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Post by morphine on Feb 1, 2011 18:16:20 GMT -5
private for grace with Ira
Gold; it shimmered in the evening light, bouncing from wall to auriferous wall. The palace was beautiful, built by the command of the mad-king Nero, whose desire for art far outweighed his sanity and the Roman budget. Looted temples and the treasury bone dry, there was no liquidity to be had when his ancestors had taken the throne. But they had tried, by emptying the Palace of the stolen statues and monuments, replacing them in their rightful places. It was a hard road to restoring the people's trust; the Augustan dynasty had slowly deteriorated over the generations, Caligula and Nero both being considerably less than sane.
So now, only the gold leaf of the walls remained, and what had once been decorated by jewelled busts, was now somewhat more tastefully decorated. It was more homely this way, at least. Of course, there were still some examples of luxury, gifts from wealthy Patricians were commonly given in order to gain the Emperor's favour. It wasn't required, but it wasn't frowned upon either. From the golden dog's point of view, it was simply an excuse to refill the empty spaces of his home.
Allowing his salmon tongue to swipe across his charcoal lips, the handsome creature stretched upon the linen sheets of his den, shaking himself free of fatigue and the remnants of his dreams. He had no real reason to leave the warmth of his bed, but the earthen-hued male was restless. There is nothing he could do to quench the building wanderlust within his paws, and the thought even invaded his dreams at night.
It seemed so long since his Triumph, and the great parade he was awarded for quelling the uprising in the Gallic states. His father had been somewhat more.. heavy handed than the young male, and his policy of 'clementia' offered far better results than those his father had seen. He needed to wander the streets of his home, though it wasn't exactly easy now that his face had become immortalised in stone. To wear the laurel wreath of an Emperor set you apart, and he did not wish to be hassled nor recognised.
So he decided, rather than attempt to give the palace guards the slip, that it would be easier to simply wander the extensive gardens which surrounded the Domus Aurea. His large, cream-hued paws connected the with the cold, white marble beneath, and he paused for a moment to enjoy the pleasant feeling. Coat still somewhat unkempt from his sleep, the Emperor found himself lazily pacing the halls in the general direction of the gardens.
Loping athletically down the decorative stairs, the shepherd turned to gaze upon the monstrous piece of architecture. Only the mind of a madman could think up something so elaborate and ostentatious. Exhaling audibly through his nostrils, the golden creature continued his journey - he had a destination now. In the centre of the gardens, a small bandstand had been erected by the mad-King - supposedly so local musicians could serenade him as soon as he stepped into the gardens.
It was empty now, another marble structure, circular, and supported by 8 pillars at its circumference. Climbing the steps with youthful ease, the handsome, golden male settled himself upon a marble bench, before resting his cranium upon outstretched paws. The sun, a great, orange orb at this time of year, was just beginning to dip below the horizon, dying the sky in a multitude of shades of magenta, cerulean and auburn. It was the perfect place to spend the evening.
OOC: short, sorry!
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