Realistic or Modern after much ado... ~

[Phi]

Growing up, Quintus Aemilius Livianus was a cheerful boy, the fifth living son in his parent’s small farmstead and warm family home, just a day’s walk from the center of Rome. He had never really been a hard worker, receiving not infrequent punishments from his paterfamilias as well as his older brothers for goofing around and being lost in a fantasy world, picking flowers on the edges of the field instead of contributing to the workload. His spirit was never broken, though, and after long days of work, he would run off in the setting sun to play imaginary games or throw stones with the children of nearby farmsteads, as well as his own siblings. His favorite game of all was when they pretended to be soldiers in formation, with two thin sticks strapped to their backs as pila, walking in perfect synchrony.

The youngest children in the family, Quintus, his older brother Proculus, and their baby sister, Aemilia Tercera, were inseparable in those days, sharing a room and caring for each other when their parents had other things to deal with. Until he was fourteen years old, Quintus didn’t know loneliness at all. His whole world was a warm, chaotic family, long days on the fields in the sun, and evenings playing with his brother and sister and the kids from the next farms over. That all changed in his fourteenth year, when his mother died in childbirth to what would have been her fourth daughter. His father retreated into his own emotion, the house lost its warmth, and Aemilia took over the household duties, as her other two sisters were already married and the materfamilias of their own homesteads.

Quintus tried to stay strong through the circumstances, stroking his sister’s hair while she cried herself to sleep most nights, just a ten-year-old girl with the responsibility of caring for the family, watching her friends get engaged but stuck behind. And soon after, the house got a bit more empty when Proculus conscripted, and Quintus felt his honor tugging at him, too. At seventeen, he was finally old enough to conscript as well. That day had been a glorious one, his sister waving in happy tears as he walked away from the homestead, having pressed the three gold coins he had received into his father’s hand, thanking him for the years. Twenty-five years of service stood in front of him, then he, too, would be given land, and could marry and start a family of his own.

But it didn’t take twenty-five years. No, after three years of service, three years of watching his friends and new-found family die of exposure or in ambush, he had been released from service. Not for any wanting of his own, no, Quintus found great honor and personal purpose in the army. His centurion became like an extended family and that sense of loneliness was finally pushed away again, almost like he was returning to the days of his childhood. The work was hard, but the evenings laughing around a campfire were warm, and he knew he was doing his part for the empire.

Then, the day came that he injured himself so thoughtlessly, so instantaneously, and it was all over. Carrying his pack and his gear, he had tripped on uneven terrain while on a long march back home from Germania, the sixth one in as many days, and the sound his ankle made as he fell was heard above the rhythmic stomping of his peers. He had tripped. Tripped. And now he could no longer serve. Quintus almost wished it had happened further away, so his comrades would have been forced to leave him to die, but as they were just a day outside of Rome, they carried him back, set the ankle, and dismissed him from ever serving again. But Quintus couldn’t return to his family, couldn’t bear the thought of telling them what had happened and owning his shame. He hadn’t seen them since the day he left, his father standing tall and waving, his sister in a mix of happy and mournful tears.

So he took the little money he had saved and rented a room in a tenement on the top floor, a tiny space fit for one human only, and his solitude had begun anew. As it grew, so did his resentment, and now, after a year, you could almost see it on his face. His hair, which used to fall in perfect dark ringlets all around his face, lay stringy and flat. His skin, once sun-kissed and deeply tanned, was now sallow from dinners of only bread, when he could get it. His tunic was stained and due for its annual washing. But Quintus didn’t care. He didn’t have anyone to impress, anywhere to go. The only thing that interested now was perfecting his craft…

That’s what brought him to the bustling marketplace that morning as the sun was rising. The stench of so many people mixed with the call of voices and the gestures of colorful fruits and aromatic spices, creating the perfect cacophony to lose himself in, and he felt the anonymity slip over him like a well-fitting glove. Here, lost in the chaos, he could relax, could turn off his self-deprecating thoughts, could focus on his target like an animal. Standing non-chalantly against a column off to the side, semi-hidden in the shadow, he scanned the crowd, the slightest smile coming to the edge of one lip. Who would it be today?



American queen

 

[American queen]

Dirt packed stone pavers did little to prevent dust from becoming a constant companion traveling through the Termini district market stalls. Grandious Roman architecture provided a salve to the senses of sight in a place where one wished their sense of smell would be taken by the gods. Lucretia's sandal clad feet deftly avoided animal droppings in the walkways while keeping her eyes peering through that wild crowd. Servants of the wealthy running errands to prepare for the upcoming feasts and parties. It was a week before the Roman and Plebian games would bring the city a raucus and wide eyed show. Athleticism was worshipped by Roman and Greek alike, and those who didn't partake in the games made certain they never would with their revilous celebrations. This woman was particularly looking forward to engulfing as much rich foods and unwatered wine Dionysus blessed her with. Though today's reality drew her mind back to present times. Currently the smell that rose from animals squealing in their cages, people with no account of cleanliness, and rising clouds of dust could have suffocated a being. Lucretia however, was used to this. Her most pinnacle years of life were formed by it, the marketplace was her natural gravitation, what with years as a waif dillying through the streets with her torn and muddied peplus. Dark days for one so young to have experienced. She pushed them away to the recesses of her mind. She was in a monetary position that the majority of her life had been lived by, and for that, as a single woman, she was grateful.

Today she wore a gracious lightly dyed chiton and a madder red shawl which draped her forearms and across the back side of her. Her caramel tones hair was rolled and tucked into an elaborate bun, styled by a small silver diadem tucked into the top of it. About her slender neck hung a symbol of Juno made from silver, an asterisk like shape with an upside down cross stemming from its south arm. A humble attire, though certainly standing out as greater wealth than average. She was a relatively tall woman at 5'8, which generally found herself staring down into the pleading eyes of mothers giving their last coins, and up into the contemptuous ones of their husbands. An advantage as well to see above the crowds flowing forward and through this poorer district of the city. Of course, she remained untouched by them, following closely behind the gaurd assigned to her. Every passerby cast looks toward the tax collector while giving a wide berth lest they accidently lose their life for tripping into a roman soldier. She didn't remember his name most of the time, his only job was to escort her as long as she had taxed aureus on her person. Which was held in the small leather pouch hung at her left sude upon her waist belt. Actually, his original instructions were simply to gaurd her taxing station, but somehow she had charmed his commanding officer into accepting her own idea, giving her protection wherever she may need to hunt down missing denarius. She could spot her tax booth now, a line already formed at the window she conducted business from. Good. Maybe Octavius would be found among them, with his months overdue 30 Denarii. If he wasn't, well, he would wish that Hades made visitation upon his house in Lucretia's stead.

