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much-vexed-glowy-mimic · 2 months ago

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Just being my obsessive self and making notes on some of the various versions of Music Meister: TB&TB Meister, Pride Meister and Speed Force Meister.

Starting with the original, TB&TB Meister.

-Meister's color scheme here is purple and green, reminiscing of Joker's, but his colors are both much darker (the purple) and paler (the green) than Joker's colors are. Joker's colors are also warmer hues, Meister's are cold.

I can talk a bunch about what these 2 colors mean, but in my mind they're trying tell you these 2 are the same type. Absurd, silly and extremely dangerous. -Meister generally seems really good natured or at least has a good sense of humor since he allows the others to sing this:

"They're dastardly, despicable Disturbingly inexplicable

"And imminently kickable!" "That dirty, rotten rat is..."

Of course, it's likely him making them sing that because he embraces his role as a villain completely and it's the first time he's ever appeared.

-Controlling people is easy for him. No matter their power level, no matter what they are, if they can hear him, he can control them. -I'm guessing, but I don't think he's used to people being able to resist him. I think he has to use slightly more control/power the groups of villains and heroes. Slightly more.

-His shades have some animation, but a lot less than we'd expect?

-His mood can swing abruptly, but he's generally just really jovial. -He's able to alter his clothes however he wants. -He's completely dependent on his voice, his baton and others fighting for him and likely has little physical combat experience. We do see him use his baton, but once it becomes clear it can be avoided, Meister flees. If he cannot control somebody, if he has nobody to fight for him, if they're too fast for his baton blasts, he's going to flee. He's so combat adverse he won't even jump in and fight when somebody is overwhelmed by his minions. -I've said this before and I'll say it again. Meister's motives are really weird for how absurdly powerful he is. He wants money and praise. Both TB&TB and Speed Force Meister are extremely interested in money.

(-This could be art direction thing, but he's so fucking massive. He's built like a house.)

-His eyes are never shown.

-He's defeated in the end of the episode with one punch. General note going forward:

-I think Meister is completely serious about his role as a "maestro/conductor/leader/director". Once you put him in a group he's automatically going to become the leader of it, he cannot help himself.

Next up, Pride Meister.

-Pride Meister's color scheme is pretty much in line with TB&TB's, it just veers into blue.

-He appears to be missing an entire tooth.

-He has a much worse temper. He's never seen smiling and he's incensed by Connor Hawke blocking his voice. (Tho, really, his bad mood could come from being disturbed and he REALLY WANTS TO PERFORM PHANTOM)

-Combat level is the same as TB&TB's. He's just so angry in the end that he doesn't flee.

-He's defeated in the end of comic with one punch.

-The name "Darius Chapel" is very widely believed to Meister's actual name. Considering it's director's name and I think Meister will automatically take the lead in anything, it's completely possible. The major problem is this comic tells you almost nothing about what's going on because it's about Connor Hawke's letter to his mother. You also have to wonder if Meister's had the time to put his name/alias on that banner.

-I'm not even sure what he's doing there? There's an blasting machine on the roof which suggests he wants to blow something up? What is he blowing up? The building? This man wants money and he makes musicals, WHAT is he blowing up? The people after he's robbed them?

-We do see Pride Meister without his shades and it just shows how bad his mood/temper is. This man is going to bite you.

Next, Speed Force Meister.

-Speed Force Meister changes his color scheme to green and red. With his need to be the leader in mind, the change makes sense. Fiddler, who started Symphonee, wears green and I think it ends up implying leadership here. Of course, he could be wearing it because he's the leader of his own section, the scientists and Mas y Menos. It should be noted Mod doesn't wear any green (so it's not a group thing), outright calls Fiddler "boss" and puts himself in supportive role. (Presumably because he knows Meister gets fucking weird about leadership roles.) Meister does call Fiddler the CEO, but an CEO answers to the Board of Directors and Meister might just think he's the director.

Meister's red accent likely comes from Symphonee's logo, which again makes me think he's really vying for the impression he's the leader of everything.

One reason I think this is the case is because he's wearing his original colors before joining Fiddler and Mod.

And once he loses Mas y Menos and Superboy, he goes back to it. He's so ready to leave after losing his fighters, but he's staying on because there's still a chance he can get some money out of it and he loves money.

-This Meister smiles and seems more in line with TB&TB Meister, he just strikes me as a much more malicious person.

-He seems genuinely fond of Fiddler, but he's much, much closer to Mod. (To the point Meister's shipping himself with Mod in the picture above. He could have said that differently, but he went shipping language)

-Meister positions himself as a "guide" for the scientists.

