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Amica
- Thread starter Velut Luna
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I think also that Luna's captured very well the experience of being plunged into a foreign language environment -
I've experienced being in both Amica's position (though alas not actually as a slavegirl),
and in my namesake's (where I tried to teach as patiently as Luna's portraying me doing!).
Incidentally, if you notice errors in Amica's Latin, they're intentional,
naturally she makes mistakes!
I've experienced being in both Amica's position (though alas not actually as a slavegirl),
and in my namesake's (where I tried to teach as patiently as Luna's portraying me doing!).
Incidentally, if you notice errors in Amica's Latin, they're intentional,
naturally she makes mistakes!
A kind invitation, Luna, but I'm enjoying the recipes far more from your writing
Is that thunder?
No, it's Wragg's stomach rumbling
Velut Luna
Sibilla Cumana
A little fun... 
I'm here a little more than half a day in this house, fall under the clutches of Eulalia, the pedagogue, who already that she wants I know the declinations, conjugate verbs, to properly use the consecutio temporum , and, surprise, surprise, she sent me the correction of the text with the word chiton in Greek χιτών!
How many raps take on my fingers before learning a little Latin?
So as not to make too much bad impression, poor me, I just know draw some runes to make prophecies, spells or curses
.
P.S. but she confuses cannellini and cannelloni. Two raps on her fingers!
How many raps I take on my fingers before learning a little English?
Oh poor Amica, oh poor me, where I happened,I think also that Luna's captured very well the experience of being plunged into a foreign language environment -
I've experienced being in both Amica's position (though alas not actually as a slavegirl),
and in my namesake's (where I tried to teach as patiently as Luna's portraying me doing!).
Incidentally, if you notice errors in Amica's Latin, they're intentional,
naturally she makes mistakes!
I'm here a little more than half a day in this house, fall under the clutches of Eulalia, the pedagogue, who already that she wants I know the declinations, conjugate verbs, to properly use the consecutio temporum , and, surprise, surprise, she sent me the correction of the text with the word chiton in Greek χιτών! How many raps take on my fingers before learning a little Latin? So as not to make too much bad impression, poor me, I just know draw some runes to make prophecies, spells or curses. P.S. but she confuses cannellini and cannelloni.
Two raps on her fingers! How many raps I take on my fingers before learning a little English?
Velut Luna
Sibilla Cumana
Amica 10
At last I’ve slept in a bed! I’d like to stay here all day, I want to sleep. but I’m woken up by a little rough tongue licking the fingertips of my right hand, teeth playing at biting, a small mouth trying to suck, a warm mass of soft hair sneaking between my arm and my body, looking for something, then back up to my breasts. I daren’t move for fear of disturbing your sleep, but I gently grasp the little kitten. Its bright little yellow eyes are like flames, its long, very dark fur is softer than the finest wool. This little night-elf stretches out his nose and presses it to my face to smell me, to find out what is this new creature in his house. I caress him, he’s purring with pleasure, curling up between my breasts, that's a warm, soft place to sleep, to be cuddled, to purr.
The first noises in the house, the new day begins. You too wake up, giving me a caress me as if I'm your favourite pet. The kitten would like to go on sleeping on my breast, but it’s time to get up, he runs off and hides under the bed. We put soft towel around our waists, offer fresh leaves to the gods, and then quickly return to the bathroom for our morning wash. We clean ourselves with the softly foaming soap – it’s soap of Aleppo, you tell me, from a far-off country – and we clean our mouths with sage leaves and pumice powder.
We meet one of the other slaves, Udij, black and beautiful as a basalt statue. We link hands, exchange smiles and greetings, whispering so as not to make much noise. We massage each other's bodies with scented oil, then you take me by the hand, our work awaits us - indeed work must not wait! We go through the door that gives access to another part of the house, and I’m amazed, fascinated, by the beauty of this hall with columns around a bathing pool, in the centre of which there’s a black statue of a young man dancing. I marvel at the poise of the body, the hair that seems to move with the movements of his limbs. He is 'the dancing satyr,' a god of the woods who’s come into the house to watch his nymphs, us slavegirls.
