far from home. [o]

[SAMIRA]

[atrb=background,http://i51.tinypic.com/skw56d.jpg][atrb=style,border: 4px solid #FFFFFF;][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,460,true] Left alone with only reflections of the memory To face the ugly girl that's smothering me The center of the eternal city. Even with nothing going on it was always busy. Always filled with jostling crowds where who could lose site of your precious belongings, or believe that you had simply left them at home because when you felt into your pocket or bag to find whatever it was, it was gone. No one saw the shifty, trained, hands that found their ways into the most careful hiding places. It wasn't just one though. Because of the forums popularity it became a place thriving with thieves just waiting for the right moment to make off with whatever they could. Other thieves saw what the other citizens didn't and tried to keep out of each others way, attention to one would bring attention to the others. Light brown eyes watched the comings and goings around her, smiling every now and again as she saw one of her fellows make off with something and she watched the victims reactions as they discovered their loss. Samira sat towards the west side of the forum near the tabularium, she had just finished doing a performance and was relaxing on a nearby bench. Benches, she thought. I definitely have to get into the business of making them. Having no weapons allowed in the city walls had always made bench makers stay in business. When there was no weapons you make them. Definitely should become a bench maker. A dancer was her only job that was, what one would call, acceptable in society. And even than it wasn't that acceptable, it was definitely not at the top of the list of respectable jobs. Looking down she realized that she had been running her necklace back and forth across her mouth. Sighing she stopped but continued holding the necklace. Her dancing she had learned from her mother, that and her necklace was the only things that she had left of the mother that she had grown up hating. notes: sorry about the lack of writing and everything my first post anywhere for over a year. I wanted to start rp again but I found starting this i didn't have much muse. Hopefully it will get better rp with someone else.

[TIBERIUS CATO]

I'LL KEEP YOUR DREAMS, YOU'LL PAY ATTENTION FOR ME
AS STRANGE AS IT SEEMS

I'D RATHER DISSOLVE THAN HAVE YOU IGNORE ME

There were many types of thieves, Cato had noticed. There were those who just looted pockets and unattended stalls, those who worked in groups, those who aimed big, those who barely scraped together enough to survive. At the moment, he was part of the last group - he'd been far too caught up in the city to notice that he had gone quite a few days without a proper meal. But who could blame him? This place was huge. And when you come from some tiny border town up north, so far away you might as well say you live in Gaul, this place was simply amazing.

But it wasn't just the size. The people here were diverse - from Greece, from Asia Minor, from Africa! He'd yet to see the same person twice. Which really, should've made the whole stealing thing easier; he just kept getting so distracted.

Today, though, he knew he'd have to do something about his current state of poverty. He'd woken with a stomach growling, demanding food, complaints that simply refused to stop. It was now considerably later in the day, and all he'd had was an apple he'd surreptitiously swiped from a fruit stall. Ugh, how was he meant to live like this? He was sick of it, completely and utterly over the whole thing. He should give it all up and try to learn an honest trade - like carpentry. Sure, he'd mar his skin and break his nails and probably would lose all that cute boyish charm that had been his ticket to a free meal for all these years, but at least he could be guaranteed a livelihood.

I wonder how much a bench maker earns? He thought idly, practically staggering through the forum. Probably more than he was making at the moment, i.e., nil. Speaking of benches... he should probably sit down. The blonde-haired boy had noticed that his head was spinning, and that the ground was moving up and down like the ocean - he was almost certain it wasn't meant to be doing that. So he made his way towards the nearest bench he could find (trying not to walk in to too many people in the process) and sat with a heavy sigh, holding his stomach and resting his head on his knees.

It was only after a considerable amount of time had passed that he realised there was someone else occupying the bench, someone who probably wasn't too keen on having their space invaded. He turned his head (but kept it on his knees - it spun less, made him feel less dizzy) and stuttered out an excuse. It wasn't one of his best, but, well, it would do.

"I-I'm sorry. I'm just waiting for my mother. I won't be here long, promise."

TEMPLATE © SKELETON/LISE OF ON THE EDGE

[SAMIRA]

