*label ch4_into_the_villa_it_goes
*page_break
[i][b]The day of the Samhain[/b][/i]

And so, the day of the Samhain arrived. I can't wait to begin the preparations. However, Marcus ordered to meet him in his office. What does he want now? I really need to prepare for Samhain.

The familiar room welcomes me with an unfamiliar sight: Marcus stitches his tunic with a concentrated look on his face. Robus lies on his feet, raising her head to acknowledge my arrival.

*fake_choice
    #Greet Robus and pet her.
        I smile as she comes to greet me and give her a good pat on her side, her silky fur caressing the palm of my hand. "Hello there, are you having a good day?"
        
        She gives a low growl, reminding me of a purring of Tinsae's cat, followed by a series of conversational woo-woos. She looks me in the eyes, as if to enhance the message that she was having a wondrous day so far. Once we're done with our greeting, I raise my gaze to Marcus. 
    
        He has an exaggerated frown on his face. "Why aren't you as happy to see me?"
    
        *fake_choice
            #"My day is always a little worse when I see you, Lord Centurion."
                "You're breaking my heart." He pouts.
            
                "There's nothing to break."
            
                He takes a dramatic grip of his tunic. "You just keep on kicking the man on the ground."
                
                "If the said man is you, Lord Centurion, then I would happily continue to kick you till the end of the world."
                
                "That's a long time to kick someone."
                
                "Indeed."
                
                He seems to be pondering on my words. "I understand. However, that's not why asked you to come here."
                
                "That's a pity, Lord Centurion."
            #"Why would I be, Lord Centurion?"
                He snickers to himself. "Well, aren't you rude. And honest. That's a horrible combination."
            #Roll my eyes at him.
                He shakes his head. "Is that your comeback? That is pathetic."
            
                He's not worth my words. "Just get on with it, will you? Why did you ask me here, Lord Centurion?"
                
                "Rude little shit."
            #"Why did you ask me here, Lord Centurion?"
                I ask without any will to entertain his mockery.
    #Ignore her.    
        "Did you just ignore my dog?"
        
        "Yes, Lord Centurion."
        
        "What a rude little shit you are." He turns to Robus. "Ignore that brute, you're the most adorable little dog there is, yes you are."
        
        He continues to pet his dog for a good while before finally turning to me.
        
"I need you to deliver a message for the Legate."

"What sort of a message, Lord Centurion?" 

"Be a good little courier and go and tell him I'm not joining dinner."

Am I his personal messenger now? It's not enough that he forces me to get him weird poop packages, now he wants me to refuse party invitations on his behalf. He smells my hesitation, and irritation, and says with a bored expression:

"You will do what I tell you to. Just tell the old geezer not to wait on me."

That shouldn't take long. I can still get to the celebration. "Fine. I'll deliver the message."

"Should I thank the gods that you're willing to obey me?" He slumps in his chair as if I was tormenting him with my hesitation. "Now shoo, I've got important things to do." He continues to stitch his tunic, his hand steady and sure, as if he's done this for years.

With a shake of my head I leave.
*page_break
After asking around, I finally find the Legate near the stables. Horses neigh after me as I hurry my step to reach the old man. His gait is wide as he makes his way from the horses, all the while humming some stupid Roman tune.

"Lord Legate." I salute him. 

He turns to me and squints his eyes before giving me a wide smile. "Oh! It's you! The lad. What is it? Something important?"

"Lord Centurion wishes to inform you that he's not accompanying you for dinner."

The Legate sighs. "And the boy couldn't tell this himself?"

"He was… busy." 

"Busy doing what?"

An image of Marcus stitching his tunic with a deep frown on his forehead pops into mind. "Umm…"

"Never mind," he says with a deep, disappointed sigh. "It's not your place to know nor explain." His face lightens up. "You could take his place!"

"Lord Legate, I'm not dressed nor—"

He takes a quick look of my attire and claps his hands. "Well, hurry up and change."

I sigh inwardly. I'm not in a position to deny the Legate's demand. What should I do? What about Samhain?

*fake_choice
    #"Lord Legate, I was about to join Samhain." I have no time for dinners.
        *set ch4_no_dinner_nope true
        A pout pervades his features. "But I really wanted you to join."
        
        I bite my lip. "Yes, well, my religious duties—"
        
        "Ah, yes. Of course. Those are important." He waves his hand in a way that tells me that he doesn't think they are important at all. "I wouldn't want to stand between your duties. Not religious or any other sort." He gives me another little pout, evidently still expecting me to come up and say 'never mind my religion, I will join you!'.
        
        So, we end up staring at each other, neither willing to give up. Finally, he says: "You could have time to join your… 'Samhain'. After the dinner."
        
        "But—"
        
        "Yes." He claps his hands. "That's an excellent idea. You could have time to join them both. Brilliant!"
        
        "No, I—"
        
        "Now." He takes a long look at my clothes. "Do you have proper clothes?"
        
        How did it come to this? "Yes. Maybe, but—"
        
        "Splendid! Off you go now. I'll be waiting for you. What a nice change of pace." He takes off, happily muttering to himself.
        
        Great. I suppose I will have to go there. 
        
        A part of me is annoyed at the pushy way he made me join him. However, perhaps I could use this situation to my advantage. I do need information and a posh dinner sounds like a place to acquire that. He himself invited me into the very place I've inspected from afar. I suppose this is a good thing.
        
        With a sigh I take off to check if I have something more formal to wear. I doubt it.
    #"I suppose I could..."
        "Great news!" His exclaim makes me jump. He's awfully loud.
        
        "Now!" He takes a long look at my clothes. "Do you have something to wear?"
        
        "Uh. Sure."
        
        "Splendid! Off you go now. I'll be waiting for you. What a nice change of pace." He takes off, happily muttering to himself.
        
        With a sigh I take off to check if I have something more formal to wear. I doubt it.
    #But... This is my chance! I'm actually invited into his villa.
        I give him a wide smile and an eager nod. Not too eager, I hope, but the way his smile widens tells me that he's happy about my enthusiasm. 
        
        "I would love you join you for dinner, Lord Legate." Oh, if he only knew why I'm happy about this. You old fool.
        
        "Great news!" He roars and smacks his thigh. Then, he takes a look at my clothes. "Do you have something to wear?"
        
        "I… perhaps."
        
        "Splendid! Off you go now. I'll be waiting for you. What a nice change of pace." He takes off, happily muttering to himself.
        
        I suppose I'll need to see if I have something to wear.
        
        I doubt it.
        
*page_break
[i][b]Back at the barracks[/b][/i]

So, I'll need to look somewhat presentable. As I take a quick look of my clothes, the situation doesn't look that good.

*if clothes = "cheap"
    It's too bad that I only have these cheap rags. The party will probably host a number of rich Romans. I will stick out like a sore thumb. With a shake of my head I put on the only decent tunic that I have; a beige one with only two holes in it. 
    
    I'm off to the posh Roman party while wearing a torn tunic.
    *if hobby_fashion
        The thought makes me bite the insides of my cheek. I miss all my old clothes. The furs, the colorful fabrics. It's almost depressing to look at all the shades of beige I currently have in my lacking wardrobe.
        
        So, without taking another look at it, I head up to the Legate's villa.
    *if not(hobby_fashion)
        Not that I care that much. It is what it is. With a fresh set of clothes I head up to the Legate's villa. 
    
*if clothes = "fine"
    I put on the finest tunic I own; a bright blue one with no hanging threads nor holes in it. It's not much but at least I won't stick out as much in the midst of all the rich Romans. 
    
    Probably. The party must be filled with them.
    
    Ugh. The thought makes me shiver.
    
    *if hobby_fashion
        Even if the tunic is as good as I managed to acquire, there's still something gnawing at me from the inside. Where are the joyful colors that I used to wear for parties? The furs, the tartan? This tunic is almost a mockery when compared to that. Ugh. It will have to do.
    *if not(hobby_fashion)
        I doubt I would even wear anything more fancier than this. It's enough.
    
    With a fresh set of clothes I head up to the Legate's villa. 

*page_break
However, before I can venture any further, a familiar voice stops me on my tracks:

"You're not headed for Samhain, it seems."

Quinn. For some reason, a lump rises into my throat as I look at ${q_him}. $!{q_his} usual joviality is gone, in its place there's… disappointment.

$!{q_he}'s accusing me of skipping Samhain.

*fake_choice
    #"Look, I don't like this either, I tried to fight the Legate but he was pushy."
        *if ch4_no_dinner_nope
            It's true. He was being pushy.
            
            Quinn purses ${q_his} lips.
        *if not(ch4_no_dinner_nope)
            Well, I didn't fight as much as I could've I suppose. At all, really.
                
            Quinn looks me dead in the eyes. "Really?"
            
            "No," I say the truth. It feels meaningless to lie to ${q_him}.
    #"It is what it is. It was a direct order from the Legate."
        I can't disobey him and ${q_he} knows it. Does ${q_he} want to get me killed?
        
        $!{q_he} sighs. "But… why didn't you try to fight it?"
        
        *if ch4_no_dinner_nope
            "I did. It did nothing to help the situation."
            
            Quinn purses ${q_his} lips.
        *if not(ch4_no_dinner_nope)
            How does ${q_he} know that? "Were you looking at me?"
            
            "No. Why didn't you?"
            
            "I'm doing what I have to do."
    #"Don't start accusing me. I'm doing what I have to."
"But…" $!{q_he} frowns. "It's Samhain."

$!{q_he} doesn't need to tell me that. I know. It hurts that I'm going to do this but I need to. The gods will understand. When I show no sign of changing my plans, ${q_he} continues: 

"You know what the gods will do to you if you miss it. You know that." There's no fear in ${q_his} voice. There's only disappointment. 

Fear takes a firm grasp of my heart, almost making me grimace. I know. I know, damn it! 

$!{q_he} continues: "Yet you still choose to ignore them?"

A part of me feels terrified over this decision. Every step I take away from the festival, is a step towards unknown. I don't know if the gods decide that I should just drop dead because of this. I have never done anything like this. Will they send me an illness? They might just straight up strike me down with lightning. That would be quite dramatic.

*fake_choice
    #"I'm sure gods will let it slide this time."
        Quinn shakes ${q_his} head. "I wouldn't be so sure. You've already lost some of your connection with them."
        
        $!{q_his} comment makes me frown. 
    #"The gods are not here." I don't know where they are. Did they leave after the grove was defiled? Where did they go? Can they still know what I'm doing?
        Questions flood my mind. I don't know anything these days. Quinn open ${q_his} mouth to speak but decides against it. "Indeed. Lets hope their reach doesn't cover the lands across the Great Sea."
    #"All I care is to proceed with the plan. I thought you wanted that, too."
        Quinn bites ${q_his} lip. "You're right. It's the old habits. They die hard. However…" $!{q_he} crosses ${q_his} arms.

"You haven't done your rituals for months," Quinn notes in a dry tone. The seemingly neutral statement holds so much judgment within. I haven't. I've tried to argue that I have no time, someone would find out about my identity if they saw me doing the rituals. Even when it's not about the rituals, morning marches have hindered my usual walks in the forest. Every morning these past months I've known in my heart that I missed the morning dew, missed the time when I should feel one with nature through the humidity gathering on the leaves and the grass. By the time the nights froze the dew I sighed in relief.

All this time I've felt like I've betrayed the gods. And my mother. 

*fake_choice
    #It's been eating me from the inside.
        I try to be their faithful servant. I try. But there's so much more in my mind right now.
    #The gods will understand. That's what I keep telling myself but sometimes I'm not sure if I believe it.
        Do I really know the gods? I've lost my way. I don't know anything anymore.
    #I'm here serving the gods, I'm here to take revenge for what the Romans did to the grove. They will understand.
        The Romans defiled the grove. They defiled everything holy and dear to me. I'm here to serve the gods, even if the method is different.

All this time Quinn is looking intently at me. $!{q_his} eyes peer into my soul as I wrestle with my insecurities. Quinn knows that this is painful to me. Why does ${q_he} keep prodding me about it?

*fake_choice
    #"Why are you like this?"
        "Like what?"
        
        "Why don't you offer me support? Do you think I wanted this?"
        
        $!{q_he} purses ${q_his} lips. "I'm not sure." $!{q_he} casts ${q_his} gaze on the ground. 
        *if hatred = "manipulated" 
            "I'm not sure what you want. I'm not sure if you even know that."
            
            "Don't be like that. This is hard as it is."
            
            Quinn nods slowly, still looking at the ground.
        *if hatred = "determined"
            "I know that you want revenge. I know that. I just thought that you wouldn't abandon everything you were for it."
            
            "I'm not abandoning anything."            
            
            Quinn nods slowly, still looking at the ground.
    #"I could use a little empathy from your part."
        Quinn falls silent. Then, ${q_he} raises ${q_his} gaze and nods.
    #Remain silent.
        I don't know why ${q_he} acting like this. I didn't want any of this. I'm doing the best I can.

"Look. I'm sorry. This is difficult for both of us. We're in this together." $!{q_he} gives me a smile.

*fake_choice
    #I don't believe the smile is genuine.
        After all things ${q_he} said it's difficult to believe that it's a genuine smile. $!{q_his} eyes do smile with ${q_his} lips but… I don't know. 
    #$!{q_he}'s going through a lot, I understand.
        I smile back at ${q_him}. It's a relief that ${q_he}'s feeling a bit better.

$!{q_he} bobs ${q_his} head toward the villa. "You should go. The Romans are waiting. Find whatever you need and don't get killed, right?"

"Right."

"Wait," ${q_he} says. "Are you sure you'll manage on your own? I will be celebrating Samhain. I can't come to your rescue."

*fake_choice
    #"I can manage."
        "You can. I'm sure of it. Just don't take any stupid risks, alright?"
    #"I don't need you to help me."
        $!{q_he} smiles at my words. "Oh. Alright. Just don't take any stupid risks, alright?"
    #"We'll see what happens."
        After my cryptic words ${q_he} frowns. "That's not comforting."
        
        "Sorry. I know this is dangerous."
        
        "Just don't take any stupid risks, alright?"
    #Remain silent.
        "Just don't take any stupid risks, alright?"
        
$!{q_he} offers me ${q_his} hand.

*fake_choice
    #Take it.
        I take ${q_his} slender hand. It's slightly cold to the touch, almost sending shivers through my spine. But the way ${q_his} eyes scrutinize me manages to relax my tense muscles. $!{q_he} squeezes my hand.
        
        "You will manage."
        
        *fake_choice
            #Hug ${q_him}
                I can't bear with the coldness between us. So, I yank ${q_his} hand and give ${q_him} a quick hug. Once I release ${q_him}, ${q_he}'s wearing a big, relieved smile on ${q_his} face. "Thank you. I think… I think I needed that."
                
                "I think I did, too."
                
                $!{q_his} eyes linger on mine before ${q_he} nods. "Now, go. They're waiting for you."
                
                I nod. Indeed.
            #Don't hug ${q_him}
                I nod. As our hands depart, ${q_his} gaze still lingers on my hand. Then, ${q_he} smiles. "Go."
                
                I give ${q_him} another nod and leave.
    #Refuse it.
        I keep my hand to myself and look away. From what I can see from the corner of my eye, Quinn's features distort into a frown. $!{q_he} looks at ${q_his} empty hand.
        
        With a shake of my head I look toward the direction of the villa. "Look, I need to hurry. I don't want them to suspect anything."
        
        "I… understand."
        
        I take off, almost running away from ${q_him}. There used to be a time when I ran toward ${q_him}. The realization pains me. 
        
        No. This is not the time.
I need to focus.

*if hatred = "determined"
    The gods would know that I need to do this. I'm doing this for them, for the burnt grove.
    
*if hatred = "manipulated"
    I suppose I am doing this for the gods. I'm not sure if this will lead to anything but something in me tells me that I should go to the dinner party. I just need to hope that the Twins see that, too.
    
    I hope I'm right about this.

*page_break
The route to the villa is familiar. I've walked multiple times past the building. Its lush garden with its fountains and pretentious pillars are already too familiar a sight for me.

*if hatred = "determined"
    I've tried to remain inconspicuous as I've scanned the surrounding. I already know everything there is to know about it from the outside. To be invited to study it from the inside… 
    
    The tips of my fingers tingle.
    
    With a light step I continue to the entrance.
    
*if hatred = "manipulated"
    I've found myself here multiple times, looking at the villa. Many times I couldn't remember how I ended up here. It's as if my feet led me here without my knowledge.
    
    The guards must know by now who I am; I'm the confused-looking fellow wandering about, trying to gather my surroundings before finally fleeing the scene. 
    