-Meister's face is an SCP. We get an exellect look at it in issue 1, but after that it's obscured and we don't see his eyes most of the time. (We ignore most of issue 6 in this house, I only like the part that reinforces he's besties with Mod.) It tends to be obscured by his shades, his hat or shadows.

The only time he's not wearing his shades is in the club and when they fall off/ (?) are knocked off (?) by Superboy (?). -Combat wise, he's much more aggressive than the 2 others. When Superboy and Kid Flash show up, Mod and Fiddler both flee, but Meister stays back to direct the fight and to capture Superboy and/or Kid Flash. (Of course this could be because Fiddler ordered it, but I think Meister's already set his sights on Superboy at that point.)

He's still completely dependent on his voice, his phone and Mas y Menos. (We do see him with a cane/baton, but that shows up once and he has it to look fancy)

-One thing that sets him apart from the others is he can use his hands to direct his powers. Meaning gagging him won't stop him.

-He's able to create the clothes and shades the twins and Superboy wear.

-His music appears visibly destructive on the environment?

-I'd love to see how his stint in Iron Heights went and what they got him arrested for? And what's up with him and Weather Wizard?

-This Meister isn't actively defeated at the end of the comic. He remains un-punched.

Also, one more thing:

"LA LA LA!" This could be nothing, but this is a master hypnotist that sings to get control over people. I'd be worried when he starts 'LA LA LA'-ing at me.

#music meister #isaac bowin #mad mod #batman

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megraen · 12 days ago

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Chapter Seven - Freedom or Death

WORD COUNT: 6,090

Darius Sextus Residence - Rome 195AD

When Fosca returned home that afternoon, having spent her day with most of Rome’s population at the Colosseum watching executions, she hadn’t expected to be greeted by her husband’s slaves with news that the Roman princess was currently resting in the tablinum. It had been a bewildering notion that Lucia would come here on the day that her attack had been executed. Had it been Fosca, she would have been drinking and celebrating the death of her attacker. Stepping into the tablinum, Fosca’s eyes narrowed on the princess. Lucia was sitting on a lounger, dressed in a simple gown, not in the usual slave’s tunic she would visit.

“This may be the first I have seen you in something that wasn’t just rags.” Fosca teased, trying to coax a reaction from her friend, yet Lucia didn’t speak; her eyes were downcast at her hands folded in her lap and the cup of wine sitting at a small table beside her untouched. Fosca frowned. “You are troubled.” She muttered, sitting beside the raven-haired woman.

“I cannot do this anymore…” Lucia forced out, raising her head to meet Fosca’s gaze. Fosca gasped at what she saw; the usual smiling and teasing woman was gone, and all that remained was a shell of a broken woman with dead eyes. Those once vibrant blues were dull. “Rome is killing me…and if I linger, I will take my life.” It was a bitter desire to admit, leaving even Fosca afraid. Death was only considered acceptable under three rules: to remedy a dishonour, old age, and to avoid forfeit of property. For Lucia to end her life to ease her unhappiness would be seen as a public insult.

“You cannot,” Fosca whispered harshly, cupping the woman’s face. “You must live. For your mother, for Acacius, for me.” She begged.

Lucia looked away shamefully. “I have decided I must leave Rome to finally be free of it all.” She pulled away from her friend’s hold and stood, moving to stand in the doorway to the gardens. Fosca’s eyes were trained on her, watching like a hawk for one ill move.

“Why now?” Fosca questioned. “Your attack was—”

“There will be more.” Lucia cut her off, causing the blonde to gape. How could she possibly know that? What reason did Lucia have to suspect that there would be another attack? Lucia sighed. “Countless Senators approached me before Crito’s execution, stating how they could have protected me. They have no honour, only caring for their desire for power.” Lucia explained, and Fosca shared that sentiment. What man ordered tried to woo a woman as she relived her assault? One without morals. “I am twenty- three years of age, and in a decade, many will argue that I can no longer bear sons; the older I age, the more desperate they will become.” Lucia reasoned, turning back to face her friend.

Fosca was frowning, but she understood. She nodded. “Where will you go?” She asked. The Roman Empire was vast and ever-expanding, and if Lucia truly wished to escape Rome and its clutches, she could travel by road to the north or take a boat to the south or east.

“North. To Germania.” Lucia spoke. This was the fastest path in the Roman Empire. One could hitch a ride on a merchant’s wagon along the Via Aurelia road, and then the. Via Julia Augusta road over the mountains into Germania. Ships across the sea would charge too much coin, and there would be a logbook keeping records. The roads would allow her to vanish with the hundreds of other travellers and merchants who used the roads. Lucia shared this with Fosca. The blonde was impressed with the plan; only she had found some minor issues.

