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Two Sarmatians and a Dacian


Chevi

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July 77AD

Azarion wrapped his cloak around himself and wrinkled his nose as he and Tiranes walked down one of the sides streets of Rome. It was pretty quiet this time of the day, late enough that everyone was tired and thinking of dinner, but early enough that the night life - both fun and deadly - was not out in droves yet. Azarion walked past the brothels and the popinas; they were not what he'd come here for (in the company of his cousin). He'd been here only a handful of times, buying herbs to smoke. He rarely had the occasion, but sometimes they were good to have. And he knew where to get the good stuff.

He ducked through a nondescript door into a dimly lit room, nodding to Tiranes to follow - this was the first time he'd brought him along. Surprised, he stopped right on the threshold. The man he usually bought from was there - but so was the woman he'd only seen once before. Azarion tilted his head, looking at her warily.

@Sharpie @Sara

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If Tiberius ever caught wind of what Jason was up to, there would be bound to be words. Probably. He did at least have some sort of freedom to move around the city, although the collar around his neck reminded him uncomfortably that it was only at the discretion of his master and if he turned up in the wrong part of the city at the wrong sort of time, he'd be bound to get marched unceremoniously back up to the Palatine. "'Ere's yer slave! Found 'im loiterin'," were not exactly words he was eager to hear announced, after all.

He pulled his own cloak tighter around himself - and walked straight into Azarion's back; his cousin had stopped dead right in front of him.

"You could have warned me to stop," he muttered into his cousin's ear in Sarmatian, trying to peer over his shoulder into the dark room to discern why Azarion had stopped dead.

 

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Zia prayed Titus Sulpicius Rufus never came back from whatever Godsforsaken spit of land the Emperor had sent him to. Not only because she very much would like the man to suffer a slow death in the heat of the desert, but also because his absence had given her freedom unbound. He hadn't sold her - which had been confusing at the time - but now she understood. Instead she was now to care for the shut up domus under the auspices of some distant cousin. Except the cousin was a lazy shite who preferred his villa which meant Zia had freedom like she hadn't known in years. Soon though, a few more months of saving, and she'd be properly free once again.

It was why she was down here tonight with Gallus. She generally let him handle their mini-empire that had exploded in popularity. People, it seemed, loved to get high. But now it was evening and she had nothing to do so why not have a little fun with Gallus (perfunctory but satisfying) and then see how business was going. She was sat on a perch in the corner of the room they now rented for business (they still had runners but they at least now had a permanent base) as somebody ducked through the door. She flicked her eyes over the man and then smirked. She remembered him clearly. She didn't know the new one behind him though.

"My Sarmatian friend. It's been a while." 

 

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Azarion tilted his head at the woman. Long time, indeed. He remembered her being the boss, and if she was still around doing business here, she was probably good at it. Tiranes, on his part, walked straight into Azarion, who grumbled and walked on inside. He glanced between his cousin and the woman, waving a hand. They didn't know each other, but Tiranes was with him, and that had to be enough for a paying customer. For the amount of money he charged for the good hemp, anyway. Tiranes, Smoke Lady. Smoke Lady, Tiranes.

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"Well, if you didn't stop in the damn doorway like an idiot foal..." Jason grumbled good-naturedly at his cousin. From Azarion's signs, the one who actually dealt in the hemp was the woman, who was swathed in a cloak just as he and Azarion were. She clearly knew Azarion, and knew enough about him to know that he was Sarmatian.

There weren't many people in Rome, all told, who knew about Sarmatia. Tiberius did - but he was a prince and liked to wear his eyes out reading scrolls and letters and dispatches from across the Empire; Jason would be astounded if he didn't know about Sarmatia.

The lady's Latin had an accent, one not too dissimilar from his own, and she sold hemp. He wondered where she might be from.

"My cousin tells me you're the one to buy hemp from," he said in his own accented Latin, unwilling to give too much away just yet, even if she did know Azarion was Sarmatian and could thereby deduce that he was, too.

 

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Zia chuckled at the man in front of her. How could she forget the mute Sarmation? He was certainly...unique. But he had a talking friend this time and she quirked a brow up at the other one - older, but with accented Latin. Another Sarmatian then. Curious. Cousins. Even more curious. 

She folded her arms over her chest and shrugged. Gallus was silent, watching the trio with interest. "I am." She inferred with a quirked brow. "But I gave your cousin a free sample last time and I don't do charity, so show me your coins." She tilted her head and watched him. "What's your name? And his." She gestured at Azarion. 

 

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Azarion rolled his eyes, fishing coins from his purse. I am not a charity case. He had some sponsors now; he had money, not too much, but what the fuck else was he gonna spend it on? The Whites gave him food and clothes and shelter. And he didn't exactly have any hobbies. The woman asked for their names, and Azarion let his cousin answer. Ask hers too.