    I would be quite nervous about my moments of amnesia if I had the time and energy to worry about such things. Maybe I'm just so deep in thought and wander here without realizing it. That makes sense, right?
    
    With these thoughts rummaging my mind I head for the entrance of the villa.

*page_break
Two men holding spears blocking the doorway peer at me with little to no interest as I approach them. The door behind them is made of deep-brown bronze. I've eyed it from afar, thinking why it looked so heavy. One of the guards look like he's about to tell me to leave but I raise my hand.

"I'm expected," I quickly say before they drive me away. 

They take a better look at me.
*if clothes = "fine"
    The other one squints. Their gazes inspect my outfit. It almost makes me take another look at my tunic but I halt my head from making it too obvious that their intrusive gazes make me uncomfortable. I know what I look fine. 
    
    Finally, they nod in unison.
    
    "Hati?" A familiar voice stops me on my tracks before I can continue to the building. Tinsae looks at me with a wide smile. 
*if clothes = "cheap"
    Their eyes scrutinize my less than desirable outfit. The other one's gaze lingers on the holes in the hem of my tunic. He shakes his head. "Sod off."
    
    *fake_choice
        #Politely insist that I am invited here.
            *set rude -1
            "Lord Doorway Guards," I begin and they answer with a frown. "Despite what my attire would suggest, I am invited here. Lord Legate personally asked me to join his dinner. I assure you, I am as baffled by it as you are."
            
            They look at each other before the other one sighs and retreats into the villa in a sluggish pace. Probably to check if the beggar-like soldier at their door step is indeed supposed to be let inside. This might take a while.
            
            "Hati? What are you doing here?" A familiar voice steals my attention.
        #Get angry. I am invited here and these fools stand in my way.
            *set disciplined -1
            "Who are you to stand in my way? I was invited here and I will let your Lord know that you hindered me." I doubt he'd care but it pays to be a pain in other people's butts to make them do what I want.
            
            The men look at each other uncomfortably.
            
            Then, a familiar voice cuts through the tension: "Hati? Are you alright?"
        #Just stare at them until they give in.
            That should do it. So, I merely look at them. I don't know if my plan was to make them so uncomfortable that they'd have no choice but to let me in. 
            
            If so, I'm not sure if it's working. They look uncomfortable, sure, but one of the men's gazes is starting to look more annoyed than anything else.
            
            Someone clears her throat behind me. "Are you quite alright, Hati?" 

    I turn around to see Tinsae, whose face is decorated with an inquisitive and a slightly confused smile. Her attire is even more impressive than what I saw her wearing the other night. It's a different shade of white, much more warm-toned, and it's decorated with red star-like flowers and gold vine. Her freely flowing hair is covered under a white shawl.

She doesn't mind me inspecting her, it only makes her smile grow a little bit wider. "Did Gaius invite you, too?" 
            
"Gaius?"
            
"Ah. Excuse me. The Legate."

As soon as I give her a nod, she smiles and beckons me to follow her. "How wonderful. Would you like to join me?" 
*if clothes = "cheap"
    The door flings open for her as soon as she approaches it. The guards don't seem to dare to question why I'm following her step. It's clear that I'm with her.

*page_break Into the wolf's den.
Tinsae leads me inside with a confident step, implying that she has been here many times before. As I step into the hallway, I stifle the urge to let out a breath of awing air. Instead, I transform it into a scoff of disdain. The sound of my disapproving scoff drowns into the sounds of running water that fills the open room. This is just ridiculous.

"I'm afraid we're a bit late." Tinsae carries herself with a sense of tenseness that's unfamiliar for her.

I have never been to anyone's villa and I choose not to be impressed by the sight. The room has a pool in the middle, and a hole in the ceiling is placed right above it. The ceiling opening lights up the room with the last rays of sunshine, coloring everything orange and red. Little driblets of water still drip from the opening straight into the pool, enhancing the sound of flowing water that dominates the room.

Give it to Romans to place a hole in the ceiling. Doesn't that beat the whole purpose of one? 

Stupid Romans.

A woman joins our entourage. She greets Tinsae with a wide smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. Even if it's not entirely genuine, it still has some warmth within. Then, when her gaze lands on me, all that warmth vanishes. She doesn't bother to look at me any longer than is needed, as if it would be waste of her precious time. She turns away and beckons Tinsae to follow her. 

Tinsae gives me a look of 'sorry about that', as if she could control the way these people look at me like I'm poop underneath their shoes.

*page_break
We pass a small altar littered with candles. It catches my attention and I stop in my tracks.

"Hati?" Tinsae calls to me while the woman leading the way scoffs at my delays. Tinsae walks closer to me, looks at the altar that I'm inspecting and says: "They're household spirits."

"Oh?"

A miniature version of the Emperor looks at me with a triumphant smile as my gaze lands on it. He's posing like some mythical hero; his loincloth sways as he's battling a lion. 

Uh-huh. I'm [i]sure[/i] that has happened in real life. 

Dancing light illuminates his and the lion's stone faces. He's merely a man, yet these fools grant him an altar.

"Why is that there, too?"

"Ah. The Emperor is depicted as the mighty Hercules. It's my understanding that the Emperor prefers to be presented this way."

The woman clears her throat in clear anger. Tinsae looks at me with a hardly noticeable and only slightly embarrassed shrug and hurries after the woman. Right. I hasten my step to follow their lead. We pass by a study room of sorts. It's filled with scrolls. They're deliberately placed, as if to create an illusion of someone reading their heart out. 

From time to time Tinsae makes sure that I'm still following her. 

*fake_choice
    #Smile at her.
        It's nice that she cares enough that I'm not lost in here. Of course, I wouldn't just see something interesting and take a wrong turn and— 
    #Nod. Here I am. Following you.
        What does she think will happen if she doesn't keep on checking on me? I'm not a child who will see something interesting and take a wrong turn and—
    #Ignore her.
        What does she think will happen if she doesn't keep on checking on me? I'm not a child who will see something interesting and take a wrong turn and—
        
Wait a moment. There's a staircase leading to the 2nd floor, it seems. Is that the way to the Legate's bedroom?

*if hatred = "determined"
    I try to peer at the end of the staircase but I can't see. It certainly looks like a bedroom area.
    
    Good. Every bit of information gets me closer to what I need to do.
    
*if hatred = "manipulated"
    Then, another thought pops into my mind: What would I do in his bedroom? I can't just hide in there, jump at him, and kill him. That whole thought is absurd. 
    
    I suppose there could be some information. I could use that. For… something.

I almost yelp in surprise when someone's hand takes a hold of my shoulder. 

"Hati, dear, we're running late."

Oh. Right. I quickly give Tinsae a nod and start following her. A crisp breath of wind meets with my cheeks as we're lead through another garden. Marbled pillars, statues, and fountains litter the scene, and the floor is made of white and green mosaics. Whatever effect this villa had on me is starting to wear down the more I see the lavish decorations. 

As we're lead to our final destination, the sound of someone playing flute reaches my ears. It's promptly followed by someone roaring in laughter. If I'm not mistaken, that was the Legate. The sound sends shivers down my spine. Ugh. This night will be something else entirely. 

The irritated woman opens the curtains blocking the view to the dining room. She holds the curtain open and looks at us expectantly, as if to make sure that we're going where we're supposed to and not anywhere else. 

*page_break
The room awaiting for our arrival is slightly dim. There are no windows, only candles and torches light the space. The walls are painted crimson red with pictures of colorful and quite nude Romans dancing about.

Fake smiles. Ear-gnawing laughter. A black cat runs past me with a fish head in their mouth.

"Alitash, where are you going?" Tinsae asks her cat, who's by now long gone to devour his spoil. She shakes her head before leaning close to me: "Do you think you can manage?" She gestures at her spot on the table. I give her a nod. I still need to inspect the place and the situation.

There are three square-shaped tables in the middle of the room, the tables are circled by couches that fit three guests in them. The people are lying uncomfortably close to each other. They lean on their elbows as they reach for more food from the table. Now that my sight is starting to get used to the dimness, I realize that there are familiar faces. Niall lies lazily on a yellow-clothed couch, he's in the process of dropping an olive in his mouth. However, it seems crucial to inspect the olive thoroughly before any such action. Camilla, however, sits next to the laughing Legate as if her spine was replaced by a pole. 

"Hati!" Niall yelps and finally pops the olive into his mouth. Camilla gives me the slightest of nods. It's just enough of a nod that I know that it might have existed. She looks like she doesn't care that I arrived. At all. 

*fake_choice
    #Greet Camilla.
        That's to be expected. Without letting her demeanor to bother me, I give her a nod as a greeting. In return, she gives me a small frown. 
        
        I almost smile but that would only make her frown deepen. I'd expect nothing less from her.
    #Greet Niall.
        I make eye-contact with Niall. His features brighten up to illuminate the space. Or maybe it's the brazier behind him. 
        
        He stands up, takes a few long strides towards me, and before I can react, kisses me on the both of my cheeks. The gesture is so quick that he's already gone by the time I realize what happened. 
        
        "What the—"
        
        He merely smiles at my puzzlement, as if it's the most natural thing to do. To kiss someone on their cheeks like it's an everyday matter.
        
        His shaved stubble scraped the skin of my cheek, leaving it feeling out of place. An earthy scent of herbs lingers on my nostrils after he's gone. I stifle the urge to bring my hand to the place our skin made contact.
        
        Stupid Niall and his stupid Roman customs.
    #Give them a communal nod.
        I give them both a nod. Niall gives me an enthusiastic nod back with a wide smile, while Camilla's gaze is already elsewhere.
       
Now that the pleasantries are done with, I realize that there's someone staring at me. The sense of being glared at is so strong that it takes little to no time to locate its source: the Optio. With squinted eyes he looks at me with disbelief coating his gaze. 'What are you doing here, maggot,' he asks without words.

*fake_choice
    #Give him a wave of hello and a wink to mock him.
        *set disciplined -2
        Yes, hello, I see you there. I smile at him, wave at him, and on top of it all, give him a little wink.
        
        He flushes red with anger, his eyes almost bulging out of his sockets. And, as a final act of mockery, I look away from his intense anger as if I don't care. At all. 
    #Ignore him.
        *set disciplined +1
        Even if I wanted to, there's no mind to start antagonizing him. So I merely turn away from him, still feeling his intense glare on the back of my neck.
    #Give him a nasty stare.
        *set disciplined -1
        We are in an environment where he can't start beating me for it, so naturally I couldn't help myself. I have to wonder why he was even invited here. Why he would be invited anywhere, for that matter.
        
        He flushes red with anger, his eyes almost bulging out of his sockets. And, as a final act of mockery, I look away from his intense anger as if I don't care. At all. 

The other guests are more high-ranking soldiers than the Optio. Also, there are women, probably most of them wives of the officers. Some lie down on the couches, while mostly women sit. Conversing takes place with such intensity that no one barely takes notice of my arrival. However, there's someone who noticed.

The Legate waves at me with enthusiasm. "Hati! You came! Please take a seat wherever."

Wherever I want to? There's room next to Camilla, Niall, Tinsae, and the Legate himself. I'll sit next to…

*choice
    #Camilla.
        *goto ch4_next_to_camilla
    #Niall.
        *goto ch4_next_to_niall
    #Tinsae.
        *goto ch4_next_to_tinsae
    #Legate.
        *set ch4_next_to_legate true
        When my mind is made up, I take purposeful strides towards the Legate. I have absolutely no idea what insanity made me choose this option but what's done is done. His smile is at first slightly confused, but then it transforms into a wide one, almost annoyingly so. Camilla sits on the other side of the Legate. My action managed to wipe off the usual frown from her face. Instead, confusion invades her features.
        
        The Legate smacks the spot next to him. "What a brave boy you are! Taking up the space as if you owned the place. That's the spirit!"
        
        It seems that I received some points from him, at least. "Yes, Lord Legate, I—"
        
        "No, no! No Lord this and that here." He says and beckons me to lie down next to him. "We're here to drink ourselves into stupor and eat like pigs. No need for honorifics."
        
        Niall's voice cuts in to add: "You should listen to him, he's a stubborn man."
        
        "Right." It feels weird not to use the usual decorum, especially with such a high-ranking man. The military life must've rubbed off on me already.
        
        What a horrible thought.
        
        With slightly awkward movement I finally make myself as comfortable as I can next to the Legate. In this context, there is no such thing as being comfortable. With that, I return back to the thought of why did I choose to lie next to him: every muscle in my body is tense. His tunic spreads in a way that it touches me. 
        
        I bite the inside of my cheek and try to calm down. It's just the murderer of my father lying next to me like we were best friends.
        *goto ch4_fooood

*label ch4_next_to_niall
*set ch4_next_to_niall true
Niall makes way for me to lie next to him. He wouldn't have to, there's more than enough room, but I suppose it's a nice gesture.
        
Then, I realize that I'm supposed to lie quite close to him. There's not much room.
        
He lies on his side, waiting for me to lie next to him.

*fake_choice
    #Slump next to him like it's been a long day. It has. I just want food.
        He chuckles. "A long day?"
        
        "I'm hungry."
        
        "There will be a lot of food, you can eat to your heart's content."
        
        Good. I will.
    #This is slightly unnerving. I don't know if I want to lie that close to him.
        However, it seems I have little choice on the matter. I can't just leave. That would be suspicious. 
        
        So, after a moment of hesitation, I start making my way next to him. He turns his gaze at me wearing an easy smile, but when he sees my face, a slight frown appears. Do I look that uncomfortable?
        
        He looks at the small space between us and tries to move even further away from me, apparently to give me more room. However, Niall ends up trying to give me too much room, since a man next to him yelps in confusion when he starts making his way into his lap.
        
        "Oops, sorry. I just… Well." He looks at me, imploring to get over myself and just to lie down.
        
        Fine. I'll do it.
    #Just lie down without making a big deal out of it.
        I almost shrug, get on the couch, and start making my way towards the table. Niall turns his gaze at me wearing an easy smile.
        
        "Are you comfortable?"
        
        I nod.
    
*goto ch4_fooood

*label ch4_next_to_tinsae
*set ch4_next_to_tinsae true
Tinsae gives me a gentle smile when I make my way to her. It's a sight that manages to somewhat melt my tense muscles and I find myself giving her a small smile back. She lies quite leisurely on her side with her elbow on a pillow and as I try to lie down myself, I notice that some of her dress is in the way. She looks at her dress and starts gathering it away from my designated spot. As I'm watching her, I realize that I'm supposed to lie quite close to her. There's not much room.

*fake_choice
    #Lie down and try to keep a respectable distance from her. 
        I take care not to touch her as I lie next to her. She looks at me. It makes me realize how close our faces are.
        
        *fake_choice
            #I can't help it: my cheeks heat up.
                I bite the insides of my mouth and look away, my cheeks still heated. I'm not used to this sort of thing. I'm never this close to anyone.
                
                A warm whisper dances at the back of my neck: "You'll get used to it. Let me know if there's something bothering you."
                
                I manage to give her a little nod. Well, it's aimed at the table but the target was supposed to be her.
            #I just stare at her. 
                With my mouth slightly open I freeze. Her dark brown eyes inspect me, their color darkened with intrigue. It's as if she can see my soul.
                
                But… for some reason a part of me thinks that she wouldn't judge what she saw in there. She wouldn't ridicule me, or use it against me. She would…
                
                I don't know. 
                
                "Hati?"
                
                "Yes?"
                
                "Please let me know if something is bothering you. I'm here."
                
                I give her a little nod.
            #I let out a sigh.
                I don't know what drove the tiniest of sighs to escape my dry throat, but it's gone and it can't be helped.
                
                Her dark brown eyes inspect me, their color darkened with intrigue. It's as if she can see my soul.
                
                But… for some reason a part of me thinks that she wouldn't judge what she saw in there. She wouldn't ridicule me, or use it against me. She would…
                
                I don't know. 
                
                "Hati?"
                
                "Yes?"
                
                "Please let me know if something is bothering you. I'm here."
                
                I give her a little nod.
    #Just lie down, I don't care how close we are.
        I almost shrug at the sight and lie next to her. As she shifts her position to give me more room, there's a strong whiff of roasted nuts with a flowery touch to it.
        
        It's a pleasant smell. 
        
        She gives me a content look, I don't know why. Because I chose to lie next to her, of all people?
        
        No. That couldn't be it. Why would she be happy about that?
        
        She leans in to whisper, her warm breath tickling the skin of my cheek: "Just let me know if there's something bothering you."
        
        I give her a nod.
        
*goto ch4_fooood

*label ch4_next_to_camilla
*set ch4_next_to_camilla true
I lock my gaze with Camilla. This decision means that I will be located in the close proximity of the Legate. Camilla gives me a slightly confused frown, looks at the Legate next to her, and turns her gaze back to me. The look on her face heavily implies that she suspects I've lost my mind. Alas, I have not. 
        
