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With Publius ill, Valeria often visited her father’s in the mornings, giving him the company of his only living child and helping out her mother around the domus to alleviate the stress. His sickness, which was described by the physician as a ‘pneumonia’, seemed vile with a heavy phlegmatic cough and given his age, there was always a buried fear inside Valeria that one breath would be his last. When they had first arrived in Rome, Valeria had herded the children along with her but as time went on, it seemed better that only she went for a multitude of reasons, even if their presence did seem to brighten their grandfather’s days. 

After one such morning, Valeria returned home, seeking out a particular reclining seat accompanied with cushions that was brought out by the slaves into the gardens. Despite the fact the days had been growing colder, the Italian sun was warm against the skin. She was rather proud of ‘her’ garden, as she liked to call it, despite it being considered an ‘indulgence’ by some, in the summers, it would be lush and bursting with vivid flowering plants, including saffron and hyacinths, but now, the greenery had begun to fade into autumn. 

With a scroll that she had obtained the night prior at the launch of a novel by a writer who had gained a celebrity status, she settled down comfortably with a wine glass that was refilled frequently at her request. She had never heard of him, Pustula they called him apparently, but so far, it seemed so bad that it was good, which might have been the unintentional appeal. Intermittently through all the shuffling of the parchment, there were loud but short laughs. 

@Liv

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Ever since returning to Rome, Titus liked to start his day by going for a swim in the Tiber. Most of the time, little Publius accompanied him - this particular exercise built character, stamina and resilience and could one day mean the difference between life and death. It also let them have some uninterrupted father-son bonding time on the way to and fro the river. On that particular day, though, the boy stayed home in bed: he kept coughing as though snakes lived in his lungs and his nose produced prodigious amounts of snot. So Titus went alone, had his workout, and was back at the domus towelling his hair in a near-futile attempt to get it to dry faster when he heard a familiar and beloved sound coming from somewhere else in the house.

He smiled, passed the towel to his body slave and walked off towards the source of the sound. His wife was sitting in the garden, enjoying a glass under the autumn sun and seemingly paying great attention to a scroll. Coming up from behind Valeria, Titus pressed a kiss to the top of her head and peered over her shoulder to get a better look at what she was reading. The handwriting wasn't hers, but he didn't recognise it; could have been a scribe's work anyway. "Whose is that?" Skimming through the section Valeria was holding left him no wiser. "You came back quicker than I expected. Your father not in the mood for visitors?"

@Joaquin

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There were a familiar set of footfalls at her back gave Titus away immediately, likely having returned from his swim. As she felt Titus’s peck, she smiled before her expressed scrunched and her eyes tightened with it. “Wet, Titus,” she announced, presumably gathering small strays of water from the Tiber, before giving an entertained laugh as she roused slightly from her position. Valeria had originally believed that Publius had gone along with his father, normally he would have been padding in his wake, but on her return, she learned that Publius the younger was as good as bedridden as Publius the elder. It certainly made her feel like mother of the year, but she certainly made it up with spoiling him with a promise of sorbet accompanied by a teasing “don’t tell your father” and a wink.

“Is he ever in the mood for visitors?” she returned in light amusement. Sometimes it was difficult to imagine that her father ever felt the mood for anything with how seriously he carried himself, even in sickness. “My father was sleeping, I had to hold my ear close to make sure that he was definitely sleeping.” Despite her father’s stern nature, the idea of losing him did create a tense feeling in her gut. Outside of Gaius, she had never experienced but in her brother’s case, it was much different. She had never had the chance for the full experience of seeing death and having the residual shell left behind. “And my mother felt that she needed less hands getting in the way of things. Not what she said the other night.” She shrugged her shoulders.

Remembering her scroll, she held it out. “Pustula,” Valeria said with emphasis on the name as if it were intentionally as disgusting as it sounded. “Doesn’t it not inspire such vibrant imagery? But wait, it follows a greying soldier who re-emerges from retirement several times to find his stolen daughter. So far, this is attempt three.”
 

@Liv

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Titus glanced around furtively, making sure none of the kids had unexpectedly decided to join them, and brought his lips to a hair's breadth away from Valeria's ear. The brushing of wet hair against her lobe might or might not have been purely accidental, and definitely not a provocation. "Already? You flatter me," he murmured with an amused undertone. "I wasn't even trying to seduce you yet."

