#took me long enough to finally draw toga :'D

[chi-arts]

Can you draw dabi or toga in number 3 for the expression meme you reblogged?

I assume you mean 3A? Cause yeah that fits Toga perfectly! If not then I’ll draw Dabi in the other one :D Or well maybe I’ll just draw him anyways lmao it’s been a while

[tired-college-student-writing]

Here we go Loopty Loo pt 2

Summary: Graduation was supposed to signal the final time they all spent time together at UA, to show they have all grown into the Heros they dreamed of being.

It was supposed to be, but when has anything ever been easy for class 1-A?

pt1

pt2 (HERE)

pt3

___________________________________________

Loop #7

___________________________________________

The Rules had begun in Loop #7 when the class realized that things weren’t always identical to the original timeline.

They realized this by waking up in class on the first day before the Quirk assessment like they had the last six times only to find each and every one of them was the opposite gender.

Aizawa was not proud to say he lost all cool in front of his students as he jabbed the frankly too large globs on his chest swearing obscenely as they jiggled. It did not help that instead of a jumpsuit he was wearing a skintight long-sleeved crop top and fucking tights with high heeled boots.

On the other hand, the students were not doing much better, each looking at each other and screaming, as they seemed to forget common courtesy and smacking each other’s chests.  

Some, like Midoriya, Jiro, Backugo, Ashido, and Todoroki looked similar to their usual appearances, while others like Sato, Iida, and Uraraka looked drastically different to the point that the only reason Aizawa could tell who they were were the mannerisms he was overly familiar with from them.

After a few minutes, he wrapped his head around it enough to slam his hands down on the closest desk and order them to calm down.

“Okay, I get we’re all having an existential crisis,” He snapped, “I get it, this wasn’t what I was expecting either. Clearly, we aren’t just returning to the start of our own timeline unless I’ve always had fucking D cups and no one deemed it important to share with me.”

The first order was to get everyone to their seats so Aizawa could go through the class list, going through the new names he… she knew the students would mess up more than once.

Aoyama Aki

Ashido Mareo

Asui Susumu

Iida Sumiko

Uraraka Kaito

Ojiro Megumi

Kaminari Emiko

Kirishima Etsu

Koda Kaya

Sato Riko

Shoji Miki

Jiro Kazuo

Sero Hiroko

Tokoyami Jakushitsu

Todoroki Suzu

Hagakure Taku

Bakugo Kasumi

Midoriya Kumiko

Shinso Toshiko

Yaoyorozu Kado

Great, she had to learn all their names again too, which reminded her, “My name is Aizawa Saki. My hero name has remained the same. Your other teachers are Yamada Himari, aka Presentation Mica, Ishiyama Kamin, aka Cemetoss, Kayama Naoki, aka Midnight, and Ectoplasm still demands we don’t tell the students her name, so deal with that.”

“All Might is Yagi Yoshiko,” Modriya piped up, “But she still coughs up blood when I call her anything other than All Might so let’s let her relax for a bit.”

Mo- Yaouarozu raised his hand, “Si- Sensei would creating a list of rules and changes that happen from each timeline so that we don’t trip up as much? I imagine this loop will be particularly difficult for obvious reasons.”

“You’re not wrong,” She agreed, rubbing a hand over her eyes, “Would it be possible for you to create a rolling whiteboard? It’ll be easier to hide and keep up for the next three years.”

The creation quirk user seemed more at ease now that he didn’t have to worry about flashing the entire class to create such a large object. It didn’t take long for it to be set up and Aizawa took the offered blue marker.

“Alright,” She breathed, drawing a seven at the top of the board before splitting it down the middle, “Rules to take through loops if we keep going and rules and changes to keep us from getting in trouble in this loop, how does that sound?”

The agreeal rang out as she started listing off things she’s used as rules of thumb since she had been sure they had been looping.

#1 - Only talk to the others that are looping about looping and previous timelines.

#2 - Do your best to make the changes between your consciousness from the original version of yourselves from this timeline seem as natural as possible, we do not need people thinking we’re Toga.

#3 - Reveal all relevant information on the changes to the timeline that you know at the first awakening, or when we’re all together after the first awakening.

#4 - If the stress gets too much talk to us, we’re all going through it together.

She paused from writing, tucking her still long hair from her face with a soft sigh before turning back to the students.

“Can anyone else come up with any other rules right now?”

The silence was all she needed, “Great, we can edit it down the line as things change, but I want you all to remember these rules. They might be the only thing keeping us sane depending on how long we’re stuck in these loops.”

___________________________________________

Loop #10

___________________________________________

He was going to bash their heads in, he swears to god these children were sending him to an early grave. Midoriya, Todoroki, Iida, and Uraraka had managed to track down the Hero Killer to try and get him to change his ways wasn’t a huge shocker, what had been a surprise had been that Mina, Tsu, Denki, and Jiro had joined forces with Stain to try and destroy quite a few heroes that were abusing their positions in society to harm others as they had discovered in previous timelines.

The result had been a huge nightmare and a media shit show. How the next two years were going to go now that these eight had to pretend to hate each other was going to make him go grey.

No one commented as their irritated teacher scrawled down a new rule. It seemed fair enough.

#5 - Any major timeline changing decisions are required to be discussed with the entire group present.

___________________________________________

Loop #21

___________________________________________

“Shit,” Mina cried the moment they woke up, “I’m the mole!”

“Oh I get a break then,” Aoyama hummed, “Oh exciting, the League was getting tiresome”

While it was nice to know ahead of time who to keep an eye on, Mina played the double-double agent a bit too well, informing them of everything they could possibly want for the timeline to go seamlessly, all the students could feel the

Aizawa didn’t even bother to get out of his sleeping bag when Iida stood up unprompted in the middle of the test he had given them, mostly for appearances since he knew they could ace it easy at this point, and stomped to the closet where they stashed the whiteboard.

#6 - If you have information that could make the timeline interesting if kept secret (such as being the mole) keep it secret.  

He stood next to the board, as if daring anyone to counter him, but Aizawa nodded.

“As much as peace is nice if I have to go through another timeline that’s this easy I might actually expel all you brats.”

“Does that mean we can be vigilantes?”

“No, I refuse to deal with you during the night if I decided not to see you during the day.”

___________________________________________

Loop #24

___________________________________________

The class just blinked in confusion as the villains fell to their knees in apparent pain. The USJ attack was old hat to them at this point, but the fights had barely started.

Dabi tried to stagger to his feet, hand held out as if to call forth his flames, only for nothing to happen. Around the different zones, the heroes were having similar dilemmas as they faced the seemingly depowered villains.

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Midoriya screeched, once the time travelers had made it back to the classroom. They had rounded up all of the villains, confusion evident between the villains, pro heroes, and students on why the villains had suddenly lost access to their powers.

All Might suggested that perhaps All for One had something to do with it since it had appeared to be his quirk but couldn’t come up with a reason his enemy, who he knew from the large scar on his side was that he was, in fact, a villain this time, and not just a kindly father like had happened before.

He received an answer from an unexpected place.

Sero gave a small laugh, “So… fun fact, my great grandfather may or may not be All for One this time, and I may have All for One as a ‘second’ quirk…”

“Fucking hell,” Yagi groaned, face planting on the desk as the class stared at Sero with a combination of awe and fear.

However, the intrigue of their classmate having All for One was short-lived as they realized that the villain mastermind was not going to attack anytime in their next three years as he now had to recruit new henchmen to fight them, and well that took time to cultivate villainous intent that stood a chance against them.

It wasn’t even the end of year 1 and they were already so tired on just… being normal heroes in training. Even Yagi was at the end of his rope, deciding to retire early even if he hadn’t had to use up the last of One for All.

Bakugo glared at Sero as he amended rule six, the rest of the class staring down the sheepish boy.

#6 - If you have information that could make the timeline interesting for an extended period of time if kept secret (such as being the mole) keep it secret.

___________________________________________

Loop #63

___________________________________________

Aizawa coughed harshly trying to clear the dust from his lungs as the rumble shifted around him.

An ambush, it had to be, but… the class had been acting the same as ever. Aoyama had let slip that he wasn’t the mole this timeline, so the hunt for the mole as the attacks changed kept them all on their toes.

Yagi had assured Aizawa he would keep an ear out, telling them he was sure All for One was still out there, even if his wounds weren’t quite as grievous as they had been in the first timeline, causing him to look more like a sleek runner then skeleton true form they were used to seeing him in, though he could still transform into his buff form, holding it for almost the entire school day even after passing on One for All to Izuku.

It was a nice change overall, even if it was nearing the end of the class’s second year without a sighting of the evil bastard. The students had filled the space they usually spent in the longer battles tormenting Endeavor, with Aizawa giving convenient alibis for the students each time as long as they made sure to keep the dorm kitchen stocked with his favorite coffee brand.

But now, on a solo patrol, they struck.