*if hatred = "manipulated" 
    Well, I [i]think[/i] I haven't. At least, this decision has nothing to do with that.
        
The Legate smacks the table with enthusiasm. "What a brave boy you are! Taking up the space as if you owned the place. That's the spirit! Come here, come here."
        
Camilla flinches at the table-smacking sounds and the unnecessary shouting before sighing.
        
I sit down at the edge of the couch, still not entirely sure if I should be here. Just then I realize what a brash move it must be to sit next to the Legate's wife. However, the Legate doesn't seem to mind. He gives me a small, approving smile as I sit down and shifts his gaze to the man next to him.
        
Camilla's strong presence next to me draws my attention back to her. A scent of spices lingers in the air near her, as per usual. She says nothing, as expected.

I suppose I need to lie down. Next to her.

*fake_choice
    #Lie down carefully, trying not to touch her.
        I take a quick look at Camilla, as if to make sure that it's alright that I'm here. She doesn't spare me a glance and I start making my way next to her. As gracefully as I can, I glide across the couch, trying my best not to touch her. The couch is quite soft and sturdy, there's a small pillow for my elbow. 
        
        As I finally make myself comfortable, she looks at me. Then, she looks at the space that's left between us. She nods in approval.
        
        "Good," she mutters.
    #Lie down with confidence and a touch of bravado.
        This is my spot and I'm going to lie here, whether she likes it or not. I spread myself all across the couch, not minding if I accidentally touch with Camilla or not. Or her dress. She shouldn't spread her clothing where it's not supposed to be. The couch is quite soft and sturdy, there's a small pillow for my elbow. 
        
        As I make myself overly comfortable, I just realize that I'm lying on a part of Camilla's dress. It was expected, it was her fault for not preparing for my arrival. She, however, doesn't seem to think so. She looks at the dress that is wrinkling underneath me, shoots me a nasty glare, and starts yanking the fabric from underneath me.
        
        *fake_choice
            #Move slightly to help her.
                I move just enough that she can get the dress without tearing it. She, however, doesn't show me any gratitude. She looks like she's about to snarl at me.
            #Stay put. I don't care what happens to the dress, I'm staying right here.
                I merely look at her struggles. 
                
                "You gods-forsaken oaf, you absolute—," she mutters under her breath before the dress lets out a loud tearing sound.
                
                Both of us look at the torn fabric. It wasn't my intention, I think. Camilla, however, looks like she's ready to jump at my throat.
                
        The Legate's voice cuts through our quarrel: "What are you two doing there?"
        
        Camilla's eye twitches as she collects herself. "Nothing, dear. Hati just told me the most funny joke about someone being flogged." She looks me dead in the eyes when she says the word 'flogged'.
        
        "Jokes about flogging? Well, dear me," the Legate says and turns back to the man beside him.
        
        If that wasn't a threat, I don't know what is.
    #Slump down next to her like it's been a long day.
        The couch is quite sturdy, it doesn't give in even if I slump down with the weight of a corpse. Camilla's gaze darts to me. "What are you, a child?"
        
        I nod. If this makes me a child, then a child I am.
*goto ch4_fooood

*label ch4_fooood
I try lying on my side but the position is not comfortable. Why can't these fools just sit like normal people?

Should I lie on my stomach? So, I switch my position on my belly and try to act natural.

No. I feel like a fool. Try as I might, I can't seem to find a suitable position to eat. I end up back on my belly and almost slump my head on the pillow. 

*if ch4_next_to_niall
    "You look like a seal."
    
    "What?"

    "A cute one!" He chuckles.
    
    Well, that was certainly not my intention. 
    
    *fake_choice
        #"You yourself look like a fool."
            The smile on his face dies as he gives me a small pout. "But I said a cute seal."
            
            "I don't want to look like a seal when I'm eating."
            
            The smile returns to his features. "Eat however you feel comfortable. It's not that serious. Some people prefer their left side, some their belly."
        #Ignore his remark.
            I shake my head and move back to lying on my side.
            
            Stupid Niall and his cute seals.
        #"I already feel self-conscious. Do you think that remark helps?"
            He gives me a small 'oh' before brushing his stub of a beard. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize. I just thought that seals are cute."
            
            I suppose they are.
            
            The smile returns to his features. "Eat however you feel comfortable. It's not that serious. Some people prefer their left side, some their belly. Some sit, but they are usually women."
            
            *if ((sex = "female") and (gender = "woman"))
                I almost shake my head. No women here, nope. 
    
*if ch4_next_to_tinsae
    Tinsae gives me a small smile as I try to make myself comfortable. She leans to whisper: "It takes some time to get used to the position. It's quite a… peculiar way to eat. Just do what works for you. Some eat on their belly, some on their left side. Some prefer to sit but that position is usually reserved for women."
    
    *if ((sex = "female") and (gender = "woman"))
        I almost shake my head. No women here, nope.  
    
*if ch4_next_to_camilla
    Camilla turns to look at my awkwardness. She looks me up and down before shaking her head. "Don't squirm like a child, behave yourself."

*page_break
A series of slaves start to make their way to the table. On their trays they carry multitude of different cheeses that carry their scents and smells around the room. There are olives in every earthy color next to fruits ranging from yellow to purple. There are little roasted birds and charred mice, salads with thyme and all sorts of other herbs.

In the end, the table is [b]filled[/b] with food. There's a plate of snails that almost falls to the ground because of the crowded table. Fortunately, one of the slaves catches it just in time. 

These are only appetizers?

"Is this a celebration or something?" I ask before I can think any better. Just as the words leave me I want to smack my mouth. This will only brand me a fool and make me the target of—

It's too late. The Optio takes the bait and runs with it. He lets out a forced, ridiculing laughter before shoving his elbow at the man next to him. "Can you believe what a country pumpkin he is?"

"Celebration?" Legate mimics my sentiment. "I hadn't thought of that but, of course, there's always something to celebrate." He smiles. "It's not much, I wanted to eat more leisurely." 

I nod. I can't really see the 'not much' part but it's better to play along.

"What do you think we should celebrate, Hati?"

*fake_choice
    #"New relationships."
        The Legate nods. "That's always a good cause for a drink."
    #"Future."
        Tinsae gives me an approving nod. "I'll drink to that."
    #"Food."
        Niall nods enthusiastically with Tinsae following suit. "I'll drink to that!"
    #"Our inevitable demise."
        My muttered words make Niall stop his drinking. He looks at me with a raised eyebrow. Camilla merely nods with her features solemn and takes a big gulp of her wine.
    #"Your wife."
        Camilla's gaze darts to me in a speed of lightning. She squints at me, obviously questioning my sanity.
        
        The Legate roars in laughter. "That's a good cause!"
    #"Your son, Marcus."
        Niall frowns at my words. The Legate raises his brow. "My son?" Then, he seems to ponder on the matter before saying: "The boy deserves it, despite being a pain in my buttocks."
        
        *if ch4_next_to_legate
            He leans to me, whispering: "The boy refuses to become a Praetorian Guard. That way he would be closer to his sisters, he'd have a high-paying job, the decorum, everything. Yet, he chooses to be here. You know why he does that?"
            
            "Why?"
            
            "To spite me. Can you believe it? The nerve of that boy."

The Legate gulps the whole of his goblet of wine, almost smashes it on the table with a loud clank and looks at me with a wide smile. "When I realized we had you as a special guest for the night, I wanted to have a couple of gladiators to fight each other while eating. Or would you have preferred dancers?"

Why would he hire anyone for my honor? Who am I to him? This is starting to seem a little suspicious.

Everything about this smells like a trap.

Does he know? Is this a plan to feed me before killing me?

He, however, is expecting for an answer.

*fake_choice
    #"Gladiators."
        The Legate nods approvingly. "The fights are thrilling, but it's its own danger to eat while watching something so excite-inducing. I remember one time when I almost choked on an olive." He turns to Camilla. "Remember the time, honey? When you were so thrilled by the show you didn't even notice my demise?"
        
        Camilla's expression doesn't change. "Your bodyguards were quick enough to answer your call." She pops an olive in her mouth before adding in a same monotone voice: "Dear."
        
        The Legate turns back to me with a nod, seemingly not minding the fact that his wife sounds like she plotted his death.
        
        "Yes, they're good lads."
    #"Dancers."
        The Legate gives me a slow, slightly approving nod. "Such a relaxing way to eat, watching the dancers. Almost boring, depending on the dancers. You dance, my boy?"
        
        *fake_choice
            #"Yes, Lord Legate."
                *set dancer true
                I've always loved to dance.
                
                A beam brightens his features. "What exquisite news! Would you care to dance to us?"
            
                "Huh?" I have made a terrible mistake.
            
                He roars in laughter. "Just joking, just joking!"
            #"No, Lord Legate."
                He pouts, seemingly growing more and more bored at the conversation. "What a pity."
                
                Well, I'm not here to entertain him.
    #"Neither."
        "Neither? My boy, you don't mean that you want something even more physical? I'll have you know that I won't tolerate that sort of activity in the camp. You will have to go to the town for such things."
        
        "Huh?"
        
        "He means whores, my dear," Camilla says.
        
        "I'm sure Hati doesn't mean he prefers prostitutes," Niall adds quickly.
        
        *fake_choice
            #"I do, actually."
                Niall chokes on his wine and starts coughing. Camilla smiles. The Legate nods at me with a thoughtful look.
                
                "I do appreciate a man who knows what he likes."
            #"No, I don't." Why are we talking about prostitutes, all of a sudden?
                Please let this topic change into something else. Judging by Niall's wandering eyes, he thinks the same.

The conversation topic thankfully dies quickly, as people realize that they are indeed quite hungry and the food is waiting. My gaze rests on the olives, a ball of goat cheese, and a few crackers on my silver plate.

*if vegetarian
    The Legate peers at my plate and says: "Hati? Don't you want some little birds with that olive of yours?"
    
    "No, thank you. I don't eat meat."
    
    "Oh! How peculiar. That reminds me of those philosophers."
    
    "Now he's trying to be all posh…" A mutter reaches my ears from the Optio's direction. I ignore the remark, I have absolutely no idea who these philosophers are and I have no desire to find out. I'm hungry.
*if not(vegetarian)
    I lean to take some more meat and start eating without thinking too much on it.

"Look at that." A familiar voice says and it takes a moment to realize the words are pointed at me. "Like a beggar hoarding food from the ground with his fist." The Optio.
*if clothes = "cheap"
    "Even his clothes look like he belongs to the street."

And at once everyone's eyes are on me and the piece of herbed cheese on its way to my mouth.

*fake_choice
    #"At least I don't smell like one."
        Silence falls into the room as the words leave my mouth.
        
        I just insulted my superior officer in front of everyone.
        
        But before I can even begin to think what sort of punishment I could receive over this, the Legate starts snickering. Before long, the snickers turn into a full-blown laughter.
        
        "Now, now, you boys! Neither of you remind us of beggars. Behave." His words are jovial and they lack any serious threat that might've been there if the setting was different. The Optio squints his eyes at me but manages to hold his tongue. The Legate has already spoken.
    #Remain silent. He wants to get a rise out of me.
        *set disciplined +1
        I'm not lured into his games, I don't even know what he's talking about. If he thinks that is all required to get me agitated, he's sorely mistaken.
        
        He looks at me with disappointment when I don't react to his stupidity.
    #Look at Niall.
        Niall looks at me with his mouth filled with food. Eggs, to be precise. He turns his attention to the Optio and grunts one word, barely understandable due to the food in his mouth: "Zoilus." 
        
        The Optio quickly shuts his mouth and turns his attention to the plate in front of him.
    #Look at Camilla.
        Camilla doesn't care about the commotion. She merely sips her wine. When her eyes meet mine, she gives me a light shrug as if to say that I should grow a thicker skin and stop bothering her.
    #Look at Tinsae.
        Tinsae's brows are knitted when she looks at me. Then, she looks at the Optio. "If the good Optio doesn't realize that we are not in the barracks at the moment, then I will take you for a fool." She turns to the Legate: "Gaius, do you approve of this?"
        
        The Legate shakes his head with vigor. "No, of course not! Now, Zoilus, don't start picking fights or I'll have you thrown out."
        
        The Optio grimaces at the words but doesn't say anything.
    #Look at the Legate.
        The Legate frowns as our gazes meet. Then, he turns his attention to Zoilus. "You. Don't you start picking fights with my guests or I'll have you thrown out."
        
        The Optio's eyes widen at the harsh words. They must be as wide as mine, I didn't realize he would defend me in such a way.

*page_break

*if ch4_next_to_tinsae
    "Hati," Tinsae leans close to me and whispers. "The Romans eat like this." She takes a piece of mushroom with three of her fingers, keeping the little finger and the third finger unstained. 
    
    Ah. I see. I look at the cheese in my hand, tightly squeezed in my fist. It must've been the nerves that made me squeeze the poor cheese so tightly. I'm more tense than I realized.
    
    Tinsae gives me a smile and says: "Don't worry about it. I didn't know about the etiquette, either." She adds in a low whisper: "They won't remember. They have themselves to think about."
*if ch4_next_to_niall
    "It's good manners to eat with three fingers," Niall says. He takes another piece of cheese with his three fingers, keeping the  little finger and the third finger unstained. 

    I frown at the presentation. How could I have known? Wouldn't this have been proper to show me [i]before[/i] I started eating?

    "I'm sorry I didn't tell you," he whispers with a wince.
*if ch4_next_to_camilla
    An elbow rams my side, almost making me yelp in pain. Camilla looks at me, then the cheese tightly inside my fist, and rolls her eyes. "You're eating like a woodsman. You're supposed to eat like this." She takes a truffle with three of her fingers, keeping the little finger and the third finger unstained. 
    
    I see. Well, you didn't have to be a jerk about it. It must've been the nerves that made me squeeze the poor cheese so tightly. I'm more tense than I realized.
*if ch4_next_to_legate
    "My boy," the Legate says and smacks my shoulder. "See this?" He takes a cooked egg with his three fingers, keeping the little finger and the third finger unstained, and shoves it into his mouth. "Good manners."
    
    Ah. I take a quick look at the piece of cheese tightly inside my fist. I see.
    
    Well, it would've been nice if I was told before I started eating. It must've been the nerves that made me squeeze the poor cheese so tightly. I'm more tense than I realized.

*page_break
The meal proceeds without further disagreements. The Optio throws a nasty glare at me from time to time but I don't give him much attention. I eat. I stay away from wine, even when I'm offered multiple times. This is not the time to drink. I'm here to gather information. 

The Legate sighs in a theatrical manner, waiting for the guests to turn their attention to him before speaking: "I really miss the days when the Emperor's father was the Emperor. That brat who's now on the throne…"

*if ch4_next_to_camilla
    Camilla shifts barely noticeably, straightening her posture. A topic of interest for her.
    
*if ch4_next_to_niall
    Niall barely listens to the conversation. Once the word 'emperor' is uttered out loud, he lets out a small, clearly bored sigh.

*if ch4_next_to_tinsae
    Tinsae turns to look at Camilla with a concerned gaze.
            
Camilla cuts off the Legate's speech, her voice is slightly unnerved: "Is that any way to start a conversation?" She takes a quick glance around the room. There are a few other concerned glances exchanged before she says: "People might take you for anti-Imperial."

"People," The Legate says and looks around the room, "know that I loved dearly the late Emperor. He was everything our nation needed. His son…" He turns up his nose at the word. "His son is [i]quite[/i] an Emperor." 

The conversation is halted by a loud yawn.

I gaze at Niall, who looks extremely bored. He stifles a few yawns after the loudest one but it's too late for that. Everyone's eyes are already on him. The talks of the Emperor got cut short.
*page_break

*if ch4_next_to_niall
    *fake_choice
        #That's childish and rude. Elbow him.
            *set rude -1
            I give him a good shove with my elbow and add a disapproving glance to seal the deal. He purses his lips and looks sheepishly away.
        #I wanted to more about the Emperor. Elbow him.
            I give him a good shove with my elbow. He yelps in surprise and looks at my arm.
        #Ignore him.

The Legate laughs. "Ha! Niall doesn't care about the politics at all, look at him. The boy's yawning his heart out by the mere mention of the topic."

Niall stifles another yawn and tries to look upset.

"And the new boy." His eyes turn to me. "Hmm… What do you think, Hati?"

What do I think? About the Emperor? I think he's the reason why my people are dead, my village burnt, and the sacred grove defiled. I think I hate the man, even if it reminds me of hating a god. He's unreachable and I hate him for it. That's what I think of him. However, the words are quite different when they leave my mouth: 

"Not much, Lord Legate. I don't follow politics."