He went around the sofa and gently scooped up Valeria's legs, taking care not to disturb her upper body too much. After sitting down on, he carefully placed them on his lap, trying to restore them to their previous position in spite of the changes in seat occupancy. "If said visitor is his cherished daughter, then yes. I've seen how the corners of his mouth stop pointing downwards and just stay perfectly horizontal when you're there." It was probably the closest his father-in-law would ever come to smiling, although Titus could faintly recall the ghost of a pleased expression once... a long time ago... maybe on his and Valeria's wedding day? Still, however hard old Publius' usual countenance, it was no good sign for his breathing to be so weak, even in sleep. Titus was concerned, and he could only imagine how much more Valeria and Romilia would be. "Has your mother considered another physician?" The ineffectiveness of the current one's treatments went implicitly acknowledged.

The scroll's author brought to mind images of grisly infected battle wounds and the putrid smell that almost always accompanied them. "Vibrant indeed," Titus agreed, scrunching up his nose in disgust. He could think of several other adjectives the pen name evoked, and none of them were as commending as the one Valeria had chosen. His wife's description of the plot roused his curiosity: was this soldier failing or succeeding to retrieve his daughter? "Did he fail on previous tries or is the daughter some Helen of Troy that keeps getting stolen away?" Another possibility emerged in his mind, and he eyed Valeria askance. "Or... is this a new pen name of yours and the daughter is inspired by our slave who keeps getting lost?"

@Joaquin

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Titus’s joke did delight Valeria who snickered with the energy of a mischievous sixteen-year-old boy in answer before she placed a hand on her upper chest and sighed in feigned seduction, her other hand still clung to Pustula. She watched him as he joined her on the recliner with her side grin, though seemingly amused, she was genuinely welcoming of the company. She remained perfectly comfortable at first before shuffling just ever so slightly to grant Titus more sitting space and then flexing her legs.

Even if Titus said it with an air of humour, just the same as Valeria might have, she did feel her worries over her father’s decline in health alleviated. It wasn’t fully removed; it wouldn’t be until he regained his wellbeing again but hearing confirmation from a trusted voice that he appreciated her being there was very close. She smiled in appreciation then turned her head as she considered Titus’s suggestion. It seemed very Titus-like to make it. “I should show up with one next time,” she answered. She briefly wondered if her father might be resistant to the change. Even while sick, he still had as much pride as before. Her mother, on the other hand, might be more welcoming, especially since as a layperson, it often felt as if men of the medical profession were difficult to get through to, they operated on entirely separate and strange wavelength, responding to inanities and seemingly ignoring what felt urgent by the family. “Clever man,” Valeria teased, tickling him with her foot impishly, but she was truly thanking him – in her way.   

Valeria gave a loud and unrestrained laugh with the idea that Pustula was her own doing. She honestly wished it was, given that it was a case of ‘it’s so bad, it’s good’. She had to admit, it was difficult to put down and partly she wondered if Pustula put as much thought into the absurdity as she did with Landicus or if it was genuinely one of those bizarre phenomena of human creativity, which left you wondering how the brain managed to conjure such a thing. “Oh, I couldn’t have written this.” But it was a good try, sometimes Valeria felt that Titus made comments that provided inspiration or that made her wonder if he could’ve been a writer himself. “Some of the phrases and adjectives are far too repetitive. There’s also an over-use of flowery language where there doesn’t need to be.” The critical writer was shining through her words. “The daughter keeps getting stolen, just like our Nymphias,” she added with a brief gasp as if she had made the connection. “But that girl isn’t ever lost. She probably has a beau hiding somewhere under her tunica. Trust me.” And now Landicus was shining through her smile and playful half-shrug. Drawing the scroll up again, she said, “I could read you some if you would like.”

@Liv

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"That might work, if only out of what good manners dictate." His mother-in-law was a sensible and practical woman, and would not turn away a new doctor even if her husband insisted on it; especially not if said doctor had been brought along by Valeria. Titus wasn't versed in who in Rome was a physician worth their salt: he trusted the military medici, but their expertise lay with quick surgery and broken bones, not with prolonged afflictions of the inner organs. He could, however, make inquiries. "Do you want me to ask around?" He looked at Valeria lovingly, glad for the umpteenth time that she had not inherited her father's pigheaded pride.

