It was the middle of the day, but Theodorus had no intention of getting out of bed. His servants went about their business without him, because they knew that it was best to give him a wide berth when he was in a mood.
He was most certainly in a mood.
Theodorus was actually quite nice to his servants, overall. He'd never had slaves, and had freed a few. But he had a mean streak a mile wide, tongue as sharp as his teeth, a wild thing even just to see. While most of the members of his estate had outgrown their terrors of him, they still knew better than to think him harmless.
His ill-temper had any number of sources. Primarily, it was the city. He'd left Rome for Constantinople thinking himself clever, but he found that he did not much care for it. He'd never liked Rome as much as he'd liked Athens, and he liked Constantinople even less. He did not like the new gods, and the strange laws they brought with them, and the sensibilities around them. He did not like the slaves, and the wars, and the churches. He hadn't always gotten along with the old gods, but they'd made more sense to him than this new one.
Meeting new playmates was harder, now, than it had been. There weren't parties the way there used to be, no more orgies or bacchanalia. He got away with more than most people, even if patrikios did not mean quite what it used to. He had a villa and lots of servants and lots of gold, and even this new god could not argue with that. But they didn't know what to do with him, did they? He was something from another time and different gods, and eventually he had a hunch that someone in this city was going to try and kill him for a heretic.
He'd been thinking about moving to Persia. Which was a strange thought, when they had warred for so long, but he'd never really been a patriot. Romans now were not Romans as they used to be, and Persians seemed to be so much nicer. So he'd heard from Jews, anyway, and they were usually the first to know if a place was awful.
He'd considered other places. Sinae, or India, maybe. But he was so very Greek, still. The paleness of him and the arrangement of his features had been very pleasing, in that time and that place. He'd been younger, less tall, less broad. He was still not so large as a barbarian, but he was too large, too sharp, too pale. In a place like Persia, with so many people from so many places, he might be able to get away with it. He did not know enough about those other places to say.
Mostly these thoughts displeased him. He wanted to move, and yet he didn't. What he really wanted was for everything to go back to the way it had been, when he'd had his villa in the heart of Rome and his gardens had been vast and his parties infamous. When eunuchs were not so uncomfortably common, when he could take as many lovers as he liked in whatever shapes pleased him.
Curls dark black ran wild along marble-white skin and imported red silk, untamed enough to resemble more a dark ram's fleece than the hair of a man. He gazed out his window at the sea, watching ships pass along the pier, brooding.
He was not opposed to new things. He liked new things. He simply did not like having to lose his old things.
Sprawled out naked on his bed, he huffed.
He was going to need to get up eventually.
He was most certainly in a mood.
Theodorus was actually quite nice to his servants, overall. He'd never had slaves, and had freed a few. But he had a mean streak a mile wide, tongue as sharp as his teeth, a wild thing even just to see. While most of the members of his estate had outgrown their terrors of him, they still knew better than to think him harmless.
His ill-temper had any number of sources. Primarily, it was the city. He'd left Rome for Constantinople thinking himself clever, but he found that he did not much care for it. He'd never liked Rome as much as he'd liked Athens, and he liked Constantinople even less. He did not like the new gods, and the strange laws they brought with them, and the sensibilities around them. He did not like the slaves, and the wars, and the churches. He hadn't always gotten along with the old gods, but they'd made more sense to him than this new one.
Meeting new playmates was harder, now, than it had been. There weren't parties the way there used to be, no more orgies or bacchanalia. He got away with more than most people, even if patrikios did not mean quite what it used to. He had a villa and lots of servants and lots of gold, and even this new god could not argue with that. But they didn't know what to do with him, did they? He was something from another time and different gods, and eventually he had a hunch that someone in this city was going to try and kill him for a heretic.
He'd been thinking about moving to Persia. Which was a strange thought, when they had warred for so long, but he'd never really been a patriot. Romans now were not Romans as they used to be, and Persians seemed to be so much nicer. So he'd heard from Jews, anyway, and they were usually the first to know if a place was awful.
He'd considered other places. Sinae, or India, maybe. But he was so very Greek, still. The paleness of him and the arrangement of his features had been very pleasing, in that time and that place. He'd been younger, less tall, less broad. He was still not so large as a barbarian, but he was too large, too sharp, too pale. In a place like Persia, with so many people from so many places, he might be able to get away with it. He did not know enough about those other places to say.
Mostly these thoughts displeased him. He wanted to move, and yet he didn't. What he really wanted was for everything to go back to the way it had been, when he'd had his villa in the heart of Rome and his gardens had been vast and his parties infamous. When eunuchs were not so uncomfortably common, when he could take as many lovers as he liked in whatever shapes pleased him.
Curls dark black ran wild along marble-white skin and imported red silk, untamed enough to resemble more a dark ram's fleece than the hair of a man. He gazed out his window at the sea, watching ships pass along the pier, brooding.
He was not opposed to new things. He liked new things. He simply did not like having to lose his old things.
Sprawled out naked on his bed, he huffed.
He was going to need to get up eventually.
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539 [Closed] - by tindome - 08-09-2015, 01:48 AM
539 [Closed] - by tindome - 08-09-2015, 01:50 AM
539 [Closed] - by Blade - 08-09-2015, 07:12 AM
539 [Closed] - by tindome - 08-11-2015, 05:14 AM
539 [Closed] - by Blade - 08-11-2015, 10:42 AM
539 [Closed] - by tindome - 08-22-2015, 06:53 PM
RE: 539 [Closed] - by Blade - 11-21-2015, 03:38 PM
RE: 539 [Closed] - by Tindome - 11-28-2015, 11:33 PM
RE: 539 [Closed] - by Blade - 11-29-2015, 12:49 AM
RE: 539 [Closed] - by Tindome - 02-28-2016, 04:18 PM
RE: 539 [Closed] - by Blade - 07-11-2016, 10:56 PM
RE: 539 [Closed] - by Tindome - 01-08-2017, 01:36 PM
RE: 539 [Closed] - by Blade - 03-17-2017, 05:46 PM
RE: 539 [Closed] - by Tindome - 05-07-2017, 04:30 AM