She wanted it all. And somehow, she’d have it. That’s why she had gone to the temple today – to pray and make a sacrifice, so that a good man of honor and bravery would somehow be hers. After all, as long as she was married, she was a good wife and mother. She did not spend time alone with other men and certainly, if she did, they never touched. Not that she didn’t know Gaius had not been as good as her at that; and he didn’t even hide it, but she didn’t blame him. She didn’t love him, but they were friendly with each other. And they were wife and husband and a wife did not sleep around. She had to make sure her kids were also his kids. But now that he was gone, surely there was no problem with bedding someone else and especially not when the other person was a woman, who could not make her with child. It was alright, in her opinion. She hoped the gods would agree. Quietly she left the temple and found a marble bench nearby to sit on and ponder, while looking up at the beautiful structure in front of her. She knew the gods had their own strange ways and that humans were probably nothing else than toys to them. She had lost so many people in her lifetime. People she cared about or should have cared about. She never even knew her mother! She hoped that she would not lose Lucia and that the next person she came to care about, would not disappear on her either. She barely noticed that someone else joined her on the bench, until she moved to stand and her palla was stuck underneath the other person. It was somehow ripped off her and she stood with just her chiton on and a very surprised look on her face, "Excuse me!" She said, clearly upset, while reaching for her palla to get it back and put it on. This was very inappropriate!
  5. About a week prior to the end of June, Julia had been at her residence outside of Rome. At first the tremors were light, but her son had ordered her back to their Domus in Rome. She felt that it would have been safer to remain outside of the city, but her son did not trust the home she resided in. Julia, after making sure that the slaves of the household would take care of themselves if the tremors got worse, returned to Rome. In the early morning hours of June 30, Julia was startled awake by a strong jolt. “What was that?” It took another shake or two before she registered what it was. The light tremors had become an earthquake. Julia woke the young slave girl that was resting in the corner of her room. “Go wake the other slaves.” She threw a shawl around her shoulders and followed the young girl out of the room, running the other direction. “Wake up- there is an earthquake” It did not take long for the entire household to be woken up. A survey of the damage the following morning involved some cracking in the foundation, a few broken pots that got knocked over and a few injuries from people stumbling around in the dark. She had received word from the slaves at the farm outside Rome that most things seemed to be intact although they had to round up all the animals as they scattered when the quakes began. All in all, her 'circle' of people were lucky that injuries were minor and damage didn't seem to be severe. The next day Julia, along with her son went to the market- he needed to discuss some of the repairs that were needed and she wanted to replace some of the pots that had been broken in the tremors. “I shouldn’t be too long Sextus. I will head your direction when I am finished.” He nodded and the two of them split up. Her son sent of their male slaves with her as an escort although she didn’t really need it.
  6. June, 75AD Horatia smoothed down her stola and glanced at herself in the mirror. She was not nervous, per se, she was mostly quite an unflappable woman, but this was the first time she was hosting some of these women, and certainly the first time she'd done so without Valeria Flacca's exuberant personality to outweigh her more reserved, composed demeanour. She just hoped it would be a success; the family could use some of that. Whilst her husband might busy himself with political schemes and dealing with the troublesome Praetorian's in his own way, she knew better than most that men were made and fell at the whispers and words of women. To be seen to be hosting something for the great and the good of the City's women was valuable, especially given the diverse names on the list for today. Nobody could call Horatia Justina a snob given the equite girls that had made the cut. The house was vacant; Aulus and Felix had left the women to it and taken her son to the baths, and Calpurnia was with her maternal grandfather on the Caelian. It meant that the domus; usually filled with life was oddly quiet today and that only made her perfectionism spiral. She strode from her rooms silently and set about adjusting everything to within an inch of its life. No food was out of place on the richly decorated table in the triclinium, the copies of the Odyssey (picked for its ease for novices or those not interested in literature) for those that had forgotten their own (there would always be one!) lay on a table to the side. Couches were furnished with rich throws and slaves stood diligently by waiting to serve the guests. She had not forgotten herself, either, although in true Horatia fashion had opted for traditional reservation in her clothes. The shade of amber of her stola complimented her bright auburn hair and contrasted with her eyes. Her hair was neatly, and properly, swept up into twists and turns but it wasn't overzealous or overtly fashionable. She wore little jewellery save for her betrothal ring, a simple gold bangle (a gift from her husband) and a fine pendant with a ruby in. She didn't wish to seem as if she was promoting the families wealth, after all. As she finished adjusting everything to within an inch of its life to make it perfect, one of the slaves silently announced the first guest and Horatia put on her best, beaming smile and moved to the atrium to greet them. TAG: Open! Open to all Senatorial or Equite women who want to join a book-club with Horatia!
  7. 30.6.75 | open It was early morn, one of the few hours of the day that the Venus was closed to customers. Allowing its inhabitants to rest and clean up after their long evening of debauchery. Titinia was hoping to catch a few hours of sleep before the sun was high in the sky, alerting everyone it was time to rise and ready the brothel for the evening to come. For her to spend a few hours being a mother to her young children. But that didn't seem to be fated for her that night. Her life was never simple; being a mother of five, a gang leader's wife and a brothel madam. She had children to raise, a husband to keep after and clients to please. Because heaven forbid they go to the stink hole that called themselves a brothel down the way. So instead of sleeping, she was in her office. Looking over the books one last time to make sure all was in order before finally being ready to go to bed, it was too late for her to venture home. Falco was sleeping and her husband had too many enemies for her go alone. That's when the tremors started. The world shaking beneath their very feet and she watched as her candle began to vibrate towards the end of the desk. She snatched it up before it reached it and she stood from her desk, keeping calm as she made her way into the hallways. She wasn't the only one alerted, groggy whores and sleepy house slaves a like were stumbling from their pallets. "Get down stairs. Into the open area, go on with all of you!" She's barked at them as she joined the crowd of moving bodies. There were some screams to be heard as plaster fell from the ceiling behind her, naked or barely clothed figures screaming in terror as they moved to get downstairs. Where the fuck where her bouncers? And Gods, please tell her that none of her clients were there, spending nights with their favorites. That would be a disaster she wasn't ready to face. Ever.