Lucius has just got out of bed, we're not late. The slavegirl who sleeps in his room helps him to gird his loins with a soft, white cloth, then we go into his private bathroom. Our duty is to wash his body. He’s naked before me now, I bow my head in greeting and submission, and, feeling a little embarrassed, I kneel in the water. With a sea-sponge and soap of Aleppo I begin to wash his body. He has beautiful muscles just covered with a thin layer of fat. His stomach is no longer as slender as that of a youth, but his figure still carries the strength of a powerful man. I see some scars on his limbs, from minor injuries – he’s a brave soldier. His body is completely shaved, I hesitate to wash his virile member, but his smile encourages me. There should be no shame, we’re all of us, both men and women, as nature has intended us to be. I'm surprised to notice a visible wound just above his pubic bone, to the right. It’s probably not been healed very long. The cut looks very sharp, but it is crossed by other short scars at regular intervals. I wipe his lightly tanned skin with a soft cloth, then massage his muscles for a long time with scented oil, until it’s almost absorbed by his skin.
At last I’ve slept in a bed! I’d like to stay here all day, I want to sleep. but I’m woken up by a little rough tongue licking the fingertips of my right hand, teeth playing at biting, a small mouth trying to suck, a warm mass of soft hair sneaking between my arm and my body, looking for something, then back up to my breasts. I daren’t move for fear of disturbing your sleep, but I gently grasp the little kitten. Its bright little yellow eyes are like flames, its long, very dark fur is softer than the finest wool. This little night-elf stretches out his nose and presses it to my face to smell me, to find out what is this new creature in his house. I caress him, he’s purring with pleasure, curling up between my breasts, that's a warm, soft place to sleep, to be cuddled, to purr.
The first noises in the house, the new day begins. You too wake up, giving me a caress me as if I'm your favourite pet. The kitten would like to go on sleeping on my breast, but it’s time to get up, he runs off and hides under the bed. We put soft towel around our waists, offer fresh leaves to the gods, and then quickly return to the bathroom for our morning wash. We clean ourselves with the softly foaming soap – it’s soap of Aleppo, you tell me, from a far-off country – and we clean our mouths with sage leaves and pumice powder.
We meet one of the other slaves, Udij, black and beautiful as a basalt statue. We link hands, exchange smiles and greetings, whispering so as not to make much noise. We massage each other's bodies with scented oil, then you take me by the hand, our work awaits us - indeed work must not wait! We go through the door that gives access to another part of the house, and I’m amazed, fascinated, by the beauty of this hall with columns around a bathing pool, in the centre of which there’s a black statue of a young man dancing. I marvel at the poise of the body, the hair that seems to move with the movements of his limbs. He is 'the dancing satyr,' a god of the woods who’s come into the house to watch his nymphs, us slavegirls.
Lucius has just got out of bed, we're not late. The slavegirl who sleeps in his room helps him to gird his loins with a soft, white cloth, then we go into his private bathroom. Our duty is to wash his body. He’s naked before me now, I bow my head in greeting and submission, and, feeling a little embarrassed, I kneel in the water. With a sea-sponge and soap of Aleppo I begin to wash his body. He has beautiful muscles just covered with a thin layer of fat. His stomach is no longer as slender as that of a youth, but his figure still carries the strength of a powerful man. I see some scars on his limbs, from minor injuries – he’s a brave soldier. His body is completely shaved, I hesitate to wash his virile member, but his smile encourages me. There should be no shame, we’re all of us, both men and women, as nature has intended us to be. I'm surprised to notice a visible wound just above his pubic bone, to the right. It’s probably not been healed very long. The cut looks very sharp, but it is crossed by other short scars at regular intervals. I wipe his lightly tanned skin with a soft cloth, then massage his muscles for a long time with scented oil, until it’s almost absorbed by his skin.
Wonderful thick description Luna...the detailing is superb. Loved the kitten part...such a nice touch to set the mood for this episode. The Lucius bath scene is a gem too!
Velut Luna
Sibilla Cumana
a little?A little fun...
P.S. but she confuses cannellini and cannelloni.
How many raps I take on my fingers before learning a little English?
teleportingI didn't know the Romans had cameras....
Velut Luna
Sibilla Cumana
Amica 11
'Jentaculum' is the first period dedicated to food during the long day ahead of us. There’s bread, honey, cheese, eggs, milk, pancakes, and biscuits dipped in wine. Everything is on the table at the centre of the 'triclinium', the dining-room.
