broadsword_babe

Y'gotta hand it to m'mun. Sometime th'lass really comes through. So, when I said I rather liked the layout for celticmuses she got right on it designing a new header and working on th'code. Next thing I know it's half-midnight and she's still at it trying to get one last bit of something fixed. Not t'mention it turned out bloody brill!

The endless hot tub had finally been delivered and set up. It had taken a day or two for the water to warm up properly as well as give all the chemicals a chance to filter through the system, and now it was time to give it a test run. Sure it was frigid outside, but once I got in the tub, it wouldn't be nearly so bad. Wasn't like I could catch a chill anyway.

I set the biggest, fluffiest towel I could find on the table I'd put next to the tub and climbed in. The water was perfect: just short of painfully scalding. I flipped on the jets for the endless pool side of it and turned up the speed to a good clip. The steaming water pushed against me, challenging me, as I swam freestyle, concentrating on my stroke and pace. I quickly fell into a stroke-two-three-breathe pattern and my mind began to wander.

I remembered the Roman affinity for baths, in particular, their occupation of a town they called Aquæ Sulis. I knew the Romans considered baths and bathing to be a social event. I'd heard it said once that if the Colosseum was the heart of Rome, the baths were its soul.

If only Romans had discovered and implemented electricity, there would've been a hot tub in every home, I mused silently.

But I knew that necessity was indeed the mother of invention. The Romans had no need to have a bath in every home, and probably didn't want to give up their "social hour." Still, there was definitely something to be said for this endless pool/hot tub combination.

It was nearly an hour and a good half-dozen miles later when I finally decided to stop swimming. I could definitely tell that I'd gotten a better workout than I realized. I turned down the jets to the pool and cranked up the ones to the spa before planting myself in one of the seats.

The jets hit my back in all the right places. Although the pounding water couldn't take the place of a skilled massage therapist, it was a damn near thing. I sighed, contented and relaxed for the first time since leaving Colorado.

{OOC: I know some community somewhere has posted a "fury" prompt, I'm just too lazy to look it up.}

October, 60CE
Near present-day Norfolk
Alias: Boudica


I stormed into the tent where my generals and council had gathered. The wounds to my back still oozed blood and the warm liquid trickled down between my buttocks. They (five generals, two advisors and a Druid) looked up from the war table around which they all stood. Braziers of flame illuminated their curious glances.

“My lady,” Chief Councilor Aedan greeted me.

I ignored him and the glances of the others. Instead, I stripped bare to the skin so all could witness the results of the flogging I had received at Roman hands. They fell silent as the welts and gashes were revealed. I slammed my hand on the war table, feeling the wood shudder beneath my wrath.

“I will have vengeance!” I shouted. “Not for myself, but for my daughters.”

“Your daughters?” the Druid asked, confused.

“Yes, Irial,” I hissed. “Both were raped. By Romans.”

Scowls formed at my blunt words. Each began to murmur to the others in angered tones. This was worse, oh so much worse, than the Romans taxing our people to build their temples on our holiest of grounds.

“Someone needs to be made an example,” I seethed. “I don’t care who, or how, but they will pay for this. I will have my vengeance, or I will die trying. Rome needs to learn that they cannot simply deflower my daughters without retribution. I want Nero himself to remember my name, and my fury. And I want every last putrid Roman to leave these lands and return to Gaul with terror in their hearts. Now go!”

Each bowed their heads and murmured a “yes, my lady,” before leaving the tent until only the Druid remained. I shook my head, feeling my coppery locks sticking to the blood of my back. I did not want to know what the gods had in store for one hapless Roman whose only crime was his chosen occupation.


Quinnleigh Kincaid
Highlander OC
316 words



Mun note: This does not reflect on any other character(s). As far as she knows, the Roman could've been strung up by his balls to rot drawn & quartered.

Right, well, after having a talk with my mun, she and I decided the "you will not win" header had to go. I realize that probably gave folks the wrong idea about me. I'm really not that angsty cranky. So, she put her graphics skills to use and came up with the new one. I rather like the "sometimes the past is all we have" quote. That really sums me up as an archaeologist and history buff.

Something else we talked about was the cottage. Yeh, it's nice and all, but she's right. With Brutæ, it really is a bit cramped. So, I'm letting the lease go on the cottage and gone for the bigger place. I'll turn at least two bedrooms into a proper office/study/library and another into a training room. The kitchen's a bit nicer as well. The window looks out across the street and over the water. I'm still on Orkney, and the door's still open for anyone who wants t'stop by!

Céade mile fáilte!

Hey, Wes, found the perfect Christmas present for you! Oh, yeah, you might want one of these, too!