  8. After receiving the news that her that her engagement had fallen through Marcella's first instince was to chase down her now ex-fiance and demand an explanation. He had giving her some bullshit excuse that he was going to Aegypt and didn't want to take any woman that was not already his wife with him. He didn't even have the courtesy to tell her in person, she had to hear it from his mother, no doubt the woman would tell all her friends about it and she would become even more of a laughing stock than she already was, she could hear the gossip now, "the shrewd Marcella finnaly found herself a man, only to chase him off after less than a month." She eventually calmed herself enough to not follow him all the way to Aegypt in a blind rage, but she couldn't stay in the city. Instead, she left her father in the care of some trusted slaves and traveled to her brother Vitus' home in Naples. He had welcomed her but his wife was put out by her unannounced arrival. That night she had left the domus alone to visit a nearby beach, she had to make her way down a small cliff to reach it put there was a path carved out that made it easy enough to walk up and down, even if it was steep. The first thing she did was toss the engagement ring he had left her into the waves, the ring was then followed by a flurry of rocks. She was angry, angry at him, angry at her brother for forcing them together, but most of all angry at herself. What made her think that she had finally found someone who would not only accept but also love the woman she was? She spent the night angrily throwing stones into the ocean until she fell asleep right there on the beach. She woke up to pebbles falling on her face and the ground shifting underneath her. She jolted upright with sand covering the side of her face and half of her hair. Wide eyed, her head whirled around as she tried to understand what was going on when the ground once again trembled. This time she got on her feet and ran to the shore in an effort to get away from the crumbling cliff that would surely kill her if she tried to go up it now. She had two options, stay here and hope that the debre from the cliff wouldn't crush her or further enter Neptune's domain in an effort to find safer place to wait this out. A rock the size of her fist fell inches away from her and her mind was made up, she offered up a quick prayer to Neptune begging for his mercy and apologising for throwing those stones before diving into the ocean and swimming far enough out that the waves wouldn't just push her back onto the shore. As she treaded water she tried to think of where she could possibly go to escape this earthquake. The cliffs could go on for miles but if she could just find a boat to board she would be safe. @open
  9. Kali

    Neptune's Wrath

    The palace at night was peaceful, and the prince was one to sleep past dawn. Not raising until Apollo's rays peaked through the gossamer drapes that fluttered in the gentle breeze. That night, however, Titus was awake. Fretting in his bed as he felt some sort of unnerving feeling settled into the pit of his stomach. Almost as if he knew the gods were angry for some reason. His body slave tried to get him to cast the thought away. That is just his mind playing tricks on him. Still, it needled at him. Until he finally began to doze off thanks to mere exhaustion. That was when the earth began to quake, rattling the buildings of the city, including the palace. Titus bolted up right as the room around him shook, he could see his men slowly coming to, shouts around the palace could be heard. "We need to get to the gardens." He told them as he stood, grabbing his tunic and sandals. Pulling them on as he moved quickly out of his room. Slaves were running around trying to save what they could from being destroyed as they too headed towards where they would be safe at. Another tremor hit, this time stronger , forcing him to make haste before he stopped and realizing he didn't recognize any of the slaves as his younger brother's. "Get to the gardens, I need to go find Drusus!" He said, pushing his servants and his tutor towards the way to safety before making his way towards the rooms he knew housed his brother. --- 30 6 75 | sorry fort he anticlimactic starting post lol | open to those living in the palace. | no posting order, short posts are
  10. Liv

    Squeaky clean

    January, 75 AD A visit to the thermae was the highlight of Safinia's day, one of the small, simple pleasures in life afforded to poor people. After hours of standing on her feet and smelling like horse, food and smoke all at once, intermingled in a travesty of perfume that was the White faction's very own fragrance, nothing was more appealing than washing off the sweat and dirt. The baths of Mercury with their moderate fee and relative proximity to her abode were the natural choice, and as the sun began to dip below the horizon, so did she too disappear through the women's entrance and into the thermae building. Getting ready was an easy, quick affair. Her plain clothes were easy to take off and her belongings uninteresting to capsariae on the lookout; all the coin she'd had on her had been spent in admittance to the complex. Whilst nearly all the woman bathers preferred to bask in the hot air of the tepidarium, Safinia pointedly ignored it and went directly to the hot bath, wooden sandals clacking on the heated stone floor. Amidst the thick all-encompassing steam that filled the room it was difficult to tell if she had company besides the workers. A wrinkled slave stood by in case a customer wanted a massage and cast a hopeful glance at Safinia, who rejected the offer with a shake of her head. Instead she grabbed a strigil hanging from a hook on the wall and helped herself to the low-quality olive oil from a pot, applying it liberally to her sweaty body with slow, languorous movements. The naked skin glistened under the oil despite the poor lighting made worse by steam, and once she was appropriately coated in oil like the pieces of chicken she prepared nearly every day, Safinia slid the strigil up and down repeatedly until only a very thin layer of oil remained, taking special care with the uneven skin on her back. She put the strigil back on its hook, discarded her sandals and went to test the waters, sticking her foot carefully into the pool. It was hot, as expected, but not unbearably so; not all places in her body had the same sensitivity to heat, but if her feet managed it, then so should the rest without sustaining injury. She lowered herself into the pool, sighing softly in pleasure until she was in a kneeling position and the water covered her shoulders. She reached up into her hair with both hands and quickly untied her updo, letting a mass of dark curls fall freely over her shoulders. Today Safinia wouldn't be washing it properly - she had done it only a few days before, and there was enough oil residue in the pool water that it would be enough to moisturise it. Still, she closed her eyes tightly and went fully underwater for several seconds, resurfacing only when the familiar sensation of her lungs demanding more oxygen became too much. Just as she came up again and opened her mouth to inhale deeply, a great splash came from her right and filled her mouth with water instead of much needed air. Spluttering and coughing, Safinia swivelled round to glare daggers at the careless patron, though much of the threatening look was lost to the steam veil. "You should be more careful," she reprimanded in a harsh tone. @open!
