*label ch2_marcus_office
*page_break
A sigh escapes me after I greet the guards at the door and enter the already familiar barracks. Marcus's unnecessarily imposing door awaits my arrival and as I open it, it lets out an agony filled creak. Marcus gives me a dirty look before hushing me, as if it was my fault the door hasn't seen its share of oiling. Without a second look his gaze returns to the parchment in front of him. Silence ensues.

It's a familiar thing in this oppressive room, one I've grown more accustomed to than I'd like to. 

*fake_choice
    #Give myself a permission to sit down.
        *set disciplined -1
        He doesn't show any sign of permitting me to move freely. After a moment or two, I take up my own space by sitting on a couch facing his desk. The textile is smooth to the touch, its embroidery alone must've cost one whole pigfarm. There's a small footstool in front of the overly-lavish seat.
        
        *fake_choice
            #Leave the stool be.
                It's tempting to put my feet on it, but the rain muddied my sandals and it seems almost too cruel to taint the expensive stool with them. The temptation is there, I'm just not that petty. Marcus finally takes his gaze from his parchments, inspecting my decision to sit on my own volition.
                
                Finally, he smirks. 
            #Put my feet onto it, even if I have my muddied shoes on. 
                I place my muddied sandals on the footstool, inspecting Marcus's reaction with anticipation. As expected, his eyes darts from the parchment, his mouth ready to shout, the veins on his neck visible and tense. He closes his mouth, opens it, closes it again.
        
                "You're—," he starts. The corners of his eyes twitch, his gaze glued to the defiled stool.
        
                "I'm?" I grin innocently, fighting against the urge to rub the boots on the bench. He would probably kill me for that. I'm not ready to test that theory.
                
                He closes his eyes, takes a deep, steadying breath, clearly audible in the silent room. Once he opens his eyes, he shakes his head as if to say: [i]You win this round.[/i]
    #Remain standing.
        *set disciplined +1
        I shift my weight to my other leg as I wait for him to give me permission to be freely. I might not like the man, but he's still my superior officer. He takes his time, and from what little I know about this man, he's doing it on purpose.
        
        The self-content smile he finally gives me is a telltale sign of it.
        
*if marcus_voices
    "Soldier," Marcus finally says as he lowers his pen. "Should I be worried about you?"

    He's talking about the voice. I'm half-way regretting telling him about it, but he caught me in my vulnerable state.
    
    *choice
        #"No, Lord Centurion," I say.
            His eyes scrutinize me, as if trying to see if there's something amiss. I'm not crazy, nor do I need his worry, but my words don't convince him. 
            *goto ch2_office_nope
        #I want to say no, but I'm not sure if he should be worried about me.
            I hesitate for a brief moment, opening my mouth to deny his worries before closing it again. Maybe he should be worried. Maybe I should be.
        
            His gaze is sharp and scrutinizing. What would he do if he was worried over my sanity? Would he kill me?
        
            Maybe he's going over the same options.
            *goto ch2_office_nope
        #"Yes, Lord Centurion," I say before I can think any better.
            I'm certainly worried and I can't force myself to act like he shouldn't be. Which is foolish, of course, but what am I, if not a fool for being here in the first place? He falls silent before giving me a nod, an oddly understanding one. Or is it? It's hard to say with him.
        
            "What sort of voices did you hear?"
        
            "Just a sentence or two." Mocking the Romans.
        
            "Could be stress."
        
            "Could be."
        
            Both of us fall silent.
            *goto ch2_office_questions

*if not(marcus_voices)
    "Have I been too gentle with you, soldier? Do you feel like you have the right to interrupt me without being stomped like a little bug you are?" He looks genuinely interested in hearing my answer, despite the insults.
    
    *fake_choice
        #"I know you won't stomp me."
            "Oh really? What makes you think that?"
            
            "You would've done that already, if that's what you wanted." I'm almost sure about that, but there's always room for error. At least in the case of this creature of a man.
            
            He smiles, baring his teeth. "What if I'm playing with you as long as you're entertaining, and discard you when you outlive your usefulness?"
            
            "You can certainly try, Lord Centurion."
            
            He grins and plays with the stylus in his hand. "I like when you play along. Consider yourself forgiven, soldier."
            *goto ch2_office_questions
        #"It wasn't my intention, Lord Centurion. I apologize."
            *set disciplined +1
            *set rude -1
            "Even if it wasn't, that was the outcome. The men already hate you and your contubernium for the promotion, do you want them to hate you for getting away with interrupting me publicly?"
            