He should have predicted this, but after almost 200 years of doing the same thing with only minor changes over and over again, he was growing sloppy, too comfortable with the norm to remember what it felt like to have pure adrenaline and fear running through his veins.

“Oh darn, you’re still breathing, I thought that would end you for sure,” A familiar voice groaned, causing Aizawa to try and spring to his feet only to find his leg pinned some of the fallen building.

A familiar lithe form sitting on top of the pile, staring into his soul with clear mirth in the oh so wrong looking purple depths.

“Toshinori?”

“Hello, Shouta-kun,” The man hummed, a smile pulling at his lips, a cruel imitation at the normally blinding grin, “Suprised?”

His eyes bulged as his heart lept to his throat. There was no way… All Might…

“What?” The symbol of Peace asked, “You were oh so busy looking for the mole with among the children, the other staff, even growing suspect of your closest friends, but you didn’t even bother letting me be a possibility did you?”

“But you’re All for One’s nemesis,”

The man laughed hopping down to stand over his fallen, “Oh I was, but the man you’re referring to is dead, Shouta-kun. He’s been dead since I fought him six years ago. ”

“You said he was still out there,”

“No, I said All for One was still out there,” Purple eyes blazed as he tapped the rubble, watching it explode, disassembled to the very base level.

“Overhaul…” Aizawa didn’t even try to get up, feeling ice going through his veins, “How…”

“When I faced All for One he became desperate,” Yagi explained with a sigh, as if reminiscing about a pleasant date, “He tried to shove as many quirks into as he could, hoping I’d explode from so much power in my system, but that’s the great thing about One for All, it stockpiles power. He didn’t realize until it was too late that by opening the connection between us, I was able to take his quirk from him. He crumbled into dust once the last of the quirks were left him. The powers, however, refused to join.”

“And you just what?” Aizawa demanded, “Decided to become the villain? What about giving Midoriya One for All?”

The man just laughed, “What’s a villain without a hero trying desperately to stop him? I spent so much time trying to save a society that doesn’t want saving, perhaps Young Midoriya can finally get through to them.”

“Kuruigiri,” He called before Aizawa can answer, and suddenly the pair were pulled through a portal and into a dimly lit cell, the other members of the League of Villians jeering around them. Aizawa felt overwhelmed, heart beating harder then it had in a long time, real fear churning in his gut.

“Nori?”

He felt the other time traveler pause at the name, understanding the silent demand.

They had made a system years ago, Aizawa couldn’t even remember which loop now. If the students ever needed one of their teachers to talk about the Loops, they would call them Shouta-sensei and Toshi-sensei, if they needed to call on each other, they became Nori and Sho.  

“Leave us,” Toshinori barked, and slowly watched the villains dissipate into the dark misty portals.

“Wh-”

Toshinori held up a hand and an ear-piercing ringing passed over them before fading.

“What was that?”

“Siren,” Toshinori hummed, “Until I release it they can’t hear what we say but they can still see us, so keep up that grumpy look of yours.”

His scowl deepened but the panic that had started clawing up his throat began to retreat, “What is going on?”

Toshinori chuckled, “I was under the impression that rule #6 was still in effect.”

“You’ve…” Aizawa couldn’t stop the laughter from bubbling passed his lips, “You sly old man… you played us all like a fiddle this time didn’t you?”

“Fiddle?” Toshinori hummed, strutting across the room to a chest just outside the cell, “No, fiddles actually take effort, this was shockingly easy. After all who would ever believe the Symbol of Peace would be the big bad evil~”

Aizawa hummed in agreement, as the hero… villain turned back to him.

“So no, Shouta-kun,” Toshinori continued as he entered the cell, “I didn’t play you like a fiddle, I played you like the cheap kazoo you are,”

“I’m going to kill Denki for teaching you memes,”

“If they find you,” Toshinori chuckled, grabbing his wrists and handcuffing them to the bed.

“Oh, kinky,” Aizawa mumbled, “Haven’t seen those in a few loops.”

“Maybe next time we’ll be hit by a sex pollen quirk again,” Toshinori suggested with an eye roll, “Now hold still while I treat your leg.”

“Isn’t this counterproductive to your whole shtick?”

“Rule #6. What fun would it be if I let you die or stole your quirk?”

“Your buddies won’t question it?” Aizawa hissed as his wound was cleaned out.

“No,” Toshinori hummed but didn’t elaborate, sealing the bandage over the wound, “No stitches needed.”

“Good, your stitching is shit.”

Toshinori just huffed before rising, “I better return to the students, they’ll be oh so devastated to hear you’ve been taken.”

“ ¥ 10,000 Todoroki puts it together first,”

“ ¥10,000 says Young Shinsou catches me,” Yagi counters, not turning around.

“No giving him hints,”

Yagi just smiled as the ringing reappeared, “Wouldn’t dream of it, Shouta-kun.”

______________________________

Taglist:   

[franeridart]

Your colors lately are even more beautiful!!! Your art is amazing!

AHHHH thank you!!! so much!!!!!! I have, admittedly, finally been putting more effort into them haha it’s good to know it’s noticeable! ;;

Anon said:My dude, I want to own Bakugou's shirt in that Kamino squad drawing

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! happy you liked it!!!!! :D

Anon said:What do you think of Kaminari x Ibara or Toga x Twice?

I don’t really have strong feelings about either, honestly :O but the only person I really ship Ibara with is Tetsu, and I can’t say I’m much into villain-shipping in general

Anon said:Have you read Sweater Weather by crispykrimi?

Nope, I don’t really read tddk fics, sorry ^^’’

Anon said:Do you think kirishima goes to izuku and they talk about their relationships?

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmm honestly, while I realize that Kiri and Deku are on friendly terms, given canon I’d say if Kirishima needs to talk to anyone about stuff he’s gonna go to either Baku, Kami, Sero, Tokoyami or Mina, since those are the people we’ve seen him open up to, in canon! Same goes for Deku, if he gotta open up to someone it’s gonna be Iida, Todoroki or Uraraka :0 well, it’s not like it’s impossible for them to talk about it, but I can see it happen more in a possible future where they’ve grown closer than they are atm in canon! At least imho haha

Anon said:I just wanna say that I’ve been following you for a pretty long time (since the tattoo au was just starting I think) and you’re art just continues to improve and look amazing as time goes on. I’ve always loved it but these past couple days I saw some of ur recent stuff and was just blown away bc it looks so good. Thanks for drawing and sharing ur art w us, I love seeing it!! I hope u have a good day!!!

THAT SURE IS A LONG TIME!!! I’m so happy to hear you stuck around that long aaahhhhhh ;; and thank you so so so much for the compliment, oh my god!!

Anon said:have you ever considered kiribaku getting hit by someone w/ a body-swapping quirk?

I have! It’s a trope I find real funny - but I’ve also seen a whole lot of art/fics for that topic already, would people even seriously be interested in seeing more? It looks like the type of thing that’s gonna come out more or less always the same, which is why I never really bothered to draw out my ideas haha

Anon said:Your kids!au makes me wanna write so bad.

THAT’S GOOD!!! Inspiring people is the best thing I could ever ask for!!!! (...remember to credit back to the post if you use any of my ideas tho ;; pls)

Anon said:Aaaaaaaahhhhhh!!! I love love love looovee the kiribaku kids!!!!!!!!! Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!!!

THANK YOU!!!! I’m super happy you like themmm!!!!!

Anon said:Hey:) just wanted to leave you a note to let you know how much i adore the way you draw Tamaki. Of course I love your kiribakus and bnha art in general, like your comics, but not a lot of people draw Tamaki and I really love yours:)

Holy smokes thank you!!!! Jiki is actually incredibly comfortable to draw, I’m glad you like my take on him! I’ve got so many unfinished sketches of him.... I should really try to finish those...................

Anon said:so this ask is like,, basically a huge appreciation ask for your comics bc they're cute and funny and they always light up my day!! on a side note: are you franeridan on ao3 bc if so I'm dying thank you for bookmarking my fics

Thank you!!!!!!!!!!!!! And yes I am!!!! whatever fics they were if I bookmarked them they were for sure incredibly amazing and made my day better so thank you so much for using your time to write them!!!!!

Anon said:may i ask the heights of teenage mako and tai!!

Mako is just a little bit under 2m and Tai’s ~170cm! As things are then, Mako’s a lil bit taller than both Baku and Kiri while Tai is obviously shorter!

Anon said:i used your art for reference. is it ok if i post it crediting you and saying you drew the picture that i took reference from?

Sure, if it’s just for reference and credited I don’t mind! (but if you were using my stuff for pose references may I suggest you avoid doing that in the future cause my anatomy is absolutely terrible you’re just gonna end up making my same mistakes aaahhhhhhhhhhh ;; there’s lotsa more accurate refs around, believe me)

Anon said:please draw more shinsou he looks amazing in your style!!

