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Date: Unknown. Likely 2008. 
Collected by Gothic. 
Characters involved: Circe & Tristram.
Location: Unknown
Date of collected thread: 05-07-2010, 03:07 AM

 

 

 

Circe.

Why was she always the message girl? Was it because she was just a lowly hairdresser and apparently "had the time" to go and run errands? Was it because she was not half as pretty as some of the other girls? Was it because she had not made that many friends amongst the other slave girls? Was it because she was quieter than most and felt overwhelmed by everyone else? Was it because she was an easy target?

Truthfully, they were all probably right. She quietly fumed to herself as she ran through the streets of the Wealthy quarter, running as fast as she could in the confines of her toga. Circe stopped at one large villa with a note for the noble daughter that resided there. It was an invitation for something or other from the Empress. Whatever it was, the daughter ought to consider herself very lucky indeed. Everybody was expected to feel honored if they were given an Imperial invitation.

At least she was on her way back now to the Palace to continue with her work. Just because she did not have to make the beds and tidy up after their social peers, everyone assumed she had nothing to do during the day. Of course not! She had to arrange the Empress' hair at least three times a day, wash and brush it morning and night, clean her tools, plan designs and arrange the hair of the Empress' favourite friends if she was asked to do so.

As much as she loved hairdressing, she had not expected it to be so much work! Perhaps that was a stupid mistake of her. It was bound to be difficult and challenging, but this was something else entirely. She liked working in the Palace, she just strongly disliked the other slaves within it and the size of it all. The other girls practically ignored her and the men were far too busy swooning after the pretty women that tactfully walked around the slaves' area with little clothing on.

Circe had always been one to ensure she herself was fully dressed. Like now, for instance, she was wearing a fairly good quality dress, by her standards anyway, in pale cream with just the faintest suggestion of gold threaded embroidery around the bottom. Her sandals were a pale tan colour whilst a very simple bracelet adorned her wrist. The good thing about being a hairdresser, she supposed, was that you could arrange your own hair. Her dark brown curls were wound up into a bun with a few strands escaping. Overall, she felt rather presentable.

The quicker she could get back to the Palace, the better. She was not expected back there quickly but it would feel good, Circe hoped, to suprise them all. Raising the edge of her dress to allow her to move more easily, she broke out into a light jog down the street. Unfortunately, her footing was not quite as secure as she thought. Her ankle jerked on a loose stone , twisting at what must have been an unnatural angle. Circe had to stop, the shooting pains in her ankle could not be ignored. "Curses!" She whispered to herself as she bent over to clasp her ankle.

 

 

 

Tristram.

Turning over in his bed, Tristamus could feel the dull ache emanating from his injured skull. It had been just over a week since he was attacked in the Subura, and so close to his flat. As events were enfolding he was beginning to think that the attack had something to do with his brother Cornelius. Perhaps a case of mistaken identity was the reason that four ruffians ambushed him in an alleyway. He knew that the alleys around the marketplace were dangerous for patricians, but he considered himself something more than just normal. Four years of fighting a war on the Empires frontiers made the heir to the Marius fortune more than a normal Roman citizen.

Opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling only intensified the pain. He knew he should go see a physician, but stubborn pride told him not to. Then there were his newly acquired slaves that seemed to know a little about caring for him. The girl certainly kept him well feed and cleansed his head wound twice a day, and would have done more had not he insisted that twice was enough. The older gentleman he also acquired was also helpful and seemed grateful that a patrician bought him. Tristam supposed it was better than being owned by just a Roman citizen. The mans lot certainly would be better with him.

With a soft grunt and a wince, Tristam rolled over to a sitting position and wrapped the bedding around his bare body. Looking out into his living room, he noticed that no one was around. Then sighing he remembered he ordered the pair of them to get things needed for the house. Standing to his feet and clutching the bedding around his middle he made his way to the kitchen, but not before stopping in the atrium at the make shift shrine to the gods. Uttering a short prayer, then lighting an incense stick Tristam noticed that the door was open and their was a women on the ground holding her ankle.