            The whole promotion was his doing. Does he want the men to hate me? Why?
            *goto ch2_office_questions
        #Remain silent.
            "Did a raven eat your tongue?"
            
            "Raven, Lord Centurion?"
            
            "Isn't that the expression? I suppose I could be wrong. For some reason I thought of ravens."
            *goto ch2_office_questions
    
*label ch2_office_nope
"Is your situation proving to be… too much?" His words are softer than usual, but the familiar coldness lurks beneath them. He would not hesitate to put me down like a wounded animal if I proved to be too much of a liability. I know that, he knows that, at least we're on the same boat about that.

He knows about my situation, this is as direct as he can get with me.

*fake_choice
    #"Are you afraid I would lose my mind and do something stupid and hasty? Due to my... situation."
        I say the words that terrify me, and concern him. The truth is out and the room is stripped of the sense of military decorum.
        
        "Would you tell me?" He asks, even if he knows the answer.
        
        "No."
        
        He lets out a small laugh, fully knowing I wouldn't confide in him. "Of course."
    #"I'm fine, Lord Centurion."
        He doesn't believe me, a slight frown threatening to take over his face tells me as much. 
        
        "You don't look like it."
        
        "This is my face, what can I tell you."
        
        He squints his eyes before his lips turn into a lopsided smile. "It is indeed your sour, grumply-looking face."
        
        I frown before realizing I've played into his game. Again.
    #"Did you invite me here to ask me that?"
        "Lord Centurion," I add to create more distance between us.
        
        "I shouldn't worry about you?" 
        
        Of course he shouldn't. He has no right for that and he knows it.
        
        "You're my subordinate." He states as if that would explain everything. "If I don't care for your mental health, who would. I am, once again, the good guy here. Besides, I don't see you caring for yourself."
        
        His words hang between us, their meaning and intent left unclear.
*goto ch2_office_questions

*label ch2_office_questions
His usually stiffened posture is slightly slouched. A part of me wants to kick myself for even noticing. At some point during our brief exchange he's taken the pen back to his hand. He plays with it, taps the table lazily.

*fake_choice
    #"Is something wrong?"
        *set marcus_friendship +2
        I don't know why I would ask him that. A vile man like him deserves any and all challenges in his life. He raises his eyebrow at my question.
        
        "Lord Centurion," I add.
        
        "If I didn't know any better, I'd think that you care for my well-being, soldier." 
        
        "No, Lord Centurion," I retort. "I don't care at all." I add in, as if it would make the statement more true.
        
        He bursts out laughing. It's not a joyous laugh, it rings as cold as his calculating and cruel words, but there's something beneath his sarcastic joy.
        
        "Just make sure to care for your own. Would hate to have to interfere with the situation."
        
        A casual threat, even after I took notice of his well-being. A big mistake on my part, for sure. Won't happen again.
    #Remain silent. I just want to get out of here.
        I shift my gaze towards the door. He glances at me and sighs. 
        
        "You're like a dog waiting to get outside. Hold your pee, soldier, I'm not done talking."
        
        *fake_choice
            #Roll my eyes at him.
                *set marcus_friendship +2
                I can't help myself, every moment in this room with him makes me want to roll my eyes. 
                
                "What a rebellious dog you are, soldier. Just make sure to keep your nature in check."
            #Sneer at him.
                I'm tired of his stupid jokes and show him exactly that. 
                
                "Careful or that face will get stuck."
            #Remain silent.
                
        He sighs. "I lied. I was done talking. You can go pee now, soldier."
    #Remain silent. I don't care.
        
"Off you go now."

I leave with a hurried step, eager to get away from the room and the man residing in it.
*page_break
*goto_scene chapter2_tavern ch2_tavern

*label ch2_nialloffice
*set niall_office true
*page_break
I knock on Niall's door.

"Please come in."

As I open the door, a surprisingly strong whiff of flowers and herbs greets my nostrils. Drying herbs and flowers decorate the walls of his spacious office. In contrast to Marcus's office, there's little to no books. What few there is are covered in a small layer of dust. The office is in disarray, but not necessarily dirty.

He watches my examination of the room with a small smile, as if waiting for me to finish in peace. His red tunic hangs as lazily over his frame as he himself leans against the wall, his other hand occupied by a flask of some kind. 

"Lord Tribune," I start, but he stops me.