"Why thank you, it's nice to be acknowledged once in a while," Titus chuckled. In response to his wife's praise he caught Valeria's foot with a quick sleight of hand. "You know I'm not ticklish, dear," he teased back with a devilish grin as his fingers began a spidery feather-light dance all across the sole of her foot. He wouldn't be  letting up until she squirmed and squealed, and the knowledge that she couldn't hit him where it hurt filled him with confidence: after all, his one ticklish spot was well out of reach, courtesy of the sleeves in his tunic. His armpits would not force him to surrender this time!

He wasn't sure he wanted to trust Valeria on that particular subject; not because he didn't trust his wife's judgment - quite the opposite -, but because a lover outside the household would send the wrong message about who really was in charge. He couldn't very well have his slaves doing as they pleased, and the girl was young and gullible... If she were to fall pregnant by some random man, Titus would be very, very displeased. Some might welcome the extra slave at no cost, but he saw only supreme disobedience. The gall, the arrogance, a slave thinking they could go on to have a child without their master's -without his - blessing! 

The tickling had come to a halt and his expression was now as stony as his father-in-law's as he furrowed his brow in concentration; Publius the elder would surely approve, had he seen it. Heaving a sigh, Titus willed himself to snap out of his momentary funk. Just to be on the safe side, he'd have a chat with Nymphias later, but there was no need to do it right now, not when he could be enjoying Valeria's company instead. She was so spontaneous in her reactions and so passionate about her métier even when playing the critic, and it was so endearing that it was all he could do to close his eyes, lean back on the seat and listen to her vivacious commentary.

"I would be delighted if you did," he answered, eyes still closed. The previously busy hand was now resting peacefully on Valeria's ankle, keeping a loose hold on it. "Pustula's trying to punch above his weight, he's probably not as cultured as you," he judged, very much biased since he was only playing off Valeria's own opinion. "Exaggerations in form are often a cover for deficiencies in substance, anyway. And Landicus has been around for how many years now? Fifteen, eighteen?"

Images began to form in his mind's eye: a middle-aged man in soldier gear with salt-and-pepper hair and pus-filled blisters on his face and neck - Titus' imagination unable to separate author from character - and his daughter, who bore an uncanny resemblance to Nymphias, being carried away by a faceless giant of a man. What adventures awaited those two? He'd find out soon enough, with critical commentary by the narrator along the way. Oddly, that was the part Titus looked forward to the most.

@Joaquin

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“Ooooh, would you?” Valeria elongated jokingly in a voice that was slightly higher than its usual pitch, as if she were a young ingénue like Nymphias losing the strength of her knees, while she cocked her head to one side as she regarded Titus from the opposite side of the recline. She always had to be the clown but Titus’s willingness to lend a hand with the shadow of her father’s illness over her head was only a small part of why she enjoyed having him back in Rome with her rather separated by borders and stretches of far-off lands, which were only names on a map for her, save the ones leading into Dacia. It had been difficult being a mother juggling three young children, even though naturally that was her given role, and while she’d always been given help, it wasn’t the same having the other part of the unit there. And here he was looking for physicians for phlegmatic old men and tickling her feet. She considered herself lucky, she could have been married to a man who was essentially her father in everything but name and life would have likely played out very differently. 

“Not fair, Titus,” Valeria had given in answer when he caught her foot, which was immediately bad news, and she tried to pull her leg back, though her disadvantage was in her sitting position. In the beginning, she put on a brief mock rendition of Publius (the elder)’s stony, unamused face expression, as a part of the challenge, though it didn’t take very long for it to crack given Valeria had always been quick to laughter. “Titus!” she said louder, almost scolding, and had a look on her face that bordered astonished, even if she was laughing a little too much. It did give inspiration for one of Landicus’s forty or so children, one of whom who was described suspiciously similarly to Titus in appearance, and she realised she hadn’t written about a sexually depraved old man’s son and his foot fetish yet. 

She couldn’t help but carry on the humour with her expression as she recognised Titus’s change in expression over their slave, which had been a flippant comment of hers, but it seemed to have hit a note. But she didn’t dwell on it so not to dampen the mood. In her mind, there was always scandal hiding somewhere in Rome.