His grey eyes adjust to focus better as the light in the house was darker than outside. His Roman sense of what is right took hold. Any thought of putting a tunic on didn't even enter his brain, so he clutched the bedding around his middle and headed out the door to aid the woman. Once outside and got a closer look at the woman he knew that she wasn't a noble. Dressed like one in a toga, but the coloring of the garment indicated that she wasn't.

"Are you hurt badly? If you want you can rest in my home until you are able to leave under your own power. You don't live far do you?"

Or at least until his male slave returned and then he could help her return to where she needed to go. Holding the bedding with one hand, Tristam offered his other to help the woman to her feet and offer some support on the way to the house should she take him up on his offer.

"Do you need any help up?

 

 

 

Circe.

She felt like giving up completely, this just had to happen here and now didn't it? In the middle of the wealthy quarter in a deserted street where nobody would even consider helping her. She was a petty slave, far beneath their notice or care. If anyone saw her, they would simply pretend they hadn't. That was how Roman nobles worked. They ignored everything they did not want to see. A slave girl injured in their neigbourhood was one such thing.

She was on the brink of bursting into tears though for no real reason other than she had sprained her ankle. Seeing nobody around, Circe allowed herself to sit on the floor despite knowing it may stain one of her best dresses. She was beyond caring about her appearance. The only thing she wanted was to get out of this damned place and get back home to the Palace. She hated it here. Everything was out to spite her today.

She dabbed at her eyes as a few childish tears rolled down her pale cheeks. Letting herself sigh quietly, she leant back on her arms, her leg stretched out in front with the ankle already swelling as she considered what she had to do to get back to the Palace completely unassisted. She would certainly not get very far walking, that was for sure. Even now, when it was perfectly still, her ankle was throbbing very uncomfortably.

However, apparently she did not have to plan or decide her return journey. Previously, she had not noticed the open door of the house only a few paces away. Circe had not really analysed her surroundings fully. What was the point? But now she certainly realized she was not the only one around that day. Hearing a male voice, she turned her head towards it, utterly perplexed as to why someone was speaking to her at all. They were probably a slave like her, the nobles would never bother.

Warm brown eyes met his with complete confusion. Whoever he was, he clearly had never learnt the art of addressing relatively niave, young women with sprained ankles on his, or his master's, doorstep without making them blush. Circe tended to colour around men anyway, but this was somewhat more extreme. He was certainly a good looking man but he was also as good as naked, apart from the bedding wrapped around his middle.

Circe did not have to see her reflection to know that her cheeks were gaining a flushed pink colour, they always did. She paused for a moment, thinking of how to answer him. Could she freely accept his help or try and make it back herself? "If that's alright...It's just my ankle" She spoke quietly with a slight, grateful smile as she accepted his offer. He offered to help her to her feet and she had to accept that too. She pushed herself into a sitting position before taking his hand for support as she rose, wincing as she accidentally put pressure on her ankle. "Thankyou" Circe spoke again, already feeling like a complete idiot.

 

 

 

Tristram.

Seeing the slave in the street only made Tristam wonder about the short quick prayer he had offered before spotting the girl. Was it just coincidence that the girl happened to be there after he had uttered his prayer. The prayer was simple and one that just asked for a good day when he opened the door, but the door had been opened already. The oddity of it all wasn't lost on him, it was rather intriguing.

The next thing that went through his mind was that having the girl injured practically on his doorstep was tantamount to being sued for causing the injury. For his own slaves he had paid a fair some of money in denari's, and to lose one would be losing an investment. Times had changed from the time his namesake. It had been legal to kill a slave for no reason at all. The the Senate passed a law that prohibited it. Still, beating a slave wasn't against the law and more than likely this would be beaten for being late for where ever she was going. Not that it was any of his concern, but the fact that he could be sued was reason enough for him to some care of the girl.