"See? These boys don't follow politics."

The rest of the officers look somewhat uncomfortable, but it seems that the topic of politics is not foreign in the dinner party. It's just the way the Legate goes about it. Typical.

"He fed half the senators to the lions while watching the spectacles, did you hear?" 

*page_break

Camilla's face drains.

And, as if just now realizing the state of his wife, he says: "Oh, excuse me dear."

A voice interrupts: "What for?" 

"Does the madman need a reason?" He takes a gulp of his wine. "I mean, the Emperor."

He's feeding his own people to the lions? Well, feeding anyone to the lions would be questionable but I'd wager that the Romans don't like to be on the receiving end of their bloodsports. 

Camilla continues to take sips of her wine with her face as pale as a lawyer's toga.

*if ch4_next_to_camilla
    *fake_choice
        #Ask if she's okay.
            *set camilla_family true
            I don't know what her problem is but she doesn't look fine. At all. Her usually marble-white face is now drained from what little color she had. Now, she's just pale. I try wordlessly to ask her of the state of her mind. However, it takes longer than it's comfortable before she focuses her gaze on me. Once she does, her features are lacking the usual sneer. 
            
            Instead, she's completely expressionless. But it's sprinkled with traces of fear.
            
            I ask again, this time in a small voice only she can hopefully hear. 
            
            She blinks when she realizes that I'm talking to her. Then, a frown replaces the hollowness of her features. "I'm fine," she says, loudly, drawing everyone's attention to her and me.
            
            The Legate nods. "I know, dear. There's not a reason for distress, just yet. We don't know if your father and brother were the ones who got brutally murdered by that creature of a… I mean our good Emperor."
        #Remain silent and listen to conversation.
            
*if ch4_next_to_niall
    I peer at Niall to see if he's still looking bored. No. He's perked up, his features are solemn and serious. His gaze darts to Camilla from time to time. 
    
    *fake_choice
        #Ask his opinion about the Emperor.
            *set camilla_family true
            "What do you think about the Emperor?" I whisper.
            
            He flinches and looks at me as if he just realized I'm here, so close to him that my breath must touch his bare neck when I talk. 
            
            "I'm not sure. But I know that Camilla's family is in the court. She must be terrified."
            
            Both of our gazes move to Camilla.
            
            *fake_choice
                #I don't really care.
                    I shrug. I shift my gaze back to Niall.
                    *set camilla_friendship -2
                #Oh? If that's so, I feel somewhat sorry for her.
                    It's difficult not to care. She doesn't know if her family is alive or not. I suppose I can relate.
        #Look at Camilla, too, to see what's making Niall to look at her.
            *set camilla_family true
            I peer at Camilla. Her usually marble-white face is now drained from what little color she had. Now, she's just pale.
            
            She doesn't look well at all. 
            
            I lean to Niall: "What's wrong with Camilla?"
            
            He shakes his head. "Camilla's family is in the court. She must be terrified of the news."
            
            *fake_choice
                #I don't really care.
                    *set camilla_friendship -2
                    I shrug. That isn't my problem.
                #Oh? If that's so, I feel somewhat sorry for her.
                    It's difficult not to care. She doesn't know if her family is alive or not. I suppose I can relate.
        #Remain silent.

*if ch4_next_to_tinsae
    Tinsae looks extremely worried as her eyes are drawn by her friend. 
    
    *fake_choice
        #Ask about Camilla.
            *set camilla_family true
            "What's with her?"
            
            Tinsae purses her lips before looking at her plate. "Her father is a Senator. Her family is close to the Emperor."
            
            "Oh." That must mean that she's afraid that something has happened to her family.
        #Ask what she thinks about the Emperor.
            "What do you think about the Emperor?"
            
            "Hm." She purses her lips before answering in a low, barely audible tone: "I detest men who kill people without a thought." The words oozes from her usually smiling lips like poison. She continues to look at Camilla.
        #Remain silent.
    
*if ch4_next_to_legate 
    *fake_choice
        #I lean closer to him, as much as it pains to do so and say: "Lord Legate. Your wife doesn't look well."
            *set camilla_family true
            The Legate jumps a little as if just now realizing that I'm quite close to him. He looks at me, then he turns his gaze to his wife. "Oh, right. I'm sure her family wasn't there when the incident happened."
            
            "Her family?"
            
            "Her father is a Senator."
            
            "Oh." That's even a bigger reason not to talk about these things like they mean nothing. She's fearing for her family's life… I suppose that's something I can relate to.
        #Remain silent.
    
The Legate shakes his head. "Just my luck to be alive during our generation's Caligula and Nero combined. His father was a good Emperor."

It seems the Emperor isn't in favor of his subjects. His army, no less. How is he still in power, if the officers in the army hate him? 

Is it because of fear? Most likely, if he feeds his subjects to lions. Perhaps the people still love him.

After the conversation dies, the atmosphere has a lingering edge to it. It makes me wonder how quick the Romans are of accusing each other of treason? Would the Emperor kill those who he thinks are conspiring against him? From the sound of it, it seems the Emperor kills even those not conspiring. 

Hm. Intriguing.

*page_break
"Lord Legate, your son has arrived." Following the slave's words Marcus's stupid face appears from behind the curtain.

The Legate claps his hands excitedly. "You decided to show up after all!"

His eyes find mine, there's a light smirk forming on the corner of his lips. "I had little choice, after I noticed that my dear little messenger wasn't coming back to me."

Was I supposed to come back to him? 

"Don't blame the boy, son. I wanted to have some company since you so rudely decided to decline."

Marcus purses his lips and looks at his father. "I'm here now, aren't I?"

"That you are! Please bring something for the lad, Aloysius."

The head-servant bows and disappears into the kitchen.

*if ch4_next_to_niall 
    Marcus makes way towards our couch, looks at Niall, and pokes him on his shoulder. "Niall, make way, I'm coming in between."
    
    *fake_choice
        #"No, you're not," I hiss at him.
            Marcus gives me a stare. "That was a nasty hiss." He looks at Niall. "You can have him. I'll go elsewhere."
            
            "Wow, thanks," Niall mutters before looking at me. "Are you alright?"
            
            I nod. Even better after he's gone.
            *goto ch4_more_wine
        #Remain silent. I don't care where he is. 
            I almost let out a sigh and look elsewhere.
            
            Marcus shrugs. "A tough crowd. It was expected. I'm sure that secretly you're happy about my arrival."
            
            Niall looks at me before shaking his head. "I don't think he is."
            
            "He's just acting that way, this is our game. You wouldn't get it."
            
            A groan almost escapes my lips but I manage to stop it in time. That must be the stupidest thing I've heard in a long time.
            
            "See? He's happy about it. That was a happy sound," Marcus says as he stuffs himself between us with a satisfied grin.
        #Ugh. No. Perhaps Niall will tell him to leave.
            Niall, however, has other plans. He looks at me, then Marcus, and then sighs. "Fine. You can come in between."
            
            "What?" I ask in terror but it's futile. He's already stuffing himself between us with a satisfied grin.
        #"Could you, I don't know. Go away?" I ask, knowing fully well he won't if I ask him so politely. I needed to say it, it's about principles.
            Niall nods and starts to agree with me, but Marcus is faster: "I'm afraid not. My legs are too weary after the long walk here."
            
            I squint my eyes at the excuse. "How are you that fragile?"
            
            "Maybe an illness of sort is eating me away. Would you take care for me if I was bed-ridden?"
            
            "Absolutely not. I would watch you die."
            
            "I knew you would say that, my heart weeps," he says as he stuffs himself between us with a satisfied grin.
        #I shake my head. "I wish to sit with Niall. Without you."
            Marcus looks at me before looking at Niall, his face filled with befuddlement. "You're preferring his presence over mine?" He cocks his head, as if making sure he's hearing right if I choose to give him an answer.
            
            "Yes."
            
            Niall gives me a beam before looking at Marcus like he won something. Marcus rolls his eyes. "Ugh, fine."
            *goto ch4_more_wine
            
    The Legate has watched the exchange this whole time, he has a stupidly adoring smile on his face as he hums: "Reminds me of the time when you boys were just wee lads." 
    
    *if not(niall_adoption)
        They're brothers? I peer at their faces. They look nothing alike. Must have a different mother or something.
        
        Before I can continue that thought, Niall calls to me over Marcus, almost leaning in on him: "I'm adopted."
            
        "No one cares. Get off of me!" Marcus shakes the intruder away and continues to scoop food on his plate.
    *if niall_adoption
        Ah, yes. Niall did mention that the Legate adopted him.
            
*if ch4_next_to_camilla
    Marcus makes his way toward our couch and looks at Camilla with disdain on his features before saying: "Dearest mother, make way, I'm coming in between."
    
    Before I can answer, Camilla gives him a stare of death: "You are not."
    
    Marcus frowns at her words. "What?"
    
    She just stares at her wine, all but ignoring Marcus's presence. 
    
    Then, he pouts: "Fine."
    
    "Would you two behave for once, this is embarrassing. Please, my lad, don't think ill of me or my family because of those bickering fools." Legate looks at me and apparently awaits some sort of reassurance of their untarnished imagine in my eyes. 
    
    I give him a nod. He seems pleased with that.
    
    "Why do you care so much what he thinks, anyway?" Marcus asks with a pout as he lumps next to Niall, opposite of Camilla and I.

    "Why do you?" Legate smiles back at Marcus, but his words are more pointed than anything he's said for the whole night.
    
    "Hmm." His eyes find mine. No. Don't start. 
    
    "It's a long story," He does start. Of course he does. "Would you care to tell him, Hati? Or should I?"
    
    Why does he want to paint me as a target? The sadistic asshole.
    
    *fake_choice
        #Ask Marcus wordlessly why he's torturing me all of a sudden.
            I merely look him in the eyes, projecting the one question lingering on my mind: 'Why are you doing this?'
            
            He shifts, uncomfortably so, and looks away. "Now that I think about it, it's not an interesting tale."
            
            "Hm?" The Legate looks at his son, puzzled by his change of tone. Then, he looks at me. I shrug.
        #Remain silent. He's not selling me out during dinner. He's bluffing.
            He awaits for my reaction, and when I merely pour myself some more wine with an expressionless face, he gives me a pout. 
            
            And remains silent. As expected.
            
            The Legate looks at his son. "What? What was Hati supposed to tell me?"
            
            "Nothing."
            
            "Hm?" The Legate, puzzled by his son's change of tone, looks at me questioningly. I shrug.
        #"It's not an interesting tale, Lord Legate." Is that idiot trying to sell me out? 
            Marcus waits for Niall to pour him some wine with a half-smile on his face. "I beg to differ, but alas, father, my dearest little soldier has made up his mind."
    
            The Legate squints his eyes at Marcus before shifting his eyes onto me. Then he smiles. "I'd be interested to hear it, too, one day."
            
            I'm not interested in telling you that, thank you very much. I grimace at Marcus, who merely keeps drinking his wine with a satisfied smile.
    
*if ch4_next_to_tinsae
    He comes close to Tinsae's and my couch and looks at the spot between us expectantly.
    
    "My lady," he aims his words at Tinsae. "May I?"
    
    Tinsae raises her brow at him before turning her gaze to me. She doesn't outright ask but it's clear that she's interested in my opinion. 
    
    *fake_choice
        #Nod. Fine. Let him sit with us.
            I almost give her a sigh to accompany the nod. I don't know why I didn't refuse. I wonder that even more when Tinsae tells him that he can sit with us. He acts as anyone would've anticipated: He grins, lightly pushes me aside to make himself more room, and takes too much space.
        #Shake my head. Don't let that man sit next to us.
            No no no. Tell him to go away. 
            
            Tinsae nods. "Would you be so kind and sit somewhere else? I think I saw Niall having some room next to him."
            
            Marcus bites his lip, almost says something, but decides against it. It seems he doesn't like to argue with Tinsae.
            
            Thank the Twins. He leaves.
        #I can speak for myself. "Lord Centurion, there's no room."
            He raises his brow at me. "There's plenty of room."
            
            "It is as I said. There is no room." I make a point of spreading myself to take up even more space than it's needed. 
            
            The Legate says: "Just go sit somewhere else, boy, don't be so childish. You're embarrassing me."
            
            Marcus rolls his eyes and leaves to sit next to Niall.

*if ch4_next_to_legate
    "You're moving up in the world, sitting next to the Legate himself."
    
    The Legate scoffs and points him with a spoon he was using to take another load of soft-boiled eggs in nut-sauce. "Don't tease the lad, we're having interesting conversations."
    
    Marcus gives his father a pout. "I want to sit there, too."
    
    "You may not, son. Go sit next to your mother." There's a distinct coughing sound echoing through the dining room. From the sound of it, Camilla must have choked on her food. Marcus frowns and looks at his 'mother'.
    
    Camilla gives him even a bigger frown. "There's no room, my dear son," she says as she spreads her leg and arm on the coach. Thankfully, her dress is long so no accidental slip ups happen. Tinsae looks at her friend and shakes her head with a smile.
    
    The Legate grimaces. "Fine! I'm surrounded by fools. Sit here then."
    
    *fake_choice
        #"No! Sit somewhere else."
            The Legate sighs. "You too? I am too old to babysit you children." He looks at me, deploring me to change my opinion. When I shake my head and give him a look that communicates everything he needs to know about the idea of me sitting next to that man, he admits defeat with another sigh. "Fine. Sit next to Niall. There's room for you."
            
            "But—"
            
            "No buts, son. I want to eat my eggs. They are almost cold already and I loathe cold eggs. Begone."
        #Ugh, fine.
            I admit defeat with a deep sigh. Fine. The sigh makes that damn grin appear on Marcus's face. He lightly pushes me aside to make himself more room, spreads himself to take more space than he physically needs to. Once he's comfortable and looking quite pleased with himself, I realize that I'm lying uncomfortably close to him.
            
            I am, in fact, lying extremely close to him.
            
            I can smell him. That's always too close.
            
            He merely turns his gaze to me and gives me yet another satisfied grin.

*label ch4_more_wine
"Bring forth more wine!" The Legate shouts unnecessarily loud at the slaves next to him. One of them gives him a tiny eyeroll before scurrying to bring the fool some more wine.

And so, the wine flows, the people converse, and more food is brought to the table. There was even a big fish dish that looked like fish but wasn't fish at all.

It impressed many of the guests. 

I was not one of them.
*page_break

Now that people are increasingly drunk, I could sneak into the Legate's bedroom.

Should I?

*choice
    #Of course. That is why I am here. I need to find information.
        I nod with determination.
        *goto legate_bedroom
    #No. That's a stupid idea. I can get information other ways.
        At least I hope so. I don't want to appear too obvious. So, I will remain here.
        *goto dinner_party

*label dinner_party
When the dessert arrives, people have already lost their sense of seating arrangements. Tinsae is sitting with Camilla, the Legate is roaring with laughter with a couple of officers, Marcus and Niall look like they're plotting something. Their eyes are drawn by a mulberry tree.

*choice
    #Go to Tinsae and Camilla.
        *goto ch4_tcwreath
    #Go to Niall and Marcus.
        *goto ch4_nmwreath
    
*label ch4_tcwreath
Both of the women are wearing a wreath on their head. Different flowers decorate the crowns.
*if herbalist
    There are blue, pink and white asters, and a couple of purple dahlias. It must've been challenging to find flowers still in bloom this time a year.
*if not(herbalist)
    The flowers look familiar but I don't remember their names. The colors are beautiful, however. Blue, pink, and white create a charming color palette.

A strong scent of everything flower enters my nostrils when I walk closer to them. It's almost nauseating. They must've put something awfully smelly on when I wasn't looking.

*fake_choice
    #Tinsae offers me to inspect the wreath in her hands. "Hati, it's customary to put on a wreath when the best wine amphora is opened this late in the evening."
        "Are you suggesting that I put this on?" I ask and peer at the flower crown with some doubt.
        
        "Isn't it beautiful? I bet it would suit you." She raises the crown on my eye level and smiles.
        
        "I'm not sure if—"
        
        But it's too late. With a gentle touch and an even nimbler movement Tinsae has already put the wreath on my head. A scent of slight bitterness surrounds me. It's mixed with the perfume oils lingering around us. The sensory scenery is almost too much to take, the scents are intoxicating.
        
        "It is said that the crown helps with the next day's hangover."
        
        "That won't be a problem for me."
        
        She shrugs. "Me neither, but it does create a beautiful scenery when every guest is wearing a wreath of their own. Also…" She turns to take a small amphora from the table. "It is also customary to put on some perfume oil on one's hair. Would you mind if I put it on you?"
        