Thank you! And sure, in the future why not!!

Anon said:Just wanted to let you know that I was scrolling through your bokuroo tag and 1) Aaaah I'm still so in love with how you draw kuroo and 2) I love how I can see the way your art style has improved over time and it's just so nice to see?? Bless your art so much and you're such a great person too I'm cry

SOB thank you so much oh my god, this really means the world to me???? ;; so many compliments holy smokes bless you

Anon said:Hi! I'm the anon that sent you the message about the A Day to Remember song for KiriBaku, and found another awesome song for them - Let Me Be by Escape the Fate. It's super cute and sappy for an alt/hardcore band and it fits Kiri more than Baku, imo, but could honestly come from either of their perspectives. ~SongAnon :)

AH GODS that’s sweet ;O; how come hardcore bands always go so soft on their ballads I cry - I feel it works perfectly from Baku’s pov too, tho!! Let him be Kiriiiiiii ;;; sweet

Anon said:I just wanted to say that I love your art and style as a whole, but I really really appreciate the way you draw Kirishimas eyebrows... like they look so simple but,,, they truly make my day 💕

Kirishima’s tiny eyebrows!!!! I’m glad you like them, they’re weirdly expressive and easy to draw honestly hahaha

Anon said:your art is shit //no no no nonno oo fdjsakfl;d I MEANT THE SHIT your art is the shit fjkdsa i'm so sorry i love you and your art this is why i can never compliment anyone ahhhhhhh //i'm crying omg i saw someone else send a separate ask to someone elase that was like your art is shit but it is the shit and i was like whoaaa how cool but noooooo jfsdakldsfa kms i'm sorry

This was a bit of a trainwreck ngl haha but it’s okay anon!!! It was an honest mistake, don’t worry too much about it!!! Thank you so so so much for liking my stuff

Anon said:Hi erm I believe that YouTuber "AnimeUproar" used your kinoko komori fanart without crediting you and I'm not sure whether you gave him permission. The title of the video is "EVERY QUIRK EXPLAINED! | Class 1-B (My Hero Academia / Boku no Hero Academia All Quirks)" // Same anon as before and he also used your Setsuna art in the same video. The kinoko art had your watermark cut off while the other one didn't but they still have no credit anywhere and I'm not sure whether you have permission. Sorry if you did and I'm just being stupid lmao but it's the same YouTuber and the same video in case you want to message him

If it’s not credited you can be sure I didn’t give them the green light to use it, honestly - but, you know. Whatever. I’m tired. Let them use it. It’s a video so it’s not even like people can save it and reupload it anywhere else. sigh

Anon said:I am like 2000 years late but,, your bakubaby sketches saved my life wow they’re so cute

*cries forever* thank you !!!!!!!!!!!! ;;O;;

Anon said:All of ur art especially recently is just??? Blowing me away?? Oh my god?? I just your coloring and then that fantasy one holy fuck the DETAILS I feel like I can touch it it's so good I can tell you put a lot of time into it it shows it shows so much god it's so high quality I'M STILL !?!?! your art seems to get better all the time thank youuuuuu for blessing us w it it's so incredibly lovely ahhhhhhhhh

I’M SO HECKING HAPPY YOU LIKED THAT ONE cause it really took forever honestly - it was fun from start to end so it’s fine, but, you know, it’s cool to see it was worth it haha thank you so so much for the complimentsss!!!!

Anon said:I love your art so much :') it makes me so happy whenever I get a notification from your blog

I still can’t believe people really have notifs on for this blog oh my g o d ;u; thank you

Anon said:I just wanted the share, that I came across your art in a trash, and scrolled down your blog looking for more, and I liked it so much that I decided to follow you... Only to find past self already did whoops haha. So I liked you enough to follow you twice!

THAT’S SO COOL!!! Holy smokes!!!!!!!!!!! Thank you so much!!!!!!!!!!!!! °O°

Anon said:I just went thru your whole art tag chronologically and omg you've come so far! Every time your art crosses my dash I smile and I'm happy every time I see it!

Have I? I have!! Sometimes I look at my really old art and I hate it and want to delete it but then I’m like, comparing it to the new stuff makes me feel good about it so it’s still there - that does mean sometimes people are gonna see the old stuff too, tho #rip I’m sorry you had to see that stuff, but thank you a lot for thinking I got better!!!!

Anon said:I love how Jirou's eyes look in your style. (How everything about her looks, too.) Damn, she's a stunner, isn't she?

*whispers* she is oh my g o d !!! I love Jirou. She’s just. So goodlooking. Gods. I’m glad you think she looks good in my style!!!

Anon said:ur momo and jirou are so beautiful!!! 💙 if i wasnt already as gay as it gets id have a major enlightenment rn ahhh

GOSH!!!! thank you so much!!!! :D

Anon said:have you considered... minamomo and/or kyooru

Never before Jirou and Tooru, actually, but I have thought about Mina and Momo and I’m still unsure about where that ship even came from. Like, not in the sense that I think it’s a bad ship, but in the sense that I really don’t understand it :0 why do you like Mina and Momo, anon? There’s so many people shipping it, I’m curious about where it came from! But every time I asked I got no answer #rip I wanna be interested in it, help me understand why it should be interesting!

Anon said:Have you ever considered Aoyama x Sero?? 10/10 recommend.

I haven’t! Mostly cause I generally hc Aoyama as ace, really - but that’s an interesting ship I might think about more :O

Anon said:I finally started reading BNHA again after dropping it in May and HOLY SHIT DID I MISS A LOT!! JUST THAT ARC WAS INSANE??

I know right??? I KNOW RIGHT????? I loved that arc from start to end, no lies anywhere, such a genuinely good arc!!! 

Anon said:Hey fran, I just wanted to say that I like your art very much and that I love to see how much you are improving as time goes on. You are doing great. ♥

So many people telling me that I’m improving oh my g o d it makes me so happy ;u; thank you so so much

Anon said:ahhhh i loved your aokaga drawings, they're the cutest and I hope you make more of them being cute together!!!!

Eek, sorry anon but I’m really not into making content for that ship anymore ;^; I’m glad you still like the old things, tho!!

Anon said:I really wanted to tell you that I love your art so much I can't even explain. It cures my anxiety and I'm not kidding. When I feel down and shitty, I just go through your blog and your fanarts make my day (my favorite ever is your bokuro). The way you put the emotions into characters gives me life, honestly. Thank you for your art

THIS MEANS!!! THE WORLD!!!! TO ME!!!!! Knowing that I can help you like that is such a good feeling anon, holy heck!! Thank you so much for liking my things and sending this ask!!!

Anon said:heyo tell us abt some kami angst hcs :)))) tenk youu

Anon............. love............... whatever in this blog made you think I might have angst headcanon about anything..................... I’m the most fluff person around............

Anon said:That idea you had about making hagakure's costume out of her hair or something like mirio's!!! WHAT A GREAT IDEA IVE NEVER THOUGHT ABOUT THAT BEFORE!! You're so smart! I LOVE IT

THANK YOU BUT IT WASN’T JUST MY IDEA!!! After Mirio explained his costume the idea was floating around on my dash a lot, it just made sense to a bunch of us!!

[arlome]

Medicus Idoneus - Chapter One (Crossing the Rubicon)

So,  this is what happens when @tasanna and I reminisce about the most wonderful show HBO ever produced (honestly, fight me on this!) right after watching Poldark. She said I should totally write this, and I said ‘challange accepted’ and so here it is, the first chapter (of two) of my Rome!AU. It is abusively long. The second chapter will be written and posted once I remember how to work my brain again.

The names are, obviously, different, because no one can pull off a Dwight Enys in ancient Rome. Demelza gets to keep her name, because she - unlike the rest of the poor sods involved - is not Roman.

Hope you enjoy this one...

@dismiss-your-fearsx , @ainagren , @nokalover , @tiffanyachings , @kallielef , here’s to Dwight Enys in a leather mini skirt :D

1.

The wooden cart sways and shakes, jolting the motion-sick surgeon from side to side. He has no time to be ill, there are two patients in the cart with him; one lies motionless on his back, his midriff bandaged; the other sits on a bench, his dressed head lolling to the left in uneasy sleep.

Outside, the cart hits water, the wheels hindered by the rushing liquid, and the surgeon holds his breath. They're making little progress now, but at least the great wooden cage isn't jerking them around anymore; the surgeon can hear hooves – splashes of water – then a strong rap on the wall of the cart. He springs from his seat, leans over the seated patient and moves the curtain away from the tiny window. The familiar face of Military Tribune Romulus Polydorus stares at him, restless and grave.

"It's done, Ennius," he says and reigns in his horse with difficulty; the poor beast abhors water and thrashes wildly, "this is it."

"Polydorus, what river is this?" the surgeon, a young, fair-haired man from Herculaneum by the name of Diodotus Ennius, shouts in alarm above the din; straining to be heard, "What river is this?"

