open RP, Octavian: o tempora, o mores!

[fiercefluffy.livejournal.com]

Octavian had seen a sign-up sheet for a Valentine's Day event. The Encyclopedia Britannica had become Octavian's best friend, and resorting to this work, he learned that some crazy cult had swept the globe, become the dominant cultural force in the West, and co-opted perfectly good holidays. His familiar Lupercalia had become a celebration ostensibly to honor some Christian 'bishop'.

This led him to ponder many things. Over his solitary light dinner in the Great Hall, he ruminated:

How could an obscure religious fringe group based on quasi-cannibalistic rites grow to such power?

Should he sign up for this Valentine thing, in order to become more familiar with new practices, or should he abstain to show disapproval?

Would it be at all feasible to procure for his friend and sometime employee Titus Pullo a wench with whom to celebrate the Lupercalia? Pullo had mentioned before the disappointing lack of prostitutes at Hogwarts. What had he said was the modern term? Ah, yes. Spice Girls. Octavian would have to see about procuring a Spice Girl for his friend. Pullo deserved it!

Comments

[fiercefluffy.livejournal.com]

There are times when Maia reminds Octavian of his mother or of things his mother likes, and at those times, he is hardly drawn to her -- quite the opposite. Then there are times when Maia does or says something that Octavian's mother would herself disapprove of, and at those times, Octavian quite likes the idea of inflicting her on Atia. Preferably as a fait accompli. Something Atia can't undo or sever from him, and will hate that she can't.

He sets down his dinner roll and leans back a little from the table, regarding Maia with cool hauteur, that flicker of amusement flaring high enough to tug the corners of his mouth into an answering smirk.

"That isn't much of an answer." He's daring her to tell him more.

[hellminxmel.livejournal.com]

'No,' Maia agrees amiably. 'It's not.' She bites into the apple with sharp teeth, ripping out its flesh with gusto. She surveys him as she takes her time chewing, and then licks the juice running down its smooth red skin.

'What do you think of whores, Octavian?' The question is direct; Maia doesn't mince her words, and her eyes are unreadable. If he approves, or if he says he does and she doesn't think he's lying, she may as well offer herself. Maybe he'll be impressed. If not, well, Scotland's hardly paradise. There are bound to be prostitutes somewhere in the place.

[fiercefluffy.livejournal.com]

The little show with the apple is by no means wasted on Octavian.

Nor are the concurrent tracks of this conversation: one on the surface, the other running cold and swift and hidden as the Aqua Appia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aqua_Appia). (Yes, Octavian likens flirtation to aqueducts. Aqueducts are fascinating.)

"I think they serve a necessary civic function," he says. "Soldiers require them."

[hellminxmel.livejournal.com]

She fixes him with a green gaze. He can't be that thick, surely. Apparently he doesn't require them, then?

'I meant,' she adds casually, 'That you're probably going to have to talk to them if you want one for your friend. Just wanted to make sure you weren't going to insult them so badly they refused to turn up.'

Totally. The next bite of the apple is elegant and smooth, though her eyes do not lift from him.

[fiercefluffy.livejournal.com]

Octavian has no desire to explain his mother to Maia. As far as Maia needs to know, Octavian has never required the services of a prostitute. This is even true. He has never required it. It was his mother who required that he make use of such a service. The business had been accomplished reluctantly but well. He is a son of the Julii. He comports himself accordingly.

"I can pay well for it. Pullo is a soldier and accustomed to the availability of women to meet his needs. He has been lamenting the unavailability of -- I believe he said 'Spice Girls (http://community.livejournal.com/hogwarts_hocus/1508998.html?thread=76342406#t76342406)' -- modern prostitutes." Octavian shrugs -- not taking his eyes off Maia's apple.

If you want to be Octavian's lover, maybe you have to get with his friends?

[hellminxmel.livejournal.com]

Maia stares at him, and then bursts out laughing, the apple rolling carelessly onto the table, brown inside already. And, being Maia, she changes her shape to illustrate why she's laughing.

Her skin turns browner as she speaks, eyes turning a deep brown, too. Her hair cascades and tightens into curls. 'No. The Spice Girls were a group of singers,' she says in Mel B's (http://img.webring.com/r/m/melb/logo) throaty tones. 'Not celebrity prostitutes.' She could mention a few names, but they'd just fly over his head. Maia indicates herself. 'This was what the lead singer looked like. Are you sure Pullo wants such a woman?'