        "Tinsae," Camilla says. "That is something for the slaves to do, not—"
        
        "Camilla, please." Tinsae shakes her head.
        
        *fake_choice
            #"I don't want that smelly stuff."
                I'm already smelly enough as it is with this crown on my head. If she were to put that stuff in my hair, I might pass out from smell-related overdose. I firmly shake my head.
                
                Camilla scoffs: "'Smelly stuff'? Are you a child? Do what Tinsae asks."
                
                Didn't she just say that Tinsae shouldn't do this? 
                
                Tinsae shakes her head. "Hati doesn't have to do anything he doesn't want to." She gives me a smile and lays the small amphora in her hands back on the table.
                
                Soon enough, the Legate starts waving at us. I almost give him a frown, but manage to stop it in time. Tinsae, however, waves back at him. "Please, excuse me. Gaius wanted to talk to me about something earlier."
                *goto ch4_after_dinner_camilla
            #"No, thank you."
                *set rude -1
                "But of course, I wouldn't want to impose." She gives me a smile and lays the small amphora in her hands back on the table.
                
                Soon enough, the Legate starts waving at us. I almost give him a frown, but manage to stop it in time. Tinsae, however, waves back at him. "Please, excuse me. Gaius wanted to talk to me about something earlier."
                *goto ch4_after_dinner_camilla
            #"Yes, please."
                She gives me an even wider smile as she takes a small dose of the oil in her hands. She spreads it in her palms before gesturing me to sit down. Then, her hands find the skin of my scalp. Her fingers begin their dance on my head, they move with grace and purpose, melting away any tension my shoulders had.
                *goto tinsae_oil_spreading 
            #Take a good sniff at the oil and express approval.
                I lean in to take a good sniff at the oil and hum in approval. Yes. Now that I've gotten more used to the smell, it's quite pleasant. It's difficult to point out what the oil is made of but there's a distinct smell of roses in the middle of the smelly mayhem.
                
                She gives me an even wider smile as she takes a small dose of the oil in her hands. She spreads it in her palms before gesturing me to sit down. Then, her hands find the skin of my scalp. Her fingers begin their dance on my head, they move with grace and purpose, melting away any tension my shoulders had.
                *goto tinsae_oil_spreading 

    #"That's yours." Camilla gestures at the wreath on a table.
        She merely points at a table where the wreath lies and returns her gaze back to Tinsae. Tinsae gives me a small smile and a nod to accompany it. She, too, has a wreath on her head. The duo must mean that I should put one on, myself. I look at the wreath with some doubt.
        
        The wreath is beautiful enough.
        
        *fake_choice
            #Put it on.
                I poke the crown with some hesitation. Camilla's eyes are on me.
                
                "Just put it on. It's not poisoned." She gives me a little smirk.
                
                Right. I didn't even even realize that it could be. That would make sense, in a way. I don't know why they would feed me first, though. However, there are children's stories where unfortunate children are fed before killed and eaten, so… perhaps they plan on eating me?
                
                Throughout my grim ponderings I've been looking at Camilla. She gives me a smile that tells me she wouldn't hesitate to kill me, yet I doubt she'd eat me. Unless it was a ritual of some sort.
                
                Well, what's a little ritual-killing to spice up the dinner?
                
                Finally, I put the wreath on. A scent of slight bitterness surrounds me. It's mixed with the perfume oils lingering around us. The sensory scenery is almost too much to take, the scents are intoxicating.
                
                Camilla gives me a little nod as she fixes the placement of her own crown.
                    
            #Don't put it on.
                Camilla squints at me but doesn't say anything. She fixes the placement of her own crown.
                
        *fake_choice
            #"You look beautiful."
                She quickly turns her gaze at the Legate. When it seems that he didn't hear, I did speak in a low enough volume, she looks at me and scoffs. "You look like a fool."
                        
                "Thank you kindly." I give her a smile.
                        
                She gives me another scoff before shaking her head. "A proper fool."
            #"The smell is awful."
                I'm starting to grow a headache. How do these people cope with the amount of smells present here?
                    
                Camilla arches her brow at me, she seems to be fighting the urge to roll her eyes at me. "The 'smells' here cost a fortune."
                    
                "They are still offensive."
                    
                She purses her lips. "If you're from a forest, then I suppose so."
                    
                "Indeed."
            #Just look at her.
                She frowns at my scrutinization of her. "Are you a fool?"
                    
                I shrug.
                    
                "You're not supposed to gawk at women like that. It's improper. You're a dirty soldier."
                
                I give her another shrug.
        
        Ignoring her insults, I notice that the Legate is waving at us. Tinsae waves back at him, quickly bids us goodbye before joining him.
        *goto ch4_after_dinner_camilla

*label tinsae_oil_spreading 
As the massage continues, Camilla starts looking more and more agitated. She looks at the other guests' intrusive eyes and turns to us. She cocks her head at our massage session. Tinsae, too, looks puzzled when she watches her friend. "What is it?"
    
"The amount of touching… is quite offensive."
    
Tinsae nods slowly, as if processing the words. "Right. I understand how it might look like that. I'm unmarried and he's a lowly soldier." She aims her words at me: "I mean no offense."
    
"None taken."
    
She gives me a smile before continuing to talk to Camilla: "In addition, I'm touching him in a manner no Roman highborn lady would do in their right mind. Their puzzled gazes are quite understandable."
    
Camilla listens to her analysis with a raised brow, seemingly disappointed her jab was unsuccessful. I myself find it more difficult to focus in Tinsae's words: her fingers still massage my scalp. The lids of my eyes fall closed. This is highly pleasant.
    
Camilla clears her throat: "Shouldn't that bother you?"

"They are welcome to think whatever they want. Unless Hati thinks otherwise?"
*fake_choice
    #"I'm good. Please continue."
        Tinsae giggles. "Hati doesn't mind."
        
        "He's a forest barbarian, of course he doesn't mind. You, however, are civilized."
        
        Excuse me? I would say something if I wasn't almost falling asleep. She is extremely good at this.
        
        "Cam, please. They think I'm quaint. This is part of my charm. A free-spirited high-class barbarian. Besides, stop insulting Hati."
        
        Camilla purses her lips. "Whatever you say."
    #Let out a pleased grunt.
        Tinsae giggles. "Hati doesn't mind."
        
        "He's a forest barbarian, of course he doesn't mind. You, however, are civilized."
        
        Excuse me? I would say something if I wasn't almost falling asleep. She is extremely good at this.
        
        "Cam, please. They think I'm quaint. This is part of my charm. A free-spirited high-class barbarian. Besides, stop insulting Hati."
        
        Camilla purses her lips. "Whatever you say."
    #"I'm a bit uncomfortable."
        Tinsae halts her movement and gives me an understanding nod. "I understand. Their gazes can be intrusive. Please, always let me know if you're uncomfortable."
        
        "You stop just because he's uncomfortable?" Camilla pouts.
        
Her words make me furrow my brows. Just now I realize the underlying emotion within her tone: it's jealousy.

She's jealous about our interaction. What an interesting turn.

Tinsae must've smelled it, too. She knows her friend better than I do. She shakes her head. "Cam, please."
    
Then, the Legate cuts the interaction short with his wild waving. I almost give him a frown, but manage to stop it in time. Tinsae, however, waves back at him. 
    
"Hati, please excuse me. Gaius wanted to talk to me about something earlier. I can tell him to wait but—" She looks at the Legate with some uncertainty before turning back to me. I doubt she'd like to keep him waiting. 
    
I nod and she gives me a smile.
*goto ch4_after_dinner_camilla

*label ch4_after_dinner_camilla
Tinsae joins the Legate, who gives her a big smile. I notice that Camilla is looking at them.
*fake_choice
    #Ask about her and Tinsae's friendship.
        "Have you two known for long?"
        
        "Hm. Ages, it feels like." There's a long pause as she looks at Tinsae, her gaze coated with warmth that's unusual to see there.
        
        *fake_choice
            #It makes me feel a bit jealous.
                It's almost ridiculous, Camilla is my enemy. She has stated that enough times and on top of that, she's a Roman. Also, the Legate's wife. The list could go on. 
                
                But as I watch her reminiscing her relationship with Tinsae, there's some sort of a knot forming inside my stomach. Perhaps I want what  have. With them? With one of them? With someone else? Who knows.
                
                I frown at my thoughts. What is this? Like I would want friendship and companionship with these people? 
                
                No. Disgusting. Of course I don't want that.
                
                A voice interrupts my thoughts: "First you ask, then you act like you have constipation and don't listen." Camilla stares at me with the same disdain she always does.
                
                "I'm listening," I lie.
            #They seem to have a good friendship. That's nice.
                They seem like a good fit for each other. I don't feel like I know them that well just yet but they seem to enjoy each other's company. 
                
                Friendship is important. Perhaps… I could feel it someday, again.
                
                *fake_choice
                    #Quinn is my friend, of course.
                        $!{q_he} will always be my friend. However, I wish we weren't here. The circumstances have changed ${q_him}. Both of us, really. I've changed, too. 
                        
                        For the worse? Absolutely.
                        
                        If someone claimed that grief makes you stronger and more resilient, I would kick them in their shin.
                    #Quinn has changed.
                        I frown at the mental image of ${q_him}. It's like ${q_he}'s there but ${q_he}'s not. Do I just imagine it? Is it because of the blessing? 
                        
                        I don't know the answers and it weighs me down. A part of me wishes things were like they used to be. Can they ever be?
                
                A voice interrupts my thoughts: "First you ask, then you act like you have constipation and don't listen." Camilla stares at me with the same disdain she always does. 
                
                "I'm listening," I lie.
            #I wait for her answer.

        Both of us look at Tinsae's direction. She's laughing politely at the Legate's apparent joke. She's holding a goblet of wine in her hand with grace as she nods at that fool of a man who's doing most of the talking. Then, she takes a note of our gaze. Her smile turns into a more genuine one.
        
        Camilla doesn't return the smile. She just looks at her friend. "She comes and goes." A part of me wonders if she even remembers that she's talking to me. "I fear the day she leaves."
        
        Then, as if realizing what she just said, she jerks her gaze to me with a frown. "What do you think you're doing with that information?"
        
        "Nothing."
        
        "Indeed. Stop asking, you fool." With a scorn and a billowing dress she takes her leave in haste, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
    #Don't ask.
        Their relationship is not my business. Camilla doesn't even spare me a look when she leaves. 
*choice
    #There was a shadow of sadness lingering on Camilla's features. Follow her and ask about it.
        *goto c4_camilla_wat_wrong
    #Camilla looked sad. This might be my opportunity to get information out of her.
        *set manipulative +5
        *set camilla_manipulator true
        *goto c4_camilla_wat_wrong
    #Let her be. I've got other things to do.
        *goto ch4_where_to?
    
*label c4_camilla_wat_wrong
Even if she clearly doesn't want me to, I follow her steps. She left the dining area and it doesn't take me long to find her in the study we passed by earlier. 

Camilla sits by herself in the corner, playing with Tinsae's cat absentmindedly. She has a stick with a feather attached to it, she flings it in a slow motion. Alitash peers at Camilla, yawns, and leaves. Camilla looks after the cat with a slightly disappointed look on her face.

When she sees me looking at her, she smirks. "Are you going to say that even the cat doesn't prefer my company?"

Her tone is weirdly solemn. She doesn't mock me for following her.

*fake_choice
    #"Well, yes. But you took the fun away by stating it yourself."
        She straightens her posture, puts the stick away, and looks me in the eyes. There's an unusual shade of sadness within her gaze. "Indeed. You and Marcus share that feature."
        
        "Ugh." Just the mere mention of that man forces a disgusted grunt to leave me.
        
        "Pfft. I'm sorry. That was uncalled for." She gives me a tiny smile, just enough for the corners of her mouth to rise.
    #"No. Cats are like that."
        "They are. I can respect that." She gives me a tiny smile, just enough for the corners of her mouth to rise. "They do what they want."
    #Shrug.
        
Something nudges the back of my shin. I turn to see that Alitash returned. He seems to be after some pets. Camilla peers at the cat.

"Oh. He prefers your company over mine."

*fake_choice
    #Shoo the cat away.
        I shoo him away with both my hand and vocal command. He, however, looks at me as if he doesn't care. At all. He gives me a little 'mrrr' sound before jumping dramatically in the air and darting off.
        
        He's as quickly gone as he arrived.
    #Pet him.
        I can't possibly not pet him. Especially when he asks them so nicely. So, I give his warm and soft fur a few strokes. He rubs his head on my shin and gives a little purr.
        
        "Did you have a nice fish head as a dinner, huh?"
        
        He lets out a little 'mew', as if to confirm that he has indeed eaten some fish head for the dinner.
        
        Finally, I turn to see Camilla looking at me. She gives me a small pout as she looks at Alitash being nice and cozy with me.
        
        "Why won't pets like me?"
        
        I raise my brow at her. I wouldn't know.
        
        *fake_choice
            #"They know a rude and nasty woman when they see one."
                "Oh!" She scoffs. "That was the reason." She doesn't seem to take that much offense over my remark, she merely looks at Alitash before shaking her head. "I guess that makes sense."
            #"Perhaps you try too hard."
                "Excuse me. I don't try too hard." But the way her forehead wrinkles as if in thought implies that she might think of this as a possibility.
            #Shrug.
                She frowns at me and Alitash.
        
        Then, Alitash darts out of the room like an arrow. He's as quickly gone as he arrived. 
    
Camilla and I both look after the cat. She doesn't seem to hold the same animosity she usually does. A part of her seems almost defeated.
*if camilla_manipulator
    She looks vulnerable. I can use that to my advantage.

"Are you alright?" I ask.

There's a slightest of squints as she looks at me. But it's not as prominent as it usually is. She shakes her head. 

"This is not the place to discuss these things." As if in cue, one of the officers bursts out laughing. The volume of the laughter is amplified by the flowing wine. "There are ears on the walls."

*if camilla_manipulator
    It seems that she'd be willing to share information if we were in a different setting. That is promising.

*if not(camilla_manipulator)
    Understandable.
    
She fears that one of the Senators who died was of her family.

*fake_choice
    #"I hope that your family is alright." I'm being honest.
        *set manipulative -1
        She shoots a deadly glare.
        
        "What?" I ask in reflex. I was just trying to make her feel better. 
        
        She stands up with vengeance. The hiss that leaves her lips is only just so loud that I can hear it: "Don't you ever talk about my family."
        
        *fake_choice
            #"I didn't mean--"
                "I don't give a rat's ass what you meant." Before I can answer, she turns on her heels and leaves. 
            #"I apologize." I understand the reason for the outburst.
                Even if the sudden outburst startled me at first, I understand. I wouldn't want her to talk about my family, either. So I give her an understanding nod.
                
                There's a slightest of relaxing of her shoulders. Still she raises her chin as a challenge. Then, without saying anything more, she turns on her heels and leaves.
    #"I hope that your family is alright." I'm just saying that.
        She shoots a deadly glare at me, as if knowing that my words ring hollow. I should've known that she'd smell it. A hiss that leaves her lips is oozing poison: "Don't ever talk about my family."
        
        When I don't answer, she stands up and takes a step closer to me. The way she moves is filled with murderous intent. "Did you hear me, barbarian?"
        
        *fake_choice
            #"Understood."
                She squints her eyes at me. "You'd better remember that, you oaf."
                
                Then, without saying anything more to me, she turns on her heels and leaves.
            #Challenge her.
                "I was just hoping that your family is alright."
                
                The corner of her eye twitches. "Your head is thicker than I realized." Then, without saying anything more to me, she turns on her heels and leaves.
            #Take a step back.
                I take a step back in instinct. 
                
                She looks at me before scoffing. Then, without saying anything more to me, she turns on her heels and leaves.
                
    #I nod, mimicking her gestures and pattern of speech. "Indeed." That could make her feel better.
        That little sprout of a smile she's hesitantly wearing tries to blossom into an even bigger one. Alas, it fails; Camilla manages to stifle it. She shakes her head to get rid of it completely.
        
        "Don't you think I don't know what you're doing."
        
        *if camilla_manipulator
            Of course she does. She's expecting that I'm manipulating her in some way. It's going to be difficult to beat her in her own game. I merely give her an innocent smile.
        *if not(camilla_manipulator)
            "What?"
            
            "Don't play a fool. It almost suits you."
            
        She sighs. "I need some air." Then, without another word, she leaves.
    #Remain silent. It's not my place to say anything about this.
        She gives me a long, piercing stare. Then, she nods. "Thank you."
        
        "For what?"
        
        But she doesn't answer, she just turns on her heels and leaves.
        
She and Alitash seem to share that feature; leaving as quickly as they came. I walk toward the hallway, pondering my options.
*goto ch4_where_to?