She wasn't unreasonable toward her district. Nearly a benevolent publican compared to other districts as she had heard. The difference however, remained in the fact that others didn't personally come to your home and pour out a wrath skirting the edge of legality. Most others simply let the district come to them in their little box to drop two coins in, still meeting their deadlines and lining their pockets. Lucretia didn't care for average though, a young woman with certain life goals to attain, and thirsty to build a life upward from this garbage pit district. Perhaps not to patrician status, but why not at least try? She twisted the arms of widows and wives, and simply took entire coin purses from families in their sheer terror of her wrath. Actually, on reflection, Lucretia was kind of proud of the reputation she'd built from a small inheritance, causing a wide smile to cross her features.

They were several yards from her booth when a brawl broke out in the middle of the marketplace. With the animals nearby sending out a cacophony of heralds in distress, it looked as though a barter had turned sour. Foul names flew from the lips of the men in question, and throwing less skilled punches than Lucretia had ever seen. Under obligation to uphold order, her gaurd trotted over to try and put the men apart, leaving Lucretia unguarded in the crowd. She gave a quiet sigh, in the midst of a chaos beginning to fill the people around her. The woman wasn't the least bit frightened, everyone was watching the fight and shouting out their own types of encouragement. Though if they did notice her I don't doubt they would spit at her feet, or worse considering what she enacted upon their families. And so, there at the edge of the crowd, the woman pushed by onlookers of the ruckus, making slow headway towards the taxing booth. Looking quite annoyed, really.

 

[Phi]

From the shadows under the portico, Quintus' eyes locked onto the woman who was drawing everyone's attention. Tall, richly adorned, and guarded, he knew her as a tax collector, and had watched her walk through this marketplace several times before, taking her spot at the tax booth. In social standing and wealth, she was a solid step above anyone else who even dared step foot in this marketplace, but she was also protected. Though Quintus did love a challenge, he wasn't suicidal. Or at least, he wouldn't want to die in a prison cell, locked up and starving.

No, the woman would have to wait, he stole for survival but also for sport. His goal wasn't always the most valuable thing around him, but the most interesting, something that caught his eye. He stole things, at times, that he had no use for, bright pieces of cloth that he could do nothing with but tuck under his mattress, because wearing them would be much too obvious. He also had quite the collection of shiny tools, bobbles, and even a few children's toys, like carved spinning tops.

It had all started his first few days back. Too ashamed to return to his fathers doorstep and needing to save his dwindling Denarii for the rent collector, he had begun to slip pieces of fruit beneath the fabric of his tunic, often knocking over a whole pile of shined apples or tumbling barrels of olives to cover his tracks, apologizing profusely, of course. Over time, he had worked his way up to larger things, and to different marketplaces where the merchants didn't know his face as well.

But he always worked alone. And he never stole from people who were much above his position. Minimizing risk was just as important as slight of hand.

Today, though, Fortuna must have been smiling down on him, and who was he to deny her the pleasure? For just as the wealthy tax collector entered the market, a fight broke out, probably over something minor, and her guard was stupid enough to see that as the biggest threat to her. A smile crept to Quintus' lips as he slithered out from cover, weaving through a crowd that was slowly breaking into chaos. He walked with a distinct yet minor limp from the ankle, now healed but prone to flaring up, and did not hurry in his gait.

Approaching the woman, he brushed past her, being sure to have their bodies collide on the opposite side of her coin purse so he could slip around her back with the other and reach for it. In retrospect, it was stupid and not well thought out, very much against his own principles of survival. Though, honestly, as time went on, that survival didn't seem all that critical anymore, anyway.

"Oh, very sorry, sorry indeed," Quintus turned up the charisma that had served him well many times before, brushing a hand through his hair, though the gesture was much less effective given how unclean he generally looked at the moment, "Did you see that?" He gestured wildly towards the rustle. "I heard Aurelius has taken Decimus Livius' daughter, the youngest, who was already engaged to be married..." he tried to let the conversation drop off, leave the attention on something else, so he could blend back into the crowd and be gone, hopefully with a few extra Denarii to show for it. "Oh, sorry, lady publican, I didn't mean to hold you up, sorry, I've entirely forgotten my manners." He babbled, trying to pull ever so lightly on the rope holding the coin purse and palm just a couple of coins, no need to be greedy and a few would go a long way, maybe she wouldn't notice at all.

 

[American queen]

He'd first swiped into her even though he was practically making eye contact. Although Lucretia had observed that to be a common occurrence here, nobody had dared come near her. What was odd was that he was in no hurry, while the rest of the crowd began to crackle the air with frenzied anxiety. It had been some time since any of these ruffians had seen gladiatorial games, apparently. Some were thrusting downturned thumbs into the air, frothing at the mouths for bloodshed. And then the son of Apollonius had ran his gritty fingers through dark greasy locks worn long like the Germanian warriors did. One redeeming quality of his appearance was hidden under sewage rodents masquerading as brows- his eyes, cool but intent. "Ah. Yes. On your way-" yet he not only remained, he filled her ear with rumor as though she cared. Her face scrunched in distaste.

But as he prate on, Lucretia's reminiscing resumed. She had been as tattered and sallow as this symbol of destitution before her. She was 13, hungry and sleeping in alleyways, if that was even possible. Often she'd be chased out by whomever owned the home or scattering like a mouse when Roman soldiers marched by. Clutching at threadbare clothes for coverlets and not one single denarii to fill her belly or stave off the cold Autumn's eve. What had kept her alive were those busy market days. Like today. The more action the better, for with a distraction one little girl can easily slip a bit of silver from some stout and unsteady man's satchel. Even when she was found out, she was too fast and knew the district corridors too well to be caught. The memory was so striking that Lucretia likely will recall the event as a vision. Juno or Fortuna revealing to her what this austere brute was doing. Other than soiling her by his very presence.

She looked to the brawlers as he motioned, her guard was currently pulling his sword out. If they didn't sort things peaceably, she had no doubt either of them could lose an appendage or needless ear of some sort. He was not one to withhold immediate justice.