Ennius' dark-haired friend shakes his head, his helmet gleaming in the treacherous sun. His lips are pursed and his nostrils flare. There's tension in the air, and the Tribune is on edge.

"You know what river," he answers with finality, and Ennius feels the need to sink down and rest his head on the sitting patient's shoulder.

"The Rubicon," he breathes and clutches at the wooden window panel, "we've crossed the Rubicon!"

Polydorus nods solemnly, and Ennius feels the ground shake beneath his feet.

"We have, my friend," says the dark-haired man quietly, leaning closer to the window, "we are all enemies of the Republic now."

 2.

Romulus Polydorus and Diodotus Ennius met during their teenage years in the Academy in Mediolanum. Being both away from home, and of friendly nature and noble disposition, they struck an immediate friendship, to the great envy of their fellow classmates. The two boys had one particular similarity that made them kindred spirits, despite their difference in rank; both were the dreaded black sheep in their families. Polydorus, gifted, brilliant and born into an ancient Senatorial family, was reckless and wild despite all his good qualities. Fondness for drink and women led him into shady taverns and needless fights; making his poor, ailing uncle lose sleep and hair over the life-choices his nephew made. There was no more talk about a political career in the Senate, and when the headstrong boy declared that he'd give the Military life a go, his uncle breathed a sigh of relief and sent him on his merry way; taking great care to unite his own son, Festus Polycorpus, with Polydorus' intended; the fair and noble Eusebia of the Cassii. Ennius, though unlike his friend in temper and vice, was very much identical in being an utter disappointment. Being born into an ancient, well respected Equestrian family, and having merits coveted by all men, Ennius was expected to make a name for himself. A career as an orator, a General in the army – perhaps even a Consul; these were professions worthy of a man of his calibre. But, one day, upon his return from the Academy, Ennius declared that he was to become a surgeon and, taking the money put aside for the advancement of his public career, left for Athens to become a Hippocratic Physician.

***

It took some years, but the boys met again; this time on the blood-soaked planes of Gaul. The 13th had lost its seasoned surgeon to Black Flux, and Caesar was looking for a suitable replacement. Polydorus wrote to his freshly minted medical friend, and the latter came as fast as he could, ready to impress. Keen and full of new ideas, Ennius stood before the Consul and tried to, simultaneously, impress and stay conscious on his feet. Caesar didn't speak and Mark Anthony, perched on the Consul's table with his arms folded over his creaking leather armour, spent the entire interview smirking at Ennius, but- somehow- the young, completely green surgeon got the job. When Ennius left the tent, a pale Polydorus met him outside, looking as if he had seen death. He tried to laugh his anxiety off, making fun of his friend instead, telling the young surgeon that he only got accepted because no one else was foolish enough to come to Gaul and take care of butchered soldiers; but Ennius could see the sudden fear in Polydorus' eyes, as if he only then began to understand that he had walked his friend into a trap.

It didn't take long for the young surgeon to prove his worth.

A bloody battle, countless patients, not many medical helpers, and – worst of all – a beloved first patient; Polydorus was brought inside the medical tent on a stretcher, the left side of his handsome face torn. Ennius cursed the Gods, then begged them for guidance, then picked up a needle, praying that the thread will not cause infection, and got to work.

20 hours and countless casualties later he got out of the sick-tent and washed his bloody hands in cold water. Mark Anthony sauntered past him, eating an apple; his armour drenched in his enemies' blood. He took one look at the young man and smirked.

"Well, Surgeon," he said, and his smile was bereft of its mocking tint for once, "you will do."

 3.

"Stop gawking," Polydorus orders him amusedly, as they make their way through the Forum towards the Caelian Hill, where his Villa stands, "and close your mouth or you'll catch flies."

"I can't help it," Ennius replies defensively, looking at his friend with ill-humour, "I've never been to Rome before!"

Polydorus turns to regard the surgeon with wide eyes.

"You've studied medicine in Athens! Surely the Greeks outsmart us at architecture as well!"  

Ennius looks away, his eyes landing on the great Temple of Concord shining white in the fading light of the winter sun.

"No," he breathes quietly, squinting against the blinding glow, "There's nothing in this world like Rome."

The Tribune doesn't answer, but the surgeon can feel the ache in his friend's heart. There was nothing in this world as great as Rome, and they have betrayed her.

 4.

He sips Tuscan wine in Polydorus' courtyard when a slave shuffles in and bends to whisper something in his master's ear. His friend frowns at the words, glances up at him, and nods towards the slave, who bows his head and shuffles out.

"Your services are needed at Atia's Villa, my friend," Polydorus says, still frowning, "It's across the Forum, on the Palatine Hill. Idas will take you there."

Ennius places his glass on the floor, now frowning himself.

"Atia's Villa…wait; Atia of the Julii? Caesar's kin?" he asks, now startled, "But, he's there tonight, isn't he? There's a banquet in his name…do-do you think he needs my services?"

Polydorus springs to his feet and starts pacing to and fro.

"Seems only logical," he says, cradling his chin in his palm, "Atia must have her own medical man, but Caesar is used to you by now."

Trying hard not to think of the effect that Caesar's health will have on Roman Politics, Ennius springs to his feet and rushes to the room he occupies in his friend's Villa during this forced stay in Rome. He grabs his bag and meets Polydorus in the doorway.

"I must go," he pants, already slightly out of breath in his haste to leave, "where is your slave; I do not know my way."

Polydorus shakes his head and fastens his cloak over his toga.

"Idas is fat and lazy," he explains at the startled expression on the surgeon's face, "if Caesar's health is indeed in jeopardy, it is best that I take you."

They reach the lavish Villa quickly, and are both somewhat out of breath; they're admitted through the servants' entrance, into the kitchen, where Polydorus stays, immediately engaging the cook in pleasant talk. Ennius is led through a series of inner rooms, his heart hammering wildly in his chest. The sounds of laughter and merrymaking reach his ears through the elaborately painted walls, muted by Roman concrete. The slave girl before him stops by the entrance to a little room and bows to him, pushing the doors open.

Inside, on a large bed, sits the loveliest woman he's ever seen.

She can be no older than 17; her golden curls falling softly across her shoulder, her lips red and plump as the apples that used to grow in his mother's garden back at home. She wears a lovely seafoam green dress that compliments her eyes and her figure and accentuates her little, round breasts, and Ennius' heartrate threatens to send him to an early grave.

"I am a surgeon, Madam," he says, his voice surprisingly steady, "how may I be of service?"

"Oh, thank the Gods!" she exclaims, "my darling little Horace has had three fits, and now he can barely breathe!"

She moves a little and Ennius can finally see that she's shielding a little white Melitan dog with her divine body. A strong sense of indignation begins to fester in his innards.

"You dog?" he asks in dismay, and she frowns haughtily.

"Yes, my dog! I demand the best care for my darling pet, and my great uncle on my mother's side swears by you."

The surgeon frowns, not understanding how the girl's great-uncle became a part of the equation. He draws himself to his full height, shifting his satchel over his shoulder.

"Your great-uncle must be mistaken, Madam," he says quietly, trying to keep his temper in check, "I am a physician, not an animal doctor; you must look for a farrier."

The girl frowns in livid anger, no doubt unused to not getting her way.

"He will be sorry to hear that," she spits, and Ennius notices that her hands are shaking, "he spoke quite highly of you, Gods know why! Perhaps you are not as knowledgeable as he thinks you are; we shall ask for a real physician."

"I was just about to suggest that," he says and turns away, not even bothering to take proper leave of her.

"Wait!" she cries, staying him with the urgency in her voice. He turns back to her, mortified to notice that her eyes are moist, "have you never had a dog of your own?"

"Yes," he answers before he can check himself. Her chest is rising swiftly in agitation, and her eyes are bright and anxious.

"Would you let him die on the point of formality?" she pleads with him, and Ennius finds himself taking a step into the room and sitting down beside her on the bed, reaching out for the panting dog.

She feeds him too much, and spoils him rotten; this much is clear. He admonishes her greatly, and she's properly chastised, smiling up at him coyly, as if fully aware of her power over men. He finds himself telling her of his aunt's dog who used to howl whenever she was torturing the lyre, and the exquisite golden girl laughs, the colour rising his her pale cheeks.

He rises to go, picking up his bag and slinging it over his shoulder, and turns to take his leave, properly this time. The girl smiles, and her smile is genuine.

"What is your name?"

 5.

"Carola of the Pinarii," smiles Polydorus when Ennius grills him for answers once they are back at the quiet, secluded Tribune's Villa, "is the bane of her uncle's existence and the desire of every man in Rome, my friend."

"Her uncle? She told me her great uncle on her mother's side swears by me," the surgeon says, reclining on a sofa and sighing tiredly, "I have never met the old fart in my life…"

Polydorus nearly chokes on a grape, and Ennius jumps to slap him on the back to help him clear the airway.