*label ch4_nmwreath
Both of the men are wearing a wreath on their heads. Different flowers decorate the crowns.
*if herbalist
    There are blue, pink and white asters, and a couple of purple dahlias. It must've been challenging to find flowers this time a year.
*if not(herbalist)
    The flowers look familiar but I don't remember their names. The colors are beautiful, however. Blue, pink, and white create a charming color palette.
    
*choice
    #Marcus shoves the wreath onto my head without asking me.
        *goto ch4_marcus_wreath
    #"It's customary to put on a flower crown." Niall says and starts identifying different flowers on the wreath.
        *goto ch4_niall_wreath
    #Both of them reach for a wreath that is apparently reserved for me.
        *goto ch4_lovetriangle

*label ch4_niall_wreath
He points at blue, pink and white asters, and a couple of purple dahlias. 
        
*if not(herbalist)
    I try to appear as if the flowers were known for me when in reality, I had no idea what the flowers were called.
*if herbalist
    I nod, even if I fully know what the flowers are called.
        
"It's really difficult to find flowers this time of the year. The last ones decorate your head right about now," he says, looks at the wreath as if in thought, then places it on my head. The action is quick, it's as if it happened in an accident, and now I have a smelly flower crown on my head.

"It looks really good on you." He smiles.

A scent of slight bitterness surrounds me. It's mixed with the perfume oils lingering around us. The sensory scenery is almost too much to take, the scents are intoxicating.

*fake_choice
    #"...Thank you."
        Even if my first instinct was to reject it and call him a fool, whether in his face or loudly in my head, something about the scents seem to melt my muscles.
        
        It's almost pleasant.
    #"I didn't want this on me. It smells." I certainly did not want it.
        I almost take it off but Niall's hand halts my action. He keeps his hand on mine for a while, his eyes on the crown, and says: "Please. Could you keep it on just a little while?"
        
        "…Fine."
        
"The scent is supposed to help with the hang-over."

"I won't have a problem with that."

He shrugs. "Me neither. But it's nice, I suppose."

I shrug, too. "I suppose."

We sit on the sofa, both of us wearing a flower-crown on our heads. Marcus passes us by, he's on his way to a mulberry tree on the corner.

I peer after him, he's looking suspicious. "What is he doing?"

"He likes to pee on the poor tree."

"What? Why would he do that?"

"It's a revenge at the Legate."

That's absolutely ridiculous. Marcus has made his way to the tree by this point, he's lifted his tunic and is apparently happily peeing at the withering, poor tree on a pot.

*fake_choice
    #Start laughing.
        That must be the most ridiculous thing I've heard this evening. I can't help it, I let out a couple of amused exhales out. The corners of Niall's mouth twitch as he looks at Marcus. 
        
        Then, his chest starts to shake. As he's holding his laughter, he says: "Once Robus smelled Marcus's pee on that tree, she started peeing on it, too."
        
        That's too much, the amused exhales turn into actual laughter. Niall bursts out laughing, too, and as Marcus finishes his questionable business, he looks at us with a frown. "What are you two on about?"
        
        Niall shakes his head and tries to stifle the laughter. It's unsuccessful. Marcus squints his eyes at us, shakes his head as if he's the one with higher morality here, and leaves.
        
        As the surge of laughter finally start to loosen its grip of my chest and belly, I realize how hot the dining area has become. There are so many people and the braziers are scorching in the corners of the room.
    #"And he calls me a barbarian."
        Niall nods as he looks at Marcus. "I know, right? He used to call me that, too."
        
        "He doesn't anymore?"
        
        "Only when he wants to annoy me. Granted, it's almost all the time."
        
        I shake my head. "How do you cope with that creature of a man?"
        
        "He's quite nice when he's not a jerk." He turns his gaze to me. "I know it's difficult to believe."
        
        I'll say. As a bead of sweat starts to run along my chest under my tunic, I realize how hot the dining area has become. There are so many people and the braziers are scorching in the corners of the room.
    #Shake my head.
        Niall nods. "He's… something, alright."
        
        We look at him as he lowers his tunic, takes a quick look around to see if someone noticed, then leaves like nothing happened.

        As a bead of sweat starts to run along my chest under my tunic, I realize how hot the dining area has become. There are so many people and the braziers are scorching in the corners of the room.
        
"It's sort of stuffy in here." I stand up. "I think I need to get some air."

"Sure. Maybe I will get some, too."

So, I walk outside, pondering on my options.
*goto ch4_where_to?

*label ch4_lovetriangle
As they reach for the wreath, their hands collide.
        
"Hey!" Marcus yelps with a frown as he looks at Niall. 

Niall has a small frown on his face, too, as he looks at Marcus's hand trying to snatch the wreath from him. "I wanted to give it to Hati."

Marcus purses his lips and scoffs. "Whatever. I hope he likes it." 

Niall's face flushes light pink. "Well, I hope so too. The wreath, I mean."

"I meant that I hope he likes to feel your hands on his scalp. Perhaps you will lightly graze the lobe of his ear as you put the wreath on. Perhaps your delicate finger tips will send a light shudder through his quivering body, as a breath of hot air leaves his lips and he starts fantasizing about you touching him even lower."

Niall chokes on something and starts coughing. Possibly on his spit, there's no drink in his hand. 

*fake_choice
    #"Wow, that was really poetic of you, Marcus."
        "Why, thank you so much. I do pride myself of being a man of culture. I actually write poems, you know."
        
        Marcus takes a step toward coughing Niall and starts smacking his back. Not lightly, mind you, he uses force. Niall squeezes his eyes shut, apparently now in pain, too. 
        
        "What sort of poems?" I'm actually quite surprised of myself, that I would honestly like to know what sort of poems that creature of a man of so-called culture writes.
        
        "Oh, this and that." He waves his hand in a mocking modesty as he hits his friend with another. "I will show them to you later."
        
        I'm not sure if I like the sound of that.
        
        Niall huffs between his laborious inhales: "You will not recite your crappy poems to him."
        
        "Crappy poems?!" Marcus starts hitting Niall on his back again, this time with a gasp. "You little shit—"
        
        "Now, now, don't start fighting," I say to diffuse the situation. It would draw too much attention.
    #"Are you fantasizing about Niall touching me?"
        Marcus lets out a mighty snort. "That's my wet daydream."
        
        By now, Niall is bent over, coughing his lungs out and trying to stay alive.
        
        *fake_choice
            #Pat his back.
                I do what I can to keep Niall alive by smacking his back lightly. I'm not sure if he really has something in his throat or if it's more of a symptom to Marcus's idiocy. I just hope he doesn't die on me.
                
                He waves his hand and starts recovering.
                
                Marcus reprimands him: "Niall. You're a fool to fluster so easily."
                
                Niall shakes his head. "You never give me time to prepare myself."
                
                "What sort of preparations would you possibly need? Grow up."
            #"I'm sorry, Niall, I didn't mean to embarrass you."
                Niall has a lower tolerance to this sort of bantering. I don't mind that much, I'm used to Marcus's idiocy by now.
                
                He waves his hand and starts recovering.
                
                Marcus reprimands him: "Niall. You're a fool to fluster so easily."
                
                Niall shakes his head. "You never give me time to prepare myself."
                
                "What sort of preparations would you possibly need? Grow up."
            #"Now now, Niall, don't die on us."
                Niall has a look of absolute betrayal as he turns his gaze to me in the middle of his coughing fit. It makes me realize that I did sound like I was taking Marcus's side. 
                
                No no. I will never take that bastard's side. It's just that Niall is quite dramatic. It was just stupid teasing on Marcus's part, I've heard worse.
                
                "Yes, listen to the moron. Even he acts like it's nothing."
                
                "Both of you turning on me…" Niall whispers in defeat and starts to stand up straight.
    #"Marcus, shut up."
        "Shut up?" He pouts. Mockingly, of course. "That was awfully rude of you."
        
        "You're the rude one. Can't you see that Niall is fighting for his life?" 
        
        "He's fine, he's just being over-dramatic. He will live."
    #Pat his back and ignore Marcus.
        I do what I can to keep him alive by smacking his back lightly. I'm not sure if he really has something in his throat or if it's more of a symptom to Marcus's idiocy. I just hope he doesn't die on me.
                
        He waves his hand and starts recovering.
                
        Marcus reprimands him: "Niall. You're a fool to fluster so easily."
                
        Niall shakes his head. "You never give me time to prepare myself."
                
        "What sort of preparations would you possibly need? Grow up."
    #Ignore these two fools.
        As I decide on ignoring the absolute idiocy of these two, Marcus takes a step toward coughing Niall and starts smacking his back. Not lightly, mind you, he uses force.
    #Start coughing, too. 
        I don't know what it is that found its way into my lungs, but a coughing fit takes over me. I blame it on spit and Marcus. Heat rushes into my cheeks as I bend over, coughing.
        
        Marcus sighs. "Not you, too. I'm surrounded by fools." He starts to smack me on my back. Not gently. With every smack on my back I almost fall over as I try to regain my composure. 
        
        Niall manages wheeze a word of comfort to me between his own fit: "He's an idiot."
        
        Marcus pouts and starts to smack Niall on his back, too. "You're an idiot!"
        
        Finally, I manage to calm myself. What an idiotic fantasy. Why would he share that with us? Why would he even think that?!
        
*fake_choice
    #Wait for Niall to recover enough that he's able to speak and do what needs to be done.
        I wait for a good moment as Niall manages to recover. He gives Marcus a dirty look, who in turn gives him a grin, and proceeds to take the wreath and taking a step towards me.
        
        "Oh, it's going to happen," Marcus cheers.
        
        "Marcus," Niall says in a tired tone. Marcus shuts his mouth with a brisk nod.
        
        "But of course, just pretend I'm not here."
        
        Niall gives me an apologetic look before hovering the wreath on top of my head. "May I?"
    
        I nod as Marcus moans: "We haven't got all day. I would've put it on already."
        
        The corner of Niall's eye twitches.
        
        *fake_choice
            #Remain silent and wait.
                I sit silently and wait for Niall to put the flower crown on me. I don't know when this became such a huge deal but I really want this to be over with.
            #"Shut it, you." I aim my hiss at Marcus.
                Marcus raises his hands in defense. "Fine, fine. Well, Niall. We're all waiting."
            #Look at Niall. "Just ignore him."
                He sighs. "I'm doing my best. He knows what strings to pull."
                
                "That's him, alright."
                
                Marcus frowns at our exchange. "Are you two ganging up on me?"
                
                I give Niall a little smirk. Maybe we should. Two against one sound like good odds. 
            #This waiting is awkward.
                I purse my lips and wait for him to be done with it.
         
        Niall takes a deep, stabilizing breath, an all too familiar one when dealing with Marcus. Then, he finally slips the crown on my head.
         
        A scent of slight bitterness surrounds me. It's mixed with the perfume oils lingering around us. The sensory scenery is almost too much to take, the scents are intoxicating.
    #Put the wreath on myself.
        These grown men are acting like children. With a stifled eye-roll I quickly take the wreath and shove it on my head.
        
        Marcus and Niall pout at my action, as if I intercepted their fun and games.
        
        A scent of slight bitterness surrounds me as I put the crown on me. It's mixed with the perfume oils lingering around us. The sensory scenery is almost too much to take, the scents are intoxicating.
        
Marcus claps his hands. "Now that that's over with, it's time to put some oil on your head—"

"No." If that's the amount of fighting happening for a mere crown, what happens if they want to put some sort of lotion on me? 

Besides, why on earth would I let them do that!

"But—" Marcus starts.

"I said no. I need to get some air."

Niall nods. "Oh. I hope we didn't make you uncomfortable." He bobs his head at Marcus, as if meaning to say that he hopes [i]he[/i] didn't make me uncomfortable. 

"It's just stuffy here."

"Sure." Niall smiles.

*page_break
*goto ch4_where_to?

*label ch4_marcus_wreath
"What the—?"
        
"Enjoy it, you moron. It smells good." Then, he leans back and nods approvingly. "It suits you."
        
Give him a frown.
        
"Now, even better. The flowers make for a great contrast with your sour face."
        
Marcus has a wreath of his own on his head. He looks…
        
*fake_choice
    #Absolutely ridiculous.
        How could he look anything else than like a fool he is? Even the flowers can't hide the fact.
        
        "You look like you're being mean to me in your thoughts."
        
        *fake_choice
            #"Good. That's what I was thinking."
                "You're a mean-spirited one."
            #Poke at the cheesecake and try to ignore him.
                I take a deep breath. He's the worst when he's trying to be funny. Isn't that almost all the time? Yes. He's the worst almost all the time. I just hope that the ground would swallow him. I'd wave him goodbye and be the happiest barbarian alive when he's gone.
                        
                Ugh. I poke at a cheesecake with aggression.
                        
                "What did the cake do to you?"
        
                *fake_choice
                    #"I swear to the Twins, if you don't shut your mouth--"
                        "Hey, easy!" He raises his hands in mocking surrender, the grin on his face only makes it more clear that he's playing with me. The absolute bastard.
                        
                        "Twins, huh?"
                        
                        Oh, crap. Are there any twin gods in Britannia? Nothing comes to mind. What about Rome?
                        
                        "I of course mean… Castor and Pollux." Thank the Twins my teacher was thorough with his teachings of Roman mythology and religion. 
                        
                        Marcus squints his eyes, the grin on his face still prominent. "Uh-huh. Castor and Pollux."
                        
                        Why does he sound like he knows I'm lying?
                        
                        "The gods who help sailors?"
                        
                        "I… love sailing."
                        
                        "Sure you do."
                    #Close my eyes and count to ten.
                        "Aww, don't be like that."
                        
                        I will not punch that bastard, I will not punch that bastard.
                
    #I'm not sure. The flowers seem to... fit him. In an odd way.
        Just as the thought pops in my head, I squint my eyes so quickly it almost hurts the muscles of my lids. No. 
                
        The flowers do [i]not[/i] fit him. He looks absolutely idiotic.
                
        "Did you have a stroke?"
        
        *fake_choice
            #Remain silent and choke in my embarrassment.
                I shove a piece of cheesecake into my mouth and focus on the sensation of sweet creaminess invading my tastebuds.
                
                Marcus looks at me with a thoughtful look. "You look like a little pig."
                
                I can't talk, my mouth is filled with cake, so I give him a dirty and an exasperated look.
                
                "You can't even defend yourself," he says and pokes me on my stuffed cheek. "A tiny piglet."
                
                *fake_choice
                    #Spit the cake on his face.
                        In a spur of a moment, I shoot all of the unchewed cake from my mouth into his face. 
                        
                        The lower half of his face is now covered with white creamy gooyiness.
                        
                        All he seems to be able to do is to stare at me with his mouth open. In turn, all I can do is to watch as a trail of cream finds its way into his open mouth.
                        
                        Finally, he regains his composure. A slave passing by gives him a cloth to wipe his face. A part of me wonders if this is a common occurrence.
                        
                        Once his face is somewhat clean, he says: "I can safely say that that was the first."
                        
                        That was the first for me, too. I've never spat on anyone like that. No one has deserved that before. "You deserved it."
                        
                        "Yes. I can see that. At least the cake tasted good." He licks the corner of his mouth, his tongue lingering on his upper lip.
                        
                        Oh, for Twins' sake! 
                    #Who does he think he is, poking me like that?!
                        "Now you look like an angry piglet." He pokes my cheek again.
                        
                        I swallow the cake with vengeance. "Stop that!"
                        
                        "Your face is all red. Like a little pig."
                        
                        "Stop calling me a pig!"
                        
                        He starts laughing.
            #"Do you want me to punch you?"
                "Not when there are people watching! Save those games for when we're alone."
                        
                I take a deep breath. He's the worst when he's trying to be funny. Isn't that almost all the time? Yes. He's the worst almost all the time. I just hope that the ground would swallow him. I would wave him goodbye and be the happiest barbarian alive when he's gone.
                        
                Ugh. I poke at a cheesecake with aggression.
                        
                "What did the cake do to you?"
        
                *fake_choice
                    #"I swear to the Twins, if you don't shut your mouth--"
                        "Hey, easy!" He raises his hands in mocking surrender, the grin on his face only makes it more clear that he's playing with me. The absolute bastard.
                        
                        "Twins, huh?"
                        
                        Oh, crap. Are there any twin gods in Britannia? Nothing comes to mind. What about Rome?
                        
                        "I of course mean… Castor and Pollux." Thank the Twins my teacher was thorough with his teachings of Roman mythology and religion. 
                        
                        Marcus squints his eyes, the grin on his face still prominent. "Uh-huh. Castor and Pollux."
                        