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Jason glanced at his cousin, whose expression and gestures were non-committal.

"If we wanted charity, we'd be looking elsewhere," he said with a shrug. "I'm Tiranês, this is Azarion. What's your name?"

She'd shown no sign that she was familiar with any of the signs Azarion was using, but that didn't necessarily mean anything; some of the signs were Sarmatian hunting signs, some of them were used between their people and others that they traded with along their migratory routes. It would be possible that this woman came from a part of the empire where she would be familiar with the Sarmatians as a people but hadn't actually met or interacted with any - and there were many peoples whose womenfolk wouldn't be involved in trading at all.

If she had any intention of getting either himself or Azarion in trouble, the Romans would have to first locate him, and as they knew him as Jason, that wouldn't be easy.

It would be easier for them to find Azarion, but his cousin was spirited and sarcastic enough to take care of himself. Mostly - if he'd behave any better nowadays than when he was younger, it would be a miracle. He certainly hadn't lost his sarcastic bent at all in the intervening years.

 

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Zis was familiar with the signs they were using - or some of them at least from her time with visiting traders and border excursions. She was just very adept at not showing it. It was how she'd understood Azarion the first time and she chuckled at their words, glancing as they fished out coins. Good. She had absolutely no time for slaves with nothing to offer. Bundled up in her cloak though - high enough to hide the slave collar she herself wore - she gave the air of somebody who rarely dealt with the lower classes. 

"You don't need to know my name." She responded with a lightly quirked brow. "Gallus," She gestured at the man to her right who gave a sarcastic little wave, "Deals with customers. I'm just here to see the accounts." She watched the pair of them lightly. "You are Sarmatian too?" She asked Jason. "You're both a long way from home. I never got the story from this one." She flicked her wrist at Azarion as Gallus held his hand out for the coins to count, "How did you end up here." She flicked her hazel eyes between them. "You do know how to smoke it yourselves, yes?" She asked Azarion.

 

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"You don't need to know my name."

Smoke Lady it is. Until she proved herself to be Smoke Bitch instead.

"You are Sarmatian too?... You're both a long way from home. I never got the story from this one. How did you end up here."

Azarion gave a look at Tiranes and rolled his eyes, making a few gestures. Oh geez, I don't know, we heard the weather was nice here and the people are friendly and decided to take a long walk.

"You do know how to smoke it yourselves, yes?"

This time, he gave the look at Smoke Lady herself. This was not his first buy, and it had never bothered her before if he knew how to smoke it. And even if he didn't, and was going to stick it up his ass or something, she still would get her money anyway. Also. Sarmatians.

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"Well, obviously wherever you're from is somewhere they don't value manners," Jason said, returning Azarion's eyeroll with one of his own. "As for how we got here... that doesn't matter. We're here, that's the important thing."

Really, he ought to stand back and watch Azarion and the nameless woman go toe-to-toe in trying to out-do one another in sarcasm. She was good, but Azarion was better, even labouring under the difficulties imposed by having had his tongue cut out.

"Hello, Sarmatian. You've figured that out, at least. Our people have been smoking it since before your mother gave birth to you!"

And what on earth did it matter to her whether they smoked it, chewed it or fed it to their livestock? She'd be making money out of them either way.

"I was told you had the best hemp in Rome. I'm beginning to doubt that."

 

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Zia arched a brow. Well then. She saw Gallus glance in her direction, an amused smile on his lips. It was mirrored by a feline grin on her own lips. The talking one was irritating, and she was now grateful the younger one couldn't speak. It was a shame, she'd liked him - in an odd way he'd reminded her of home. It was a pity he kept such poor company. Still, she understood better than most that one couldn't choose their family much as they might like to. 

"If you doubt it then leave. Or...actually, either way you can fuck off." She said with a chuckle and a limp shrug, glancing between the two men. "I don't sell to arrogant, jumped up shits." Her voice was apathetic and she tilted her head to watch Azarion and then Jason. "I don't care if you're Sarmatian, Egyptian, Roman or anything else. Go to a different regio if you want to buy. If you've been smoking it since before my mother gave birth to me, you'll figure out where to get it. Or how to grow it yourself." 

 

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Tiranes knew Azarion enough that, even without the gestures he could understand the sarcasm. And give voice to it. Which was, in retrospect, probably a bad idea.

"If you doubt it then leave. Or...actually, either way you can fuck off. I don't sell to arrogant, jumped up shits."

Well, fuck.

"I don't care if you're Sarmatian, Egyptian, Roman or anything else. Go to a different regio if you want to buy. If you've been smoking it since before my mother gave birth to me, you'll figure out where to get it. Or how to grow it yourself." 