"I've forgotten my manners."

"I should say you- AHah!" He would have done it. If she hadn't felt her shawl lighten, as he had to move beneath it to reach her pouch, she wouldn't have known. And at that sensation fury whipped through her veins. He was… stealing from Lucretia Marcus Fabius Aureilianus! You can't just snatch a tax snatcher. She snapped her torso rightward with the purpose of pulling his hand out of the coinpurse, exposing his audacity with the sound of a few aurei and denarii spilling underfoot. They didn't matter to her. He had attacked her very prized possession- her pride. Her right hand shot out to try and clutch his wrist with all her strength, not caring if her nails dug down to his veins. He wasn't going to get away, not if she could grab him quickly enough. "Doesn't your mother feed you well enough?~ If you don't come with me I scream louder than a Strix and drink your blood just as quickly." Lucretia's tone was sharp as shattered glass, each word lined with a dark venom, malicious but entirely in control. Her stormy eyes flickered downward at his feet as a threat. Hadn't he walked with a limp? Just so vaguely she could see it, and yet she couldn't remember which side. She hoped her glance was demeaning enough to say that running would be a bad idea.

 

[Phi]

Quintus should have known this was coming, having gone after the most decorated, most noticeable person in the square without any sort of planning and with entirely too much chatter. It wasn't his finest plan. What he didn't see coming was the force with which the tax collector grabbed his arm, though he was sure he would see the little half-moon welts of fingernails the next morning. If he saw the next morning, that was.

"Domina, domina, this must be some sort of misunderstanding," he tried, twisting his body uncomfortably around his arm so that the crowd wouldn't realize that there was a struggle going on. Quintus was fast, nimble, relatively talented in deception (though apparently, not today), but he wasn't particularly strong. When things got physical, which was rare, he was at a distinct disadvantage. And one thing was for sure, he didn't want that guard of hers getting involved, or this whole "misunderstanding" would be over quite fast. Luckily for him, the crowd was in an uproar of their own, half in panic and half in amusement.

The young thief cleared his throat, lowering his voice, "Let me go, please, there's no need to make a scene. You're right, I'm stupid.. An honest mistake... And, I would owe you. Something big. And I promise, I could make it worth your while," he tried, desperately grasping at words, not sure what would make her believe anything he said. He was a man of honor, though, always had been, and would make good on his word if he somehow survived the afternoon. Anxiously, he threw a glance towards the guard, "Just don't get him involved, okay? You don't need the mess and trust me, I'm not worth it." Now that one, he was sure was true.

 

[American queen]

He was right about misunderstanding; most of it clouded him! Except for when he called her Domina. That rang in her ears nicely. Did some delusion leave him to think she would let him go just because he dropped the coins and didn't technically steal them yet? Her stance had widened, bracing in case he jerked away from her, and looking not unlike a crazed cat clutching a strangling mouse. Perhaps full meals were her only advantage over this scoundrel, as she too was not remarkably strong. Clearly she made up for it in fervor. Somewhere between his pleas she heard the words I owe you my life. True, if she withheld charges. That and the appeals to her pride were certainly working against her own thirst for him to lose the last thing he owned, which was his life. That’s right- she didn’t need to dirty her hands with him. And maybe there was more to gain from this than submitting him to the chance to die as a ludi lioness’s snack.

At that final penitence, her brown eyes narrowed in searching his scruffy face. The haggard being, now in proximity by nature of the struggle, was not as far from her age as she initially thought. His eyes carried conviviality that usually lives in those still fighting for survival, not ready for their grave to swallow them just yet. And now the earnest nature by which he degraded himself struck something close to pity for him in Lucretia's heart. And it had been quite some time since the emotion had visited her. She let him sit in his own thoughts momentarily, and the raging silence of their conversation only filled with the wrath being carried out behind them. More guards had arrived on the scene to control the crowd, and the two men each had received the butt of a sword to their head or side. Her mind strained to concentrate on the matter at hand, and her eyes revealed as much of her churning thoughts.

“By the gods, you are stupid.” She hissed, unknowing if the din drowned it or not. “You know by law you could owe me four times as much money as you tried to steal from me. Even if I took you to court, I know I’d never get that out of you, would I?” Lucretia was in part biding time for her guard to return, and yet he still hadn’t. The decorated head of hers swivelled, trying to see him over the crowd, the edges of which were loosening and returning to their flow once more. A beat of empathetic blood surged through her heart, and it caused a reaction similar to that scene where the grinch’s heart grows two sizes larger. There was no reason to ruin a man for being hungry, and she knew in the same situation she had done worse. “Listen,” She soothed, with her eyes swivelling back upon him, hard but with a reasoning color to them. “I won't involve him, or take you to face the proconsul, in exchange for a pledge of servitude to me for a set time.” her grip slackened, mostly for the looks some of the passers were giving them at this oddity. nobody dared linger too long though. In Lucretia's mind it actually would be a credit to her public appearance to have an indentured servant. And she wasn't the only one to gain by it. Really, his life would improve from what she assumed his situation was.

 

[Phi]

Quintus didn't exactly feel his life flash before his eyes in the moment before the tax collector agreed to not have him killed on the spot, but he did feel quite clearly the folly of wasting the past few years, perfecting the skill of pickpocketing rather than learning an honest trade. He could have gotten engaged to a woman back home on a farmstead where he belonged, visiting his sister's family with gifts on the weekends. All that seemed to be slipping away from him now...

That thought was quickly gone as the woman lightened her grip slightly, the sudden release of tension causing Quintus to stumble, catching himself. He didn't really expect her to agree to his terms, and to be honest, could hardly remember what he had just babbled in panic. A set time? What set time? Like a day or two? Just this momentary respite from danger made him suddenly forget his pleading, feeling rather annoyed by the prospect of serving this woman, who was clearly so rich she could afford several slaves outright. But it would've been stupid to argue, as he wasn't out of danger yet.

"Yes, yes of course, domina," He replied, contorting his face into the most innocent expression he could possibly pull off. It's not like she'd be able to track him down otherwise anyway, and what was another broken promise in the long trail of his life? "You just name the time and the place," Gently he twisted his arm to try to release it from her grip, looking around him anxiously in the hope that they hadn't drawn too much unnecessary attention to themselves. The crowd seemed to be growing bored of the spectacle now, and he could see the head of the woman's guard turning back towards them, increasing his own anxiety at their closeness. It wouldn't be seen as normal for someone as scruffy as himself to be talking to the tax collector here, in the middle of the square, in broad daylight, halfway to her post. No, if the guard saw him, this little deal he had somehow talked himself into would all be over. "You won't regret it." Though he wasn't really sure of that, himself.