"Carola's mother was Arcadia of the Julii," Polydorus coughs, and Ennius pales.

"Oh no…" he mutters, sinking on the bed next to his now laughing friend.

"Oh yes," crows Polydorus, slapping the shocked surgeon on the back, "but I was talking about the man who raised her- her father's brother- Rufus Pinarius Pollux. He is one of the most influential people in Rome, and a bit of an oddity, really."  

Ennius turns to regard his friend with interest.

"How so?" he asks, intrigued despite the aversion to gossip that is set deep within his character.

"Well, for one thing, he is yet to marry off his 18-year-old niece to an influential suitor of his choosing. Instead, he lets her do as she pleases," Polydorus smiles and shakes his head, "the result, I assure you, is quite engaging. She is one of the wittiest women of my acquaintance, and her tongue sometimes seems sharper than my sword!"

Ennius frowns and looks away; for some reason, Polydorus' familiarity with the lady seems to rub him the wrong way.

"All I encountered tonight was a spoiled little brat who's used to getting her way," he says grudgingly, unable to look his friend in the eye.

There's a moment of silence and then Polydorus groans; startled, Ennius turns to his friend, only to find him looking back at him with pity in his hazel eyes.

"Gods, old man; you're besotted with the girl," he acknowledges sympathetically; the surgeon shakes his head vehemently and springs to his feet.

"Nothing of the sort, I assure you," he insists fervently, his hands balled up into fists, "I could never fall in love with such a frivolous, entitled creature. How can you even insinuate that?"

Thoroughly unconvinced at this dramatic display of indifference, or – rather- of disdain, Polydorus arches an eyebrow and shrugs.

"As you say, my friend," he tries to placate the fuming surgeon, "now sit back down, I have some news to disclose."

Reluctant, and somewhat resentful, Ennius returns to his seat beside his friend, who seems to have suddenly lost some of his famous bravado. The Tribune's shoulders appear to slump slightly forward, and the cavity of his chest angles backwards in somewhat akin to defeat.

"What is it?" the surgeon asks; the anger from before entirely forgotten.

Polydorus looks up at him with a wistful expression, his scar suddenly an angry red against a pallid face.

"I saw Eusebia yesterday," he says quietly and takes a deep breath, "She's with child; may Juno keep her."

Ennius echoes the blessing and sentiment; childbirth is a precarious business. He regards his friend from the corner of his eye, trying to gauge the other man's disposition - to understand to what level he may inquire after the Tribune's feelings over the entire matter - when Polydorus turns to him sharply.

"I'm worried that she might…Ennius, my friend; when her time comes – can you not assist?"

The surgeon sucks air through his teeth and frowns.

"Trust me, old man," he places his hand on his friend's shoulder and squeezes sympathetically, "You do not wish me there. Childbirth is attended by midwives; physicians are called in only if it gets bad. You do not want me there, Polydorus."

The haunted look in the other man's eyes is devastating.

"What can be done, then?"

"You could offer a sacrifice to Juno at her Temple," Ennius suggests with some confidence; this is something he is used to – the counselling, and consoling, of family members and friends, "an offering to Diana would not go amiss as well."

"But I am not the husband," Polydorus stutters, confusion and uncertainty written all over his handsome face, "will my offerings be regarded as proper?"

Ennius shrugs and looks at the ceiling; the golden light from the oil lamp dangling above his head brings unbidden images of wheat-coloured curls into his mind.

"You are a family member, are you not?" he offers, shaking his head to try and clear his thoughts, "Polycorpus is your cousin. It will do."

The silence stretches around them as each man is lost in his own thoughts. The hour is late, and the wine is near gone; Polydorus clears his throat, and Ennius turns to regard him. No doubt he will advise them both to turn in for what is left of the night.

"I think I must marry," the dark-haired man says instead, staring into the distance, "this pining; it's not good for me. I must put Eusebia behind me."

The surgeon is surprised; Polydorus never showed any inclination to enter into family life – but the Tribune's mood is starting to shift back towards the cheerful, and Ennius doesn't want to upset this steady sailing.

"Oh, must you?" he asks, teasing, "and do you have a candidate in mind?"

The Tribune stretches languidly and reclines back in his seat, his arms crossed behind his head. Polydorus smiles wolfishly; a glint of naughtiness flares in his eyes, making Ennius think of a plotting cat or a mischievous child.

"I might."

 6.

He's rushing through the Forum, leather satchel hanging from his shoulder and sandals thudding on the lined cobbles when he hears his name and title being called. He turns around, squinting in the sun and trying to locate the person who called for him when he spots a pale face peeking out of a lavishly decorated litter, a few meters to his right. He takes a few steps closer and stops, his heart picking up pace for no good reason.

Carola of the Pinarii smirks at him from behind honey-topaz curtains; she's dressed in a pink dress today, her high waist adorned with a golden belt that nearly matches the colour of her cascading curls. A rosy ribbon bears the strenuous job of holding her hair together, and her lovely cobalt eyes are painted with kohl.

"Well, well, Surgeon," she greets him with her sarcastic little smile, "where are you rushing off to on this fine day?"

"Madam," he acknowledges her presence before him and inclines his head slightly in her direction, "I am on my way to the Aventine docks; I've been called to attend on some recently purchased slaves who appear to have contracted the typhoid fever."

The girl frowns and scrunches up her perfect nose; she really is quite lovely, and Ennius has to fight off the physical urge to sigh.

"Nasty disease," she says quietly, looking away. Then, suddenly, she glances up, and her eyes run over his face in interest, "are you not afraid of contracting it yourself? Why not let another physician treat the slaves? You are an Eques, are you not?"

Ennius frowns and shifts from one foot to the other, beginning to feel very pressed for time.

"I fail to see how my social class is relevant in this particular case," he says briskly, feeling slightly ill at ease at the sudden interest in his life.

"Oh, but you're proud," Carola whispers huskily, her eyes shining with devious curiosity, "and the class you were born to has every relevance, Surgeon; I asked around after your family. You are of noble birth; it'd be a shame to lose you to an illness. Why not let a plebeian physician treat the wretches instead?"

At first he thinks he's delirious – for, surely, no one as lovely as this can be so cynical and cruel; but then she smiles that sarcastic little smile of hers, and he understands that there is nothing wrong with his mind, or his ears (there may be something fundamentally wrong with his heart, but he'd rather not think about that particular mess at the moment).

"Because, Madam; I have sworn an oath to assist all those who are in need; be they the grandest of senators or the lowest of slaves," Ennius says tightly, "now, if you'd excuse me; some seriously ill human beings require my attention."

He turns to leave, shaken and distraught, and mostly angry with himself for allowing this slip of a girl to affect him so, when her hastily uttered 'wait!' stops him in his tracks. He turns his head to the right, to watch her from the corner of his eye.

"I have a tingling in my throat, Surgeon," she supplies, rising slightly from her reclining position in the litter, and pressing three fingers to the gracious column of her neck, "do you think it could be something serious?"

Ennius turns to her fully, unsure whether this sudden plight is a new sort of mockery or just a way to assure his attention. The look in her eyes puzzles him greatly – she looks almost…hopeful – and suddenly he feels the need to put as much distance between himself and this nymph.

"I very much doubt it, Madam," he manages to say, and even allows a little smile to come to his lips, "you seem in the peak of health to me. Good day to you."

He inclines his head to her and turns and finally walks away. He heads for the docks, but the ailing slaves are far from his mind now; as far from him, figuratively, as the woman in the litter is. They're worlds apart, her and him, and he is best to remember it; they would never suit, not even as mere lovers. Best to put her out of his mind; best to forget he ever came to doctor her dog; best-

He dreams of her that night.

 7.

"I've decided to free one of my slaves," Polydorus says at breakfast the next day. Ennius takes a bite of cheese and raises his eyebrows at this disclosure.

"That's very noble of you, my friend," he says slowly and picks up his water, "may I inquire as to the reason of your doing so?"

"Certainly," the Tribune says, dusting off his hands over his plate and rising from the table, "I plan on marrying her."

Ennius nearly drops the glass cup on the floor in utter shock. He likes to think that he is used to his friend's unexpected actions by now, but this sudden admission takes him fully by surprise.

"Can- can you even do that?" he stutters, his eyes large in astonishment. Polydorus was always a wild card and a scorner of social conventions, but this little bit is radical - even for him.  

The Tribune, obviously enjoying the reaction his confession caused in his dearest friend, smiles cheekily and winks.

"Can I do what?" he asks innocently, "free her, or wed her?"

Ennius springs to his feet in annoyance and places his cup carefully on the table. Trust Polydorus to derive pleasure from vexing him so!

"Don't play coy," he says with some exasperation in his voice, "you know what I mean. You're from a Senatorial family; Senators cannot marry freed women."