Lucia would be too recognisable with her raven hair and clothes; therefore, her appearance would need to be changed. Fosca quickly summoned two slaves, ordering them to go into the markets before they closed and buy a blonde wig and a low-class travelling chiton. The slaves nodded and left promptly, going to complete their tasks.

“You need not waste your coin on me,” Lucia murmured, her brows furrowing, but Fosca waved her off.

“I’d rather have you alive and happy than knowing you died in despair.” Fosca reasons. “Besides, you won’t even make it one foot outside Rome looking as you do now. You must look not as you do now, and your appearance and beauty are well whispered within the city; I’m sure one would recognise you alone based on tales of your appearance.” She explained, adjusting Lucia’s pinned-back raven hair.

A blonde wig would blend in with her pale skin and blue eyes, dulling her eye-catching features. Dressing her down would also effortlessly make the guards ignore her, as none would expect some lower-class blonde woman to be the missing princess. When her husband had been home, Fosca often sat in when he entertained General Acacius, listening to them discuss war strategies.

Fosca glanced again at the untouched wine and frowned. “Have you eaten anything?” She asked, inspecting Lucia’s figure, trying to determine if she’d lost weight from lack of food or stress. When Lucia shook her head, confirming the blonde’s suspicions, Fosca tutted and ordered a slave to bring them food before getting the princess to sit back down. Fosca spent the rest of her evening soothing Lucia as a mother would a child. She could see with her eyes just how broken Lucia had become, a shell of her former self. In all the years she’d known the dark-haired woman, Lucia had always been strong-willed, capable of surviving anything the men of Rome had thrown at her, yet she could only ignore it for so long before it became too much.

While Fosca had a taste of the upper-class lifestyle as a Second in Command’s wife, with the position to attend parties and events, she wasn’t one of the elites as Lucia was, surrounded by Rome’s most influential and wealthy, such as Emperors and Senators, which decided the fate of the Roman Empire daily. A single choice could either have Rome continuing to prosper or let the great Empire fall into chaos.

The slaves brought trays of food: freshly roasted chicken, grapes, bread, cheeses, olives, fruits and various green vegetables, a selection fit for a guest of Lucia’s station. While Lucia didn’t eat much of the food provided for her, Fosca was just glad to see her eating something. After the meal, Fosca had her friend escorted to a guest chamber to rest, knowing the woman needed a good sleep, with the promise that no one would disturb her.

“Domina…” One of Fosca’s slaves approached her as she rested in her tablinum, sipping on wine after putting Lucia to bed. Fosca glanced up at the slave, a single well-maintained brow rising. She looked at the man, who had served her husband long before she married Darius. Fosca gestured for him to speak. “Are you sure this is wise? To go against the Emperors? It is treason.” He offered the advice, knowing that what his mistress was doing was extremely risky. If discovered, it would mean either exile or death, possibly even being made a slave, with consequences that a woman of Fosca’s breeding wouldn’t be able to survive. It also meant that upon Darius’s return to Rome, he would face punishment for his wife’s actions.

Fosca frowned. “You do not have the right to lecture me on what is right or wrong.” She stated firmly, reminding the man of his position as a slave. His duty was to serve, not provide input on how she conducted her affairs. “Lucia is a Roman citizen who has suffered. Therefore, she has every right to leave.”

“She is the property of the Emperors.” The slave tried to reason, believing that by hiding Lucia, Fosca was offending the Emperors, and he was trying to defend his master’s house. The notion of his words had his mistress seeing red.

“She is the property of her stepfather! General Acacius! Not the Emperors or the Senate!” Fosca barked harshly, slamming down her cup and spilling wine everywhere. The fact that she had to quote the law to a slave was ridiculous. She rose swiftly, turning on the slave. The slave flinched under her gaze, knowing he had indeed crossed a line. “If you even think about telling anyone—a single soul—about this, I will personally cut your throat.” Fosca hissed, sending him away with the flick of her wrist. She was seething as the slave left; her mood and desire for wine soured. Her jaw tightened, and Fosca knew she’d have to rein in her husband’s slaves because if a single one of them decided to talk or, worse, go straight to the Emperor’s to report what she was assisting Lucia with, it would be the end of her entire household, including the slaves. Every last one of them would be held accountable for treason.