 

[American queen]

One final cursory gaze over him, one more memorization of his person. Just in case any ideas of not coming back to her did manifest in his mind, which had already proven itself ambitious in charmcraft. She could still likely hunt him down, his appearance wasn't exactly helping him blend in. "After business. Meet me at the baths in the north quarter. There will be food. It's not that far, so don't complain." Finally she released his arm with a flick of her wrist. Her hand would be sore enough as it was without his squirming around. Why was she letting him out of her sight? The gods had surely given him to her as a gift, would they see her as foolish and ungrateful? She rubbed her palms together as one would to clean them off. Reaching down, she pulled her coinpurse shut with an aggressive annoyance in the action.

Reflecting on this incident even now, it was a mite humorous. With the upcoming games she couldn't wait to recount every second of it at the praetor's feast she'd been invited to. She truly had caught a thief in the act, and now was about to capitulate him to her terms of law? Caliba and Odysseus would be shaken with laughter, wine spilling from their goblets. It was a daft irony, one that nobody would voice, not in Lucretia's presence at least.

"Tell me your name, thief."

She could hear her guard speak behind her as he was on his way to tower next to the tall woman. She hoped his eyes fixed upon Quintus in a cold and frightening stare. To strike some kind of fear reflecting an element of the duties just executed. It would be another assurance that surely this thief would obey her in this moment and not run away, never to be seen. Though, she would have liked to verbally slap the roman guard with a piece of her mind, leaving her vulnerable in the hungry pack of bloodlusting wolves, but it was no matter now. And it wouldn't do any good at least. She couldn't scold a roman guard, but she could file a complaint about him later. Even if he was doing his real job, instead of guarding a publicana of the second poorest district in Rome.

 

[Phi]

"Quintus," was all he managed, "Quintus Aemilius Livianus, and I'll be there. You won't regret your kindness." Though he was starting to regret even pleading for his freedom at all, not to mention that his anxiety about the whole situation was only continuing to rise. Maybe she was expecting him to be some sort of slave... He would have rather lost a hand than that, or given up his room and board, living on the streets. That, he could make work, but giving up his sense of self, being seen carrying a sella of important people through the city streets or feeding grape after grape to the salivating mouth of a fat, rich old man.. well, he would have rather died than that.

Nonetheless, Quintus still had a certain survival instinct, and didn't want to give the guard any chance to reassess the situation, so as he felt her fingers loosen around his arm, he turned into the crowd, purposefully ramming into a woman carrying a large wicker basket full of bright round oranges, causing the top-most layer to spill to the dusty ground below. This had the intended effect of turning the dwindling attention of the market-goers, who were growing bored with the now nearly over fight, to this new aversion, either to help the woman gather her bounty or to quietly tuck away a snack for later. Quintus disappeared into the background, weaving through sweaty, pushing bodies until he was sure he was far out of the line of sight of the tax collector.

What a stupid move, he sighed, and totally against his personal code of conduct. He stole only things that he was sure wouldn't be missed, by people he was sure wouldn't noticing them missing, at least for a day or two. He took the extras off the sides of large piles of fruits or buns, pocketed shiny things left to tarnish in the back corners of metalworkers stalls, and slipped into the occasional pocket only of very distracted, very unimportant individuals. This time, he had seen an opportunity that seemed so promising, he didn't stop to assess the situation with the diligence he would usually apply. And look where it got him.

The question was, would she actually come after him? Did she really have such a good memory of his person, not to mention wealth of knowledge about the district and its inhabitants, to find him again if he didn't hold to his end of the promise? In some ways, he didn't exactly doubt it. Tax collectors tended to know the faces of the people around them, and were able to pull quite a few strings in the community in exchange for a blind eye for some less-than-proper dealings. Plus, he had promised, and he liked to respect his promises whenever it wasn't entirely unreasonable or unsafe to do so. And she had said there would be food... though, that had sounded almost like a threat, but maybe she had really meant it.

So Quintus returned to his room, determined to pass the hours in relaxed solitude rather than in an anxious fit over what this strange woman might have meant by servitude, not to mention by a set time. He spent most of the time pacing in the space in front of his meagre bed, berating himself internally for his stupidity until the sun started grow orange and dip low in the sky.

What if she ambushed him, meeting him with several guards and some uncanny form of torture to make an example out of the thief stupid enough to approach such a well-respected member of the community. Finally, he decided that the only way out of this whole mess was through it, he finally pulled himself together, brushing his hair back from his shiny forehead with his fingers and trying to quickly air out his tunic from the stress sweat that was building up under his arms, and descended the stairs of the tenement. On the noisy streets below, merchants were wrapping their goods into large cloth pouches to carry home once carts were allowed in the streets again after nightfall, and parents were hurrying children off the streets and into doorways for something to eat.

Quintus took the long way to the baths. Though he had honor, no one would say that he wasn't a coward. When they were finally in sight, the sun now quite low, he slunk once again into the shadows, just within eyeshot, scoping out the place to make sure he wasn't about to meet a bitter end in the hands of some psychopathic murderess, toying with her deserving prey like a cat.

 

[American queen]

In that sprawling flash of oranges and flurried gatherings, he simply raptured. Oh, he had practiced that one. A derisive mixture of curiosity and disappointment wondered after him those next moments. Lucretia's hands had practically gone white in her desperation to hold him, and the strength had drained out of them. Stretching her fingers wide at her side, a sigh escaped her in turning towards her station. He wasn't going to show up at the baths, was he. Anger roiled within the wounded pride of her, crossing into a great regret. Why had she softened and let him leave? What even was the purpose of cutting him loose to squirm out from beneath the swinging sword of governmental justice he deserved? An act to coddle her conscience from years of cruelty? She scoffed outwardly in exhale, steps strong towards that empty tax booth. What a joke. She should have strangled his throat and shaken him for every last drop of his life. His blood was likely worth more than his service to her would be. Who wanted an ugly street rat as a hired guard or worker anyways. Lucretia's mind traversed the path of her thoughts, every idea of positive reason toward her action was bowled over by one of logic against it. There was a single note, one strain risen from the depth of her soul, that she was unable to tear down.