                        Why does he sound like he knows I'm lying?
                        
                        "The gods who help sailors?"
                        
                        "I… love sailing."
                        
                        "Sure you do."
                    #Close my eyes and count to ten.
                        "Aww, don't be like that."
                        
                        I will not punch that bastard, I will not punch that bastard.
                    #Ignore him.
                        *set disciplined +2
                        I clear my mind off of his stupid, grinning face. It takes a moment longer than I would've preferred but finally I manage to calm my the nerves he was trying to poke at.
    #Ignore him. He's trying to poke a reaction out of me.
        He will not have one. And I am not having any thoughts about him and his stupid wreath. 
                
Marcus gives me another grin. "Would you like me to put some perfume oil on you, too?"

Put oil on me? What is he on about?

*fake_choice
    #"No." In what reality would I want him to rub any sort of lotion on me?
        "Are you quite sure?"
        
        "Why wouldn't I be?"
        
        "You don't want my fingers running on your scalp, soothing your mind along with the herbal oil?"
        
        "What are you talking about? No."
        
        "Aww. That's too bad. I do respect your decision."
        
        "What else would you do, if not respect it? Force your fingers on me?"
        
        He grimaces at my words. "That sounded bad. Please don't use that kind of language."
        
        "If you promise not to do that."
        
        "Of course I won't force my fingers on your scalp," he says and looks around, as if to check if someone heard the exchange.
        
        "Uh. Right. I need to get some air."
        
        "By all means."
        
        I leave the room and enter the hallway. It's already easier to breathe.
        *goto ch4_where_to?
    #"What? No! You keep your hands off me."
        "Are you quite sure?"
        
        "Why wouldn't I be?"
        
        "You don't want my fingers running on your scalp, soothing your mind along with the herbal oil?"
        
        "What are you talking about? No!"
        
        "Aww. That's too bad. I do respect your decision."
        
        "What else would you do, if not respect it? Force your fingers on me?"
        
        He grimaces at my words. "That sounded bad. Please don't use that kind of language."
        
        "If you promise not to do that."
        
        "Of course I won't force my fingers on your scalp," he says and looks around, as if to check if someone heard the exchange.
        
        "Uh. Right. I need to get some air."
        
        "By all means."
        
        I leave the room and enter the hallway. It's already easier to breathe.
        *goto ch4_where_to?
    #"No, thank you."
        *set rude -2
        "Because you said it so nicely, I will respect that."
        
        "That should be the default but… thank you?"
        
        "You're welcome." He gives me a grin.
        
        "Uh. Right. I need to get some air."
        
        "By all means."
        
        I leave the room and enter the hallway. It's already easier to breathe.
        *goto ch4_where_to?

*goto ch4_where_to?

*label legate_bedroom
*set bedroom true
With my mind made up, I stand up. 

*if ch4_next_to_tinsae
    Tinsae looks at me with an inquisitive gaze.
    
    "I'm going to the toilet."
    
    "Ah, by all means. Do you remember the way there?"
    
    I nod, bid her goodbye, and leave.
    
*if ch4_next_to_camilla
    Camilla squints her eyes at me as I stand up. "Where are you going?"
    
    "To the toilet."
    
    "Don't just shout it like that, are you an absolute woodsman?"
    
    "You asked."
    
    "Ugh." She scoffs.
    
*if ch4_next_to_niall
    Niall looks at me with a little smile on his face. "Toilet?"
    
    "How did you know?"
    
    "I'm ready to pee, too. I could come with—"
    
    "No. You are not coming to the toilet with me."
    
    "Oh. Right. That's probably better. Well, could you hurry up, then?"
    
    "Sure."
*if ch4_next_to_legate
    "Where you off to, lad?"
    
    "Bathroom."
    
    "Ah, but of course. Thank you for not relieving yourself on the potted plants. Marcus kept doing that with my mulberry tree. The poor plant didn't stand a chance."
    
    "Er. Yes. I do prefer toilets over plants."
    
    "Thank Jupiter for that!"
    
    Why am I not surprised that Marcus is in the habit of peeing other's plants to dead?

As I'm about to leave, someone's gaze burn the back of my neck. However, I don't dare to look. It would just look suspicious. 

So, I leave the dining area.
*page_break
A couple of slaves walk toward me as I'm about to enter the 2nd floor. I quickly try to appear as if I'm looking at the mosaic on the wall. It's a picture of a bird with a vine of some sort wrapping around it. Nothing special, but I certainly act like it's the most exquisite thing in the world. The slaves don't pay me much heed as they pass me by. At least I hope so, in their unfortunate profession they must've acquired the talent of being seemingly ignorant.

When the coast is clear, I hurry to the stairs, silently praying to the Twins that I can survive the stairs without someone bumping into me.

With heartbeat pounding in my ears, I'm finally on the 2nd floor. It's quiet.

The Legate's bedroom must be the biggest, most grandest. Where? 

Heavy, golden-colored curtains shielding a room behind them catch my eye. That must be the one.
*page_break
The room is more bare in its furnishing than I anticipated. There are two separate beds, both decorated with red, posh-looking textile. A couple of white tables reside next to the beds, filled with fruits, wine jugs, and water containers. The walls are mixed with gold and red paint. There's a massive tapestry hanging loosely on the wall, depicting a party of some sort. There's a fat man in the middle of the festivities, a jovial-looking fellow drinking without a care in the world.

Bacchus, if I remember correctly.

I suppose it fits the Legate. He seems jolly and happy, for a murderer.

There are also chests. One of them looks both heavy and heavily decorated, it must be made of bronze.

Before I can inspect them further, someone's steps echo through the marble floors. It's…

*choice
    #Marcus.
        *goto ch4_bedroom_marcus
    #Niall.
        *goto ch4_bedroom_niall
    #Camilla.
        *set camilla_bedroom true
        *goto ch4_bedroom_camilla
    #Tinsae.
        *goto ch4_bedroom_tinsae

*label ch4_bedroom_niall
Niall barges into the room, his hair disheveled. When his gaze finds mine, he almost shouts: "Oh, for Asclepius's sake! Hati. No!" Those are the first words Niall uses to greet me. I should be afraid that he found me where I'm not supposed to be, this is grounds for execution, but his eyes are filled with such disappointment it immediately makes me raise my defenses.

*fake_choice
    #"You can't tell me what to do."
        I say as I'm invading our superior officer's bedroom. It's a ridiculous statement, even I know that. But that's what I'm going with. "And don't make it sound like I'm your dog."
        
        He opens his mouth but closes it again. "You—" Then, he shakes his head. "We need to leave. Now."
        
        "I'm not going anywhere, I have unfinished business here."
    #"You didn't see me here."
        "I'm seeing you right now?!"
        
        "Close your eyes and leave, Lord Tribune, I have business to do."
    #"I am not a dog, stop talking to me as if I was."
        "Well, then you should stop behaving like Robus chewing on my best shoe."
        
        "Excuse me! I'm not chewing here on anything."
    #"Umm."
        "Umm?"
        
        "I'm trying to come up with something."
        
        "Don't even bother. You said you were going to the toilet and this is not a toilet. At all."
        
        "I suppose it's not."
        
He lets out a shaky sigh. This must be the first time I've seen him so agitated and serious. "Hati, I am not joking around."

"I am not—"

"People will find you, they will kill you—"

"No one would find me if you didn't shout like that."

"I'm not shouting!" He quite clearly shouts before slapping his hand over his mouth. With slightly reddened cheeks he continues: "Your Optio is looking for you. I saw him snooping about the hallway. I told him to wander elsewhere but he will be back. It's like he can smell you."

He places his palm on his face. "I knew you would be here. I hoped that I was wrong but here you are. Why didn't you listen to me? I told you to stay low and—"

*fake_choice
    #"If you don't want to be here, leave me alone."
        His eye twitches. "I'm trying to save your life here and you're acting like—"
        
        "Like what?"
        
        "Like Marcus."
        
        …That's a low blow.
        
        Before we can continue the argument, someone's steps walking towards the room echoes from the hallway.
    #"Sod off and leave me be."
        His eye twitches. "I'm trying to save your life here and you're acting like—"
        
        "Like what?"
        
        "Like Marcus."
        
        …That's a low blow.
        
        Before we can continue the argument, someone's steps walking towards the room echoes from the hallway.
    #"Do you know where the Legate keeps his letters?"
        He's stunned into silence. Well, that's good. His talking was surely attracting attention. I need to be fast.
        
        "Hati, I'm beginning to doubt your sanity—"
        
        Before he can continue his sentence, someone's steps walking towards the room echoes from the hallway.
        
"Shit!" Niall whisper-yells, takes a tight grip of my hand, and shoves the both of us behind the tapestry.

Thankfully, the cloth is long enough to hide our feet, and it's hanging loosely enough so that our shape isn't hopefully too obvious.

However, in his attempt to hide us behind the tapestry, every bit of Niall is squeezing me against the wall. I don't think I've registered the fact before, but he is extremely strong and heavy. Is he trying to make a pancake out of me?

*fake_choice
    #Try to gesture that he's quite heavy and he's squeezing the life out of me.
        I try to open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out. Like a fish drowning in air, I start to open and close my mouth and bobbing my head towards his torso squeezing the life out of me.
        
        He shifts his gaze to look at me and his face falls as if in realization of my peril.
        
        Oh no. He looks like he's going to say something. His eyes widen. "I'm—"
    #Bear with it. I will probably perish between the wall and him. This is my destiny.
        I did not expect to die by Roman meatloaf of a man but here I am. 
        
        As I go limp and try to recite my final poem to the Twins, Niall's muscles twitch. I feel his whole body jerk as he seems to realize something. He shifts his gaze to look at me and his face falls as if in realization of my peril.
        
        Oh no. He looks like he's going to say something. His eyes widen. "I'm—"
    #This is almost pleasant. Perhaps even... thrilling.
        Something in me tries to protest against the first thought that popped into my mind: that the situation isn't as bad as it probably should be. Why is that, I wonder? 
        
        His whole, muscular frame is tightly squeezed against my body and it's almost… thrilling.
        
        Everything about him is hard and tense as he tries to blend behind the tapestry with me underneath him. I can't breathe but I find myself not minding that much. 
        
        That's ridiculous. I should shout at the fool, to let me leave from underneath him, but… I don't.
        
        Finally, he shifts his gaze to face me. As our eyes lock, his pupils dilate. I'm so close to him that I can see it clearly. Something in me bets that my pupils are as wide as his. His whole body jerks in apparent panic and the action squeezes every last remnants of breath out of me in a quick exhale.
        
        When he hears the sound of my last breath, his own breathing quickens. I can almost feel his pulse quickening with it.
        
        Then, I realize that the someone behind the tapestry might still be in the room with us. This is not the time to start panicking. Niall opens his mouth and—
    #Try to focus on what's happening on the other side of the tapestry, ignoring Niall.
        There's someone opening the bronze chest. There's a moment of silence before the heavy lid thumps closed.
        
        Just now I realize that Niall is looking at me with his eyes widened. It seems that he grasped the fact that he's squeezing me against the wall like a pancake.
        
        Oh no. He looks like he's going to say something. His eyes widen. "I'm—"
        
*fake_choice
    #Shut his mouth with my hand.
        I quickly free my hand from underneath him and smash it on top of his mouth. With his eyes still widened he lets out a small, muffled voice that I can only hope was inaudible to the stranger in the room.
    #Shake my head.
        I start vigorously shaking my head. The intruder in the room is still here, you fool. Stop talking.
        
        He bites his lip. He almost says something, probably 'sorry', then shuts his mouth again.
    #Mouth the words 'shut up, you idiot'.
        He reads my lips, gets the message, and bites his lip. He almost says something, probably 'sorry', then shuts his mouth again.
        
He shifts his weight away from my frame so I can finally start breathing. He looks at me, again looking like he's about to say sorry. 

I shake my head. Shut it.

Finally, there's the sound of the same steps. But this time they're leaving the room. 
        
Niall's body relaxes.

*fake_choice
    #Shove him off of me.
        "Off of me!" I whisper before shoving him off of me. He doesn't budge because of the shove but he does give me room to flee the scene.
        
        Ugh. Stupid Niall.
    #I linger.
        Perhaps I still linger behind the tapestry because I need to calm my raging thoughts. That was too close to my liking. Niall's body still hovers against mine, he's taken a step away from me, but still we're here. 
        
        I look at him. Perhaps I was going to ask why he hasn't left yet, why he hasn't moved his stupid body away from me. But what I see shuts every working brain matter in me.
        
        His eyes are so close to mine.
        
        The said eyes widen as I look at him. Everything about him flushes red. Then, he rips the whole tapestry off of the wall and flees from my proximity.
        
        I look at the cloth on the ground. 
        
        That's just great. And a gross over-reaction. How are we supposed to get it back up?
        
        No. How is [i]he[/i] supposed to do that.
        
        As I look at the fallen tapestry, Niall mutters: "Well… I will ask someone to put it back. I'll say that I was here, err, resting. And got too excited."
        
        "You got too excited with the tapestry?"
        
        "Well, yes. That's the plan." He sighs and rubs the back of his neck.
    #"Could you move?"
        "Oh. Of course. I'm sorry." He quickly slips away with me closely behind him. 

There's a lingering scent of something bittersweet in the room. It's familiar. Spices and…

Saffron.

It brings to mind a certain noblewoman with a permanent scorn on her face.

Niall voices my thoughts: "Does it smell like Camilla here? Was it her who came here?"

"Probably. But why?"

Niall shrugs and looks at the chest. "I think I heard her doing something with the chest." He's clearly hesitant about opening it.

*fake_choice
    #Open it.
        Without waiting for him to make up his mind about the chest, I open the heavy lid.
    #"Should we look if there's something she left behind?"
        I'm not sure why I'm asking for his opinion. 
        
        He shakes his head. "The answer is no, of course not. But… Well. Maybe?" His tone of voice rises with the word 'maybe' and I take that as a permission to open the chest.
        
        And so the heavy lid is opened.
        
The chest is filled with letters. There's one on top of the pile that looks like it's placed there recently. I take a look at Niall, who almost starts shaking his head, before I quickly snatch the letter.

I look at the rolled up scroll and purse my lips. Was it placed here so I could find it? Am I being bated?

Niall's face is twisted in agony as he looks at the scroll in my hand. "If you're doing this, do it quickly. Who knows if she's coming back." Then, he mutters: "I'm too young and pretty to die…"

"You wouldn't die, you're the Tribune." I don't know why I'm reminding him of his own position but he's certainly acting like he doesn't remember it. 

"Oh, right. But you shouldn't be here with me. They could think that we're lovers or something."

*fake_choice
    #"Oh? Would that be bad?"
        Niall's eyes widen. "Of course it would be. You do know that it's grounds for execution if two soldiers… you know."
        
        "Still, you're the Tribune. I'm sure you'd be the exception."
        
        "Well, I'm not willing to test that theory. So, could you please just hurry up?" He seems bothered by the situation, I suppose I should listen to him.
    #"Well, that would be bad."
        The Romans tend to be unhappy about their soldiers having any romantic connections with each other. Besides, I'd rather not deal with the rumors.
    #"Lovers? Really?" That's embarrassing.
        Niall nods, his features serious. "The soldiers gossip like crazy. They would brand you my lover with no hesitation if they found about this." Then, he looks away. "There's nothing to find out about, of course. I am your superior, I had to come and find you and—"
        
        "Please stop. You're making this sound weird."
        
        "I know, just open the letter."
    #Remain silent and study the letter.
I unroll the letter. 

The handwriting is neat and the sentence is short on to the point: 'The Emperor arrives to Mogontiacum next spring.'

I frown. Camilla wanted me to know this? Why?

Niall looks like he's holding pee as he shifts his weight from one leg to another and peers at the letter. "What does it say? Do I even want to know?"

"It says that the Emperor is coming here."

His brows shoot up in surprise. "The Emperor? Why?"

I shake my head. I don't know.

Niall shakes his head, too. Then, he yanks the letter off my hands and throws it back into the chest. "No one cares about the Emperor, we're leaving. Now."

With my brows raised at his sudden act of assertiveness, I give him a quick nod. Now is not the time to start arguing, especially because he's right. 

We leave quickly.
*goto ch4_where_to?

*label ch4_bedroom_camilla
"Camilla?"

She doesn't look surprised to see me here, it's as if she expected it. "Your Optio was looking for you."

"Zoilus?" I almost gag at the thought. "Is he still there?"

"Of course not. I told him to leave the bedroom area at once. I will not have some unsavory people snooping about." She gives me a pointed look. "Speaking of unsavory people… What do you think you're doing here?"

She saunters closer, her brows arched and condemning. "Looking for information?"