  11. Sara

    Open Season

    April 75AD Vibia drummed her fingers against the arm of the couch she was reclined on. Business had been slow for days; the heat of the summer sun sapping the energy and lust from the inhabitants of the city. For those few patrons that did come in, poor Vibia was relegated to strumming on her cithara rather than on something else and she was sick and tired of it. Word had been sent by the Collegium; her handlers were sick and tired of useless titbits of gossip rather than anything concrete they could extort out of the upper echelons of society. So this evening, as the sun began to dip below the horizon, Vibia had donned her finest (and skimpiest) clothes, powdered her face and braided her hair and instructed the madame that under no circumstances could she afford to take a back seat this evening for the various clients that attended the Venus. So here she waited, bright blue eyes narrowed on the door that refused to open. She stifled a groan and rolled her eyes. Nobody walked through and it was insufferable. Unlike many of the other girls of the place - slaves who were required to complete their quota of conquests to ensure they remained here - as a freedwoman she was under no such mandate. She was, however, at the mercy of the most powerful gang in Rome and her ability to collect information for them was sorely hampered by a complete lack of trade. Sipping her wine and resisting the urge to rub her kohl rimmed eyes she willed the door to open and a client to walk through. And then it did. TAG: Open for customers - senatore or equite (or those adopted into those classes)!
  12. Guest

    To the Praetorian Prefect

    Following the events of People Watching The marble halls of the Palatine echoed with the purposeful strides of Titus in his hobnailed military boots. Palace slaves scurried out of his way as he thundered along the labyrinthine passageways that riddled the office areas of the palace complex as intricately as a beehive. His cloak flapped behind him and every now and again he adjusted it over his shoulder with a snarl. In his hand was clenched a sealed papyrus scroll, one he had been working on since returning to the Castra Praetoria yesterday evening. Now, finished guard attendance with his cohort at the Palatine, having dismissed the men, he made a detour back into the palace to personally deliver the missive to the confidential secretary of the Praetorian Prefect, his employer, and ostensibly the second most powerful man in Rome, tasked with the security of the Imperial family. He barged into the ante-chamber of the Prefect's spacious offices. This room was handed over to row after row of desks, staffed by freedmen scribes, under the direction of the Prefect's personal secretary who, like a king surveying his domain, sat on a slightly raised dais at the end of the room, with the large window overlooking a fine vista of Rome behind him. The scribes barely looked up as he entered but their boss did and returned Titus' scowl with one of his own. As the Tribune approached, the secretary gave a raised brow as if to say "what now?" It was amazing how the pair could communicate in only looks and grunts! Titus slammed the letter down on the desk, making an inkhorn totter dangerously over a stack of virgin paperwork. "For the eyes of the Prefect...only!" he added, to underline the point. With that, he turned on his heels and left.
  13. Early March 75AD Beside the desk in her study lay several balls of scrunched up papyrus. Their number threatened to become like a stone drift as more sheets were scrunched up with a hiss of frustration and consigned to the floor. A slave hurriedly tried to collect as many of them as they could to dispose of them but was too nervous of getting close to the domina who clearly was not in a good mood. Sestia had every reason to be in a good mood and, for the avoidance of doubt, she was. It was on account of the fact that she was in a good mood that she was willingly choosing to write to her father. However, what she was trying to write she did not know how best to phrase it. She had recently made promises to a certain someone that she would do this. Whilst she was sure he would not care a jot whether she did it or not, she felt honour bound to still do so, especially because it seemed to her that her promise had been sealed with a kiss, so to speak. She was fully aware of how this letter might go down. If her father, who it sometimes felt made a point of trying to stifle her ideas and happiness, wanted to he could certainly cause trouble. But she still thought it was worth it. When she had finally finished it she would make an offering at a shrine to Fortuna before she delivered it to the messenger. At last as happy as she ever would be with it, she set her seal upon it and handed it to the nervous slave for placing in the outgoing post. Now, she must away to offer to Fortuna...
