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The Imaginary Party


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Nephele is having so much fun at Doc's party, that she wonders for a moment whether it might be ungracious of her to push Doc into the impluvium again.

 

Why tempt the Fates? Just...why? Besides, all of us wimmins must get in, or none of us...although the Augusta doesn't seem far from falling in herself, let's not risk it for now, eh?

 

Now...I need some nibblies...and a body...er...something to eat them off of. :)

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Now...I need some nibblies...and a body...er...something to eat them off of. :)

 

With her remarkable ability to read the minds of other women perfectly, Augusta pauses in her hip-wiggling to crook a beckoning finger at Caldrail. She raises an eyebrow at Doc, content to let her do the rest.

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After a quick nap and refreshing splash (not in the impluvium :ph34r: ), Doc's ready for more discussion and intellectual stimulation. She seeks out the wonders of Pertinax and Pantagathus, hoping to continue the good will to all. But along the way, she nearly slips on yet another trail of biscuit crumbs...

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Fresh from from campaigning in the forests of Germania the General Gaius Paulinus Maximus enters the party dressed in a dazzling white toga and on his head he wears the corona graminea awarded him by his legions on the Rhine frontier.

 

He surveys the room and notes that it's full of Rome's finest and instantly decides that this is the place to be, he beckons a slave girl and takes a glass of the delicious wine being served, slaps her on the bum and sends her on her way, and then decides which of the beautiful but tipsy stunner's to converse with first, he also makes a mental note to keep an eye on the Thracian Gladiator with crumbs around his chops.... Barbarians! They're all the same! Absolutely no class!

 

Now let's get this party started!!

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Gaius, disheveled, is splayed about the Imperial Couch after an over dose of Perfect Patented Pertimaxii. With the aid of a slave, he opens his eyes. He is astonished! - astounded! - appalled! at what he sees! He presumes it an evil dream brought about by the Lord Bacchus. He closes his eyes and then opens them serially. It's all true! No dream! The Sacred Precincts of his Palace are being violated! Pertinax is drilling holes in Caldrail's head and stuffing them with dragonbane in a vain effort to rid C. of the reptilian demons in his head. Moonlapse, plotzed, is busy erasing smilies from the walls. L_W, having exposed her tattoo, is driving Ursus berserk. GPM is chiseling out his new Signature on one of the Palace Piers. Dr. Dalby, socially inebriated, is explaining to WW and RtG how to get it on with a couple of slave girls. Pantagathus, sitting on MPC's chest, is trying to pour Falerno up MPC's nose as a result of a dispute over the translation of some arcane Egyptian scribble into equally worthless runes. N.N., plastered, and completely disregarding his alliance with MPC, is in a turgid ball with Ginevra. Fl. Valerius is arguing with the floor. The Klingon and Mal(icious)adict are mud rasslin with a couple of chickies - in the buff. Pub. Non. Severus and J. Rat., well greased, and also having completely disregarded their lictoral duties to the god-Consul, have their hooks into a couple of nymphs. AoS, Cos., is driving a chariot, decked out with a couple of illegals, through the Palace. Staggered by this uninhibited orgy, GO calls for a goblet of Scots' Scotch. Unbeknownst to him, the Ladies of the Court have entered into a conspiracy to make their bid for World Domination. Cruella slips a Mickey Finn into his goblet and commences to wriggle her tush. Tattle Tale slowly begins to bump and grind away with her charms; the two driving GO to distraction. DoL comes onto the scene and ravishes GO.

Then...???!!!

Edited by Gaius Octavius
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DoL comes onto the scene and ravishes GO. Then...???!!!

 

...A slavegirl slips on more biscuit crumbs, and drops an entire bucket of ice water on GO, thus waking him from his nightmare.

 

Realizing that he's had a few too many Pertimaxii in too short a period of time, GO goes off for a fresh toga, and a fresh drink.

 

Doc winks to the barkeep, suggesting that he and his slaves keep an eye on GO, and suggest some bread with olive oil and other nibblies to go with the Pertimaxii.