Although his finances were healthy, a lawsuit of any kind might dwindle his cash flow, and with trade being hampered by the revolt in Greece his money could get a little tight. That was the last thing he needed if he was to fulfill his dream of being first man in Rome. To become his dream he would have to have considerable power, money and influence. It would be close to catastrophic if his money some how dried up, but there was still his inheritance. Considerable money would be gain from that, but he wasn't ready for his father to die.

As Tristam's eyes settle on the girl he noticed she had the same look his slave girl had when he dressed or undressed in front of her. It was puzzling to see the pinkness in her cheeks. She was just a slave, no more, no less, and he could do what he wished with her as she was owned by him. This girl in front of him though wasn't any ordinary slave, she was dressed to nice and Tristam thought that a little care might be necessary.

Pulling the girl up was no effort on his part, but to hold on to the bedding did take a little effort as it slipped down an inch or so. Standing face to face with the girl he did noticed that she was pretty but hid his emotions. She was just a slave even if she wasn't an ordinary slave. He could feel his heart thump strangely in his chest and shook of the feeling which only made his head hurt. Tristam winced and close his eyes until the pain left. Opening them he nodded subtly.

"I hope you can make it to my house. I think it best that you stay off your feet for a little while. Is your master expecting you back any time soon? I don't think it's wise that you keep him waiting for to long, but I think under the circumstances you should rest for a little while. There's a rag and cool water that you can put on your ankle that should lesson the swelling."

Taking a step away from the girl seemed to clear his head both from the pain emanating from his noggin, and from the effects of the pretty slave girl. Tristam pulled up the bedding around his middle and walked toward the house reminding himself that she was just a slave. To many times in that past he let a pretty face derail his plans, he hoped that this one would not also. He wondered though, what did the gods have in mind when they sent this slave to his doorstep. Tristam turned to look a the girl to see if she was following him to his home.

"You can walk can't you? If you can I suggest either you enter my home or find your way home."

Tristam didn't like to be harsh with slaves. He just expected them to do as they were told, and if they didn't then you were harsh with them. Inside though, he hoped that she would take at least a little rest in his house until he found out who she belonged too. Tristam didn't put it past the gods to have her belong to the Empress or someone else important.

 

 

 

Circe.

What was it with her and men? Not just handsome men like the one standing practically nude if not for the bedsheet infront of her, but just men in general. She could never control herself or keep her composure about them. Circe either blushed, like she was now, or acted like a complete fool, also like she was now. She started talking about the silliest of things or remained silent, better to say nothing than waffle on about ribbons.

She supposed it was because she had never really had any constant male figures in her life to date. She had always been employed by women, their husbands merely meeting the trader's bill. Her father? Well his absence was probably most telling, yet she rarely divulged that information to anyone at all. And even now, she was working in the Empress' household with a majority of women as colleagues. Any men in her life played short, one line roles.

Not that she met many of the opposite sex in her line of work anyway. The delivery boys were the closest she got to meeting the other gender on a regular basis. She did see some of the other male slaves about the Palace as well but they were never interested in talking to her. She was too quiet, too stupid and too niave for their liking, or so she discerned. And from what she heard, she wouldn't want to be involved with any of them anyway.

But at least when she came across them, she was on her own territory, somewhere she felt comfortable and could easily get away from them. Here, on the other hand, was alien ground to her. Circe honestly had no idea where she was, apart from that she was in the Wealthy Quarter. All the houses looked far too similar for her to work out her current location, wherever that actually was.

She was basically dependent on this man to assist her, she could hardly look after herself right now could she? With one swollen ankle, independence was not readily available. Still, she remained quiet to to his words and hesitated to follow him inside. Could she try to leave now and make it back to the Palace? Putting a little weight on her ankle and the pain that followed chose her answer for her. Using whatever was nearest for support, she limped over the threshhold and into the house.

