Title: The Rose
Beta: LadyIfe
Rating: T for violence and suggestive themes
Disclaimer: I don't own the times, this is merely a reflection of those times.
He didn't much care for socialization, except during Saturnalia, and the other celebrations of the solstices. He sat in his corner of the barracks, eating his dinner. Brutus was not much for talk, except when he'd gone a little heavy on the wine - which might be common during any event of the week.
He was all brass tacks and as thorny as they come.
A mouse sniffed around his shoe, looking for a crumb, and he squashed it without it letting out so much as a squeak.
Even he'd forgotten that all he knew was hate: how to do it, how to carry it out. How to make sure everyone felt it. He pushed everyone away. Unless he wanted them close to him for his own desires. It came so naturally it was like breathing to him. Hating.
His comrades sensed it and chose to often leave him alone. That was the way he liked it. Mostly why he'd been commanded here - to this godsforsaken outpost. He supposed his superiors thought he would be able to put the fear of Caesar in these stubborn rebel dogs.
This particular night, a young slave girl that walked around, pouring either water or their sour wine - whatever the soldiers preferred - caught his interest. He watched her - the way she walked, the way her lips moved when she asked them the drink of their choice, even as the thin fabric of her shift clung to her hips, her chest, that waist. When she glanced in his direction, he motioned her over.
"Water or wine?" she asked, all business.
"Wine..." he said. His eyes gave her a peculiar stare that he knew intimidated all girls - even if they might not be well-bred. He knew it was the cold ice-blue eyes that scared them the most.
He'd once heard a peasant claim he had no soul - well, maybe by the gods that was true because he rarely felt anything unless he had control over someone. Watching that tortured look on their face, their eyes filled with fear and weakness, hearing them plead for mercy.
The young slave - seemingly hypnotized - avoided direct eye contact. She'd been trained well, a slave wasn't supposed to stare directly in their masters' faces. She didn't drop the pitcher as he had hoped, it would have given him an excuse to give her a swift kick, simply to see her crumple in front of him. She poured the wine, to some of his satisfaction a bit shakily, as she could not hold the pitcher in one place.
The metal clinked hollowly against his wooden cup.
"Why are you shaking? Afraid of me?" He hissed at her - wanting to intimidate her, wanting to make it feel like the world had stopped, and she was just like the little mouse he had crushed earlier.
Only this time he wanted to hear her squeak. "I -"
"Speak up... slave." He enunciated the status, knowing it made them feel small... worthless.
He drained the cup she'd poured, considering wasting a good mouthful and spitting it in her face. He knew it stung. Of course pride worse then physical but that he cared nothing about. Wounding was his specialty. Either in words or in action. The Praetorians knew better than to cross him - even his commanding officer.
"Are you going to talk or not?"
"No... sir," she managed out. Taking her pitcher and going to the next person who wanted something to drink.
"Good. Don't speak." He sneered at her, giving her a smack on the arm. He would deal with her later when she wasn't surrounded by the hungry garrission and he had another appetite to satisfy.
He watched her walk away, the intimidated shuffle, the slight hunch of the beaten. He rubbed the stubble on his cheek, apparantly deep in thought. She would look better with a couple of bruises on her pale cheek. Under his submission. He would deal with her later - during night watch.
He had not thought about the bruises on himself in years, about the scar across his cheek, his once-broken nose. In fact it would probably take some Act of God to make him even think about his abusive father and his dead mother ever again.
A/N: Keep in mind this chapter is mostly introspection. As you've guessed, Brutus will play a part later in this tale, but you have to know the characters first before you see them in action. In my mind Brutus looks a little like Eion Bailey, only with perhaps more scruffy features and a broken nose. If you have ideas for what these characters might look like please drop me a review!