Should those who know my name read these words, I would gratefully receive your counsel.

- Aita of the Julii

[OOC: All the above is written in ancient Latin! Atia's attempted fail-safe for trying to only attract the attentions of those who understand it.]

It's one thing to read of it.... Text can lie. Prose can be shaped. And quite another to be convinced in person.

Oh, Rome might well fall into disrepair - of this, I've been told plenty. Just as I remain adamant it need not be inevitable. That, should I return, I can do my small part to perhaps save it from such a fate ( Read more... )

Ashes and iron... It's coming. It's finally coming, isn't it?

All this blasted... Atmosphere and being watched. I can't be with my ancestors, so the underworld's coming for me.

I never understood this place. Not once. Not fully, I didn't. I still don't, but I know what this is. What's happening and getting trapped here was just the start ( Read more... )

And what if I did lie to you? I had a perfectly workable plan to release myself from here and now that blasted flooding's gone and ruined it!

I spent my life doing what I had to. Doing what I needed to make sure my family could enjoy success. I don't need you to tell me their resentment of certain matters! Do you not think I had reason to consider ( Read more... )

[What follows is a fuck of a lot of shouting, but it's all in Latin, because Atia is giving the most vocal expression of RAGE-FACE in history. Even if you don't understand it, it's clear she's mightily pissed off and almost certainly threatening the Admiral's children with rape-by-Cerberus or something as awful. Seriously... It's like someone fused ( Read more... )

Another day, another disturbance, I suppose... One I seem to have thankfully avoided. Much like my warden's scrutiny, I might add, but as all I have to do is deny what she has to hand, it's not been very difficult to avoid taking responsibility for ( Read more... )

No, I do not wish to discuss, think or dream about it. Not with any of you and not with my jailer.

Quite honestly, I fail to see why anyone ever does.

Who amongst you is an artist? They're always looking for some form of expression and I think I'd rather like to have some form of sculpture made of me.

If one must remain captive, time may as well be productively spent.

I'm told you're quite the remarkable fellow...

What in the buggering fuck of Jupiter's arsehole is going on around here?