#ocmarcusvibius

[brasideios]

WIP Wednesday

Hey everyone!

So, I'd intended to do Snippet Sunday, but my awareness of days of the week is, as usual, up the wazza; so, I'm late and doing an out of kilter Wednesday instead. How very me, lol.

I actually have something brand new to share because (excitingly) I've finally got back into working daily on a new long (original) fic 🙌 It's taken me so long to find my inspiration again; what a time.

Anyway, I'm calling this project Floralia for now, probably a working title. It's centred on Titus Lartius, and his son Quintus who I introduced and shared a snippet about already here, but the story begins much earlier, before Titus is even married. I've started working at the start, writing and reworking the opening scenes over n over as I get some key characters and relationships established as cleanly as possible. I think I'm just about there (at least for now, lol).

If you are kind enough to indulge me and read this snippet, I really would like to know if you find there are too many names and details straight outta the gate - it's always a balancing act when you don't want to include exposition dumps.

But otherwise, welcome to the life of Titus Lartius, I guess :)

~~~

Titus Lartius was standing on the street-verge across from the house of his oldest friend, Marcus Vibius, with the cold of the early winter air sharp against his skin, redolent with the scent of pines. Welcoming warmth and light were spilling from the open double doors on the other side of the road. The sound of voices and laughter tickled his ears, tempting him to hasten forward; but still, he hesitated. He’d stood in this exact spot five years earlier – pausing beside the fast-trickling cistern with the lion head - but back then, it’d been his going away party he was supposed to be attending. He had the uncanny sensation that time had somehow collapsed in on itself. Surely he’d only left a few months before? Surely the memories of everything that’d happened in Illyria were a dream… or a nightmare. He took a deep breath, consciously releasing the tension from his shoulders, reminding himself he was home; reminding himself that he was safe here; and then he went in.

The house embraced him in its hazy fug of yellow, flickering light. With a quick assessing glance, he saw that the guests were, for the most part, on the other side of sobriety, and he could easily imagine the proceedings of the evening up until that moment. They’d have eaten one of Marcus’ famously good dinners, served with copious amounts of mixed wine, and then dispersed throughout the atrium and tablinum, spilling out even into the garden, the wine fortifying them against the cold. Marcus, a man the same age as Titus himself but taller and lighter in his colouring, spotted him. His face split into a happy smile, and he hastened to him. ‘Titus! You’re here!’ He embraced him warmly, making Titus chuckle, any last shred of worry evaporating. ‘Good to see you too, my friend.’ Marcus released him, and stepping back, chided him lightly, ‘I didn’t think you were coming – you’re very late. Aulus came before dinner.’ He gestured across the atrium to where Titus’ younger brother, black-haired, bearded and unsmiling, was chatting with a couple of older men – perhaps in their forties or fifties. Titus said dryly, ‘Sincerely, I apologise for my lateness. My mother wished me to meet all of her cronies and they all wished to take it turns to pinch my cheek – you’d have thought I’d just come back from offering my first beard to Juventus, rather than the provinces. I can’t say I blame Aulus for avoiding such a spectacle.’ He laughed. ‘Elena was always wonderful at fussing over you both.’ Titus snorted. ‘Mother will never accept that we’ve grown up.’ He looked at Marcus archly and added, ‘Though maybe, when I get as many greys as you’ve got now, she might get there.’ He laughed heartily. ‘You think five years has been any kinder to you?’ He gestured at Titus’ longer-than-usual curls and said, ‘These aren’t the colour they used to be, in case you haven’t looked in a mirror lately. Come – let’s get you some wine.’

They settled onto a dining couch beside one another. A servant brought them wine, and it was then that Aulus saw Titus and raised a hand, though he made no attempt to come over to where they sat. ‘Who’s that with my brother?’ Titus asked. ‘The man on the left is Flaminia’s uncle, Flaminius Deuter.’ Flaminia was Marcus’ wife. ‘He’s here visiting for a few days with my favourite person, cousin Lucius. I’ll introduce you later - you’ll love him.’ He said this with an expression that said quite the contrary. He continued on, ‘With Flaminius is Naevius – Lollius Naevius. He came out of nowhere, but most people reckon he’s the richest man in Lavinium.’ He added dryly, ‘Though you know how folks like to say such things with no evidence to speak of. He fancies himself a patron of sportsmen, and a philosopher besides.’ ‘He’s Aulus’ patron?’ Marcus shrugged a little. ‘I’m not sure. Aulus hasn’t talked to me about it. I see them together often though, so perhaps.’ ‘Mother told me in her letters he’s been going from strength to strength in all the competitions.’ In a jocular way, he rubbed his hands. ‘He sure can fling a discus like no man I’ve ever seen, despite being skinnier than any of the other competitors – a great advantage.’ Titus looked at him archly. ‘And you make a lot of money from his performances, I suppose.’ He grinned. ‘I may’ve won a wager or two made with the unwary; but so has Aulus. He bets on himself, you know, and has made quite a neat sum that way, believe me.’ Titus shook his head, though he felt a spike of affection towards his little brother. ‘He always did have a high opinion of himself.’

#original fiction #octituslartius #ocmarcusvibius #ocauluslartius #ancient rome #jpdoingwords #working title: floralia