“Well, if you count Cūlus Maximus, yes,” Valeria said with a knowing grin, but certainly when it came to shitty (literally, shitty) entertainment, she was indeed the master, or so she felt, when compared to Pustula who was a newcomer to the scene, although his presence was unintentional. Someone who likely prided their writing for its “grit” and subject matter but ultimately fell flat and landed into comedy. Part of the reason why Valeria had even considered it was the synopsis featuring an ex-military man and purchasing it, she had considered that it might be of interest to Titus, given her background. Although, it was very likely he would find plenty holes to pick out but that was some of the fun. “Let me go back a bit…” Valeria said, wrestling with the scroll to have it return to an earlier scene. 

She cleared her throat. “Tullus and the brothel guard wrestled each other amid the swathes of squealing whores, who curled against the walls or ran with their arms bent before their breasts from the room. As they fought, they overturned table after table of wine, smashing jugs and cups into the floor, attracting the attention of the rest of the building. Two more bulky guards came rushing through the door, armed with meaty fists ready to punch Tullus’s head clean from his shoulders. Tullus smashed the first guard’s head into a table then used his listless body and the surface to raise his own body up into the air so that he could kick both guards in their faces with a ‘hyaaaghhh’, sending them slipping backwards into the wine. Before he knew it, ten more guards appeared. They stared at Tullus, who was hunched like a dangerous animal, covered in wine, and breathing heavily with just the fragment of a broken pot in his hand. The guards looked at each other, nodded, then charged. Like cheese, Tullus cut through them with his spur-of-the-moment weapon. ‘WHERE’S CASSIA?!’” Valeria said in a deepened voice. “He shouted in the process, but none could answer for they were all unconscious. Save for one. Before he could make another man cry out the next morning in agony, he felt himself thrown through the window shutters and tumbled out into the muddy street. This wouldn’t be the end.” Valeria settled back. “What do you think so far? We’re getting to the horse chase. Does any of this sound familiar?”
 

@Liv

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"I'm not fair? You set yourself up for it, Valeria." Maybe that was what was wrong with old Publius, he'd never had anyone to tickle his feet. How such a man could have had such a daughter would never cease to astonish Titus. With Valeria, life was never boring, but colourful amidst word play, theatrical antics, experimental hair styling and her rich, contagious laughter. Even when she had her worries, like now, her smiles were still easy. Of course Titus would do what he could to help; anything to return her to the highest of spirits he was so fond of. He reached out over her legs with his free hand to find one of hers and lace their fingers together. "Of course I would. And if I put out word that whoever returns your father to good health will receive an autographed Landicus scroll, I bet they'll be queuing outside our door."

Titus listened with rapt attention as Valeria told the tale of Tullus, but his expression grew more sceptical by the second. It was a bit too descriptive for his tastes and all the fluffing up detracted from the action, but when said action occurred, it was just too absurd. A middle-aged man armed with only a pot shard defeating a dozen burly guards? There was suspension of disbelief and then there was plain fantasy, and this story could only belong in the latter category. He answered Valeria's last question with one of his own and a bashful smile to match. "Should it sound familiar?" 

To the first question, though, he could provide a straightforward answer. "It's crap. The only way something like that could be remotely close to happening is if he's Heracles in disguise." He shook his head and made a face, scowling like a child disappointed in their birthday gift. "But do go on, how much worse can it get?" Maybe Tullus' steed for the horse chase would be a centaur in heat. "My favourite part was your impression of his shout."

Thinking her sufficiently distracted, he tightened his grip on her ankle and broke off their handholding to resume his tickle attack, intent on making her pepper the reading with gasps of laughter.

 

@Joaquin

Edited by Liv
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Titus’s summary was succinct and honest, he had hardly even coated his words, and without a pause, Valeria cackled, finding more entertainment in the reaction than from the inanity of the story. As a part of a process of critique, Valeria often considered ‘he or she could have written this, he or she could have written that’ on syntax, flow, diction whenever she read, it guided how she approached and improved her own but with this, it was objectively bad and hearing Titus say so validated her feeling that there was nothing to learn here except that perhaps Romans weren’t always as cultured as they liked to think. Then, who was the intended audience? “I could keep shouting like Tullus if you like,” Valeria responded in her deepest voice.

“I felt like you would be curious about the horse chase,” Valeria said with a self-satisfied ‘I knew it!’ look, but it was possible that his interest extended only as far as her reading went. “Publius would have thought the same, but he would have said it was crap too.” Thankfully, their elder two had enough sense to distinguish bad from good, while Valeriana was probably too young to care – or even pay full attention. “But you see, Pustula has us. We have to know what happens next now…” she trailed off, pulling the scroll up to find where she had left off: Tullus hurled out of the brothel, drenched in muck and likely blood, forlorn and at a loss over his stolen daughter. 

