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The Imaginary Party


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Fleeting the sharpened gladius of a debt collector, WotWotius (aka Sextus Hirtius Maximus) seeks temporary asylum at the party. He catches his breath, utters a fumbled congratulations to the Doc, before exiting the premises for a second time. Hirtius

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Hirtius' departure is made all the more quick by the presence of one of Crassus' henchmen enquiring about his whereabouts.

 

Damn that Crassus...always ruining parties....

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Caldrail turns to wander back indoors - and is very amused by NN's attempt to distance himself from the elderly matron. Then he discovers a henchman of Crassus ruining the party. Oh no you don't sunshine.... And into the pool he goes! Now back to the fray!

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Thwarted in all her attempts so far to bring Cato to heel, the Augusta - ever the opportunist - notices how many people are being despatched into the impluvium. Great gulps of water are thereby consumed before they emerge, drenched and sobered.

 

An idea forms....

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Seeing the look at the Augusta's face Klingan take as careful step back, trying to not get wet once again as he have just dried up. Smiling at how the nobles are playing he shouts for some more wine and take a seat watching as the party is progressing into total chaos.

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Nephele boisterously returns to the party, blowing on a hunting horn and leading the 50 hounds of Actaeon. The hounds are baying, yapping, yelping, and jumping on the guests.

 

One hound rears up on his hind legs, placing both forelegs on the shoulders of Primus Pilus, gazing inquisitively into Primus's apprehensive eyes, and then sloppily licking his face. Primus backs away, falling backwards over another hound who was crouching behind him. There is a resounding splash as Primus and hound land in the impluvium.

 

The rest of the hounds scavenge for hors d'oeuvres dropped by quickly retreating guests (and a few snap the hors d'oeuvres from the hands of guests who aren't quick enough to drop them).

 

Oh dear... Pamphagus! BAD boy! Andrew Dalby's fingers are NOT Vienna sausages!

 

-- Nephele

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One hound rears up on his hind legs, placing both forelegs on the shoulders of Primus Pilus, gazing inquisitively into Primus's apprehensive eyes, and then sloppily licking his face. Primus backs away, falling backwards over another hound who was crouching behind him. There is a resounding splash as Primus and hound land in the impluvium.

 

All that training has really paid off!

 

Doc quickly runs out and up to her chambers...and like a whirlwind changes into her waterproof vestments. And they're a very pretty indigo! Now properly dressed for the upcoming water fight, she scampers back downstairs to join in the fun!

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GPM quickly makes his way over to Pertinax who is hiding behind a curtain in fear of loosing his bowl of wolf's nipple chips to the rabid dogs, he whispers into Pertinax's ear who then produces a bag of mysterious looking herbs from beneath his toga, GPM takes the herbs and rushes off to sprinkle the herbs over the remaining food, in a matter of seconds the hound's of Actaeon begin sway, stagger and fall to the ground and in to a deep slumber.

 

"Right!" says GPM as he grabs a hound by the tail and drags it towards the door, "let's clear this room and get back to the partying, Oh and Doc, take that ridiculous out fit off it does nothing for your figure! I much preferred the see through stola you had on before!"

Edited by Gaius Paulinus Maximus
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Nephele! Get this.... dog... off my leg....

 

Hahahaha! Can't blame the hound if he's a bit frisky. He's just come back from a stag party with Actaeon. ;)

 

-- Nephele

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Oh and Doc, take that ridiculous out fit off it does nothing for your figure! I much preferred the see through stola you had on before!"

 

"What??? The seamstress assured me that it emphasized my curves perfectly! Dammit..."

 

So Doc hurries off...and changes her outfit yet again...another indigo number, but this time paired with a blood red underpinning. She refuses to wear the royal purple, but comes close!

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Primus climbs from the impluvium, disheveled and toga askew. Staggering and misguided, a look of confusion on his brow, he stumbles, clearly inebriated, but grinning obliviously to his own potential peril. He laughs unapologetically at the whims of Fortuna, who convinced him of the merits of wearing shoes made of meat to a party overrun with dogs. With a whimsical and thoroughly uncoordinated drunken motion, he removes said shoes and throws them to the street... sparking a riotous rush of canines out of the house.

 

Temporary calm restored, the confused Primus strikes a conversation with and stares seductively at a rather crudely proportioned statue of Athena. He offers the lady a drink while searching the folds of his toga for that amphorae he just knows he nestled in there somewhere.

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Fortunately, the chat - up -line I carefully prepared comes out as a pile of gibberish. I cannot find the right words! Pertinax's brew did the trick, and possibly got me out of a fatal situation - as did Caldrail's shove, which diverted me from my intended target into the arms of an elderly, unaccompanied matron. Coming to my senses, I quickly slope off to hide behind a pillar. Peeping from behind it, I see the elderly lady looking round the room for me. Caldrail notices my sudden retreat and shakes his head, grinning.

Edited by Northern Neil
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Shoes made of meat... How deliciously surreal, muses Nephele, as she observes Primus Pilus now carrying on an animated conversation with the statue of Athena. Nephele decides to introduce Primus to Caesar. "No, Primus -- not THAT Caesar. Meet one of my favorite surrealist artists, Ray Caesar."

 

Hope no one minds if I bring a fiend friend to the party.

 

-- Nephele

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