  14. Guest

    Old Bones

    June 75 CE Gardens of Sallust It was no fun getting old. True, it was undeniably better than being dead but, in fairness, there were no dead people to ask about the nature of their current state, so his theory was based purely on assumption and not fact. If, after death, you still felt all the aches and pains you had carried with you in your life then the Gods were absolutely terrible indeed to visit that sort of fate on mankind. Years ago he would not have thought at all about the mechanics of sitting down. It was just something you did. You did it without thinking. These days, however, it was akin to watching masons lowering keystones into a vault with their treadmill cranes. A slow, deliberate and painstaking process. The warm weather was meant to ease his aches. If it did, it did so only in the most fractional way as to be barely noticeable. His knees stung and clicked as he lowered himself onto a polished stone bench and a spasm of pain shot up his back. Two children ran along the gravel path in front of him, their nurse slowly following behind paying them scant attention, lost in her own thoughts. He envied them their youth and lack of cares. He did not want to be here. He was no boor but he had little time for gardens. Ordinarily, in fact, he had very little time for anything save for work. However, on the orders of his doctor, he was now to take two hours off in the afternoon every other day and engage - he was ordered - in something outdoors that was not work. What, did the Greek fool expect him, at his age, to suddenly take up boxing or long distance running? Honestly, considering the consultancy fees he was paying this quack he expected much better than that. At least you could almost believe that some remedy like applying the liver of a dead lamb to the small of his back might actually work. The only thing which gave any relief was his daily massages but - again, on doctor's orders - use of a bath-house, or at least using them more than once a day, was forbidden. Something to do with the steam. He had not quite followed the logic. He had his own private garden at home and, if he had the choice, he would much rather be there. Unfortunately, he did not have a choice. Any peace he may have hoped to find there would be ruined by his family who seemed adamant to drive him to an early grave. He and his wife got on very well - when they were not together. When they happened to be in close proximity familiarity acted as a perfect reminder of decades' worth of mutual dissatisfaction. Years ago they would have been content to silent seethe in silence and grow old in measured bitterness. Advancing age had, instead, loosened the bonds of their tongues and years' worth of biting them had given them the sharpest of edges. His children were different but no better. When you had a child you did not necessarily expect it to take after you fully. You did not expect them to be a genius or a prodigy or anything like that. However, if you had several and all of them turned out to have all the appearance of not having a single, fully formed brain between them you either had to wonder whether the Gods were deliberately mocking you or whether your wife was having an affair. As all of his children bore a resemblance to him in looks (if not in temperament) he had to face the fact that somehow he must have offended the Gods. None showed any interest in hard work or anything beyond finding new and expensive means of scratching itches of a material and/or sensual nature. At first he had fought against these, tried to impose some thrift and traditional Roman virtues in them. His campaign, in this regard, had been about as successful as that of General Varus across the Rhine. Initial tastes of defeat had tempered any desire to continue the struggle. As with his wife, he found his children much more acceptable when they were in his memory and not in his presence. So, for those reasons, the possibility of allowing himself a brief bit of respite in the comfort of the home he paid for and was nominally in charge of was denied to him. So much for the respect due to a Roman father. Instead, he was now forced into the ridiculous situation of having to kick his heels in various public spaces around the city, simply killing time until he could return to his offices on the Palatine. Presumably his doctor, with all his learning, assumed that the administration of the Empire could just be put on hold for a few hours? He, of course, did not run it but if there was no one to take charge of the army of scribes then he could only imagine what chaos would ensue. If he was honest with himself, this was now the third week of his new regime and he was oddly disappointed that the department had run itself, with no discernable issues, in his absence. He was forced to face the fact that he was not a keystone or an otherwise necessary component in the edifice of the Imperial bureaucracy. It had functioned before him. It would function long after him. His legacy, it would seem, would ultimately be a non-descript tomb on the Appian Way and three grown children who shared none of the values he had worked hard to preserve all his life and had learned at the knee of his father. And now he also had to face the fact that he would have trouble getting himself up off this bench without a degree of indignity. The Fates were, indeed, cruel. He sighed and scuffed at the gravel, wondering if it was time to return to the garden's main gate and take his litter back to the Palatine.
  15. Guest


    Water. Gods, water. A sharp shard of morning sun slipped through the uneven slats of her bedroom window and, with agonising exactness, managed to pierce her closed eyes and draw her from sleep. Her body, as a courtesy, offered her several seconds before it made her painfully aware of the presence of a firm and well entrenched hangover. The sort that would not be remedied easily by fresh air and exercise. The sort that would linger and nauseate you for the rest of the day. Her tongue was dry and her throat ached. Gods, water. Bracing herself, Aelia – with expert slowness, no stranger to the sensation – swung her legs off the mattress. 4, 3, 2, 1…she gingerly lifted her head up, wincing as the pain in her head made her senses swim and her stomach lurch. Gods, would she ever learn? Looking around, through half open eyes, still heavy with uneasy sleep, she scanned the state of her room. Another person may have sat upright, aghast, thinking they had been burgled for there were clothes thrown everywhere, a stool overturned, several cheap drinking cups lying in a cheap, chipped pile. This, however, was the general state of her room and, if one ever was forced to describe it, it would be best summed up by the phrase “there appears to have been a struggle…” Memories of the night before flickered back to her in disjointed pieces. There had been no specific reason – that she could recall, anyway – for a house-party. They had had a good performance that evening, nothing spectacular – a standard, run of the mill farce by Terence for the usual crowd of quasi-interested theatre goers. Grumio and Dromon had expectantly come into possession of a sum of ready coin (which they did not explain how) and – in a bout of thoroughly untraditional generosity – offered to stand the troupe several rounds of drinks at The Mermaid, an artsy drinking establishment for the liberal minded on the Caelian. Asking the Proculus Players for a drink was not a question. The question was when and where. So off there they had all headed and, with standard practice, one drink before an early night became…hmmm…well, from memory, at least 6 or 7. Cleander’s current boyfriend had turned up: he was the main singer in a band of stringed instrument and flute players – very popular with the youth of the working class districts and even with a following amongst the edgy, arty, rebellious equite and senatorial band of teenagers. Naturally, it was then straight from The Mermaid to an underground concert his band were playing in a disused grain warehouse on the waterfront. After Gods know how many more, and as the first streaks of dawn were slipping through the clouds, they slipped drunkenly but with inherent skill past patrols of vigiles, dodged the influx of last minute early morning traffic and slipped back to their flat in an insula on the Esquiline. Then…well…not quite sure but here she was, with throbbing head and a sense of self-loathing. She staggered to her feet, unsteady like a new-born foal. The spinning in her head fuelled the churning in the pit of her stomach. That bloody sunbeam was somehow still lancing her eye. Shuffling across the room, treading over the detritus of her chattels, she pushed the creaking shutters asides, flakes of chipped paint falling off in the process. Bad idea. The full force of the day hit her senses like a runaway horse. She grabbed the lintel as she hunched over and gave several spasmodic retches, dumping the contents of her stomach outside the window and down three storeys to land in the street below which was already alive with pedestrians, being as it was nearly noon. Shouts of abuse carried up from the affronted folk below but she snapped the shutters closed and stagger back into the half-gloom of the room. Water. Yes, she needed a drink. Not the other sort of drink. No, at least not yet, anyway. The thought of wine turned her now empty stomach. Still unsteady, she pushed through the curtain that separated her room from the main living area of the flat. Their flat in the insula was not bad, as flats go. A previous tenant had obviously had some means and had convinced the landlord to allow him to knock through and make two smaller flats into a single, larger one. The array of couches and chairs in the centre of the living area were in a ubiquitous state of disarray. Someone she didn’t know was sprawled comatose across one. Dromon lay snoring on another, no sign of his partner Grumio anywhere. Aelia shuffled across to the area which passed for a kitchenette. Not a proper one, of course, the landlord would not allow anything more than a basic stove in his building to decrease the chance of fires. Mostly they just used the counter as a place to leave packets of take-out food they had swiped on the hoof. The woman they hired to clean twice a week kindly removed the dirty wrappings on each visit. There was, however, an amphora they usually kept filled with water for general thirst quenching. Grabbing a ladle, Aelia scooped inside but found nothing. She gave a huff of frustration. Through his partition curtain she could hear Cleander’s snores. Looking around she could see no one else up. “Fine,” she huffed, “I suppose I shall have to do it myself!” Grabbing a bucket, she set off on the walk down three flights of stairs and through the bustling noontime crowds to reach the nearest common fountain – a drab and quasi-dirty affair, a thin spout sticking awkwardly out of a poorly carved lion’s jaws, trickling water out to piddle into a chipped, shell-shaped trough. She set the bucket under the spout. At this rate it would take an age to fill the damn thing. Hand on hip, she stood there, exasperated. She screwed her eyes shut against the light that was stinging her eyes. “Oh hurry the fuck up,” she muttered.