Palace of Domitian - Rome 195AD

Geta was fuming. He had seen it as an insult that Lucia had chosen to leave the Colosseum before the end of the games he’d arranged in her honour. All of Rome had come to bear witness to Crito’s execution for the former Senator’s crimes against the princess, yet the moment the man had been killed, she’d left, returning to the Palace. She should have sat patiently and enjoyed the games while being in the public eye for their benefit. He and his brother were in a small, private dining room, enjoying an evening meal with paid female company, yet Geta was pacing, ignoring the women as he raged.

“Calm, brother.” Caracalla drawled. He was annoyed with how this was becoming a repeating occurrence. Lucia would do something, and Geta would always find a reason why it offended him. Caracalla couldn’t understand it. To him, Lucia was nothing more than a pretty face he wouldn’t mind taking into his bed, even if his twin had warned him not to do it—multiple times.

Geta scowled. “How can I be calm when she continues to humiliate us?” He hissed, fiddling with the rings on his left hand. He still hadn’t ceased pacing, and it was starting to drive Caracalla dizzy. The younger twin shook his head, trying to unfocus his eyes. “She couldn’t have just sat there? Obedient and dignified while all of Rome gazed upon her?” Geta sighed, finally ceasing his pacing. “Is that too much to ask?” He looked to his brother, who didn’t seem to care to answer, too engaged in drinking his wine. Geta’s hands clenched. He wanted to smack it from Caracalla’s hand and have his brother listen to him and converse with him. “Brother!” He seethed.

“What?” Caracalla groaned. He slouched back on the lounge he was lying on, the two women sitting with him flinching, scared of what both Emperors would do if they became enraged. “Why must you be so obsessed with her? Just ignore her. Lock her away.” Caracalla stressed, wishing to swiftly put an end to the one-sided conversation.

Geta stared at his twin, his mouth agape. “I am not obsessed with her.”

“You act like she is a brothel girl you keep returning to,” Caracalla spoke as if the notion of returning to the same prostitute was a joke. Caracalla preferred to sample each woman at least once, believing it was better to spread his seed than plant it in the same garden over and over. Geta rolled his eyes and made a sound of disgust.

“Lucia is no prostitute, and I’m NOT obsessed with her.” Geta barked before snorting. Obsessed with Lucia? The notion was laughable. The woman was clearly the one obsessed with him; otherwise, why else would she go out of her way to make his life miserable? Lucia seemed to be a bloodhound for always doing something to make him look bad in front of the Senate and Rome. Her ongoing escapades, blatant disrespect, and ignorance of the Imperial crown made the woman more trouble than she was worth. Had she not been Rome’s beloved princess, Geta would have wrung her little neck himself long ago.

Caracalla stood, picking up a cup of wine that Geta had forgotten and offering it to his brother. “Drink, brother! Be merry! For today was a good day! We saw much blood.” Geta stared down at his twin, fiddling with his rings one last time before accepting the drink. Caracalla smiled as Geta drank greedily, letting the wine dull his mind and distract him from thoughts of Lucia. “That’s the spirit!” Caracalla cheered, slapping his twin on the shoulder and guiding him to the lounge where the two women sat waiting. The men indulged their senses, drinking and feasting on the selections of goods prepared by the kitchen slaves. The brothel girls pawed at their bodies, rubbing the rugged plains of their chests, their fingers massaging their flesh. Geta and Caracalla reminisced about the games at the Colosseum, discussing how entertaining it was to witness the fallen Senator and guards meet their cruel fate, to be ripped apart by a lion for their crimes and offence towards their Emperors.

The twins had always loved the Colosseum, even as young children. Their father instilled in them a love for the violence and gore that occurred during a fight; to witness men slicing at each other’s flesh was a desperation for survival. It was the closest the Emperors would get to experiencing real war, the hype of battle, as they’d been sheltered due to their late father’s position as Emperor. Severus needed to ensure that his line would continue, which meant keeping his sons out of harm’s way. It also meant the twins had never received any formal military training. Geta and Caracalla didn’t understand the hard truths of swords and blood; they never knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of a weapon or face someone trying to kill them. Yet, Geta was smart enough to be aware of Rome’s various elite clawing to take the role of Emperor away from the twins.

The other viewing pleasure was Circus Maximus. It wasn’t as violent as watching two men hack and slash each other with swords, but the chariot-racing brought a thrill and excitement. Watching the chariots race around the long curved track, with the chance of chariots banging into one another and sending a man onto the tracks, only to have his body crushed under the hoofs of horses and wheels of chariots. For the twins, it was another opportunity to drink and get high from the thrill of death.