"Please, no need for honorifics when we're in private." He combs his messy hair with his free hand. It falls right back to its original shape, promptly ignoring its master's wishes. "It's about what happened this morning. I wanted to make sure you're alright." His tone begs me to tell the truth, to confide in him, as it usually does.

I expected as much.

I guess I could tell him the truth, or avoid the topic altogether, but this is also my chance to manipulate him, if I wanted to.

*fake_choice
    #Manipulate him.
        *set manipulative +2
        I feign a troubled expression and sigh. A small smirk rises within me, deep beneath the facade of vulnerability. 
        
        "I'm not feeling well." The best lies contain a seed of truth in them. I can't deny my still shaken state, but I won't confide in him. He reacts as I wanted him to, his brows furrowing with worry.
        
        "I expected as much. It's not like you to interrupt Marcus. You know his… temper."
        
        He claims to know me already. He continues, thankfully not noticing my slightly creased brows: "If there is anything I can do to you, just say the word."
        
        *fake_choice
            #Walk closer to him with a smile. [i](flirt)[/i] "I appreciate you taking care of me."
                *set niall_ffatale true                
                I take a confident step towards him, keeping my gaze glued to his eyes. He takes a step back, just a small one, but enough that he knows I noticed. His gaze darts to me and after a moment, as if remembering something important, he flees behind his desk. The flask in his hand falls to the ground in his hurry, shattering in the process. Niall merely glances at the mess, takes a quick look at me, then sits down with such force it's a wonder his chair doesn't fall.
                
                He shuffles his unopened scrolls on his desk, cluttering them even further: "I just… want to make sure every soldier is feeling their best."
                
                "And I appreciate it. A lot." I've taken all five of the steps to reach his desk, which by now is the only thing barricading my advancement to him. He lets out an audible gulp when he finally takes his eyes off of his scrolls and notices how close I am. Heat flares up to color his cheeks, all the way down to his neck.
                
                "I—" His voice is already dry, he tries to clear his throat in vain. "The good of the soldiers—"
                
                I smile. Oh, poor Tribune. It's time to retreat before he suffocates.
                
                "There is nothing I need from you right now, Lord Tribune. I am quite alright." I withdraw from his personal space, giving him room to breathe.
                
                His eyes are wide as he nods quickly. "Right… Right. Thank you. I mean— not thank you. I mean that's good—"
                
                "Yes, very good. If you have no further use for me, Lord Tribune, I should go. I have a date with my contubernium."
                
                To his merit, he does gather himself rather quickly. The redness still lingering on his face he nods, this time with more strength, as if to banish me away from him. "Have a good day, soldier."
            #Look him in the eyes and smile. [i](flirt)[/i] "I… thank you."
                *set niall_shyflirt true
                I give him a small smile and look him in the eyes. "I will let you know if I need anything. Can I… count on your help?"
                
                There's a hint of redness in his cheeks as he nods multiple times in a rapid succession. It's almost too easy to get his guard down. "Of course! I will do anything in my power to help you."
                
                That seems… excessive. He's almost overtly helpful, pushing his aid in my face, whether I want it or not. But still I smile at him. He might prove to be a good ally. It's all too easy to poke the wanted reaction out of him. It's a wonder how he's risen so high in the ranks.
                
                "If you have no further use for me, Lord Tribune, I should go. I have a date with my contubernium."
                
                "Oh, of course. Have a good day, Hati."
                
                I nod and leave.
            #"I will let you know if I need anything."
                His smile is relaxed and receptive as he nods. It's almost too easy to get his guard down.
                
                "If you have no further use for me, Lord Tribune, I should go. I have a date with my contubernium."
                
                "Oh, of course. Have a good day, Hati."
                
                I nod and leave.
    #Tell him the truth.
        *set manipulative -2
        *set niall_voices true
        "I heard voices in my head."
        
        He cocks his head, as if he didn't hear me right. I hold his gaze to confirm it. A part of me still wants to believe it was my imagination, but I know what I heard. And for whatever reason, I chose to tell it to him.
        
        Why?
        
        "Oh." He nods, slowly, evidently believing my words. "What… did it say?"
        
        "Nothing important." My sudden outburst of honesty surprises both him and myself, but what's said is said. Maybe I want someone to know about this, to tell me that there's nothing wrong with me. "I just fear I might be going crazy." That last part flees from my lips before I can stop it.
        
        I quickly raise my gaze to the man I'm confiding in, to see if he fears the same.
        
        However, Niall raises his hands as if to physically stop my thoughts right here and there. "I'm sure it's not that! It's the stress, right? It could be that."
        