Polydorus shrugs and picks up an olive from an earthen bowl standing on the table.

"Yes, but I am not a Senator; in fact, my side of the family is considered as the side of the bad apples," he smiles and pops the olive into his mouth; chewing and spitting the pit into his palm, "Uncle is the Senator – as will soon be Polycorpus – but I? I may do as I please."

"Take me with you when you go to deliver the happy news to your family," Ennius says dryly, "your Uncle will require my assistance after he suffers the heart stroke that is sure to arrive with the announcement."

Polydorus rolls his eyes good-naturedly at the surgeon and picks up another olive.

"Are you not interested in my bride-to-be's identity?" he asks quietly and bites down on the olive; his smugness finally giving way to calm edginess.

"You know I am," Ennius says grudgingly and picks up the wine decanter. He needs something stronger than water for this conversation.

"It's Demelza," his friend discloses softly and picks up a fig from another bowl, turning it in his fingers.

"Demelza…" Ennius says, furrowing his brow, "the pretty red-haired girl; the Celt from Albion?"

Polydorus looks up at him, and there is some uncertainty in his eyes. Ennius begins to think that the Tribune almost craves his concession to the match.

"Yes," Polydorus confirms; his voice still uncharacteristically soft, "what do you think?"

"Well…" Ennius begins hesitatingly, and takes some bracing sips of wine, "she's certainly pretty…and kind; we've exchanged words, she's very caring… but… a bit on the wild side, don't you think…?"

The Tribune smiles wryly and chuckles, nodding his consent.

"What I mean to say is," the surgeon tries again, articulating somewhat helplessly with his hands; the wine in his cup sloshing about dangerously, "Perhaps a more genteel choice will be more suitable? Take a nice girl from a noble Equestrian family, if you don't want any of the pompous girls of the Palatine…"

Polydorus shakes his head, laughing easily, his dark curls bouncing with the motion.

"No, no," he says in amusement and defiance, "this one will do nicely."

Ennius narrows his eyes at his friend and frowns. The Tribune laughs again, this time at his friend's facial expression.

"You know," the surgeon says slowly, crossing his arms over his chest, "I rather think you just enjoy shocking all of Rome. Is that it? Is that why you do it?"

Polydorus can't stop laughing. He takes a few steps towards a disgruntled Ennius and thumps him on the shoulder.

"That's just it," he says good-naturedly, "You got me there."

 8.

Two days pass before Ennius sees Carola again.

He's invited to dinner at Polydorus' Uncle's Villa, and he's glad to comply; feeling that perhaps there is another motive for inviting him. Eusebia is doing somewhat poorly; her face is deathly pale and her ankles swollen. Pregnancy does not agree with her, and there is, unfortunately, little he can do to alleviate her condition at the moment, beyond the regular advice of a building diet and nettle tea.  

"She should feel better after the child arrives," he says to the anxious Polycorpus as he rearranges his tools in his satchel, "there is little to be done now. But I find that a small offering to Ceres sometimes helps."

"Thank you, my friend," the other man says, clasping Ennius' shoulder, "I'm much obliged to you for taking the time to examine Eusebia. She feels so ill at times –"

"Say nothing of it, Polycorpus," the surgeon interrupts the fair-haired man, feeling ill at ease with all the gratitude, "we've known each other a long time, since the Academy; you should know by now that I consider it a privilege to be of use to my friends."

Polycorpus smiles and squeezes Ennius' shoulder fondly.

"But tell me," he says, changing the subject rather artfully, "is my cousin really going to marry that slave girl?"

The surgeon nods and shrugs, accepting a cup of wine from the other man.

"I think so," he says and takes a sip, "you know Polydorus; if he's not driving the Roman high society mad, he's not satisfied."

Polycorpus laughs and shakes his head, bringing his own cup to his lips.

"Yes, I rather think you're right…"

They are about to rejoin the others – Polydorus is no doubt close to giving his uncle a stomach ulcer – when a slave walks in and whispers something in Polycorpus' ear. Ennius places his cup on the table where his satchel still lies; he's eerily certain that the message is actually intended for him. When the slave leaves, Polycorpus sighs dejectedly.

"Why can't the pompous Patricians be ill at a more convenient time?" he asks rhetorically; Ennius smiles tiredly and throws the satchel over his shoulder, tying the clasps closed, "I'm sorry, my friend; you are needed at Pollux' Villa. It's a complaint of the throat."

The surgeon's insides turn into ice at the mere mention of "throat" and "Pollux' Villa". An image of a reclining young woman in a pink dress, fingers pressed daintily to a long, gracious neck, rises guiltily in his mind.

"I shall leave at once," he says urgently and nods to his host, "please, convey my apologies to your uncle and the rest of the guests; I shall return if the case is simple and doesn't take long."

"Of course," Polycorpus mutters and walks the hurrying surgeon to the kitchens so that they are not hindered by quizzing guests. In the courtyard he clasps the physician's shoulder tightly, "Gods be with you, Ennius."

The surgeon nods abruptly and turns from his friend, disappearing into the night rather quickly; his steps echoing in the darkness long after Polycorpus returns into the house.

He is met at the front of the grandiose Villa by Carola's anxious uncle, who looks absolutely nothing like her. He is not a big man, and the toga he wears hangs from his shoulder rather sluggishly; his eyelids are heavy and the head bolding. The hands, which he wrings in distress, are covered in warts; from the state of his agitation, the man is obviously fond of his niece.

"You are Diodotus Ennius, Caesar's surgeon; I presume?" he asks in a voice as small as the man himself, "I am Rufus Pinarius Pollux, and my niece is gravely ill; she insisted on calling for you."

Ennius gestures for the older man to lead the way, and they enter the large atrium together. He is about to ask Pollux for details of his niece's condition, but the lavishly decorated space renders him speechless; the frescoes on the walls around them are filled with dancing nymphs and laughing cupids bedecked in garlands of laurels against a vivid crimson background. The floor is laid out in aligned marble triangles of black and white and the impluvium, the shallow rectangle pool in the centre of the room, is paved with delicate mosaics stones that form a sophisticated geometric design. Two small reclining sofas, one opposite the other, stand, flanking the impluvium.

"My niece started feeling her throat about three days ago," the older man begins, thankfully, without any prompting from the dumbstruck surgeon, "she has since grown worse! She can barely swallow now!"

Ennius clears his throat, trying to find his voice again.

"Has another physician been to see her?" he asks assertively enough and is relieved to see the uncle nodding.

"Oh, yes; our family medic came and instructed her to drink hot honeyed water," the older man states and wrings his warty hands, "we even made an offering to Aesculapius, but nothing helped!"

A loud barking from the doorway to one of the bedrooms puts an end to the agitated recounting of the young woman's illness, and Ennius turns to looks at the familiar small dog that stands guard over his Mistress' room. The surgeon smiles fondly and squats down next to the suspicious animal, letting it sniff his palm.

"Hello, Horace," he says amicably, patting the dog with his free hand, "remember me? Best to let me through, old boy; I've come to help your Mistress."

The dog gives a final whine and a growl of warning and moves aside to sit on its behind in the middle of the room so that Ennius has to sidestep him in order to get to the patient on the bed.

Surrounded by pillows and silk, she lies atop the covers like a wounded dove; her turquoise robe tied snuggly under her round little breasts, and falls open at her thighs, revealing the soft, see-through shift beneath. She tries to rise when he approaches, but Ennius precedes her; he sits on the edge of the bed, his hip rubbing against her ribs in the process, and takes her face in his hands. He tries to ignore the tiny gasp she gives when he touches her and overlook the slight exhilaration of her pulse and the blooming in her cheeks.  

He tilts her head backwards, and moves it softly from side to side; his fingers pressing gently into the skin of her neck. The left side of her throat is swollen; he can feel it through his digits, and the quivering muscles underneath his skin assure him that the difficulty in swallowing is causing her trouble. He looks up, and meets her dazzling eyes, and sees fear in them.

The light in the room is too dim for an examination, and he asks that some more light and salted water be brought in. Pollux, in his agitation, jumps to the task himself, leaving the surgeon and his patient alone in the room. Ennius realizes that he's still holding Carola's face in his hands, and with a seemingly accidental swipe of his thumb against her cheek, he lets his palms fall from her physiognomy.

"Are you in a lot of pain?" he asks softly, and she nods mournfully, unable to speak.

Her eyes are filled with unshed tears, and Ennius' chest suddenly feels extremely tight, as if it is being crushed by some supernatural force that he has absolutely no control of; he feels guilt, for disregarding her complaint a few days ago, and thinking that her plight was just another way to get a rise out of him. His own cheeks redden in shame.

Pollux and two slaves return with extra oil lamps, and Ennius is brought back into the situation by the necessity of reclaiming his status as the able physician. Promptly, he orders one of the slaves to stand behind him with the lamps and lean as close to him as he can without burning them both. Then, gently, he takes Carola's face in his hands again and looks in her eyes.