  16. The animal fights had just been concluded, with plenty of dead animals and even a few of the gladiators fighting the animals. Marcus had come without slaves and of course he had been fascinated and now watched equally fascinated as it was all dragged out, leaving behind a trail of blood on the sands before it was covered with fresh sand. Then the editor of the games stood up and spoke of what gladiators were to come. It would seem there would both be male and female gladiators and even a few deserters given a chance of redemption. Redemption! Hopefully they would die. If someone needed redemption, they usually were not deserving of it. Marcus looked up when a seller passed by his step on the seats and got himself a cup of ale and a stick with spiced pork to eat. Then he looked down at the games again, watching the first fighters enter the arena and he looked forwards to seeing it all happen. He didn't have any favorites, he just wanted to see how they did it and he wanted to see them die. Hopefully with a lot of blood. He smiled by the thought, but the smile faded quickly when someone tried to reach a better spot on the row behind him and by accident pushed to his back... making him spill the ale and drop the meatstick! "Watch where you're going!" Marcus yelled after the person, taking note of their appearance (just in case he wanted to seek them out later) and then looked to see if the ale had been spilled on anyone, while he also picked up the stick and attempted to brush off any dirt from the meat.
  17. Guest


    February 75CE The drunken cheers of the crowd continues, with the steady drumming of applause, as the actors retreated from the stage. Theatre slaves were already rushing forwards, goaded on by sweating freedmen, with shouted orders flying round to have the stage cleared of backdrops and props. Others stood ready to wash the stage down. The crowd, a riotous Friday night one, had taken great pleasure at hurling bits of food and general rubbish at the villain. The immediate backstage area was packed with stacks of ropes, miscellaneous props and painted scene backdrops. Several baskets of gaudily painted masks were mounted precariously on bales of well-worn costumes. A slave hurried forward with a tray, bringing classes of wine to the thirsty performers, who fell on him like vultures. The play itself was a new piece. One of the cheap pieces that two-sestercii hacks churned out in prodigious quantities to slake the thirst of the lower orders for bawdy farce. The playwrite was one of several the Proculus Players worked with. His membership of the Guild of Writers was probably tenuous and he was certainly unlikely to be winning laurels to have his work set alongside Terence, Plautus and Sophocles. Yet his work was the sort of rot-gut, mass appeal nonsense that the plebs lapped up as it had a little bit of everything. She had noticed that it wasn’t just the plebs who were coming to see it either. The equites and senators might think themselves to be grand and superior – and they probably were when they had to be all solemn and well behaved around their wives and families – but the menfolk were just as bad as their lower order neighbours: they wanted to see flesh on show, hear cheap jokes and enjoy a traditional sing-song. The plot was utter bilge. It was highly unlikely that the writer had been in any way sober when he had written it. If he had been, then he should have been, because what he had created was enough to shame someone with even a modicum of talent. The piece rejoiced under the unnecessarily elaborate title of Ptolemy’s Ptroubles. Set in Aegypt, as the name suggests, and in the fantastical days before its conquest by Rome, it centred on the taboo and frankly ridiculous habits of the decadent dynasty and mysterious, ancient land. Good, honest, hardworking Romans liked to laugh at the ridiculous mannerisms of be-nighted foreigners. The Aegyptians of old posed a perfect basket of things to mock. There was much made in the play about worshipping cats and dogs, always guaranteed to get a laugh. What produced more bawdy titillation was the close-to-the-line-indecency of the Ptolemaic habit of incestuous intermarriage. Couple this with your standard identity swapping, mistake-laden farce standard tropes and you had a recipe for a bed-hopping round of tortured jokes. They became more amusing the more the audience drank. The theatre manager had ensured that there was enough wine on hand to ensure almost none of the audience were not at least partially tipsy. Aelia had played Berenice, married to an uncle-who-was-also-a-grandfather-but-never-explained-how called Ptolemy (as were all the male characters for “humour’s” sake), played by Scylus. The actor had brought the house down with his brilliant portrayal of a miserly old dotard, avaricious of money, looking to cheat Roman merchants (boo hiss boo), jealous of his young wife whilst busily trying to seduce his sister-who-was-also-his-aunt-but-never-explained-how called Cleopatra, played by Maxima. Scylus’ make-up was spot on, with long grey wig and a tie-on beard. He played the part pretending to be almost stone deaf which the audience loved thanks to the mistakes that engendered. Grumio and Dromon played eunuch priests of Cat-God and Dog-Goddess, fleeces stuffed under their magical robes to make them look grossly overweight. Their asides focused on a series of over the top duels between the powers of their respective animal god to beat the other. Romans, who hated the concept of effeminate eunuchs, had a good cheer and pelted the stage with rubbish as the pair engaged in magical incantations designed to restore their manhood and seduce Berenice and Cleopatra respectively. Then, enter stage left in Act Two, the swaggering