In the house of Lucius even slaves in his service can enter the 'triclinium' to take their food. They eat sitting on wooden stools set out in one of the 'alae', the rooms at the side of the atrium. I take a piece of bread and dip it in the warm milk.
Lucius waits for Fulvia Lucilla Galla, his wife, before being served by the slave who holds the tray. Now the Mistress is late, and this irritates him a little, he has to go to Forum. At last, preceded by a procession of beautiful slaves, Fulvia comes and sits beside him. Immediately the slaves serve them with food. Breakfast is not substantial, it is just a simple meal, and each eats as much as he pleases.
Almost hidden behind the door-jamb, I observe a curious scene. Lucius and Fulvia are discussing something, I don’t know what. Whatever the topic, I infer that their opinions differ. With a gesture of impatience, Lucius calls Eulalia. There’s a brief exchange of words, Lucius nods and Fulvia does too, at least they agree on this.
I am summoned, I approach hesitantly. Fulvia looks at me, calls two slaves and tells them something. Another slave takes off my dress, I kneel naked in front of the lady reclining in the triclinium. She looks at my eyes, face and hair. The slave who’s taken off my dress unties my ponytail and begins to comb my hair.
I stay still, surprised, I don’t understand what’s happening. Your smile makes me feel better. In the meantime the other two slaves are back, one with a metal box covered with a finely decorated lid, the other carries a dark, blood-red, folded fabric. The slave who has combed me now braids it with a red ribbon. She seems irritated that my sleek locks rebel at every twist. She picks them up again into a plait positioned higher, on top of my head, twining the red ribbon around more than half the length.
The second slave opens the ornamental box decorated. It contains a palette of colours, from pink to green, from yellow to blue, through all shades of color, in glowing potions of a kind of creamy, colourful paste. Fulvia chooses one, picking it on the tip of a finger. It’s azure blue (lapis lazuli). She spreads it over my eyelids, working the paste with her finger into a thin layer, from the centre outwards and then upwards, adjusting it with another, clean finger. She looks satisfied with the result.
She takes a little stick, and with it she thinks to cover my eyelashes with a dark cream, with a nod of her head she makes a gesture of denial, then smiling at me she takes a little bit of blue on her finger and smears it on my lips, miming the movements that I must repeat to get the result she wants.
She turns to you, you’re looking surprised at my transformation, she nods her satisfaction, pleased with the task she’s accomplished.
She signals me to get up. A slave shoes my feet with a pair of sandals, and ties long straps around my calves. The two maidservants, after laying out the long red fabric, approach me. One holds a corner of the fabric steady on my right shoulder while the other turns me around. It wraps around my body above my breasts, for two turns. The second corner is connected to the first with a copper clip with spiked tips. The fabric falls from my shoulder over my arm like a loose sleeve.
A second cloth is wrapped around my hips, lifting a little the one that has become my dress, so that it falls a little below my knees, they’re too knobbly to leave bare. For a belt I have a chain of shining copper that holds the fabric around my pelvis and buttocks enhancing the profile of my perfect loins. A pair of bracelets in bright copper are set around my upper arm, another on my right wrist.
The cloth hanging in front of me is lifted up, a slave takes my left arm and bends it, placing the fabric on my forearm, like a cape, held up just enough so it doesn’t touch the ground. Two thin copper rings are hung on my ears. My dressing is finished, the slavegirl has been transformed into an elegant, sensuous doll!
Fulvia beckons me back to her, then makes me walk from right to left and back again. The sandals have a raised heels, but I don’t find it difficult to walk. As a child and as a young girl I used to walk on the toes of my bare feet so as not to feel the cold of the stone floor of my house. My step is confident and elegant. Fulvia gestures me to raise my chin a little, to bring my shoulders back, move my body slightly while I’m walking.
Yes, Fulvia Lucilla Galla, mine is the step of a queen - and I am one, now that my father has been murdered, my mother abused and raped, my brothers mercilessly beheaded by the treacherous guests who kidnapped me. I am the queen of my people, even if I'm now the slave of a slave in your house. My gaze into your eyes as I approach tells you this, my head turned slightly to the side in an attitude of defiance, my lips slightly parted in a way that will show the flashing light of my pearly teeth. You grasps it in a moment, only we females understand the nuances of a glance, the slight tension in the muscles of the face, like the she-wolves of the pack practise showing their fangs, to reveal the status of each one.
