<div align="center"><em>Autolycus, calmly obeying orders<br/>Infirmary</em></div><hr/><br/><div class="floatright">(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v200/Prakkie/Medicus.jpg)</div><em>Ah</em>, Autolycus thought as the Dominus told him of the trouble the fresh meat had made in the mess hall,<em>that kind of mood</em>. "Just don't throw them over the edge this time please," he said dryly as his master proposed to slaughter them all to prevent further transgressions. "I know it makes an impression, but I do so detest the waste." A dead body was a valuable thing to the Medicus, as Manius well-knew, but he had no use for a body that was smashed to a pulp and lying at the bottom of the cliff.<br/><br/>He looked to the infirmary door, behind which the ruckus had apparently taken place. "I take it there's no need for my services then?" No, he thought not. He would've been summoned already if someone had been injured beyond simple cuts and bruises.<br/><br/>The most amazing thing happened then, the Dominus spoke to the Pict. In her own language! An obscure tongue spoken only by the barbarians of the far North. He watched with surprise and - yes - some amount of envy as a few barked words changed into a conversation. Not just a rudimentary knowledge then. No, his master spoke with ease, not hesitating, not throwing in the odd Latin phrase. Fluent. Or nearly so. That was a rare, rare gift for a Roman to have and there must be an interesting story behind that knowledge... His frown deepened as he heard his own name amidst the jumble of incomprehensible words, first spoken by Sorcha, then by the Dominus. Were they discussing him?<br/><br/>The conversation ended and the Dominus turned to him, just in time to catch the mixture of emotions on his face. Surprise, curiosity and irritation showed for a second before Autolycus composed his features into the usual calm mask. He nodded as he was instructed to drug the Pict, then wash her, then dress her below the waist only. So's not to waste clothes. A poor excuse. Why did the man not just admit he wanted to put his new slave on display? Flaunt the captured barbarian, as he were Ceasar himself, returning from the North in triumph...?<br/><br/>Autolycus went to his workbench to prepare the drugs needed to make the Pict calm. He puzzled over what herbs to use, his hands passing over the various jars. She still had some drugs in her system from before so it'd have to be something that didn't respond too badly with those. No<em>Mandregona</em>this time. No, he didn't want her to become all exited in front of his master, in front of the guards. He'd save that particular herb for when he had her alone. Something, he thought grimly, that would be hard to achieve now the master planned to keep her in the stables.<em>Valerian</em>perhaps, to tame the brain.<em>Hops</em>to soothe anxiety...<br/><br/>Once the concoction was finished he handed his master a cup of wine as well as the key to the cage. "If you can make her drink this? Give it a moment to take hold... Then she'll be calmer."<br/><br/>He eyed the restraints as the guard handed them to the Dominus, the special kind that they used on the difficult slaves, and nodded. "Yes, that might do. She managed to wrestle her way out of those before," he gestured to the shackles that were anchored to the infirmary walls.<br/><br/>Autolycus did not return the Dominus' smile as he was asked to get a gag and collar for the Pict. Instead he kept his face carefully neutral - like the good slave that he'd once been - as he went to retrieve the requested items. Inwardly he was annoyed at the man, coming in to take the Pict away from him, able to talk to her where he was not... But it would not do to let his irritation show.