figure of “The Legate”, played by Cleander. Playing the part of a visiting Roman legate, always attired in full military fancy dress (complete with oversized sword), he represented the very epitome of brash, Roman masculinity. Scylus’ Ptolemy and the clowns’ priests were busy telling the audience how they would cheat this boorish fool of his money whilst, unbeknownst to them, The Legate was busy giving Berenice and Cleopatra what for. The play ended in Act 5 (by which point most of the audience was stone drunk) with The Legate returning to Rome, taking off with him the temple treasure and leaving the Aepytian women about to bear Roman sons, who the cuckolded respective Aegyptian men would be forced to look after. After a big sing-song of a popular tavern tune about Anthony and Cleopatra the show was done. It was certainly not the Theatre of Pompey or Marcellus and a highbrow audience but the pay wasn’t bad. The play’s fast paced jokes and over the top bawdy rumpus required a large degree of stamina and almost acrobatic flexibility. Tired, Aelia downed the first cup of wine quickly and reached for another. Her “dress” could barely be called that. Two thinnish strips hung over her shoulders and protected her modesty (barely), which gathered around her waist and fell into a short skirt in an all-in-one ensemble. Long laced sandals ran up her calve. Scylus wandered by, throwing his wig and beard aside. “Another night of fine art,” he scoffed. The clowns staggered past. Grumio walked and few paces further than Dromon. Then both ran at each other and, thanks to their bulky fat-suit padding, bounced off each other and landed in sprawled heaps on piles of curtains and drapes, laughing. “Oh, poor me,” Dromon chirped, putting on an impression of Scylus’ voice “I’m a real actor, don’t you know!” Grumio picked up on it and carried on, in the same voice “I just didn’t like it because it was too close to home and, you know, I can’t get it up anymore.” The bystanders laughed. Scylus looked daggers at them and wandered off, grumbling. Maxima flounced past, looking wistful. “There were some right propa’ people of quality in the stands though, did you see that?” she said with her Aventine, fish-wife drawl. Suddenly the larger than life figure of Gaius Julius Proculus entered the bustle. Clad in a toga unnecessarily, he was this evening sporting a huge auburn curled wig that clashed in a ghastly fashion with his bushy grey eyebrows and the make-up he had plastered his face with like an old trollop. The rings on his fingers clinked as he gave elaborate and effusive greetings. “Darlings, sensational! They loved it! Such good work! All of you, angels, all of you!” His foppishness was natural. His exuberance was intrinsic. You had to listen to him and then dial whatever he said down by about ten times. If he was happy it was only because of the high turnout and, thanks to his contract, this meant a handsome sum for him for their work that evening. He clapped his hands, chivvying them along. “Come, come; quick, quick, you know the drill,” he said as he flapped at them to move into the theatre’s atrium. At the end of opening night it was traditional for the cast to be invited to an after-party. They were often quite wild affairs. Other actors would be there as well as the better elements of the audience. Local worthies who didn’t mind being seen at such thing. Many high class men liked to come along for rough and tumble fun. The criminal classes always liked these too. In short, they were a fine melting pot of the high and the low all doing a good job of wanting to be bad. Dutifully, they followed Proculus through towards the door between backstage and the atrium. Always one to make an entrance, Proculus thrust it open and, in a loud force, declaimed: “ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Cast!”. Sighing, Aelia decided that she might as well get drunk if only to make the time pass quicker.
  18. Lucius entered the Circus Maximus, the home of the races and a place where it was even recommended to find a spouse. His son, Lucius Minor walked with him and his son was becoming a man. Soon taking the first steps in the honos curum and taking his place in Roman society. Occasionally, Lucius would stand and greet his social peers. A handshake and greetings were offered to them, questions and tidings of good health, and some minor prying into their personal affairs. There were few that Lucius considered to be true friends, and he hoped to instill an understanding of politics in his son. Unfortunately, his son had his mother's kind and friendly nature. Despite his son's frequent efforts to try to improve himself and please his father. Father and son took their seats with the preliminary races already in process. The crowd were bursting with excitement. Lucius was not an avid supporter of any of the teams nor the allegiances associated with them. Instead he preferred to simply watch the races and observe the various people who would come to watch. Nearly every type of person was here. The overly ambitious freedman, the noble, the old man itching to find a lover, and many more. For the moment he did not speak to his son. He paused and watched his son as his nose wrinkled in distaste as he made eyes with a pretty pleb girl. There was no chance that he would be able to have a relationship with her nor risk spawning a whelp on her. Lucius cleared his thought and instantly his son's gaze was on his. It was time for him to ensure his son passed from boyhood to manhood. Either with one of their household slaves or with one of the courtesans, able to give him a pleasant experience and without lust nor love forming a lasting attachment. "Pardon Pater," His son excused himself, and both father and son watched the races.