"Thankyou" She muttered again quietly as she fell onto the nearest couch and began to loosen the straps on the shoe belonging to the swollen ankle. It fell away onto the floor and Circe enjoyed some momentary relief before taking the bowl of water and rag offered. If she was going to rest here for a while, the least she could do was look after herself and allow the man, whoever he was, to carry on with whatever she had interrupted.

 

 

 

 

Tristram.

Gaius waited impatiently for the slave to test her foot and begin walking over to his home. He really mind so much considering she didn't dally, but it was getting a bit awkward standing outside his own home with just a bed sheet around himself. He did like to show some modesty out his own home, inside was another story where he was a single male with a male and a female slave. In due time he knew that he would have to either buy more slaves to fill the household needs or hire a few servants.

Finally the girl limped her way into his home, Gaius followed and closed the door behind him. He was going to have to chatise his slaves for being so careless. His eyes followed the girl as she limped through the attrium and onto a couch of all things. If she was Noble's slave he would have thought she knew better than to sit on a couch when there was a chair to be sat upon. It really frowned upon to have a woman sit on the couch.

"Ahem....." Gaius cleared his throat and indicated with his hand toward the chair expecting her to realize her mistake. I'm really going to have to speak to her owner about her lack of training. Not waiting to see if she would move he head off into the master bedroom to change. Knowing she was a slave he didn't care if the door that lead to the room, which incidental had a view into the living room where she sat, was left open. He had changed countless times in front of his female slave.

Smoothly sliding a tunic on it wasn't long before he was back into the living room and in the kitchen area never even noticing the slave. Coming out of the kitchen he stopped to look at the girl finally as he held a cup of cool water in his hand. "I hope it's not to swollen. Your master will be sorely disappointed in you if you are. What in the world were you doing to injury yourself?" Gaius said in a level voice and brows slightly creased in wonder before taking a drink of the cool liquid.

 

 

 

__ END OF THREAD__

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Tristram.

Turning over in his bed, Tristamus could feel the dull ache emanating from his injured skull. It had been just over a week since he was attacked in the Subura, and so close to his flat. As events were enfolding he was beginning to think that the attack had something to do with his brother Cornelius. Perhaps a case of mistaken identity was the reason that four ruffians ambushed him in an alleyway. He knew that the alleys around the marketplace were dangerous for patricians, but he considered himself something more than just normal. Four years of fighting a war on the Empires frontiers made the heir to the Marius fortune more than a normal Roman citizen.

Opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling only intensified the pain. He knew he should go see a physician, but stubborn pride told him not to. Then there were his newly acquired slaves that seemed to know a little about caring for him. The girl certainly kept him well feed and cleansed his head wound twice a day, and would have done more had not he insisted that twice was enough. The older gentleman he also acquired was also helpful and seemed grateful that a patrician bought him. Tristam supposed it was better than being owned by just a Roman citizen. The mans lot certainly would be better with him.

With a soft grunt and a wince, Tristam rolled over to a sitting position and wrapped the bedding around his bare body. Looking out into his living room, he noticed that no one was around. Then sighing he remembered he ordered the pair of them to get things needed for the house. Standing to his feet and clutching the bedding around his middle he made his way to the kitchen, but not before stopping in the atrium at the make shift shrine to the gods. Uttering a short prayer, then lighting an incense stick Tristam noticed that the door was open and their was a women on the ground holding her ankle.

His grey eyes adjust to focus better as the light in the house was darker than outside. His Roman sense of what is right took hold. Any thought of putting a tunic on didn't even enter his brain, so he clutched the bedding around his middle and headed out the door to aid the woman. Once outside and got a closer look at the woman he knew that she wasn't a noble. Dressed like one in a toga, but the coloring of the garment indicated that she wasn't.

"Are you hurt badly? If you want you can rest in my home until you are able to leave under your own power. You don't live far do you?"

Or at least until his male slave returned and then he could help her return to where she needed to go. Holding the bedding with one hand, Tristam offered his other to help the woman to her feet and offer some support on the way to the house should she take him up on his offer.

"Do you need any help up?

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