“In his quest for senseless violence, Tullus was a man to fear in the presence of pottery, a man to fear for the sheer volume of his voice. ‘THIS IS NOT THE LAST YOU’VE HEARD OF ME!’” She broke back into another laugh and twist, careful not to drop the scroll – what a horrible thing that would have been. “By the gods, all of Rome would tremble from his fury, and yet it was the last they heard of him for he threw himself upon someone’s horse that so happened to be conveniently stationed near the brothel and proceeded to charge it down the streets. Where? Only the gods knew. Will he find his beloved daughter? Not likely, if this is what his search was amounting to,” Valeria admittedly was beginning to skim, re-write her own version, while also stringing in commentary. “More guards spawned and regenerated from thin air, inexplicably invested in taking this man done but given his hazard to society and the pottery-making industry, perhaps it was well-justified. Oh, this is just terrible, Titus,” Valeria went from her reading voice into a pained whine. “He destroys half of the city in this chase and I can tell you, he doesn’t find his daughter until the end. Not after bludgeoning most of the population. Rome has gone mad. Do you think your brother would want this scroll?” She tossed the scroll gently in Titus’s direction.

@Liv

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If he were to be brutally honest, Valeria's little roleplaying act was the sole reason he hadn't completely tuned off yet. Sure, he laughed along with genuine amusement when she deepened her voice to mimic Tullus' roars or added her own words to the narrative, but those were the only bright spots in an otherwise cheap and boring tale.

Even the horse chase, which could have been its redeeming grace, fell short of Titus' admittedly inane expectations and failed to capture his interest again. A centaur or even a faun would have been more fitting than a common horse given the protagonist's incredible feats of strength. But no, Pustula was so unsatisfactory in his art that he toed the line between adventure and fantasy and failed to please in either genre. "I was curious," he mumbled, pouting to convey his disappointment in how the story had played out; the very same expression was often seen threefold in their kids with equal degrees of proficiency despite age differences. And Titus should naturally hope that Publius would feel the same way, their son was a smart boy and well-read enough that even he could poke holes in Pustula's flimsy excuse for literature. 

The name pun was such low-hanging fruit that Titus couldn't stop himself. "Since when does your father read this sort of tripe and make that sort of comment?" If Publius the Elder were caught flicking through texts such as this, it could only be to have a stronger case in condemning them. Know thy enemy and all that. He would have been right, too. Titus' previous judgement stood: if even Valeria, who would read anything out of passion for the written word no matter how erudite or puerile, deemed the story terrible, who was he to disagree? Luckily she was a sensible person who did not wish others to suffer the same regret of having wasted time on this piece of crap. "Thank you for skipping to the end and sparing me from his ceramic fits of rage. Please tell me he found his daughter in the city's nastiest brothel?"

He caught the scroll she'd tossed at him easily and held it up at a slight distance, eyeing it with some suspicion. "Why would we want to insult Quintus like that?" The only uses he saw for the story at his brother's house were the same as at their own: an example of how not to write fiction when instructing the children, or letting them have the scroll to doodle on or rip to shreds to their little hearts' content. He rolled it up and chucked it carelessly on the floor; if one of the slaves wanted to pick it up later and keep the scroll for themselves, Titus didn't care enough to object - he certainly wouldn't miss the adventures of Tullus and his indestructible pot shard.

With no more third-rate authors to dissect, Titus decided to change the subject slightly as he sneaked a roaming hand under Valeria's clothes and up her leg. "So, now that we've established Pustula is anything but a literary genius, do tell: what is good old Landicus up to these days?" His expression as he looked at his wife featured a dash of innocence, twice as much mischief and a decent serving of ulterior motives; she should be well familiar with it.