  19. Oriana loved the gardens in the spring time, as it was a good place for her to be alone with her thoughts. She had a lot to think about, but the time she spent outside was normally for her to clear her head. She didn't go outside very often, which was apparent by her pale skin, but she enjoyed the the sun on her face on a perfect spring day. It was too hot in summer and too cloudy in winter, so she spent most of her time outside in the spring and fall. Being stuck in her office wasn't ideal, so every so often she went on a walk by herself for a couple hours. She had time to get her thoughts together, take a breather, and relax. She loved seeing the flowers and vines that surrounded the garden, loving the clean environment of it all. People of high class walked past her in the garden, as it was busy from it being a beautiful day, but she didn't greet them. She took this time for herself normally, though if she ran into anyone that she could interact with, she would. She saw women with their husbands, men walking alone, and children playing in the open area. Oriana was glad to have this time alone, knowing that one day, she might have to be those women who cared for their children and husband. That was the last thing she wanted; she wanted a position of power and authority rather than being a housewife. That was what she always wanted. The woman stopped by the roses. It was her favorite flower, as she loved the red and the boldness of the plant. From its thorns to the petals, it was the flower she felt best represented her. Beautiful on the outside, but bold and possibly dangerous when making a second glance. She reached out her hand and picked a rose. Oriana saw someone out of the corner of her eye. She passed the rose over to the person next to her. "Beautiful, isn't it? Delicate, but watch the thorns." She didn't turn to the person, instead focusing on the rosebush.
  20. Mid May 75 AD - in the street, near the Domus Venus It was just another evening in the Domus Venus and Helios was waiting for his next patron to show up. He had been up all night last night, busy with patrons and clients and for some reason, he couldn’t sleep very well today. Which meant that tonight he was more tired than usual and now he sat in the main room of the brothel, dressed in a simple sleeveless tunica that he’d tossed over his head and with shining cuffs around each arm. His hair was put up in a high ponytail tonight, mostly pulled away from his face save for a few tresses for the sake of looks. He hoped the next patron wouldn’t demand too much and at the same time, he hoped they’d stay all night. And give him both their body and a lot of stories about their lives. He had already had one tonight and he wasn’t feeling up to that much. Maybe he was getting too old for this shit. He really needed to do more with his life. Dareios made him realize this, a few years back and he had not stopped thinking about it since. Freedom was a thing in his near future, he hoped. He watched with a cup of wine in his hand, as another client walked through the door and spoke with the matron. He wanted a girl. And girls were lined up and the man selected one and off they were. Helios hadn’t been lined up with others like that in years; he wasn’t that young anymore and he could offer more than just a body. He was more a courtier than an actual prostitute these days, but most people didn’t know the difference. On top of that, he collected secrets and sold them either to his mistress or to other people willing to pay for them. Secrets could be very valuable. Knowledge was valuable... and Helios was lucky enough to have a good memory. Helios emptied his wine and let the matron know that he would be on the streets for a bit, hoping to find work and a useful and interesting client or something like it, out there instead. Near the Domus Venus he leaned against a wall, watching everyone who walked by and hoped to catch someone’s eye or see someone interesting to follow. ((the thread is open, but please let me know first before you join)) ((the date is not set in stone, can be changed to June or April))
  21. ( OOC: Writer's note: sorry if the title is horrible!) [ Venusiana's dress] Being a freewoman meant to being just that, being free. Not that she would go out and do such very lewd things. That was not in her nature plus it would bring dishonor to her two loves and she would not dare to do that. However, this lovely city had so much more to offer. The gladiator games was tempting. Though she did not know the first thing about being a patroness or watcher of the games. Although....could also be a good opportunity to spread more good will around the city with the house she did so very much care about. But alas, she would have to think on her plans about that. But she also remembered that the amphitheatrum always seemed to have something going on there. The roman plays were all well and good but the later as of recent seemed to not to be above par. But it was always good to see how these roman playwrights would try to beat out the Greeks. The greeks had philosophy within their language. Something of which did fascinate her. So she had heard those little whispers upon the wind about one of those performances only happening within the sunshine. ( Well , it was quite hard to perform by candlelight within these perfomances. In this place, you could very so seldom see.) She decided to take a venture to seeing it. She had her days without seeing her loves but knew they had guests to receive besides her. Besides, she could recite what happened within the play. Whether it be dramatic or...maybe not just that well. Cordelia and Quintus always did enjoy how she liked to spin a story. One more that she could spin. Plus she could use a little roman culture. Well, more of for so. She was dressed in a dress that Cordelia had given her recently. The fabric was nice in texture but also had a light green feel to it. One of the disadvantages of Sulpicia being a freedwoman is that she was still learning on what she could and could not wear as a free woman. Certain colors. Certain fabrics. Such and such. But there was no harm in her wearing a dress that had been given to her, was it? That she wasn't aware of. She would have to still learn. Maybe perhaps there was some freedwomen in town that she could befriend and gain knowledge. She was going along with it as she could. She didn't want to bring it up to Cordelia and/or Quintus as she didn't want them to down about her struggles. But she knew that THEY knew what she was capable of. She was a strong woman. She could be brave too. As she approached the amphiteatrum, she could see there was not a lot of others here but maybe that bode well. She could concentrate upon what was being presented to her. Unless it was beyond boredom, then she could focus on the whispers and gossip. With how these seating arrangements were, keen ears could pick up anything. As she took her seat, she fixed her shawl of her dress. She then made a surprised sound when she felt the skirt of her dress was stepped or pulled. "I'm so sorry, was my dress in your way?" She asked, turning to look and see who it was.