Marcus Fabius had done the same for her.


The hours dwindled as Lucretia took collection from the Termini populace, scrawling in her tome their ammended debts with a lethargy never seen. The lithe ephemeral countenance of Juno herself had faded from the woman's pointed features. She challenged nobody today, her mind completely consumed in the man named Quintus. She hadn't had the time to ask where he lived, though his departure was so hurried she doubted now if he would have told her. His name was spouted so quickly, was it real? Lucretia didn't recognize it, so he couldn't have supplied a publicly known name, or made one up with such speed. She called upon Minerva at midday for her wisdom and tactics of strategy- mostly relied upon for war and defence. But surely the goddess of commerce and peace would bring the answer to a woman who endowed herself in both of those things. She closed collections early, bearing the mindful burden to her home to wait through the handful of hours to go.

"Your vigor has taken a turn, publicana," The guard at her side spoke as they wound through cobbled walkways. It was not a tone of concern, low and cold. "Do you grow tired of playing shop keeper?" Yes, definitely closer to patrony, at least by Lucretia's determining. Her roman nose notched upward, indignant, a remark slipping elegantly from her sharpest recesses.

"One in the deepest and most pious of thoughts and meditations often operates in meekness, legionnaire." Though dredged with hudson sardony, it was somewhat true. His comment was a prick, and not the first of those in which he expressed distaste for her as his assignment. Lucretia ought to have seen the dart flying towards her before the guard had even wet his lips with the poison. And even now, as she flicked her eyes toward his face, she could see the snarl-like smirk occupying it. They were to her gate a few beats later, and his parting comment left her agape.

"Take care with your muse. Domina. Street dogs bite."

What an absolute serpent. Had he stood and listened to the conversation of this morning from behind her, leaving her unguarded on purpose, to be exposed to some ruffian? She could have died! Torn from her body bone by bone in churning dust of the will of criminals and destitutes. The ones who faulted her for their torn families and dead aunts and uncles, stealing bread and delicate fruits of distant countries because they titled their lives deserving. What a fate to die at the hands of theives. She would rather be torn apart by Canis Pugnax in Circus Maximus, her death a colossal splash of entertainment for Roman patricians and high society. A final vibrant flare of colorful scarlet and white, fist in the air in triumph still over the weight of thousands of lives on her shoulders. A most humiliating one, still worthy over dust trod thousands of times by every sandal clad ethnic, and multiples by far of hooved entities. That guard didn't understand the responsibilities of her authority, nor the respect it deserved..

After a nap passed a couple of hours Lucretia snacked on dates and olives as she reclined in a chaise, watching the spectacle of pinkened and purplish hues streaming the clouds outside her town home window. She didn't really want to go to the baths for fear the escaped alley wayfarer wouldn't show. If it wasn't for the reason she simply needed a good cleanse, after all the dry weather kept the dust lingering in the air. Lucretia could feel her skin coated in the filth and salt off of every body that crossed her path today. Was she being wise? What payment would be an equal measure of what the misguided tit owed her? What advice would Marcus have given her? A wry smile crossed her lips. Would he be proud of how she spent the inheritance he left behind? To become the most hated woman by those beneath her, feared by those beside, and piquing to those above? The fact that she didn't know the answer to any of these questions caused uneasiness. Yet still, she rose and ordered her handmaiden Eppia to gather clothes and oils for the baths, and inform the cook of an extra guest. Eppia was a mere teen, sold in auction a year ago. At the time She was bald, ugly, and with the largest brown eyes you had ever seen. Lucretia's pity rescued her from a house filled with men who would have enjoyed taking out their perversions by a Gaul Celtica virgin. Her pity did manifest into trouble often.


Eppia with a satchel, and Lucretia with her oils, were approaching the front of the bathhouse now in the dying dusk of the day. The elder had confided in the younger all that had taken place today. She was one of the few respites in humanity to Lucretia. The short haired girl said little, but had a knack for stories filled with adventure, stories she brought from her people most likely. And now that her mistress was entertaining her with one, it was a treat, and an intrigue to ponder.

"My lady, I think that he will come." The latin clothed in that Gaul accent nearly as thick as the girls dark lashes was a pleasantry. "You are a good judge of… people's intent." Not quite the word she intended, Lucretia supposed. Though a salve to her wounded spirit.

"I certainly should think so. Or all of Rome will crumble in the rubble of my search for him. Did you remember the extra tunic?" Lucretia's tone strengthened, as she turned her head, eyes searching the streets for Quintus whatever-anus. His name wasn't important, on the cusp of her memory ready to be forgotten if he didn't appear. Waiting was not her strong suit, and she was prepared to stand here like a fool while citizens- though some quite handsome- passed her into the bathhouse for all of twenty minutes, and certainly no more.

"Yes, my lady."

"He was quite ugly, so I'm sure you'll recognize him as quickly as I do. He looks like one of those cynic philosophers. And nearly with the tongue of one."

And perhaps she did spot him in her periphery, in that distant shadow, seemingly unwilling to come forth from his frightened crouch for fear of what terror the witch would descend on him. But if Lucretia did, she said nothing.

 

[Phi]

Standing in pseudo-anonymity just out of easy eyesight of the baths, Quintus' thoughts unraveled into a tumbling mess of self-depreciation. He had always kept to certain standards for himself, and those standards had kept him safe and almost more importantly, kept him from arousing attention in any way, positive or negative. That lifestyle suited him, and he felt he deserved it, after his less than graceful fall out of public service. His pride, bruised to the bone, didn't allow him to consider himself worth a marriage, or a family, not to mention an honest career. No. He had failed everything he had ever tried. Until now, his shadowy life of pickpocketry and theft was the one exception, but now, even that was gone.

Shoulders hunched, and head low, he finally emerged out into the dying light of the square in front of the baths, barely raising his eyes to meet the woman he had accosted earlier that day. He had been surprised to notice that she came unguarded, with only a young and rather beautiful girl as a companion. The two seemed lost in conversation, though he could see the agitation on the older woman's face, although she seemed to be trying to appear nonchalant. Walking gingerly on his left foot, where the badly set bone was flaring up today, whether it be due to the weather or the stress, he approached the two women. If she had a guard hidden somewhere nearby who was waiting for her signal to spring out and cut him down, well, so be it.