Both men were well intoxicated when one of the slaves had entered the small room, their eyes downcast and fearful. The Emperors paid the man no mind, too busy engaging in drink and the lovely company of the prostitutes. After a few more awkward shifts from the male slave, he stepped forward, speaking to gain the attention of Geta and Caracalla. The twins turned to him with a scornful look, greatly annoyed that their celebration was being interrupted.

“My most sincere apologies, your majesties.” The slave bowed low. “But I bring troubling news.”

“Have the Praetorians handle it,” Caracalla said, brushing the man away, not wanting any Imperial matters to distract them from their pleasure. He looked to the brothel girl sitting next to him, the hand he had cupping her exposed thigh slowly edging up higher beneath her flimsy chiton.

The slave shifted again. “They need only your orders to act. Princess Lucia—”

the sound of a glass shattering cut him off. His eyes widened, and he shrunk back as Geta jumped, stepping over the broken cup and wine that pooled on the floor. Just at the mention of that woman, he had his blood heating with rage, throwing his wine aside and storming from the small dining room, ignoring his brother’s protests.

Geta had stormed through the courtyard and up the stairs to Lucia’s chambers, bursting the door open to find the room completely devoid of the raven-haired woman. She was gone. That conniving and infuriating woman was gone. “Praetorians!” He bellowed, gazing at the guards outside the chambers long before he arrived. “Where is she?!” Geta stomped up to them, his eyes ablaze with fury. He listened as the guards blundered out their words, explaining that they’d searched the Palace from top to bottom, even the areas reserved for slaves and forbidden for Lucia to enter, but she was gone entirely.

The news did not sit well with Geta. He turned his gaze toward the windows that overlooked Rome, seeing the darkness blanketing over the city. Geta knew she was out there somewhere and deemed the woman beyond foolish. While Rome was somewhat safe during the day, a beautiful woman like Lucia would be a walking meal for any red-blooded man looking for a feast to sink his cock into.

“I want every inch of Rome searched!” Geta barked, facing the Imperial guard. He didn’t care if all of Rome had learned about her disappearance; he just wanted her to return to him immediately. “And bring Lucilla to me! Now!” He started to pace in the small chambers, twirling his rings as he did his best to ignore how his heart raced in his chest. It would be on his and his brother’s heads if anything happened to her. He suspected Lucilla played a part in her daughter’s disappearance, as he refused to believe the woman would have no idea of her daughter’s comings and goings.

Geta turned his attention onto the room, pulling open drawers and cabinets as he searched the space, going through Lucia’s belongings as if a clue to her whereabouts would be revealed to him. None of her possessions seemed to be missing, which meant she had taken nothing with her when she left, not even to trade for coin. Throwing open the wardrobe doors, Geta searched furiously through her clothes, ripping each garment and drawer out and throwing it to the floor.

He paused when he noticed the false wooden bottom of the lowest shelf. Geta breathed deeply, knowing he had found something purposefully hidden from him and all those who served him. Lifting the wood away, he paused at the sight of the pure white chiton dress. Lifting it, he knew without having to see the rest of the items hidden away to come to the obvious conclusion. It was a wedding dress, and the orange veil and knotted belt were inside the compartment.

The sight of the garment pieces had his brows twitching, emotions fighting within him. Geta knew the only reason Lucia would have such items hidden away was for her to marry in secret, and it left him to ponder if she had a secret lover that she was venturing out to see to plan an elopement. Rage overtook Geta, flooding his system at the thought of Lucia marrying some unknown man, an offence to his ego. He wouldn’t let her marry. She was his prisoner, and he wouldn’t risk a potential male heir stealing his crown. Geta hadn’t even realised he’d been pulling at the dress in his hands until he heard the sound of fabric ripping, the white chiton breaking into two pieces.

He stood when Lucilla had finally arrived, the blonde woman staring at Geta with wide, concerned eyes. She remained still as Geta stepped closer, the white gown still in his hands. “You have been misleading us…” Geta spoke darkly. His eyes flickered past the woman, spotting his twin lingering in the doorway. “Lucia was getting married,” Geta spoke more to his twin than Lucilla. He threw the ripped gown at her feet. At the sight of it, Caracalla trudged forward, picking up the dress with a confused gaze. His eyes then looked to Lucilla, and both men stared her down.

“Who was worthy of such a woman’s hand?” Caracalla drawled, stepping closer to Lucilla, invading her personal space without care. Normally, Geta would advise his twin against it, but he didn’t care. He was too angry to stop Caracalla.