Just now you’re the top female, the leader of the pack, but you're just a barbarian plebea, a enriched man’s woman, but I'm a queen. You lift your chin, look into my eyes, I bow my head a little, just a nod, while keeping my eyes fixed on yours. You accept my submission, but you know who’s before you. No-one else has caught these ethereal notes, these glances that last just a twinkling of an eye. Don’t worry, Fulvia Lucilla Galla, I'm going to make a good impression when your guy puts me on display, there’ll be such a beautiful animal walking today in the Forum, he’ll have a virgin queen on his lead, not a slave!
'Jentaculum' is the first period dedicated to food during the long day ahead of us. There’s bread, honey, cheese, eggs, milk, pancakes, and biscuits dipped in wine. Everything is on the table at the centre of the 'triclinium', the dining-room.
In the house of Lucius even slaves in his service can enter the 'triclinium' to take their food. They eat sitting on wooden stools set out in one of the 'alae', the rooms at the side of the atrium. I take a piece of bread and dip it in the warm milk.
Lucius waits for Fulvia Lucilla Galla, his wife, before being served by the slave who holds the tray. Now the Mistress is late, and this irritates him a little, he has to go to Forum. At last, preceded by a procession of beautiful slaves, Fulvia comes and sits beside him. Immediately the slaves serve them with food. Breakfast is not substantial, it is just a simple meal, and each eats as much as he pleases.
Almost hidden behind the door-jamb, I observe a curious scene. Lucius and Fulvia are discussing something, I don’t know what. Whatever the topic, I infer that their opinions differ. With a gesture of impatience, Lucius calls Eulalia. There’s a brief exchange of words, Lucius nods and Fulvia does too, at least they agree on this.
I am summoned, I approach hesitantly. Fulvia looks at me, calls two slaves and tells them something. Another slave takes off my dress, I kneel naked in front of the lady reclining in the triclinium. She looks at my eyes, face and hair. The slave who’s taken off my dress unties my ponytail and begins to comb my hair.
I stay still, surprised, I don’t understand what’s happening. Your smile makes me feel better. In the meantime the other two slaves are back, one with a metal box covered with a finely decorated lid, the other carries a dark, blood-red, folded fabric. The slave who has combed me now braids it with a red ribbon. She seems irritated that my sleek locks rebel at every twist. She picks them up again into a plait positioned higher, on top of my head, twining the red ribbon around more than half the length.
The second slave opens the ornamental box decorated. It contains a palette of colours, from pink to green, from yellow to blue, through all shades of color, in glowing potions of a kind of creamy, colourful paste. Fulvia chooses one, picking it on the tip of a finger. It’s azure blue (lapis lazuli). She spreads it over my eyelids, working the paste with her finger into a thin layer, from the centre outwards and then upwards, adjusting it with another, clean finger. She looks satisfied with the result.
She takes a little stick, and with it she thinks to cover my eyelashes with a dark cream, with a nod of her head she makes a gesture of denial, then smiling at me she takes a little bit of blue on her finger and smears it on my lips, miming the movements that I must repeat to get the result she wants.
She turns to you, you’re looking surprised at my transformation, she nods her satisfaction, pleased with the task she’s accomplished.
She signals me to get up. A slave shoes my feet with a pair of sandals, and ties long straps around my calves. The two maidservants, after laying out the long red fabric, approach me. One holds a corner of the fabric steady on my right shoulder while the other turns me around. It wraps around my body above my breasts, for two turns. The second corner is connected to the first with a copper clip with spiked tips. The fabric falls from my shoulder over my arm like a loose sleeve.
A second cloth is wrapped around my hips, lifting a little the one that has become my dress, so that it falls a little below my knees, they’re too knobbly to leave bare. For a belt I have a chain of shining copper that holds the fabric around my pelvis and buttocks enhancing the profile of my perfect loins. A pair of bracelets in bright copper are set around my upper arm, another on my right wrist.