"Domina," Quintus nodded, still refusing eye contact. "And the lady," he tipped his head slightly to the younger woman, appreciating that she was probably a slave or a handmaiden of some sort, yet his politeness was awakened by a certain attraction to the young girl.

Surprised, he took in the fact that the handmaiden seemed to have a satchel with her, as if the two were actually going to go into the baths. Quintus had assumed that this was simply a well-known location to meet, so the two could discuss their terms in private. He hadn't anticipated actually going in. Though, now that he thought about it, it had been quite a while since he had properly cleaned himself up. But it wasn't like he had anyone to impress, and found that in being slightly dirty around the edges, he attracted even less unwanted attention to himself. Back in his army days, he had been thought quite good-looking, not to mention charismatic, often the center of a group chatting around a campfire, the others laughing and looking into his glistening umber eyes. But he barely thought about those times now, as if they were many decades ago instead of just a few years.

Quintus almost dared not speak, feeling rather like a guilty dog, limp-tailed and remorseful. Not for what he had done, exactly, but for his incompetence in being apprehended. "Did you intend... Are we.. going inside?" Exhaling rather loudly, he crossed his arms like an impotent child.

 

[American queen]

The gods had come through. A flash of excitement in recognition sparked Lucretia's hazel eyes, as they landed upon Quintus Aemilius Livianus. That was his name, it came to mind the instant she saw him. His energy was that of a cat slinking between the feet of Roman legionnaires after losing a territorial fight. He deserved his short walk of shame, the theif. A palpitation of her heart skipped when a realization fell upon her. He did have honor. It was tattered and being drug upon the ground like a child's comfort blanket. But it was hovering nearby, and one could see it in his uneven repentant footfalls. "You came!" She sounded all too childlike in that splurge of words, and she quickly cleared her throat to curb the tone, squaring her shoulders back ever slightly. Her posture fading from its anxiousness to the usual strength.

Eppia couldn't help but smile, in part at her mistress, and in polite greeting to the man coming their way. He wasn't exactly ugly. Just a bit lost looking. Her large brown eyes wandered, taking in his rugged appearance with an unbridled curiosity. He had dark hair, long and uncared for. Though, Eppia mused, that through the shag there was a semblance of handsome features and kind eyes- clearly he was honest as well. What person returns to speak with someone from whom they've stolen, at risk of imprisonment or death? "Evening, dominus." The Gaul spoke softly after her mistress, dipping her dark head towards him in respect. His status, though certainly the low of the low, was still over her station as a slave girl.

"Yes, Quintus. My handmaiden Eppia, she's Gaulic." Lucretia graced a hand towards the shorter girl in introduction of sorts, a proud expression in the motion. She was so very fond of the girl it was hard to hide. Quintus's complaintive questioning prodded her brows to rise, incredulous. He hadn't known that a bathhouse was for bathing? Had he never had one? She bit back sharp retorts clawing at her tongue and calmly hummed in amusement. "Chin up, how long has it been since your last bath? I know reflective glass is a steep expense. But even Narcissus found a pool in which to gaze upon himself. You surely have as well- and know that you're pitiful to look at." Her lips pressed together in another assessment of him. Pale, skinny, wearing one of the most stained tan tunics she had ever seen. A lingering smell of nervous sweat wafted to her from a breeze slipping past his sides, only adding to her assessment. She was fairly certain Eppia could possibly help his poorly and unkempt hair, had she mentioned being able to cut it on their journey?

"I've brought you a new tunic. And shall pay the copper quadrans entry. I won't think of discussing our agreement until after you've scraped every crevice of your body with a strigil." And the tall publican matched his own stance, crossing her arms, although with an air of mimicry.

 

[Phi]

The childlike excitement in Lucretia's voice didn't go unnoticed to Quintus, and it seemed to strengthen his wounded pride at least slightly. So the tax collector had been hoping he'd come, had been expecting him not to come. It was a rather strange turn for the day -- someone like her waiting around for someone like him, hoping that he would bless her with his presence. He quite liked it, but was weary to give too much trust to the stranger.

Though at the moment, his attention was rather more captured by her slave girl, young and innocent looking, though it would be beneath even him to show too openly his appreciation for even such a pleasant-looking young woman. Gaulian. Mhm. Momentarily, he raised his gaze from the floor, to look right into the young girls eyes. “Exotic.” He nodded almost imperceptibly. Okay, now he was pushing his luck and he knew it, feeling momentarily brash at the fact that he was indeed not yet dead or in shackles, and he quickly backtracked to his repentant stature.

As Lucretia kept talking, the situation seemed to get more and more strange, form Quintus' perspective. The idea that the woman he had nearly robbed was going to treat him to a bath, a tunic and a meal... that seemed suspiciously kind of her. What did she have planned for him? “Why the change of heart, domina, if I might ask?” He hurried the question on to his previous cheeky remark, hoping that it might go unpunished if not unnoticed. “Last we spoke I feared you were about to have me killed on the spot,” he lowered his voice, “If I may speak openly.”

However, at her insistence that they not discuss the matter more thoroughly until after the bath, he bowed dramatically, one foot sweeping back behind him in the dirt. “I await your command,” he mocked, gesturing towards the marble steps in front of them. Okay, now he was clearly pushing his luck. He could hardly help it; it was as if after all this time of at least partially self-imposed isolation, the attention made all this confidence bubble out of him. Perhaps it was simply that the tiniest sliver of his previous self was shining through once again.

Nonetheless, he followed behind the domina as they ascended the steps to the bathhouse, his eyes trained on the two pairs of young, nimble ankles wrapped with the leather straps of sandals. A proper bath again would be nice. He had barely realized how much time had passed since his last good soak and maybe it was time to make himself look at least somewhat presentable again.

 

[American queen]

What a way of a man to be taken with a rare creature with little more to know of her than name and status! Many women were exotic. This was Rome. Why, she even considered herself exotic. Hmph. Lucretia was not too dumb to notice the lingering gaze of that vagrant upon her servant. A gaze more chaste than that of the vile men who competed for the virgin at a pretty price. Though nonetheless unnerving to the publicana, whether out of a small jealousy for the attention, or out of a maternal instinct.