[fiercefluffy.livejournal.com]

To say that the Spice Girls are a group of singers does not distinguish them from prostitutes in Octavian's mind. It simply means they are a certain kind of prostitute, the kind hired for patrician banquets as entertainers (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Meretrix). He takes Maia's remark as emphasizing celebrity rather than prostitutes, meaning that these Spice Girls are perhaps not top-of-the-line goods.

Maia's transformation does surprise him. "That is an astonishing magic," he says. If Maia hoped for a more expressive reaction, she is not likely to get one. "As for the Spice Girls, I imagine Pullo's seen worse in Narbo. That lead singer would do perfectly well for him. If your imitation is a faithful representation of what I may expect, I would even say that this Spice Girl shows an aggressive spirit that Pullo might enjoy."

[hellminxmel.livejournal.com]

Maia's facade fades slowly into her normal face. She shakes her head. 'No, you're not getting it. They're free women. They just choose to dress like this. We don't have registered prostitutes like you did.' Where do you think we are, Thailand?

Interesting how he's totally nonplussed by her appearance. She inspects her apple. 'It wasn't magic; that's just what I do.'

[fiercefluffy.livejournal.com]

Octavian nods. He will have to look all this up in the Encyclopedia Britannica later. He knows that slavery has been abolished, in name, throughout most of the Western world.

"I have ample coin to hire a free woman," he says seriously. "Pullo seems highly interested in the Spice Girls, so I wish to hire one. Are they not for hire as entertainers?"

The fact the apple has gone brown does not escape his notice. "What you do interests me."

[hellminxmel.livejournal.com]

Why is she warning him? He's cute. It'll pass.

'They're just singers, and dancers,' she tells him, serious now. 'Nothing else at all.' And not even singers, really. 'If you try anything, you'll get a slap.' And who would want to marr that face? Okay, back to serious.

What she does interests him? Better keep doing it, then. Maia smiles. 'Glad to hear I can still snare a man's attention.'

[fiercefluffy.livejournal.com]

Octavian, who has no intention of 'trying anything' with the Spice Girls that might get him slapped, simply looks at her, that cool patrician look that says So?

"Perhaps a woman who resembles a Spice Girl, then," he says. "Titus Pullo has well earned a Spice Girl or two, if that's what he wants."

The way she has chosen to interpret his more personal remark does need correction, he supposes. Though her interpretation is not exactly wrong, it is not what he meant. "Changing your appearance so drastically and making fruit go overripe at a touch are hardly actions that could escape a man's attention," he tells her dryly.

[hellminxmel.livejournal.com]

Now those, she has to admit, are in no short supply. She looks at him, arrogant eyebrow raised. His So...? is delivered right back to him.

Maia smiles again, triumphant. See, she can have him if she tries hard enough without being a try-hard. 'Minor miracles,' she smirks, and then she does laugh. 'No. I'm not really very human, that's all.'

He's Roman. He should be able to deal with this. Maia trains her eyes on him, trying not to look nervous. 'How has Pullo earned them, may I ask?'

[fiercefluffy.livejournal.com]

He is indeed Roman. More, he's a pontifex. Still more, he has come to Hogwarts by means of a magic taught him by another pontifex (admittedly senile, but a pontifex nonetheless). Yes, Octavian can deal with this.

"We can talk about Pullo later." He dismisses that topic with a curt brief headshake. "If you are not human, Maia, what are you?" And do you have any gifts I can employ for troop transport, construction of new aqueducts, or taking over the Senate?

[hellminxmel.livejournal.com]

Well, okay. If he has to be so pushy. Maia doesn't illustrate her reveal with scorpions or snakes; she likes him too much for that. And he's very mistaken if he thinks he can reign Maia in to do any of his bidding. One: she has a mission. Two: her bosses wouldn't be pleased. Three: she only does it when there's something real in it for her.

'I'm a demon,' she says casually, and leans back to check his face.

[fiercefluffy.livejournal.com]

For Octavian, Christianity and its ancillary concepts are purely academic. Christ has not even been born yet, where he comes from; Judaism is an obscure provincial religion. The notion of a demon is to him somewhat more ambiguous (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Daemon_%28mythology%29). It smacks of Hellenism, which to Octavian is also largely academic. He can distinguish between eudaemon and kakodaemon on such an academic basis, though, and so he asks her -- with a not entirely serious gleam in his eye:

"The good sort, or the wicked sort?"

[hellminxmel.livejournal.com]

Maia snorts in laughter, and then tucks her hair behind her ear. 'Much as I'd love to tell you to look it up...well, Octavian. I can create flame and cradle it in my hands. I make things go bad. I can shape my appearance into anything I desire, and can mask it completely. I ask you; why would a good demon need to do all of those things?'

