Sarica. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
legislatory) wrote2022-04-30 04:19 pm
legislatory) wrote2022-04-30 04:19 pm
Entry tags:
canon.
FROM HIS OWN PERSPECTIVE
by virtue. I heard his name before I saw the face it referred to. I’m shallow, but not shallower than that. Sarica buys Timachus because Timachus wants to be his, he's sure of it. It's old wisdom.
or you a thief. Sarica tries to fill the void that Timachus has left in his life in the most unexpected ways. Script format.
your ego does. They will never again be able to meet off the battlefield, when it's their blood that has been spilled. Sarica meets Timachus again. PSL continuity.
my love - diamond rings. Buying your woman jewellery means you'll follow her anywhere - she carries your fortune. PSL continuity.
death suits you, dear sir. It's an ancient story, the tale of the son who murders his father.
paper - a map in words. In the vaults of the city archives, an innocent-looking, little piece of paper describes the inner and outer workings of Villa Sarica.
all fell down. He had counted on Emaan. He had counted wrong. And he will ensure Timachus makes him pay, but what happens when you make either a weapon or a victim out of a lover?
beg you (on my knees). Sarica's tax reform has been three years in the making, but in the end, he has to learn that you don't compete with horses on a playing field that requires you fly to win.
AS SEEN THROUGH THE EYES OF OTHERS
weaver of wiles. Sarica smiled, a dangerous, but bright smile that lit up his entire face. His horse sidestepped its own shadow and he steered it firmly back in the right direction. Because you can’t truly own something whose subjection to you has been forced. You can only own what wants to be yours.
the flavour of night. Which one of them was it tonight, Sarica asks after a minute of heavy silence, fixing his gaze on Timachus’ naked front, eyes running from his face and down, then back up. The same old blush, the one Sarica is really the only who can call forth, creeps into Timachus’ cheeks and he looks down himself as well. A day and, mostly, a night in Timachus' life.
solace in the strangest places. That’s why you stay, Timachus. A day at the Sarica villa begins an hour before sunup. Even ten years later, Timachus still wakes with the slaves, listening to Qerim sweep the hallways as quietly as possible.
seen from one side. A collection of letters from Timachus to Sarica, Sarica's friends, his publisher and various everyday contacts.
cushioning. Sarica scoffs. “You treat them with too much lenience.” “Not half the lenience you showed me,” Timachus replies. Timachus wonders whether you will ever be anything but a slave, when that was what you were first.
by virtue. I heard his name before I saw the face it referred to. I’m shallow, but not shallower than that. Sarica buys Timachus because Timachus wants to be his, he's sure of it. It's old wisdom.
or you a thief. Sarica tries to fill the void that Timachus has left in his life in the most unexpected ways. Script format.
your ego does. They will never again be able to meet off the battlefield, when it's their blood that has been spilled. Sarica meets Timachus again. PSL continuity.
my love - diamond rings. Buying your woman jewellery means you'll follow her anywhere - she carries your fortune. PSL continuity.
death suits you, dear sir. It's an ancient story, the tale of the son who murders his father.
paper - a map in words. In the vaults of the city archives, an innocent-looking, little piece of paper describes the inner and outer workings of Villa Sarica.
all fell down. He had counted on Emaan. He had counted wrong. And he will ensure Timachus makes him pay, but what happens when you make either a weapon or a victim out of a lover?
beg you (on my knees). Sarica's tax reform has been three years in the making, but in the end, he has to learn that you don't compete with horses on a playing field that requires you fly to win.
AS SEEN THROUGH THE EYES OF OTHERS
weaver of wiles. Sarica smiled, a dangerous, but bright smile that lit up his entire face. His horse sidestepped its own shadow and he steered it firmly back in the right direction. Because you can’t truly own something whose subjection to you has been forced. You can only own what wants to be yours.
the flavour of night. Which one of them was it tonight, Sarica asks after a minute of heavy silence, fixing his gaze on Timachus’ naked front, eyes running from his face and down, then back up. The same old blush, the one Sarica is really the only who can call forth, creeps into Timachus’ cheeks and he looks down himself as well. A day and, mostly, a night in Timachus' life.
solace in the strangest places. That’s why you stay, Timachus. A day at the Sarica villa begins an hour before sunup. Even ten years later, Timachus still wakes with the slaves, listening to Qerim sweep the hallways as quietly as possible.
seen from one side. A collection of letters from Timachus to Sarica, Sarica's friends, his publisher and various everyday contacts.
cushioning. Sarica scoffs. “You treat them with too much lenience.” “Not half the lenience you showed me,” Timachus replies. Timachus wonders whether you will ever be anything but a slave, when that was what you were first.