Eppia’s mahogany eyes widened at the Roman man’s perusal, and turned down upon his chest after a second too long of attention. Not that the presence of it was particularly unpleasant, perhaps the opposite. But a light color of peach faded into her light skin tone. Even the thrust of the Rhine river didn’t account for the fervor with which the warm embarrassment flooded her. She hid it as best she could. She warned herself that it wasn’t unknown in Rome for men and women to have their ways with whomever they pleased, despite the caste separating them. Eppia didn’t feel a threatening vulgarity to Quintus’s interest, but nonetheless she was reminded of thoughts a young slave girl shouldn’t care of. For now, she steered them upon her mistress who was beginning to turn toward the baths.

Really while he thought Lucretia a generous soul, and considered her actions such a change of heart, he was mistaken. This was the plan all along. Lucretia treated her slaves like human beings, and he wasn’t even of the same station as they. Not yet anyways. The aristocratic woman turned on her heel, hobnailed sandals ticking up the stairs and through the bathhouse entrance. In the doorway to the changing room she pressed the copper fees into an attendant's hand, who seemed surprised at Lucretia's obvious wealth, though said nothing by it. This bathhouse was for the middle class, communal, unlike those more commonly attended by people of her station. And her position in life was far too obvious in her fine woolen lilac peplus and deep cobalt overlay. Dock workers and mothers of small children with towels slung over their bodies glanced at the tall publican and co. from under the threshold into the tepidarium. Saying nothing, but enough with their curious glances.

Eppia followed in as well, though glancing back at Quintus, her countenance hinting at some humor towards the current situation. Lucretia began to undress with the help of the Gaul, slipping off her overlay and peplus, leaving them to the younger to fold. Publicana was not an athletic sort of person, though one would say she was skinny-fat, built in a similar way as Aphrodite herself. A point of pride, and certainly it garnered attention when she intended to use her wiles, but mostly an average appearance. With her tall figure, the woman was mostly legs, hips that gently curved in an unobtrusive yet attractive fashion. The rest, well- I wouldn’t want to spoil.

“Wait here in the changing room Eppia. We’ll return in but a click of a centurion’s heels.” Her gaze met Quintus, who was just- sort of standing there. Lucretia crossed her arms, not exactly used to being accompanied by men to the baths. There was an element of humility, a boundary of self-awareness one needed to cross in order to do so. Perhaps that was why men preferred to do business inside of them, a sort of bare-all and honest environment. Or something.

“How you're not a stain on a cart wheel is a mystery. Would you hurry along?”

 

[Phi]

The fact that the Gaulian visibly enjoyed his remark, that he could cause the blood to rise to her cheeks like that, was deeply satisfying to Quintus. Indeed, it had been quite a long time since he felt he had any impact on the people around him. In this way, it quite suited him to be a known “criminal”, gave his dirt and general roughness a certain mysterious air. Or at least he could spin it that way in his own head.. not that the boy needed any more confidence at the moment.

Quintus watched as the patrician pressed coins into the hand of an attendant with an easy air of wealth, practically curling his fingers around the copper and telling him to be a good boy. It dawned on him that he was in the company of someone not all that unlike himself. Greasy, in a way, self-serving and confident. Though perhaps also soft somewhere, buried underneath.

With that same easy confidence, she disrobed without hesitation, unsurprising given her form, her soft and untouched skin that looked as smooth as marble. He found himself then stuck between decorum and curiosity, until she barked at him to hurry it up. Grinning ever so slightly, he too peeled the sticky tunic from his skin and unlaced his worn leather sandals. He did so without the slightest hint of modesty, though he was a stranger to any sort of business dealings in this state, having never quite made it to such a position as the men who did business dealings, or marriage arrangements, in the foggy rooms.

Underneath the thin layer of grime, Quintus was a not unattractive man. The hint of the muscular build he had enjoyed at his peak fitness in his legionnaire days was fading but not disappeared, the muscles waiting for any excuse to return. His skin was sallow now, with a yellowish hint where it used to be a tanned and speckled brown, but the paleness almost implied an more elevated status than a farmer’s son and ex-soldier turned petty thief. His left ankle was visibly swollen, it had the embarrassing tendency to turn a purplish hue when it flared up, collecting some fluid in the joint, and he habitually stood with his weight on the other foot. This visual reminder of his own incompetence haunted him and he had a semi-conscious tendency to turn with his opposite side prominent, hating every time the topic came up.

Focus. Quintus scolded himself. This was a business meeting after all, and one of no small stakes to him personally. The tax collector was clearly beyond his ability for prediction and he wasn’t even sure how he should act. Would she prefer him to flirt and flatter or repent and beg for her mercy? Should he act an equal to her or treat her as his superior?

For now, he’d just try to keep up with her. „Yes, yes“, he called, sharp on her heels, covering himself with his hands in false modesty. „I don’t suppose you have a spare towel, too?“

 

[American queen]

Eppia most certainly lowered her gaze, pretending to be about arranging Lucretia's clothes on a shelf in preparation to watch over them. She knew her mistress would leave her in this room to simply protect her belongings from being stolen. And really, she was rather uncomfortable, regardless of any garish curiosity inside of her little teenage mind. Maybe she stole one glance at Quintus, but that would've been it.

Lucretia's eyes openly toured the man's bare frame, in that same easy confidence one would observe a piece of art in. Objectively. Her senses were certainly exposed to this genre of work often as men in all ranks showed leg and limb in the heat of the roman summers. Gladiatorial games held no modicum of modesty, and the flamboyant gentlemen fashioned their tunics short and revealing. Even all that said, one couldn't help but be affected by the shape of a pleasantly built man. A quiet hum, almost like an approval, rumbled in her throat. Though, the dark gaze did linger on that rich coloring in his ankle. One angled brow rose like a silent question. So she recalled correctly- there had been a stagger to his step, and that iris hued turkey drum he slumped behind his mass must've been the reason. She unwrapped her sandals from her feet, setting them underneath a shelf beside all manner of sizes and shapes of hobnail boots and homemade leather sandals.

And ever higher did that shapely brow rise while he covered himself in a humorous tone, acting as though embarrassed by his masculinity. Pah. She found her own lips curving. Lucretia reached up to the many shelves lining the room walls which bore linen towels neatly rolled beside the folded faded tunics of the obvious many patrons. The woman plucked two from above and slung one in his direction, clutching the other against herself. "You're so humble." Her tone was light-hearted, even if a bit sardonic. Some air of curious self-assurance had started to form around Quintus, and she wasn't entirely certain if now was the best time to squash it. If needed, she certainly would, but for now he seemed to be enjoying himself, and perhaps that good mood would aid her negotiations.