Lucilla remained still, unmoving under their scrutinising stares. “There is no one. I had arranged her wedding assemble years ago in the hopes of her future marriage.” She spoke truthfully, defending her daughter against the man’s outlandish claims. Neither men were convinced.

“Then where is she?” Geta hissed, his eyes narrowing. “Because she isn’t here or anywhere within the Palace.” He gestured around the space. His eyes softened when he noticed the shift in Lucilla’s demeanour, the once calm and stoic woman trembling when she learned that her daughter was missing.

“What?” Lucilla quaked, her eyes blown wide. “What do you mean?” She asked. The fear overtook her. How could her daughter not be here? Not be safe within her chambers at this time of night?

“You didn’t know?” Geta asked. Lucilla shook her head. She had no knowledge that her daughter was missing or why. Lucilla clutched at her chest, her heart feeling tight. The twins watched as the woman seemed struggling to breathe, and her eyes darted fearfully. “My lady…?” Geta reached for her tentatively but stepped back, shaking her head. Lucilla began to murmur ‘no’ repeatedly, unable to accept the news of her daughter missing. She rushed from the room without saying anything more, leaving the Emperors dumbfounded. They hadn’t expected such a reaction.

“She seems scared,” Caracalla murmured, blinking. The ripped dress was still in his hands, almost forgotten, as he turned to look at his twin. “Do you think she was involved?”

Geta shook his head. “No.” He began to pace, rubbing at his jaw as he thought. It was evident by Lucilla’s reaction that she hadn’t played a part in her daughter’s disappearance, nor did she know where the young woman was. Geta’s eyes moved to the ripped dress in his brother’s hands, and he knew Lucilla was lying to them. There was no way Lucia would hang onto a wedding dress for so long and have it hidden away unless there was a reason to hide it. The dress was also her current size, which meant it wouldn’t have fit her as a teenager. “But she was planning to marry Lucia under our noses,” Geta said, making his brother frown.

Caracalla looked at the dress in his hands, holding it up. “Well, she can’t marry anyone now.” He spoke proudly, admiring the massive tear in the fabric. It was unwearable in its current state, and the twins doubted that even the best tailors in Rome could fix it. Caracalla tossed the dress to the floor. “What do we do now…?” Caracalla asked his brother, his face blank as he stared in confusion.

“We spread the word that Lucia was kidnapped. Taken against her will.” Geta spoke, nodding his head in agreement with his idea.

Caracalla’s eyes went wide. “Lucia was kidnapped?!” He gasped, shocked that anyone could sneak into the Palace and take the woman away.

Geta forced his eyes to shut, breathing out through his nose and fighting the urge to yell at his twin for the man’s stupidity. “It’s what we’re going to tell people. We can’t have Rome knowing that she ran away.” He explained. Caracalla nodded slowly.

“So she wasn’t kidnapped?” Caracalla murmured, still clearly confused. Geta gritted his teeth; the more the man spoke stupidly, the more he needed to lecture Caracalla. The eldest twin knew that his brother’s mind wasn’t as sharp as it once was due to the effect of the disease eating at Caracalla’s manhood, but Geta still questioned how Caracalla couldn’t seem to process a single good thought in his head anymore.

“No. She wasn’t kidnapped.” Geta stated firmly, looking at his twin sharply. Caracalla’s confused expression lingered, but he didn’t ask any more tiring questions, much to Geta’s enjoyment.

Streets of Rome - Rome 195AD

Anyone who passed Lucia and Fosca on the streets of Rome could have assumed the two women were sisters or relatives due to the blonde wig secured neatly at Lucia’s head, her dark locks hidden away. Her dress was simple and basic, made from a rough linen that itched at her skin, but she wouldn’t complain. Lucia was finally getting her wish to flee Rome and never look back, just as she had wanted since Lucius was taken away when the twins were eight.

The two women made their way to the Aurelia gate to pay for Lucia’s passage on a trader wagon out of the city, which bore witness to the increased guards on the streets. They quickly heard the rumours.

The first was that during the night, many known accused rapists had been beaten to death, and their bodies were left naked on the Roman streets with their cocks removed. It had been a shocking discovery and a vigilante justice brought on by Crito’s death at the Colosseum. It sparked a demand for change in Rome that the public wouldn’t stand for their women being assaulted anymore.

The second rumour was the one that struck accord with Lucia more. The moment she had heard the tale, she knew the Emperors had spun it to protect their declining reputation. Princess Lucia, daughter of Rome, had been kidnapped while visiting the temple of Juniper at Palatine Hill, and the guards assigned to protect her were found dead.