"Open your mouth, please," he says, tilting her head back once more, "as wide as you can."

She does as she is told, and it doesn't take long for the surgeon to find the serious problem that ails the beauty before him. He looks at her intensely for a moment before releasing her face and rising from the bed.

"I think I can help you," Ennius says, reaching into his bag, "but you must keep absolutely still. Can you do that?"

He turns to regard her; she's sitting up, propped up on her left palm, the fingers of her right hand pressed against her throat. She nods frantically in confirmation. The surgeon removes the needed appliances from his bag and turns towards the nervous uncle.

"I shall require all to exit this room," he says rather sternly, "leave but one slave to hold the light over me. I must have complete silence to concentrate. This is a very delicate situation."

"Of course; of course!" stutters the uncle, and ushers the other slave out of the room, "out Strabo; out! Let the good Surgeon do his work! And you, Castor!" he calls to the other slave, who stands to attention as fast as any Roman soldier, "don't disappoint me, man! Aid Surgeon Ennius as best as you can!"

"Yes, Dominus!" the slave called Castor assures him, and Ennius has the amusing feeling that he might salute the older man; but instead the slave just bows slightly over the lamp he's holding.

"You're in good hands, my dear," the uncle calls, already at the door, "this young man looks promising!"

Carola attempts a smile and builds up a fake strong façade to try and assuage her uncle's worries, and Ennius realizes that she is very fond of her guardian. Touched in spite of himself at the thought that she may care for some other human being, Ennius returns to the bed with his tools.

"Do you trust me, Carola?" he asks softly, deliberately using her private name, despite the impudence of the matter; she doesn't seem to care – at least, he thinks she does not; not by the soft tilt of her luscious mouth – and she nods.

"Good," Ennius says, his heart threatening to burst, "now open your mouth as wide as you can, please; and stay absolutely still. Light, please; Castor!"  

He is successful on the third attempt, and when he finally withdraws and rises from the bed, Carola gasps and falls back against the pillows.

"What did you do?" she pants in a way that makes the poor surgeon think unchaste thoughts, despite his good upbringing. Her chest is rising and falling quickly with her laboured breathing, "I- I feel m-much better!"

"Rinse your mouth," he instructs her, coming to stand by the bed as she, again, does as she's bid, "When did you last eat fish, Madam?"

He's holding a little fishbone between his fingers, and she slowly rises from her lying position to stare at the offending tiny piece of fauna.

"Three days ago," she says quietly and glances up to meet his gaze, "you saved me, Surgeon; I am forever in your debt."

A few charged moments pass with them looking at each other, and then Ennius clears his throat awkwardly and looks away.

"It was my honour, Madam," he says quietly and begins putting his tools away, "I am just glad no further damage was done."

She follows his movements with clever eyes, her fingers drumming idly on the bed.

"Tell me," she says suddenly, smiling openly for once, "is it true what they say of your friend? That he plans to wed his slave?"

Ennius looks up from the task of fastening up his satchel and regards her with scrutiny, but she seems genuine enough, and he can't detect any scorn in her voice.

"Yes," he confirms after a second, "he's about to free her the day after tomorrow; then there will be nothing to stop them from getting married," he turns back to his bag, fiddling with the straps for an excuse to do something, "I assume you object?"

"You assume wrong," she laughs, and his head jumps up at her words, "oh, don't look so shocked; I like a good scandal every now and then, and Polydorus is a smart, sensible man; he must have his reasons."

This approach throws Ennius off, and he stutters a little, battling for words. Her smile is disarming, almost like a weapon, and he can't seem to look away. Being in her presence is becoming more dangerous to him than the battlefields of Gaul ever were.

"No doubt he does," he says, smiling curtly, eager to end this audience and be gone to brood in peace – maybe even return to Polycorpus' party, "now, Madam; I will leave you to your rest, you must not overwork the throat."

"I shall be silent, then," she says playfully, and rises to her knees on the bed; thus bringing the two of them nearly face-to-face. Ennius swallows hard and tries not to breathe.

"Thank you, Ennius," Carola whispers, the front of her robe opening a tad to reveal her thin shift and a hint of soft skin, "truly; I knew that you would be able to help."

He smiles, rather bashfully, and her eyes light up; and suddenly, before he can stop himself, he blurts: "No trouble; can I do anything for Horace while I'm here?"

Carola laughs.

 9.

Polydorus' wedding is a small event, luckily for the nervous bride.

The Uncle and the cousins are prevented from attending due to the joyous event of the birth of Polycorpus' long-awaited son. The child is healthy and robust; and they name him Gracchus, after the gratified grandfather who shines with both pride and obesity. Both the blushing bride and the groom's family are secretly happy at this fortunate absence.

There are no guests, save for two; Ennius and – oddly enough – Carola of the Pinarii.

"Why would you invite her?" the surgeon demands of his friend an hour before the wedding, at the moment when Polydorus is being dressed, "is this some kind of jest at my expense?"

The Tribune frowns at his friend and reaches out his arm so that his slave is able to wrap the toga around his shoulder.

"I happen to like Carola," he says testily and throws his arms in opposite sides as the crimson wrap he chose to wear is being tucked into his belt, "this has nothing to do with you; I knew she'd like to come. You got her all wrong, old boy; if you just pull your head out of your righteous arse, you'll see that."

Ennius gaps at his friend in horror, and tries to remind himself that murdering a friend- especially a groom on his wedding day – is against his Hippocratic oath.

"Oh, stop gawking;" Polydorus says good-naturedly, "I'm only teasing. And do try to be civil; it's my wedding day!"

***

Ennius shifts from one foot to the other, wondering at the directions in which Cupid's arrows fly, when he feels, rather than hears, Carola approaching him. He doesn't turn, but waits for her to stand close to him before he acknowledges her presence. The wedding is held at the courtyard, by the humble stables, with a bored priest from the temple of Ceres presiding over the ritual; but Carola seems oddly apropos to this peculiar gathering in her yellow dress and sun-kissed hair. She leans over to whisper in his ear as the priest's drawl washes over the sleepy slaves that gather in the back entrance to the house.  

"The bride is lovely as spring, don't you think?" she breathes close to his ear, and he has to stifle the urge to shiver, "I've never seen such natural, vivid red hair before."

"Demelza is very sweet and kind," he says, leaning closer to her when Polydorus sends him an inquisitive look, "she will make a great mother one day."

Carola takes a step back and frowns at him.

"No doubt that is all you men see when it comes to womenfolk and marriage," she says tartly. The priest raises his hands to the sky and invokes Mother Ceres; Polydorus yawns.

"I never said that," Ennius whispers harshly, determined to make her understand, "I just pointed out that Demelza would make a fine mother!"

"As you say, Surgeon," Carola says, smiling that infuriating, sarcastic smile that figures quite often in his dreams these days, "I, for one, would rather be an old maid than do all this."

"Surely not," the surgeon says, frowning; the priest is getting closer to the finish line, and Demelza starts fidgeting in nervousness, "what of love?"

"Oh please," Carola whispers, chuckling breathlessly, "love has nothing to do with marriage; at least not in my world. You and I both know that."

"Not if you choose the right man," he says suddenly, not knowing what compelled him to say such an impudent thing to someone he knows so little.

She looks at him, startled; but then her eyes soften as she smiles the way she did when he took care of her ailment; a genuine, brilliant smile that warms his body from the inside.

"You and I both know that I will have no say in the matter," she says rather ruefully and looks away. The priest lowers his hands, and Polydorus leans in to kiss Demelza on both cheeks. The pair turns to their two guests, smiling sheepishly. Carola grins, opening her arms, and approaches Demelza with the air of a childhood friend.

"My dear," she cries eagerly, kissing the befuddled girl on the mouth, "what a beautiful dress! You simply must tell me where you got the fabric from!"

 10.

"Tell me, does your beloved wife know the kind of party you are about to attend?" Ennius asks grudgingly, all but dragging his feet. By his side, Polydorus sighs dramatically and rolls his eyes skywards.

"Gods above," he drones before turning to his friend, "stop being so prudish, brother; it doesn't suit you. It's only an orgy; Demelza wouldn't mind. It's practically pious to attend one!"

"Pious my arse," the surgeon mutters, shaking his head, "why must I come along? You know I was never a fan of the cult of Bacchus."

The Tribune smirks and nods, wiping his damp forehead on the tail of his cloak. The night is abnormally humid for this time of year, and walking through the crowded city without turning into a mobile puddle is becoming incredibly difficult.

"Yes, I know," he says, laughingly, "You were always for the more rational Gods, whereas I am quite fond of the old drunkard. You're going because you need to relax, old friend; you've been working yourself to death."