[atrb=background,http://i51.tinypic.com/skw56d.jpg][atrb=style,border: 4px solid #FFFFFF;][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,460,true] Left alone with only reflections of the memory To face the ugly girl that's smothering me Not for the first time Samira wondered why she had ever come to the city. Sure it was probably one of those things that you had to at least see once in your life. She wondered if that would still be the case in hundreds or thousands of years to come. But it wasn't the reason why she had come. Nor was it because of other reasons such as wealth, whether you made it yourself or married into it or as a slave. There were so many slaves in the city, many from her own country. Poor fools, she detested that they had allowed such a thing to happen to them. Not that a thief/dancer/prostitute was much better, but to her it was at least that step above someone who was a slave. The foreigner didn't tell anyone but the real reason she had left her home country was to look for her father. None of her fathers family were still living in Egypt by the time she was born and growing up, either dead or long since gone, trying to avoid the gradual fall of the long line of Pharaohs to Roman rule. And what she had heard was that he had come to Rome. Even as she looked around the forum she saw the diversity of the crowd, people whose country, like her own were either on the verge of roman leadership or were already under their rule. The republic was becoming an empire, people heard whispers or gossip but most avoided thinking about something that would make their way of life different. They avoided what they all knew they were on the brink of. Stupid politics, as someone who could go unnoticed you heard a lot. All of her jobs, as a performer, as a thief and especially as prostitute you heard alot because you were treated as someone who wasn't all that bright and unimportant. It always got her mind on politics and she hated politics because in her jobs it didn't matter who was in charge, she still got money. Samira had started moving her necklace back and forth between her mouth again. When she noticed that yet again she was doing it, it brought to her attention that she had been joined on the bench by someone else. See this is what thinking does to you. You get distracted and things happen. She sometimes wished she wasn't all that smart, at least than she wouldn't always think about things. The person next to her was a boy, or young teenager, she could tell straight away that he probably didn't have much money if any at all. It wasn't too hard to tell, a thief had to learn to read people quickly sometimes, a hand in the wrong persons pocket could end badly. "I-I'm sorry. I'm just waiting for my mother. I won't be here long, promise." She smirked at the idea of him apologizing for sitting down when he obviously couldn't even lift his head to talk to her. When she had first arrived in the city, long ago she had been the same, politeness had never really worked for her in this city. "Hetep. Sit as long as you want", Samira had a thick accent but you could easily tell what she was saying. "Did you lose her or something? Is there anything I can do for you". And maybe get something in return for helping? notes: none

[TIBERIUS CATO]

I'LL KEEP YOUR DREAMS, YOU'LL PAY ATTENTION FOR ME
AS STRANGE AS IT SEEMS

I'D RATHER DISSOLVE THAN HAVE YOU IGNORE ME

It took him a moment to realise she was speaking, let alone to decipher what she said. His tried mind had a hard time picking up subtle things like speech. Her words came as delayed gibberish to his ears, and when he finally managed to decipher them, it took even longer for him to piece together a reply.

"Food. Food would be really great. But I have no money..." It wasn't really a response, more talking to himself. He'd already forgotten his flimsy lie, getting rather distracted by the thought of food. Soup, or bread, or even just some fruit... he could see them clearly in his mind, could almost smell it, taste it... Ugh, no! His stomach ached, it ached, just at the thought!

"... You look rich. Are you a princess? Can you get me a feast?" A feast would be amazing. He'd never had a feast, but always dreamed of being at one one day. Lying down, servants everywhere, every inch of table absolutely covered in food, glorious food! He wished he lived that kind of life, where he never had to go hungry, and dinner was something for other people to prepare and for him to just take advantage of at the end of it all. But no. He was unlucky enough to have to get these things on his own. And that just didn't seem fair.

Some people had all the luck. Cato was half convinced he had none at all.

TEMPLATE © SKELETON/LISE OF ON THE EDGE

[SAMIRA]

[atrb=background,http://i51.tinypic.com/skw56d.jpg][atrb=style,border: 4px solid #FFFFFF;][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,460,true] Left alone with only reflections of the memory To face the ugly girl that's smothering me "Food. Food would be really great. But I have no money..." Samira looked Cato up and down. Indeed he did look like someone who didn't get a lot of food. Poor kid, she thought about herself at that age. It was a hard life for someone who wasn't from a wealthy family. Or even a semi well off family. He said he was just waiting for his mother but now she wasn't so sure. Although her mother hadn't been all that motherly towards her, often making her go hungry. She doubted that was the case with all mothers. "... You look rich. Are you a princess? Can you get me a feast?" That made her laugh and brought a smile to her face. It was far from the truth. She wasn't poor, nor was she well off but her various occupations got her enough money that she could eat at least 2 meals a day and with money spare for decent clothes, nothing overally special, but clean. A place to sleep was payed by her prostitution, as with the others that worked there. It wasn't much, just a small room with too many bunks and no privacy, but it wasn't on the streets which she was thankful for. "No I'm not rich, nor am I a princess, although you do flatter me greatly by saying so." Samira sometimes was called various names of goddess, but that was her own personal joke with her clients. "I think I can probably help you with your hunger problem though. Not a feast sorry but something to help, and we will talk some more", she stood up from the bench and oftered a hand to him, smiling. "You can call me Taa if you like." notes: none