The notion that anyone had dared to kidnap the princess on the day of her attacker’s execution was shocking to the Roman public; many demanded she be found immediately and returned to the safety of the Palace.

“They are eager for the princess’s return.” Fosca grimaced, making sure not to speak to Lucia as she was the ‘kidnapped’ princess. Lucia nodded. Both women understood the urge to imprison her again, as her disappearance posed a threat to the twin’s rule. “A murder outside a temple and a kidnapping…” Fosca tutted, shaking her head.

“Such tragedies bring the lower class together,” Lucia muttered, adjusting the palla draped over her body. She had initially planned to use the simple shawl to cover her head but didn’t wish to hide the blonde wig. The blonde hair meant the guards would glance over her, yet if she hid her head, it made her a better target to be inspected.

Fosca tutted again, not pleased with the Emperors using the peasantry’s outrage to their benefit. She just hoped that it would keep people distracted enough for them not to look too closely at Lucia. “One of my slaves came out before dawn and arranged for a trader to meet with us.” She said, her eyes darting around suspiciously as they neared the gate.

“What have they been told?” Lucia asked.

“That you are my sister, escaping your marriage to an abusive drunk,” Fosca explained, spotting a wagon marked with a red and blue canvas on its side. “They are a husband and wife from up north that came to sell their pottery, so they took pity on you.” She added, guiding Lucia closer to the cart. At the sight of them, an old, greying man stopped fiddling with the fastenings that held a small donkey to the wagon, his eyes narrowing.

“You Domina Fosca?” The man asked, looking at the finely dressed woman and then the simple-looking woman beside her. “And her sister?” He raised a brow.

“Yes, I am Fosca. And this is my sister, Rhea.” Fosca spoke. Rhea was the name of one of her female slaves, and right now, it is the only one she thought of giving in place of Lucia. The man continued to stare at them, and for a second, Fosca pondered if he somehow knew that the blonde beside her was the missing princess. The man couldn’t know what the Roman princess looked like, as the portrait that had been made of Lucia to be shown around didn’t capture her face too well. It was a rough drawing, made in haste, but it was useless compared to the Imperial soldiers who knew what Lucia looked like.

“Oh! She’s so tiny!” A female voice spoke, causing Fosca and Lucia to glance at an older woman they assumed was the man’s wife. The older woman stepped closer to Lucia, inspecting her. “So skinny! You look as if you haven’t eaten or slept in days!” She gasped, shaking her head at the sight of the young woman before her. Her husband rolled his eyes and muttered something, returning to ensuring the donkey wouldn’t break free.

“I thank you for taking my sister to safety…” Fosca stated, her words dropping off as she remembered that she hadn’t gotten either couple’s names from her slave.

“Dido.” The older woman smiled. “And that old grump is my husband, Aulus.” Her husband grumbled again behind her but didn’t retort about the grumpy comment. Aulus and Dido had been married for over forty years, a marriage built from love rather than physical attraction.

“Thank you, Dido, for ensuring my sister’s safety.” Fosca smiled.

Dido waved off the thanks. “If it were one of my daughters in this situation, I’d pray that someone aid her just as we are aiding Rhea! And if I found out that any of my sons were acting in such an ill manner, they’d wished I never birthed them!” She beamed proudly. “Isn’t that right, husband?” Dido turned to her husband, smiling at the man and looking at him for reinsurance. Aulus blinked at his wife, muttering ‘as you say, wife’ under his breath. The old couple took aback both Fosca and Lucia, amazed that the husband allowed himself to be subservient to his wife’s demands, as such a thing was unheard of in Roman society, especially in public.

“You two are quite…” Fosca couldn’t find the words.

Dido laughed. “It happens when you have been married for so long. You two are young women, so I wouldn’t expect you to know. I pray that you and your husband are in love?” She looked to Fosca, smiling, when the blonde nodded. “Good. You’ll understand in time.” Dido advised. She stepped away when her husband called for her, trudging over to the cart and beginning to bicker about the supplies and leftover pottery loaded into the back of the wagon. They had a collection of goods to bring back to their small village at the request of their community. The peasantry outside of Rome had to rely on passing traders or daring to make the long journey to the Capital to acquire goods that couldn’t be produced in their small villages.

Fosca turned to Lucia, cupping the younger woman’s face and bringing their foreheads together in a loving embrace. “You be safe. I want you to live a long, happy life. Find a wonderful man, marry, and have many children.” She whispered sweetly, bringing a smile to both their lips. Lucia nodded swiftly, tears pricking at her eyes. There was a thundering in Lucia’s chest, her heart racing at the possibility of both leaving Rome and saying goodbye to her friend. It was a mix of sorrow and excitement and owed all to Fosca.

