Sara Posted December 27, 2020 Share Posted December 27, 2020 December 19th, 75AD The fact that gambling was banned during the year unless on the festival days proscribed in law baffled Lucius. He supposed he understood it - if he really dredged his mind - from a practical perspective in that it caused no end of temper tantrums amongst the sore losers and those caught cheating, enough drama to entice further violence, but surely the Senate or the Emperor didn't need to legislate to prevent against such inane fighting? Ridiculous, and another facet of life in the city that was too rigorously controlled. The ability to gamble during Saturnalia - as far as he could see it - was one of the festivals only benefits and as he sat at one of the outdoor seats, throwing his dice in the Game of Twelve1 he was currently enjoying, he managed a rare, rueful smile. He'd not really celebrated the previous two nights, aside from ordering his half-sister and son to prepare some meagre meal for the slaves on the first night. He'd shuttered himself away in his room for the rest of the evening and let them have their fun, whilst he stewed in his own melancholy. When all was said and done, he was rather proud he'd only yelled at them to be quiet once or twice throughout the evening. As he cast his final throw and manoeuvred his piece in the dim light, his smile grew and his opponent - some portly equite man (judging by the gaudy clothes) through down the money Lucius was owed in a huff, before storming off into the dark of the evening, overturning his chair in the process. Lucius only smirked and gestured for a slave girl to right the fallen article with a flick of his wrist. Nobody knew him here, which is why he liked it. The Forum was packed with the festivities and he blended in as just another upper-class man on an evening jaunt. He was dressed finely, as befit his station, but in the shadowy corner of the Forum - with only the flicker of oil lamps and torches, he felt fairly discrete. It's why he'd risked a turn on the table (and won, he hastened to add in his thoughts). Picking up his cup of wine, he reclined in his seat, in no hurry to find another opponent for a third match. Instead he let his green eyes wander over the forms of the people congregating in the square. Gods most of them were vile; plastered drunk, sweaty and stumbling even in the dead of December. He swallowed the sneer he wanted to affect as he took another sip of wine. TAG: Open! 1The 'Game of Twelve' or Ludus duodecim scriptorum 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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