Her long stride started into the tepidarium through an arched doorway, feet cool against the stone. A white tiled room of a large size was before them, with murals on the walls of cheap glass, chipped and edged now in mildew noting the lower cost of care- though nonetheless a pleasant addition to the room with their colorful blues and greens. There were three pools in this room, each with a fountain in the middle as a part of their circulation systems. Each was warmer than the last, to serve a progression of opening one's pores open. People filled the edges of the pools, and flowed through this room into the next, some children playing in the fountain waters. The walls echoed conversations of varying accents and languages, making a gentle din cover conversation with the occasional crying child piercing through. It was the sort of noise which made one feel anonymous in discussing something, since nobody but the parties speaking with one another could hear. Lucretia moved towards the first pool, setting her towel on a stone bench on the walkways between it and the next. She waded down the steps, which were a tad slippery, and she held onto the rounded edge of the pool, enjoying how the slightly warm water covered her ankles, and climbed up until she was in above her neck. The woman's hair had been purposely coiled up on her head to keep it from getting wet.

The depth was only so that one could walk in and be covered, not so deep to be able to swim. Lucretia glanced behind her, watching as Quintus likely waded in as well. It would be interesting to see what he really looked like without the grime covering his face and.. body. "Relaxing isn't it?" She leaned against the cold stone wall, running her hand over her arms, just enjoying the water, and what negotiations were about to begin.

 

[Phi]

Letting his towel fall together with any previous hint of modesty, Quintus lowered himself into the water with a sharp intake of breath. With the lowering temperature, he could feel his body contract, his breath catch in his teeth. He waded right past Lucretia and immediately dipped his head under the surface. Instantly, the din of many conversations and waterfalls around fell away, only a background thrumming in his ears. In the cool water, his body was weightless, the ache in his ankle totally forgotten. Quintus stayed like this for an extended moment, reveling in the feeling of total peace. But as the pressure in his chest grew, he emerged again, rubbing as he did so at the grime that had stuck to his previously sweaty temples. His hair, now wet, fell down straight and dark as night, though the structure of curls was still lightly visible, as the strands started immediately to dry and pull upwards in loops.

Satisfied now, and acclimating to the temperature, he sighed, shaking his head a bit not unlike a dog. "It is indeed." Stretching, he laid his arms out on either side of him, holding on to the edge of the pool so the rest of his body could float, happy with the fact that his biceps had apparently not totally disappeared. He took a moment, then, too, to appraise the woman who had asked him here, who had been so bold as to suggest the baths as a meeting place with a man she hardly knew, as if they were two businessmen discussing a deal. She was confident, that was for sure, but by virtue of her status only? Surely, she couldn't defend herself without relying on the protection of others. She was shapely, not bad to look at, but she didn't seem strong. Vicious, though, that he could see bubbling just below the surface.

"So," Quintus began, trying his best to retain his air of confidence, "I acted against you, and now I should make better what I have wronged. But I'm still not sure what exactly you want from me.. From the way you were looking at me just now, I have my ideas, but surely a woman of your status could do better. So tell me, patrician, where is this conversation going?" Better to get straight to the point, he figured, before he spent hours puzzling over the circumstances he was in.

 

[American queen]

Lucretia laughed, underwater her fingertips scraped against the wall to release hidden agitation. The comment was amusing, even if attacking her moderate interest at him in a general way. "Everyone examines a new slave that way." Her curiosity still bubbled beneath in the humored gaze she cast toward him. How would he react to her solution? She made a pretensive face of surprise, a hand lifting to her lips as if she'd said something unintentional, though it fell as quickly as it rose. Replaced by disregard, as she looked up to the plain white stone ceiling. "Listen closely, Quintus," her head leant back against the stone wall. "You stole enough aureus from me to purchase the goods of an entire Egyptian caravan. But given the circumstances, without any court interference or costs, one year of of your life in service is due to me. And that's just the calculation for the coins you dropped."

Her dark eyes peered to his floating figure, locking to his gaze in wait for the reaction. Demanding so much from someone with so little– though, perhaps he would see she was being quite gracious considering what debt the courts would have required of him. Ones he certainly could never repay. Lucretia held her tongue patiently, despite how she wanted to berate him for the frightening experience he'd given her.

 

[Phi]

A ringing started in Quintus' ears as the woman spoke, building with each word as his pulse quickened with it. Stole. Court. Costs. The words bounced around his head like an echo, his attention suddenly fully on the unclothed woman in front of him in the chilly waters, the rest of the noisy hall falling away. Year. Service. His face fell slack as he missed a beat in the conversation, the ringing building and building and threatening to overtake all his senses as the vein in his forehead pulsed harder and harder and his breath came quicker and quicker and...

In a moment, he pushed past the woman, anywhere but here as his head spun violently, steadying himself on the handrail on the slick marble steps. The cold air and the shock caused his shoulder to shiver visibly as he stepped out of the pool, pushing forward towards the next one, to anywhere away from her, offering the woman not a second word.

Quintus had been many things in his life. He had been a well-behaved son of an honest man, a compassionate brother and member of the family. He did his time as a respectable soldier, and though cut short, he had never given his fellow soldiers a reason to doubt his honor. Now, his position may have slipped, he may have had nights of hunger and moments of filth, but he was no SLAVE. Never had he considered selling himself into that, not even when it had been impossible to keep a roof over his head, when he had been forced to steal from a child selling bread on the street, hardly less impoverished than himself. Quintus Aemilius Livianus was many things, but he belonged fully and only to himself.

The shiver in his chest became more pronounced, more indignant, as he pushed through the foggy air of the bathing hall, the sounds around him still blurred, his vision tunneled. His feet found their way to the next pool, this one warmer, which he entered quickly, trying to still not only the shiver but also his racing pulse. Maybe this was all a bad dream. Maybe the woman knew how extremely she was pushing her luck. Maybe, somehow, she wouldn't follow and he could just steady himself and head back to his life and his bed and...

How had he made such a horrible mistake? He had always been cautious before, always picked his targets carefully. This time, he hadn't even made away with any coin. Not to mention he had gotten away with robbing a tax collector, or he would have, had he simply not been stupid enough to show up here tonight. Wading past govial men enjoying the evening after a hard day's work, he found as quiet a spot as possible in the pool, on a wide bench, and tucked his knees up to his chin like a small child. Maybe she'd just leave. Leave and let him get back to the pathetic life he deserved.