Azarion glared at the woman. Seriously? If this was her business model, she was a shit businesswoman, even he could tell that much. And then as she waved them away... Azarion's eyes landed on something at the neck of her cloak. He smirked, gesturing at her. This new discovery made all the difference. Because she had a collar, just like Azarion. In fact, the more serious kind. The kind she could not take off.

Jumped up? Looks who's talking. You are a slave like we are, lady.

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"Arrogant and jumped-up?" Jason let his eyebrows twitch. She ought to know sarcasm when she heard it, judging by her own words - pity she couldn't take what she could dish out. It seemed he'd hit a nerve.

People like them, foreigners and barbarians in Rome, couldn't afford to get riled so easily. People made mistakes when they let themselves be baited and judging from Azarion's reaction, she just had made that mistake.

"We're hardly the most arrogant people in Rome. Quite the opposite, in fact."

What was she - probably not Sarmatian, although she seemed someone who was familiar with Sarmatia, at least in passing. Parthian, perhaps, Thracian or Dacian. It didn't really matter. She was the same as them, a slave, whatever she had been and wherever she'd come from.

"Our money's as good as anyone else's." He shrugged. "If you keep turning away customers, it'll just take you even longer to save for your freedom."

 

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Zia realised she'd fucked up the moment the mute one's eyes trailed from her face to her neck. She readjusted the cloak but it was too late, he'd seen it and she could understand the sign. Her glare hardened and Gallus' back stiffened. He'd evidently seen it too.

She flicked her eyes to the talking one, appraising him from head to toe as her eyes narrowed on him. "I do not need to take your advice about my freedom." She replied, her voice a cold hiss. She only needed a little more. She could have been free months ago at the rate her business was expanding but with Titus now absent she'd concentrated on new supply channels instead and pumped the money back into the business. Hence the room they now stood in and the larger portion of the warehouse they rented for their goods. 

"This venture is all of my own making and I have enough gold in it to buy all of us, perhaps." She tilted her head and then studied both men in turn. "I have plenty of other customers, why should I sell to you two?" She smirked and switched to a border dialect - one that was used by traders that crossed between Dacia and Sarmatia - an amalgamation of their languages, one she suspected they'd understand judging by the trade signals the mute one used; "Perhaps you could apologise for your tone? And then we can do business." 

 

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She was a slave. Probably doing this without the knowledge of her owner. That made things more interesting. How did someone run a business like this while not having her freedom? Azarion found he was curious about her now. And then she switched to a dialect he understood. Dacian, probably. Azarion had been a child when he was taken from Sarmatia, but he understood enough. That meant, she probably knew the signs too. Some of them, anyway.

"I have plenty of other customers, why should I sell to you two?"

Because we are good customers, he gestured.

"Perhaps you could apologise for your tone? And then we can do business." 

Azarion glanced at Tiranes. He didn't exactly have a tone to apologize for. But he also did not want to go fucking around the city until he found someone else who sold decent weed.

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Well, she was a prickly one and no mistake - he wondered how on earth she hadn't ended up in the same predicament as Azarion had, unable to speak at all. Perhaps the Romans dealing with her had all been deaf or something.

He didn't have anything to apologise for, but saying as much would get them thrown out on their ear and that wouldn't do anyone any good. He hadn't been any more rude than she had, after all - less, in fact, because she knew their names but they didn't know hers. He'd ask Azarion what he called her - but once they were out of here with their hemp. She could read his signs just as well as Jason could, after all - another piece of information to file away.

As for hearing their story, she could remain in the dark about that.

"I apologise for my tone earlier," he said mildly, in his own version of the trade dialect, rusty though it was. I'm sorry you're so crabby you'd take exception to anything I said.

She had switched from Latin to a dialect they spoke mostly with the Dacians - some of her words were the same as the Sarmatian, but with a different emphasis or pronunciation. She was Dacian, then. Yet another nugget of information to file away.

 

@Sara @Chevi

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She watched the pair of them gesticulate and then her eyes flicked to the older one as he apologised in a dialect she hadn't heard - beyond speaking it just now - in years. Despite the situation it brought a wry smile to her lips and she flicked her eyes over both men.

"Thank you." She responded in the same dialect before switching back to fluent but accented Latin. "Gallus will sort out the product, how much coin do you have?" She asked, glancing at them in turn and then she reclined against the wall again. "What brings two Sarmatians to my shop though I wonder? This one-" she gestured at Azarion, "I know is in the white faction. You were passable, last time I saw you race." She smirked at him. "But what about you? Who owns you?" She asked Jason as Gallus extended his hand for the coins and brought out a pungent smelling box from under the counter. 

 

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