with [ anyone ] at the agora
it has been said: to everything there is a time and place; and yet the spartan court, lavish and decadent, seems to be stuck in a moment frozen in time, crystallised in endless revelry and debauchery, acting as if this is how it has always been and always will be. coin flows easily from drunk, common soldiers looking for simple pleasures; dockhands from the ships that princes have set sail out on have flooded the streets. everything turns into a carousel of loud sounds that are composed of bargaining over prices, gossips whispering of the spartan prize, and reverent rumours about the presence of the gods most high come down to earth. there’s various smells, both pungent and fragrant, that pervade the air: the smell of fish and of pigs, the coppery tinge of blood from the butcher’s shop mixing with the fragrance of exotic spices, all sorts of odours from cardamom and agarwood, oysters and musk, the sea-salted air and the undertones of brined meats all mixing together into a cacophony of aromas that seem half-monstrous in its totality.
it is disgusting; it is glorious; it is life itself—and for that, theseus finds himself seduced by the endless call of it, as he had been, as he always does, and as he always will be.
there’s the promise of discovery hidden in the stalls, an infinitude of cultures and nations just waiting to be found underneath peddled wares of dubious origins and forged materiel made only as recent as yesterday. amidst the mountains of imitated glory, there’s the odd lure here and there: that moment where hand brushes against something true, something divine. theseus’ fingers curl around a circular device—and he pulls out a golden bracelet, decorated with both opals and emeralds, almost a thing of beauty in its own right. unable to resist, he turns to one next to him, as if boasting about his find.
❛ what do you think ? ❜ he asks. ❛ is it a fortunate discovery or yet another dupe ? ❜