[fiercefluffy.livejournal.com]

Octavian's expression does not change. He watches the movement of her fingers tucking that lock of hair back; he watches her laugh.

"I ask you in turn: why should I form assumptions on that basis? Fire is neither good nor ill in its own right. Rot is a condition of nature, which is necessary to prepare ground and to make way for future life. The shape of your appearance can be pleasing or ill. For that reason I asked for you to identify your own nature. Now you have answered --" his mouth twisted in a faint smile, not quite mocking, certainly not kind -- "and I believe you. A good daimon would have no reason to identify itself as evil."

It is perhaps a flaw in him that he is willing to explain his reasoning so thoroughly, even to a potential adversary. He has spent so long unheard that he cannot resist when it seems someone will hear him out.

"Now I ask another question."

He leans forward on one elbow, still with that crooked not-quite-smile.

"Why should I care?"

[hellminxmel.livejournal.com]

Maia smiles almost-mockingly. 'The cause of rot,' she points out, 'Is generally considered to be a bad thing. Flame is related to hell in my understanding--' (despite some parts of Hell being about as cold as you can get--) 'And, really, my appearance being pleasing is very much the point of some demons. Ever read--no, you won't have,' she cuts herself off. No Milton for him.

'You're very logical, aren't you,' she says, eyes boring into his. 'Ready to explain everything. Not that I mind--indeed, I'm quite flattered--but if you spend time yammering about your reasons for believing something about someone, they'll have drawn their sword and run you through before you've got past the first pentameter.'

She roasts her apple into ashes.

'You asked, I answered. I don't suppose you want me to be completely contrary all the time? It's thirsty work, and you're not my opponent.'

[fiercefluffy.livejournal.com]

"That was a waste of a good apple. You seem to enjoy being contrary much of the time," Octavian observes. "I do not think my preference has much to do with that. I do think that if you did not wish me to know you were a demon, you would not have made a point of exhibiting your powers."

[hellminxmel.livejournal.com]

Maia wrinkles her nose. 'No, it was brown.' She's picky. 'And it wasn't a point. I've just got used to using them among my equals.' Is she flattering?

[fiercefluffy.livejournal.com]

"It was not brown until you made it rot."

She must be flattering, because Octavian knows very well he has no powers to compare with Maia's. Oh, he is not without assets: he has his brain, and he has his looks (a young Ganymede), and he has the noble blood of the Julii and the wealth of Julius Caesar. But he cannot create fire without a wand, and even with a wand the flame his Incendio will produce is a weak flicker. Much less can he transform into the likeness of another person, which is a shame, for he would transform into Mark Antony and cease the needless legal delays Antony has caused in the transferral of Caesar's estate.

"Maia," he says -- watching her, always watching her, but less now to gauge his reaction than merely for his own pleasure in the watching -- "perhaps you know that in Rome, when a general has won a great victory, he is given a great procession to match its glory. We call it a triumph (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roman_triumph). The general rides in a chariot applauded by all the people. As he rides, a slave is at his side all the while, whispering to him. What the slave says is this: Memento mori. 'Remember you are mortal.' It is a caution against hubris."

He picks up another apple, the twin of the one she incinerated, but he does not bite into it, only holds it. "It is an injunction I intend not to forget."

[hellminxmel.livejournal.com]

She spreads her hands. 'I can't help it. It's what fruit does when it's near me for too long. Flowers wilt, grass dies. I'd be a horrible person to take to the Chelsea Flower Show.' Only when she breaks the skin, though, does it rot as fast as that.

And she gives back what she gets. 'It's good that only one of us has that little hurdle to contend with, isn't it? I'm not mortal. But hubris is sent down by the gods on those who deserve it. And I--' She tilts her head, black hair licking down her back as she repeats the words she has said so many times before--'Am just doing my job.'

[fiercefluffy.livejournal.com]

"Hubris is an inborn flaw," Octavian corrects. "You will do your job, and I someday will do mine, when the time comes. At present, I prepare." And you will not divert me, his cool gaze implies. Though the detour might be pleasant, if I should allow it.

"If fruit rots and flowers die when you are near them for too long, then you should admire them from a distance," he tells her. "The spectacle and miasma of decay would not compliment you."

[hellminxmel.livejournal.com]

Maia raises an eyebrow. When you play the game, you expect the other person to lose. She swings her legs over the bench, and stands.

'I'll see you around, Octavian,' she informs him, snapping the bobble on her wrist. It depends where. Maia sort of hopes she meets him in his own time, when she's on a mission; she'd have much more chips to bargain with. 'Can't let business come before pleasure, after all...'

Wow, is she ever going to be upset when he doesn't deliver rotting flower stalks to her room.