The cloth hanging in front of me is lifted up, a slave takes my left arm and bends it, placing the fabric on my forearm, like a cape, held up just enough so it doesn’t touch the ground. Two thin copper rings are hung on my ears. My dressing is finished, the slavegirl has been transformed into an elegant, sensuous doll!
Fulvia beckons me back to her, then makes me walk from right to left and back again. The sandals have a raised heels, but I don’t find it difficult to walk. As a child and as a young girl I used to walk on the toes of my bare feet so as not to feel the cold of the stone floor of my house. My step is confident and elegant. Fulvia gestures me to raise my chin a little, to bring my shoulders back, move my body slightly while I’m walking.
Yes, Fulvia Lucilla Galla, mine is the step of a queen - and I am one, now that my father has been murdered, my mother abused and raped, my brothers mercilessly beheaded by the treacherous guests who kidnapped me. I am the queen of my people, even if I'm now the slave of a slave in your house. My gaze into your eyes as I approach tells you this, my head turned slightly to the side in an attitude of defiance, my lips slightly parted in a way that will show the flashing light of my pearly teeth. You grasps it in a moment, only we females understand the nuances of a glance, the slight tension in the muscles of the face, like the she-wolves of the pack practise showing their fangs, to reveal the status of each one.
Just now you’re the top female, the leader of the pack, but you're just a barbarian plebea, a enriched man’s woman, but I'm a queen. You lift your chin, look into my eyes, I bow my head a little, just a nod, while keeping my eyes fixed on yours. You accept my submission, but you know who’s before you. No-one else has caught these ethereal notes, these glances that last just a twinkling of an eye. Don’t worry, Fulvia Lucilla Galla, I'm going to make a good impression when your guy puts me on display, there’ll be such a beautiful animal walking today in the Forum, he’ll have a virgin queen on his lead, not a slave!
P
Pia
Guest
Beautiful imagery
Lovely. I can't express it, but there is a deft touch in the way you have revealed the queenly nature of our heroine, her disdain for some of the people she finds herself among. Nice work!
Luna just did it again....the realistic detailing is fascinating....never occurred to me that a girl would wear her hair in a pony tail in Roman times...of course they did....so much in life goes unnoticed until someone like Luna shines a light on it.....while, at the same time, she slowly builds tension to the breaking point. Wow Luna Wow!
Velut Luna
Sibilla Cumana
We have a fixed point on the issue of women's hairstyles in Rome.
Forget everything you see in the iconography, those complicated hairstyles could afford only the matrons who lost hours in the hands of their slaves combing.
The woman of low social class used to wear her hair down: the 'incompti capilli' (hair not combed), the woman of mid social class simply dividing the hair with a parting in the middle and then tied them behind the neck or they did braids collected in a rim on the front, the girls could also just pick up the hair with a bun on the back or with a spiral knot in the top of the head.
The styles are fairly simple, and range from the bun or chignon and how closely tie the hair at the crown of the head with tape, to the custom of the Etruscans.
Men and women depilate using wax, razor and tweezers; hair removal for women of course had to be very careful. In general, they were used the same types of cosmetics that we still use today: foundation, lipstick, blush, eye shadow on the eyelids and eyebrows, and eyeliner that came from India.
And the slaves? Not wear certain hairstyles complicated as Roman matrons, to not have hair on her face while carrying out their work, simply collected the hair by tying behind the neck.
RacingRodent
Consul
Very useful for a lot of our writers...might want a copy of this for Roman Resources
yes, Luna and I had one of our interesting debates about 'ponytail',
I wasn't quite sure if it gave the right idea, but the evidence Luna's provided
made me decide it's a reasonably close modern equivalent.
It's very enjoyable working with Luna on this,
I think we're both learning a lot,
certainly she's bringing the life of a slavegirl in a posh Pompeian house vividly to life for me.
And the change of tune at the end of this episode XI is a wonderful turn,
as soon as I read Luna's original I thought, wow, this is magnificent!
I wasn't quite sure if it gave the right idea, but the evidence Luna's provided
made me decide it's a reasonably close modern equivalent.
It's very enjoyable working with Luna on this,
I think we're both learning a lot,
certainly she's bringing the life of a slavegirl in a posh Pompeian house vividly to life for me.
And the change of tune at the end of this episode XI is a wonderful turn,
as soon as I read Luna's original I thought, wow, this is magnificent!