It's true, of course. Ennius has been gradually submerging himself in cases since Polydorus' wedding; groaning quietly under the load when no one was around to listen. He'd go out at daybreak and seek the poor patients of the Aventine, and come back at night, too exhausted to eat, and would collapse on the bed in his clothes. After some time, the Tribune would stop trying to wake him up to drink/eat/bathe/change his clothes, and would just leave him lying prone on the covers, snoring peacefully.

"I know," Ennius acknowledges grudgingly, "but couldn't we go to the theatre instead? Why an orgy, of all things?"

Polydorus sneaks a glance in his friend's direction and sighs, chewing on his lower lip.

"I wanted to provide a distraction," he confesses uneasily, looking ahead; deliberately not making eye contact. Ennius frowns at the Tribune.

"A distraction?" he asks confusedly; in the distance, he can see that the Villa in which the orgy is being held, is lit by a large number of torches, which makes it look frightfully eerie, "A distraction from what?"

"A distraction from a certain golden-haired nymph, who will – sooner or later – be wed to a very influential man, and will only break your heart. I've noticed the way you both looked at each other at the wedding, Diodotus."  

Ennius stops in his tracks, quite unable to move.

"Much obliged, of course; Romulus," he mutters, feeling almost faint, "but I assure you, nothing of the sort-"

"I've known you for years, brother," Polydorus whispers, suddenly very close to him, "you cannot fool me. Now, come; we are going to drink, smoke hemp, and you are going to bed a succulent maiden who will scream your name from here to Macedonia."

He grabs the surgeon by the shoulders, slinging his arm around the fair-haired man in an embrace, and all but drags him the last couple of feet. Once inside, and free of their cloaks, Ennius comes to his senses, shaking his head to clear his mind. Music is being played in the distance; flute and drum and lyre, all rising together in a hymn to Bacchus and his drunken rituals of oblivion. Bodies are writhing together on the floor before them; naked breasts and genitalia for all to see. Ennius wrinkles his nose in distaste.

"Sons of Dis!" Polydorus spits suddenly, making the stunned surgeon turn to him in surprise, "I can't believe it!"

"What?" Ennius asks urgently, grasping the dark-haired man by the arm, "What is it?"

"Here I am, planning a brilliant distraction; when she is here!" he cries, pointing a finger at the distance. Ennius follows the pointed digit and focuses his eyes on a cluster of sofas at the far side of the atrium where, sure enough, sits a familiar figure, dressed in a flaming red, almost transparent, dress and smokes an opium pipe.

"Gods below," he mutters, choking slightly on the oath, "what is she doing here?"

"Don't know," Polydorus hisses, already making his way through the crowd and towards the seated young woman, "but I am going to find out!"

She notices them as soon as they reach her, and Ennius is heartened to see that she is not under the influence yet. Her eyes light up, and she springs to her feet, spreading her arms in delight.

"Well, well, my two favourite soldiers, Polydorus and Ennius," she cries, and her smile twists upwards to the left, "what brings you here?"

"What brings you here?" Polydorus corrects her, frowning and fuming, "this is not the place for young, unmarried noblewomen!"

Carola throws her head back and laughs.

"My, my; such double standards, Tribune," she crows, shaking her head, "but worry not, I'm not here to participate; this is research."

She smiles wryly at their stunned faces and shrugs.

"Oh, I take it you've not heard," she says, and now Ennius thinks he can detect a faint hint of despair in her deceptively light voice, "I am to be married next month! I am to be the wife of Senator Ursus Terentius, who is fat and tedious and is 30 years my senior. Congratulate me, my friends; I am the most fortunate of women!"

The two men stand in complete silence amidst the noise of the party around them. Carola is smiling at them, but her smile is no longer acerbic, and her two front teeth are embedded deep in her lower lip.

"Well, tell me now, my dear Surgeon; did I choose the right man?" she asks, and her eyes are impossibly large as they regard him sincerely. Ennius feels his stomach dropping, and his heart contracts painfully in his chest. By his side, Polydorus sighs dejectedly.

"Carola –" he begins, but she raises her hand to stop him and shakes her head in negation.

"No, no; my dear," she says, still smiling, "not all of us can marry our beloved slaves, who mean more to us than all the Senate combined. But worry not! I shall have a grand Villa and many slaves, and be one of the most influential women in Rome! Or so Uncle Rufus assures me."

Ennius stares at her, unable to speak, and soon she turns to looks at him openly, with such sincerity, that his heart threatens to break under the strain. Polydorus, utterly forgotten, clears his throat after a few long, silent moments.

"Oh, is that brother Marcius I see over there, by that column?" he utters miserably, looking around; "I shall go and say hello, then, shall I? I will give him your best too, Ennius. You two…talk."

When Polydorus skulks away to greet the probably imaginary friend, Carola takes a step closer to Ennius and raises her pretty face closer to his ear. The surgeon lowers his own head, sensing that the girl has something to say.

"Is it true what they say about the first time?" she asks above the din, and Ennius colours, "is the act of penetration really that painful?"

"U-um, well…" he stutters in mortification; she does not look at him, and he's left staring at the golden crown of her head, but that does not seem to alleviate his embarrassment in the slightest, "That is, there is a membrane, at-at the opening of the vagina, and, well, it is...torn during coitus, which causes blood and some pain; of course, if-if a man cares for the woman, he will take steps to, um, make her, ehm, ready for him."

She looks up at him then, and the resolute, sarcastic twist of her mouth makes his heart ache.

"I'm doomed, then," she says, smiling sardonically.

He frowns in sympathy, trying to convey his regret at her situation; but Carola suddenly tilts her head to the right and narrows her eyes, and regards him in a calculating sort of way.

"I don't suppose you'd be willing to help me," she says slowly, "take this membrane off my hands, so to speak. You look like the sort of man who'd 'take care' of a woman, as you said."

Ennius' eyes widen in alarm and his face – already flushed – turns almost comically red.

"Madam, I- I could never-" he stammers in agitation, "I wouldn't dream-"  

She steps away from him, suddenly quite red in the face herself; and he understands that his ineloquent response has wounded her.

"Oh, I, I thought," she manages, and her eyes run wildly over the writhing bodies about them, as the music gets more upbeat and cacophonous, "I, I thought you-"

And suddenly, just like that, he understands that he is more than quite taken with the girl before him; she's hurt, and embarrassed, and overall – afraid – and she just tried to lure him into helping her and comforting her by sarcastically offering herself to him, and he – he turned her down.

And unexpectedly, quite out of his mind over this little nymph, Ennius grasps her waist and pulls her over to him, so that her round little breasts are pressed tightly against his chest, and his mouth is buried in her curls, close to her ear.

"I assure you, Madam," he breathes against the strands of gold and feels her gasp delightfully against his torso, "This is not the case."

And she raises her head and looks up at him with fire in her eyes, and her pretty lips are mere inches from his mouth.

"Oh no," she sighs, and he can almost taste the spiced wine on her breath, "of all the men in Rome, I stumble upon an honourable one…"

His hand at her waist tightens and inches downwards to the small of her back; her eyes fall to his mouth longingly, and her breath hitches.

"Carola," he mutters ruefully; he is dangerously close to breaking his righteous resolve in half and just taking her on her offer, but a commotion to his right makes him lift his head and notice Polydorus making his way towards them, shoving writhing bodies and standing people aside. The pair springs apart just in time, looking incriminatingly guilty; but the Tribune is too wired up to notice.

"We must go," he says to the red-faced couple, not taking note of their discomfort, "there is no time to lose."

"Why?" Carola cries in dismay, her brows furrowed, "you've only just arrived!"

"The 13th is ordered to regroup with Caesar in Greece, to chase Pompey" Polydorus explains, shaking his head; Ennius sighs and rubs his eyes resignedly, "we leave at daybreak for Ostia.  We must head back, Ennius; I wish to see Demelza before we leave for war."

The surgeon nods and mutters 'of course''; he turns to take his leave of Carola with a heavy heart. She looks up at him with clear eyes.

"Well, if you must leave," she says almost too lightly, "let me at least kiss you. For luck."

She rises on her tiptoes and kisses Polydorus swiftly on the mouth; then, slowly, she turns to Ennius and moves to press her lips against his.

This kiss is longer, and soft, and he fights the urge to open his mouth and taste her sweet lips with his tongue. Unbidden, but at least safe from Polydorus' view, his hand rises to rest gently on her arm.

And then, almost too soon, Carola breaks the kiss; retreating from him and from his touch.

"Bellona protect you," she says, meeting his eyes defiantly, "both of you."

So this is the end. He is for Greece, and to Gods know where from there, and she – she is to be married to some pompous elderly fool who will dribble and moan brokenly when coupling with her - his young, pretty wife. Bile rises in his throat, burning his oesophagus with fiery force, and he has to swallow against the image in his mind. Ennius takes a step back, and then another.

"Thank you, Madam," he answers softly, and turns from her, and disappears into the crowd of humans, without a second glance.