  22. It wasn't a rare thing to spot the Augusta roaming the streets of the great marketplace, all in a desperate need to get away from home. It was not home itself that she longed to be free of nor the people within it, however, but deep down there was still a little girl who spent most of her life in the confines of a villa. Living in exile for crimes she had not committed, but still her existence was deemed too dangerous to be allowed by someone else who rose to power by the bloodletting that occurred when her father and mother were killed. Yet anyone looking at the woman as she moved from one merchant stall to another, she wouldn't come across as someone who lived in luxury. As a Queen. Her face was bare of makeup and she wore no jewelry. Her hair was in a simple style, held back and away from her face by a leather strap at the nape of her neck. Wild curls threatening to undo the bindings. Fingers stained with ink, as always. Her clothing was simple linen, and while marked her as a proper Roman matron, she had nothing on her to mark her as the Augusta. Accompanied only by her ladies, but none the less protected from anyone that might do her harm. Cauaria, tall and broad - a former shield maiden before sold by her family and sent to Rome, was ever watchful of those who interacted with the Augusta and her ladies. The first of which now found a fabric stall and had begun to negotiate for bolts of fine linen and silks. Many projects to be done. The linens would be clothing for the poor and while the silks would be turned into tunics for her husband and sons. "Come, ladies. There are many places left to go" She said softly after she was done there, stepping out into the busy road once again. Weaving her way in and out of the mass of people. There was chattering and life. And while the smells off the busier part of the city was left much to want, Drusilla loved it, she loved the sounds of the people talking and clattering about. It was easy to get lost into, and yet she knew her way by heart, for she had made her way across the line of merchants many times before. Yet, suddenly her path was blocked and she glanced up from rummaging through her back. "Pardon if you would, I need to get to get the inks." She said softly, hoping she would be heard by the other person who had apparently planted themselves in her path and was, and she knew it was ridiculous to think it but, seemingly refusing to move from it and let her through.
  23. Mid February 75AD Zia glowered at those she met on her walk. The meeting with Diegis had not gone well. Well, the first part - a hurried greeting and then a heady, lust filled few minutes up against the wall of the room assigned to him were excellent but the conversation that followed had riled her beyond her usual irritability. Whilst she saw her husband far more than she saw her son, it did not stop the meetings descending into petty squabbles. She'd seen the way he glanced at the girls as they walked to his room and the way he talked with such animation about his new role. She had snapped, exclaiming that he seemed to be enjoying his life of slavery and his stuttered denial had ended with her throwing a half-cup of sour wine over his face and leaving the building in a storm of fury. She'd send a message by some stupid, gullible slave, with an apology at some point. But not yet. Now she needed to stew in her anger. The walk back to his domus, her newfound home was long and her feet were already aching. Even her anger wasn't enough to carry her through and with a mumble of discontent, she stopped to rest against a building. Swatting some of her loose - dishevelled hair from her face (those few minutes of passion had suitably destroyed her respectability) and pulling at the itchy, plain tunica she huffed. Even in winter, Rome was unbearably hot to her and the irritation she felt at that moment wasn't helping. She heard footsteps to her left and before she had a chance to caution the person, their sandalled foot stomped down on her toes. She let out a yowl of pain, and without stopping she snapped, standing to her full height; "Watch where you are going you cretin." She glared. It was something she had said, in such a tone, hundreds of times when she had her own slaves, when few men and fewer women outranked her but now she was the lowest of the low, and after blinking she realised that such a tone, such a statement was entirely inappropriate. Swallowing her anger and her biting comments she dipped her head, "Apologies." She said with a sigh, "It hurt." TAG: @Open!
  24. 13th of October, during the festival Fontinalia The Piscina Publica were public swimming grounds and luckily placed not very far from their home. And this was quite lucky on a day like today – it was, after all, Fontinalia and it was the day of celebration for Fons, the god of wells and springs. Septima Major was out with her sister, Minor, to celebrate the day. They’d spent the last few days on preparing a most beautiful garland out of flowers and grasses and leaves and now it was done and ready to be hung on a fountain near the Piscina Publica on this very day. Septima Major was excited – she loved festivals like these and could barely wait with going out. Maybe she spent a little too long getting ready. Septima Minor had been ready for a while, before Major finally decided she was done too. She wore a very pretty, bright green chiton with a yellow and red palla over it. Her hair had been done up on her head, with twirls and curls and a few yellow flowers and green leaves added to the style. It went very well with her pretty blue eyes. On her feet were simple slippers. They carried the garland together on their way to the fountain. She gave her sister a smile, after she’d waved to a few people she knew on the way – Septima knew many people and she liked to talk to people and make new friends, “Oh I hope someone else didn’t already decorate the fountain we decided on. It’s going to look so pretty, isn’t it?” Septima Major said with an excited tone, “I wonder if there’s going to be music too. And maybe someone set up a shop that sells food and drinks? We could stay a little while.” She suggested with a smile, “Oh, do you think anyone’ swimming in the pools today? That would be interesting.” @Chevi
  25. Atrice

    Out Alone

    It was a late afternoon and she had snuck out. Septima felt a little excited as she walked down the street, alone – there was no chaperone and her sister wasn’t here. No slave, nothing. She was on her own! Of course it wasn’t the first time, but she grew more brave and bold and she just wanted to go out and try and live life a little bit. That’s all she wanted. She wore a light green chiton today, with a simple (but beautiful!) dark green palla over her shoulders. Her long hair had long, wavy curls and was pulled a bit back from her face. The sun was shining and the sky was blue. It was a beautiful day. She didn’t really have a plan for where to go. Maybe she’d go and see a race, on her own? Or a gladiator match. She’d love to see that, without any escorts, so she could truly try and experience it. Or maybe she would just go and watch them train. She’d heard they could be quite handsome, some of them, big and muscular brutes and she was kind of interesting in looking at that. But maybe if she came close to the ludii, that’s where she would go. Maybe a trip to the market at first, buy something to eat for herself and then find a nice place to eat it. There were many places where you could buy a quick meal when you were out and about. Septima finally arrived at the large marketplace. She stood for a moment, just taking it in. It was then she saw a girl from far away, but thougth she looked familiar – an old friend of hers that she had not seen in years. Septima smiled and decided to approach her, but the girl then walked away with her escort and Septima followed her. They disappeared in the crowd though and Septima stopped, not sure it was a good idea to follow. Maybe it wasn’t her anyway. It was then someone walked by her and bumped into her and then hurried away. She arched a brow, not sure what that was about and headed back to the market to find some food. She reached for her purse and… it was gone! “Oh no…” She looked towards where the person bumping into her went, but they were long gone now, she imagined. This was not good... and she was hungry!
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