        *fake_choice
            #"Thank you."
                He gives me a reassuring smile and a nod, and I almost return the smile. Almost.
                *fake_choice
                    #Give in to the smile.
                        I give in and smile to him, just a small one, filled with relief that he didn't outright brand me insane. However small the given smile may be, it manages to lighten up the whole of his face. The smile he wears now reaches all the way to his squinting eyes.
                    #Look away.
                        I shift my gaze away from the man. From the corner of my eye I still see a smile illuminating his features.
                    #Nod.
                        He nods back, a smile still illuminating his features. 
            #"A warrior should be able to handle stress."
                My words are stern, almost self-blaming. It makes him frown. 
                
                "No," he states before hesitating. "Well, yes. But we are not made of stone. It's normal to feel stressed, especially since this is all so new to you. You're just settling in."
                
                I nod, slowly. Perhaps.
                
                "I'm certain you'll prove to be a good warrior. This is just a hiccup. Right?"
                
                I nod, again. The words are somewhat comforting, for whatever reason. 
            #"Maybe."
                I can't deny the thought melts some of the stress, but I doubt the answer is so easy.
                
                "I'm certain you'll prove to be a good warrior. This is just a hiccup. Right?"
                
                "Perhaps."
                
        "Please don't worry about it," he continues. "If there's anything you need, anything at all…"
                
        I raise my hand, knowing fully well what he's about to say. He's asking me to rely on him. I've already done so, perhaps too much. I need to think. "I really just need to go."
                
        "Oh! Of course. Please don't let me keep you."
                
        I definitely won't.
            
    #"Why do you care, anyway?"
        A sound strategy to any unwelcome investigation: to answer the question with a question. 
        
        He knits his brows. "Of course I care. Every soldier's well-being is close to my heart."
        
        "But you saved me from a possible punishment." He doesn't seem like a man in the habit of doing so. At least when it's about Marcus. There's something about their relationship. Also, he's too… soft. So it begs for the question I now ask out loud: "Why me?"
        
        He sighs before sinking on his chair, his hands absentmindedly playing with the flask on his hand. He slides his fingers across its smooth surface. "I already told you."
        
        "That you see yourself in me? Which part?"
        
        Silence. There's only the sound of his fingers gliding across the flask. Finally he whispers: "You're alone in a foreign country."
        
        *fake_choice
            #"So are many others here."
                "Yes but—"
                
                "But what?"
                
                He lays his gaze back on to his desk, cluttered with sealed, unread scrolls, waiting in vain for him to be interested in their existence.
                
                "Marcus has taken an interest in you. I need to—"
                
                "Keep me safe?" I almost laugh. The mere thought of someone taking such an interest in keeping me safe from the man who decapitated my father, I can't even—
                
                He bites his lower lip, taking offense at my rising laughter.
                
                *fake_choice
                    #"I'm sorry, but I don't need your help."
                        *set rude -1
                        He nods, slowly, taking in the polite denial of his kinship. Then he smiles. 
                        
                        "I understand. We don't even know each other. Just remember that—"
                        
                        I raise my hand. I know what he's about to say and I'm not ready to hear it again. It almost feels blasphemous. Why would I confide in him? Why would he feel the need to repeat it?
                    #"Thank you."
                        I shake my head and thank him, despite myself. He means well, even if his worry is ill-placed and unnecessary.
                    #"I don't need your help."
                        *set niall_friendship -1
                        He bites his lip, lowers his gaze and nods. "I understand, I just—"
            #"Didn't you choose to be here? To serve the Romans?"
                Disappointment oozes from my words. To see him so willingly serve the men who took his country, his freedom… His gaze darts to me, the poisonous remark betraying my real thoughts. The meaning of his gaze is hard to decipher, but underneath all of the raging emotions there's… hurt.
                
                "We're all Romans," he finally says in a soft tone, almost inaudible.
                
                Silence falls between us. I want to say that I'm not a Roman, I'm not one of them, one of you, but… there's something about his tone that halts my sneer. So I choose silence, as does he.
                
                It's better to leave.
            #Remain silent.
                The heaviness of his words linger between us. I'm not sure what to say, what's his aim with this weird conversation. So it's better to say nothing. And leave.
        
        "Whatever the case may be, I need to leave. My contubernium waits for me."
        
        "Oh, of course. Please don't let me keep you."
        
        I definitely won't. 
*page_break
*goto_scene chapter2_tavern ch2_tavern