“I pray we meet again,” Lucia murmured back, pulling away from the embrace to meet her friend’s eyes. Fosca shifted, pulling at the metal armband on her left upper arm, removing it and sliding it up Lucia’s arm. “Fosca!” She gasped, trying to jerk he arm back, but her friend stopped her.

“Shush.” Fosca scolded. “You’ll need the money.” She said, tapping the armband. It was an intricate working of metal, contacting a latch that, when opened, held coins. Lucia frowned. She didn’t like taking more from the woman, but she understood. Lucia would need money to survive until she could get out of the Empire and find somewhere to settle down.

“Thank you.” Lucia smiled again, embracing Fosca one last time. Fosca held back a mournful look as she watched Aulus assist her friend onto the front of the cart, sitting Lucia between himself and his wife. If everything went according to plan, this would be the last time Fosca ever saw the princess and as much as it pained her to watch Lucia leave, Fosca was truly happy for her friend. Fosca had been fortunate to be married to a good and noble man who loved her and to live a life of luxury despite the absence of children, but for Lucia, life had been cruel, depriving her of a worthy husband, freedom and children.

“Be safe!” Fosca yelled out, walking beside the wagon as it began to move. She listed off last-minute advice she had wanted her friend to know. Lucia laughed and waved, knowing how much the blonde woman cared for her.

“Your sister loves you a lot,” Dido commented, a sweet smile on her lips as she admired the way Fosca had lingered behind them, watching the cart travel towards the city gate. Lucia nodded, unable to speak at that moment as the heartache had become too much. The sorrow clenched at her chest, and her eyes pricked with tears, mourning the loss of her only true friend, someone who she had been able to trust wholly.

Nestling back into her seat, Lucia palmed at one long skirt of her dress, trying to distract her mind from the final goodbye with Fosca. Taking a deep breath, she forced her head up proudly, gazing at the towering gates that loomed ahead. While the massive wooden structure was open, countless guards surrounded it, inspecting each cart and wagon leaving and peering at any young female, comparing their face to the crudely drawn image of Lucia they had on the parchment in their hands. Lucia felt a bubbling of fear, knowing that if one guard happened to look at her too long and recognised her, her ploy was all over. She’d be dragged back to the Palace, and worse, Dido and Aulus would be executed, blamed as her kidnappers, even if she dared to defend the old couple.

“searching for the missing princess…” Aulus tutted, shaking his head. There was a scowl on his old, weathered face, and it was because this inspection would delay their journey to the nearest town before nightfall. It wasn’t wise to be out on the roads after dusk, as the bandits came out, hoping to rob any unwise travellers. Dido had murmured a reply, but for her, she felt sorry for the missing princess, believing the tales of the young woman being kidnapped.

“Halt,” a single guard ordered, stepping closer to the wagon. He held up the parchment in his hand, comparing the drawing to the three individuals in the cart as other soldiers inspected the back contents. Lucia didn’t dare look away or try to look guilty. She needed to remain impassive to their search, knowing it was how she would remain undetected. After a few minutes of being unable to find anyone stashed away in the back, the guards all stepped away and signalled them through.

Lucia breathed a small sigh of relief, silencing the blood pounding in her ears. Her heart had begun to race as the guard with the drawer stared at her, fearing he would realise it was her, but fate had finally chosen to be kind to her, the guard falling for her disguise. Neither Dido nor Aulus had picked up on Lucia’s fear, either blind or distracted by the guards. Yet when the wagon pulled through the large gates and Lucia saw the rolling green hills and vineyards outside of Rome, an audible gasp left her lips.

“First time seeing what lies beyond Rome?” Dido asked, her eyes gleaming with humour at Lucia’s reaction. Lucia nodded. It was a sight she never thought she’d see, and it was beautiful. Rome was a cramped city of mazed buildings, which she had hardly seen much of in the few times she’d snuck out, but to see what lay beyond the cold metropolis was extraordinary.

“Is all the world like this?” Lucia asked, her head darting around to take in as much of it as possible. The question had urged a laugh from Aulus, the introverted man finding genuine humour in her innocent and naive pondering.

“From what I’ve seen, yes,” Aulus spoke, his eyes flicking to the woman beside him. “But there is so much more out there. Rome is just a small part of our world.”

@barcelonaloverf1life @quuinyoung @justnobodynothingmore @sarai-ibn-la-ahad

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