@Joaquin

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“If it is to be the gardens, Titus,” she spoke as if to remind him, resting her chin briefly over her hand. “Then it should have been your head under there, not your fingers. Or you could have made filthy use of that scroll which you so effortlessly predicted the ending of.” She followed her words with a tilt her head and a playfully scolding look, sensing the subtlety, and while it was acknowledged, it was also rejected – for the morning, at least, as it was highly likely she would surprise him later, tackling him in the hall in the manner of a perverted old goon. For now, for all the flippancy, her mind couldn’t truly rest and the energy to set it aside wasn’t there. She mightn’t have realised it herself, but she simply wanted to relax. Her son was likely to recover from whatever sickness he’d dredged up from the Tiber or the ‘cesspool of human shit’, as she lovingly thought of it. It was also just as likely that Valeriana would catch it. Children becoming sick was never unusual and after three children, she had grown more comfortable with the idea. Her father, on the other hand… illness was very unlike him. Her husband had extended his much-appreciated help, but it still couldn’t quite remove the fidgety, anticipatory feeling she felt beneath everything else for the future.

“You’d be surprised at what my father has read. He’s read Landicus before.” And with great disdain and very likely far more if he’d known that Landicus was in fact his daughter. It had certainly been by that milestone that she considered her writing to have ‘made it’. “As for Landicus, the man himself, old age has not caught up with him yet. He is still the envy of Rome, still with all the flexibility to suck himself and remarkably with no flaccidity or broken bones despite his age. But he is bored, very bored. When you’ve fucked everything from lions to portly tavern wives, you find yourself unable to top the last conquest,” Valeria explained. “He’s thinking of writing an ode of putrid feet and how they make his son’s cock stir, a praise of his sons who are now able to take the helm of perversion for when he is gone, even though he will hopefully outlive all of Rome’s virtuous naysayers.”

 

@Liv

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Despite the rebuke, Titus did not lose heart or his good mood, though he brought the errand hand back down Valeria's leg and let it rest by her thin ankle. "Of course, because just like any two-year-old or ostrich, I also believe that if hide my head, the rest of the world can't see me." He tried to sound hurt, offended even as he returned her gaze with a childish pout, but he was having too much fun for that. It was no skin off his nose if she wasn't in the mood then and there, opportunity would present itself at some later point. Years of marriage and the familiarity they had borne had made Titus compare Valeria's mind to a chaotic yet exciting chariot race: a lot happening at the same time, nearly unlimited potential for fatal collisions in which ideas and concerns were booted off never to return - or, alternatively, would make a grisly comeback like a lemur-, the occasional lack of a clear winner and the perilous, brisk swings from awesome to awful and vice-versa. At this particular time, he suspected the quadriga called 'My grumpy pater is sick but he's the only one I've got' was taking first place.

Not extraordinarily, Valeria was right - he was surprised. Did old Publius peruse Landicus' works in order to better harangue about their contents? 'Know thy enemy', 'o tempora o mores'... any of these could be the man's motto. Hopefully he didn't read them for bedroom inspiration, Titus mused with a vaguely disgusted look on his face - vaguely only because he refused to let the thought materialise into more than a brief, foggy tendril. 

Landicus, on the other hand, was still full of vigour, as popular now as when he'd first become a fixture of lowbrow literature. Titus chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully for a few seconds as Valeria spoke, before ultimately admitting defeat and drooping his shoulders. "I was trying to come up with some witty pun about your name and 'flaccidity', but it's painfully obvious why only one of us is a writer," Titus confessed, casting his wife an embarrassed look. He'd learnt a bit from her by osmosis, but there was effort and then there was raw talent. Even when said talent manifested itself in the most repellent of ways.

"A fetish for putrid feet? What the fuck, Valeria. Are you catering to that crowd now?" Titus couldn't help but grimace. The theme was so abhorrent to him that he could not disguise his revulsion, so strong it was that it made him stay oblivious to any convoluted meaning behind the unorthodox choice. Subconsciously, the hands that had been resting on his wife's feet made a hasty retreat and took cover under his arms as he folded them across his chest. "How do you even come up with these things..." he muttered, shaking his head in aversion. "If that's what his sons are like, long live Landicus. May he never pass the torch on to his even nastier offspring!"  Titus made a note to self to be extra careful with any scrolls or wax tablets lying about the house with Valeria's handwriting; at the first mention of feet, he'd drop them faster than burning coal.

"Have him fuck Pustula and impregnate the pot shard, that'd be novelty. Or send him to some gladiatorial games where it's fuck or be fucked, and the fornicator optimus maximus gets to have a giant statue of his cock erected in gold right in front of the Senate building."Titus couldn't quite remember if any of those had been done before; Landicus' adventures over the years had been so many and so exotic that it was easy to lose track.

 

@Joaquin

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