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Shaking himself dry, Gaius Octavius sees me (R.Cornelius Hadrianus) and makes a beeline. Overjoyed with a new religious building recently completed for him, he hands me a purse containing a bonus of 100 gold solidi. Eight months extra wages! In one go! Buoyed up by my new found wealth and some of the excellent wine, I momentarily emerge from my shyness. In a further presage to an event which happens to the unfortunate builder's modern incarnation 18 centuries later, the following happens:

 

NN: 'Hey, babe. I'm R. Cornelius Hadrianus.'

Babe: Yes, I know.

NN: 'Well, I wondered if you'd like to go with me to the theatre tomorrow - bloody hell, look at the state of that woman's DRESS! She's bulging out of it!'

Babe: 'That's my sister. Husband, this man wants to take me to the theatre. What do you think?'

Husband puts his arm round his wife's waist, and raises his wine glass. 'not tomorrow, my friend. Maybe the Arena - if you're performing, with the animals...'

The horrified and embarassed engineer slinks away, accidentally knocking over a half full amphora as he retreats.

Edited by Northern Neil
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A lonely pleb takes a look in. Lots of wealthy and known patricians and equisterians in there. Hmmm....

 

Probably better leave before someone get the idea that I'm a slave or something even worse.

 

*Pleb carefully closing the door and leaving*

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The Augusta, now exhausted from hours of dancing, and having just enjoyed a rub down with frond, quickly despatches one of her Nubians after Klingan. When he is hauled back into the room by said Nubian and Caldrail, the Augusta informs him that his behaving like a Pleb does not fool her for a moment. And she tells him that with his blonde hair and fine bone structure he could pass as a Julio-Claudian any day. Not only this, he loves cats too. She directs him to the litter box where Caldrail enjoyed tasty titbits hours earlier and engages him in a conversation about the virtues of clumping versus non-clumping cat litter.

 

Meanwhile, Doc has dismissed the guards from the food tables and the Augusta searches once again for Cato, who has now shed all inhibitions and is involving himself in a dance with Nephele and Gaius not at all suitable to his dignitas. An idea strikes her - and she turns her attention to Pertinax, Lord of the Herbs. She really does want to talk to him about hallucinogens.....

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Augusta searches once again for Cato, who has now shed all inhibitions and is involving himself in a dance with Nephele and Gaius not at all suitable to his dignitas. An idea strikes her - and she turns her attention to Pertinax, Lord of the Herbs. She really does want to talk to him about hallucinogens.....

 

... because she is almost certainly hallucinating if she's seeing Cato dancing?

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The staid, studious, professorial, Catonesque MPC, having recovered from an over dose of Falerno up his nose, is induced by the scantily clad Nephele to smoke some of Pertinax' weeds. Although he doesn't believe it, he has taken up with Dol on the dance floor. They are dancing to the racket AoS is making with two clarinets stuffed in his mouth. Fl. V. is now ambling about the floor on all fours, and barking the rhythm for AoS. Pantagathus is babbling in Linear B Greek to anyone he is near, as he searches for Serinella. PNS and JR break up the NN/Ginevra clump and NN tries for a repeat performance with L_W. The Klingon, having deceived Tattle Tale is smirking and enjoying the fruits of his chicanery. GO, who is losing brain cells at an abnormal rate, muses about sending the whole lot off to a very long visit with Ovid or to simply give them all the chop now.

 

And then...!!!???

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What ever it is, it's certainly not good for him as GO starts spinning uncontrollable at the middle of the floor.

 

While watching the scene, and drinking the very good wine, much batter then the stuff they *hic* server the legions he thinks he can get used to this. In his drunken mind he try to see himself as an Equite some day in the future. Lets see... 225 denari per year, that would make 900 sesterties.. *hic* Hmm only about 450 years until I have the fortune. I better find other ways to advance. *hic*

 

More wine someone! *hic*

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