*fake_choice
    #Deny everything.
        *set manipulative +1
        "No. I was just looking for a bathroom." That's a classic. I'm sure she will buy that.
        
        Alas, she doesn't. "Don't bore me with your lies." Despite the coldness lurking beneath her words, she smiles.
    #Admit it. She already found me.
        *set manipulative -1
        "Yes."
        
        She raises her brows at me. "You know I should have you killed for this?"
        
        I nod.
        
        "Good. You're not delusional."
    #"Will you have me killed?"
        The corner of her mouth rises. "No."
        
        "No?"
        
        "I'm not interested to see you die at the moment."
        
        I take a note of the words 'at the moment'. 
        
She points at a chest made of bronze. "He stores his letters in there."

Why is she helping me? This smells like a trap.

*fake_choice
    #"Why would you help me?"
        She shrugs, revealing a peek of her shoulder. "Does it matter?"
        
        "Of course it does."
        
        "I suppose I would be suspicious if I were you. Tell me, why do you think I didn't run and tell Gaius that you're here?"
        
        I'm not sure. Nothing she does makes sense. Unless this is some sort of elaborate plan of hers. I wouldn't put it past her.
        
        "So? Don't tell me you're giving up? Did you risk your precious life to back away now?" She takes another look at the chest and crosses her arms as if to say 'I'm waiting.'
    #Perhaps it's because she hates him. Maybe she wants me to find something incriminating.
        That would make some sense. I don't know why she would need me in her plans, though. Why would it be important for me to see whatever is inside the chest? But perhaps I should be happy that she's helping me.
        
        Right?
    #It's a trap.
        This smells, looks, and sounds like an obvious trap. I'm not stupid. I squint my eyes at her.
        
        She scoffs. "Oh please. If I wanted you dead, you would be buried already. Provided I wouldn't just feed you to the dogs."
        
        Charming. However, what if her plan is longer than that? If that's the case, I would be able to use those plans against her. I just need to know what her game is. That means playing along. For now.
        
Even if this smells like a trap, the letters are right there. Perhaps I should take a peek. Even if there is clearly something she wants me to find, maybe I want to find it, too. I didn't come this far to leave empty-handed.

So, I open the lid of the heavy chest. There are indeed letters. I snatch the ones on top and take a look.

Someone called Crispus is thanking him for the couch the Legate bought him. Useless.

But soon enough, there's the letter I needed to find. There's only a few sentences. The handwriting is neat and easily readable. 

It says: 'The Emperor arrives to Mogontiacum next spring.'

"Find anything useful?" She asks, making me almost jump. 

I don't turn to look at her, secretly hoping that she didn't see me getting startled. "I think you know what I found."

"Yes. Of course. Don't you think it's exciting? To see the Emperor himself." She looks anything but excited. Her facial features are difficult to read at the moment. There's not a trace of the sadness that was just a moment ago there. Her gaze is so intently peered into me, it's almost terrifying.

*if camilla_family
    Just now I remember the reason for her sadness. She is fearing for her family's life because of the Emperor. Did she want me to find this because she's planning on something?
    
"Tell me something, Hati. Do you hate the Emperor?"

A loaded question.

*fake_choice
    #"Of course." It's no use to lie to her.
        I do. The answer is clear to me and she knows it. I hate the man ultimately responsible for the murder of my people. He was the one who ordered it all. He could just be content with the land and riches he already owns, yet he wants more. Even if it means to destroy everyone else's dreams and defile the lives of those who he didn't kill. Despicable, disgusting creature of a man.
            
        "Of course you do," she says in a hushed tone as she scrutinizes my face. "You must hate him so much." She takes a step towards me. Her lips are partially open as she looks at me. "You must hate him so, so much. The hatred must fill your veins with a will to destroy."
        
        "I—"
        
        She licks her lips. There's something dark lurking within her eyes. Then, she gives me a cold smile. "I can help you."
    #"No." It's a lie, of course. I hate the embodiment of Rome.
        She shakes her head, as if disappointed at my answer. "Don't lie to me."
            
        "It's not a lie." Of course it is a lie, both of us know it. A surge of hatred runs through me every time I even think of that disgusting creature responsible for the murder of my people.  He could just be content with the land and riches he already owns, yet he wants more. Even if it means to destroy everyone else's dreams and defile the lives of those who he didn't kill. Despicable, disgusting creature of a man.
            
        She gives me a tiny shake of her head, making a strand of hair to fall over her eye. She lowers her voice, both in volume and in pitch. "You must hate him so much." She takes a step towards me. Her lips are partially open as she looks at me. "You must hate him so, so much. The hatred must fill your veins with a will to destroy."
        
        "I—"
        
        She licks her lips. There's something dark lurking within her eyes. Then, she gives me a cold smile. "I can help you."
    #Remain silent.
        If I don't give her any answers, maybe she will slip up and give me some by accident.
        
        "A silent game, is it?" She gives me a lopsided smile and a condescending raise of her brow. "Well, you needn't answer. He killed your whole clan, didn't he?"
        
        How does she know that?
        
        "Didn't your whole family die? Everything burnt and destroyed."
        
        "Don't."
        
        "It was because of him. He's the reason why they are all dead. He's the reason you're here."
        
        I frown. Why is she doing this? 
        
        Then, as if answering my thoughts, she says: "I can help you."

She takes a seat on the Legate's bed, still keeping her eyes peered onto me. "Life as the Emperor is a dangerous thing. It must be difficult to live a life as the Empire's most hated man."

"I… suppose. What are suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting nothing." She still looks at me, half of a smile dancing on her lips. "I was just thinking out loud."

Then, she stands up, dusting her dress. "I think we should leave. Others might wonder where we are. Wouldn't want any unsavory rumors to start spreading around."

I look after her as she leaves, my mind still processing the information. Did she just suggest that I'd kill the Emperor?

"Are you coming?"

With a quick nod I walk after her, still puzzled.
*goto ch4_where_to?

*label ch4_bedroom_tinsae
"Hati? What on earth are you doing here? You do know this is Gaius's bedroom?"

*fake_choice
    #Feign innocence. I have absolutely no idea where I am.
        "Oh? Oh! Is this the Legate's bedroom? What a—"
        
        "Hati. Don't. You're a terrible liar."
        
        "What?"
        
        "You know where you are, you're a bright young man even if you're pretending otherwise. Would you mind telling me why you're here?"
    #"I was just looking for bathroom."
        "I see. That's what you told me, yes. This, however, is not a bathroom."
        
        "Well, yes, I wasn't going to relieve myself here, not to worry. It's a good thing you followed me here, otherwise I would've never found my way."
        
        "Well, thank goodness, then." She gives me a small, knowing smile.
    #"You didn't see me here."
        She cocks her head to the side. "I may tell the others so, but I still wish to know what you're doing."
        
        When I don't answer, she shakes her head and takes a step closer.

I take the offensive to buy time: "Why did you follow me here?"

"I didn't. I was wondering why the Optio hurried after you when you left. He made his way to the 2nd floor and I made sure to tell him to hurry back to the dining room before I'd tell of his adventures to Gaius."

"The Optio was here?"

"Yes. Then, I found you. And I will ask you again, what are you doing here? You are searching for something?"

*choice
    #"Something I could use against the Legate." I find myself wanting to tell her the truth.
        *set manipulative -2
        "Oh." She nods.
        
        That was less of reaction than I anticipated. "That's it?"
        
        "Well, I doubt you would leave just because I said so. You are quite stubborn."
        
        I suppose I am.
        
        "What has Gaius done to you?"
        *goto ch4_whathaveyoudoneee
    #"Something I could use against the Legate." Telling the truth might be the best tactic to use in this situation.
        *set manipulative +2
        "Oh." She nods.
        
        That was less of reaction than I anticipated. "That's it?"
        
        "Well, I doubt you would leave just because I said so. You are quite stubborn."
        
        I suppose I am.
        
        "What has Gaius done to you?"
        *goto ch4_whathaveyoudoneee
    #"Oh. Nothing. Nothing at all." Act like I was just admiring the walls.
        "Oh?" She smiles. "Gaius does have a good taste in his decoration. I should know. I designed and acquired most of the furniture and marble here."
        
        "You did?"
        
        "I love beauty." She strokes a marble pillar with red veins, her long fingers gliding on its surface with ease and grace. "But beauty isn't the reason you're here."
        
        "No."
        
        "You are searching for something."
        
        "Perhaps."
        
        "Gaius has done something to you. What is it?"
        *goto ch4_whathaveyoudoneee
   
*label ch4_whathaveyoudoneee
*fake_choice
    #"He killed my family." For some reason, I want to tell her the truth.
        *set tinsae_family_truth true
        She nods slowly, her features filled with such a strong sense of sorrow that I have to look away. She whispers: "I'm so sorry."
                
        Silence falls between us. Someone shouting downstairs diffuses the situation, making both of us look at each other. She asks: "Do you need help?"
                
        "Don't you get in trouble, too?"

        She shrugs, her slender shoulders peeking from underneath her dress. "Don't worry about me. I'm used to trouble." 
        
        "You are?"
                
        "Polite and easy-going exterior fools people." She smiles, gives me a brisk nod and starts to inspect the room. "So, shall we?"
    #"He killed my family." Telling the truth might serve me right in this circumstance. She might feel bad for me.
        *set manipulative +2
        *set tinsae_family_truth true
        She nods slowly, her features filled with such strong sense of sorrow that I have to look away so I don't smile in victory. I knew she would feel bad for me. She's that kind of person. She whispers: "I'm so sorry."
                
        Silence falls between us as I'm thinking my next move.
                
        Then, she asks me something I wanted her to but didn't dare to expect: "Do you need help?"
                
        I smile. "Yes." No wait, it would be polite to ask if she would get in trouble, too. "Er, but wouldn't you get in trouble, too?"
                
        She shrugs, her slender shoulders peeking from underneath her dress. "Don't worry about me. I'm used to trouble."
                
        "You are?"
                
        "Polite and easy-going exterior fools people." She smiles, making me frown. Is this a plot of some sort? However, before I can think of this further, she gives me a brisk nod and starts to inspect the room. "So, shall we?"
        
        She's used to fooling people? I need to be more mindful around her.
    #Remain silent.
        I don't want to tell her. 
        
        "You don't have to tell me. I know enough. Do you need help?"
        
        I arch my brows at her. "What?"
        
        "Help. You look like you need it." She smiles. 
        
        "Don't you get in trouble, too?"

        She shrugs, her slender shoulders peeking from underneath her dress. "Don't worry about me. I'm used to trouble." 
        
        "You are?"
                
        "Polite and easy-going exterior fools people." She gives me a brisk nod and starts to inspect the room. "So, shall we?"
    
Before she can continue her thought, someone's steps walking towards the room echo from the hallway.

*fake_choice    
    #I take Tinsae's hand and run behind the tapestry.
        As I take Tinsae's hand, she lets out a startled 'oh', but I waste no time to hesitate. Soon enough, we're behind the tapestry. Tinsae's breathing is shallow and quick as she looks at me with slightly widened eyes. 
        
        I put my index finger on my lips. Tinsae nods.
    #Tinsae takes my hand and pushes me behind the tapestry.
        Before I can react, Tinsae has already taken my hand and pulled me behind the tapestry. I almost gasp but Tinsae pushes her index finger to my lips.
        
        With widened eyes I look at her, confused by the sudden change of events, and by the fact that we're behind the tapestry.

Thankfully, the cloth is long enough to hide our feet, and it's hanging loosely enough so that our shape isn't hopefully too obvious.

However, it doesn't change the fact that we're quite close.

*fake_choice
    #Her breasts are squeezed quite prominently against me.
        *if height = "short"
            It's not difficult to notice that: her breasts are unfortunately located just in front of my face. She's so tall and I'm so… Well, I wouldn't say short but certainly less tall. Long story short, I'm staring right at the said breasts.
            
            *fake_choice
                #Since they are there, might as well take a peek.
                    It wouldn't be proper to stare at them in any other circumstance but now it's basically all I can do. They are right there.
            
                    They are bigger than I realized. I have certainly noticed them before but now I can confirm what I've suspected. They are also extremely soft against me.
            
                    I peek at Tinsae, who by now has noticed where my gaze lies. She arches her brows. I shrug and pretend that nothing of note happened. I'm just here waiting for the intruder to leave.
                #Try to look away.
                    I can't wiggle away from her without the tapestry moving. So, I'm stuck. All I can do is to look away. As I finally manage to turn my head just so that I'm not facing her bosom, their softness is now squeezed against my cheek.
            
                    Tinsae shifts, as if trying to make the situation a little less embarrassing for both of us, but it only makes the breasts squeeze tighter against me. Oh dear.
                
        *if height = "average"
            Her face is just in front of mine. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the new lighting; the tapestry dims the already flickering living light present in the room. She looks at me, as if trying to decipher if I'm uncomfortable with the situation.
            
            It doesn't take long to realize that the pressure against my chest is caused by her bosom squeezed tightly against me. Tinsae shifts, as if trying to make the situation a little less embarrassing for both of us, but it only makes the breasts squeeze tighter against me.
        *if height = "tall"
            Her head is slightly tilted as she looks up at my face, trying to decipher if I'm uncomfortable with the situation. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the new lighting; the tapestry dims the already flickering living light present in the room.
            
            However, it doesn't take long to realize that the pressure against my torso is caused by her bosom squeezed tightly against me. Tinsae shifts, as if trying to make the situation a little less embarrassing for both of us, but it only makes the breasts squeeze tighter against me.
            
        I will myself to concentrate on the noises coming from whoever entered the room. The steps stop near the tapestry, making me stop breathing. But, it doesn't seem like they heard us, since soon enough, the steps start moving away from us. Finally, the room is silent.
    #Try to hear what is happening behind the tapestry.
        There's someone moving about around the room. The steps stop near the tapestry, making me stop breathing. But, it doesn't seem like they heard us, since soon enough, the steps start moving away from us. Finally, the room is silent.
        
Tinsae gives me a quick smile before slipping away from our hideout. I follow her, quickly taking note of a different scent present in the room. It's something bittersweet. It's familiar. Spices and…

Saffron.

It brings to mind a certain noblewoman with a permanent scorn on her face.

"Camilla," Tinsae voices my thoughts. "The scent lingers around the chest." She opens the lid without hesitation, takes the uppermost scroll and unrolls it.

She frowns as she reads the letter. "She wanted you to find this. She knew you were here."

"How do you know that?"

"I know. The question is why." She shakes her head. "I'm not sure why." Something in her makes me believe that she's telling the truth. She is as puzzled by this turn of events as I am. At least, that's how it seems.

"What does it say?" I just notice that Tinsae's hold of the scroll is quite tight; her knuckles are almost white. She turns her gaze to me, her expression more serious than I've ever seen from her.

"I do not approve of this."

"Why? What does it say?" Just let me read it already.

She purses her lips. Then, she sighs and gives me the letter. "It says that the Emperor is coming here next spring."

I take the scroll to read the exact same thing. That is interesting. Why would Camilla want me to know that?

"You should do nothing with the information. I know we don't know each other that well, yet. But you should heed my advice." She looks weirdly solemn, her gaze darker than usual.

However, I'm not sure if I will listen to her. She knows it, too, that's why she shakes her head in defeat. "Let's just go before anyone else comes here."

*goto ch4_where_to?

*label ch4_bedroom_marcus
Marcus's stupid face appears. He looks at me like he's fully fed up with my existence. "You are absolutely one of the most idiotic morons I've ever met in my life."

That has got to be an exaggeration. Besides, he's one to talk! "Did you come here just to insult me?"

"Yes. That's why I'm here. Just casually insulting the thief in my father's bedroom."

"Excuse me? I'm not a thief." I was just looking for information. That's not thieving, to be exact. Or perhaps it is; I'm not into semantics.

"I know a dirty thief when I see one." He sighs and rubs his temples.

*fake_choice
    #"At least I'm not a murderer."
        "Is that how it is? Then I'm sure you wouldn't mind if I let Zoilus find you here. He was just looking around the hallway when I came here."
        
        "The Optio?"
        
        "I'm sure he'd be delighted to meet you here. Just a moment, I'm sure he's still somewhere close, I'll just—" He starts making his way toward the door.
        
        "No!"
        
        "Oh? I see. Now you'll accept my help, huh?" 
        
        "Don't be like that."
        
        He scoffs and shakes his head. "I could say the same to you."
    #"Leave me be."
        "Oh, right. I'll just turn around and pretend I didn't see you here."
        
        "Yes, thank you."
        
        "Of course I can't do that, you half-brained moron."
        
        "Again with the insults."
        
        "You deserve every one of them. Look at you! You're risking your life again. You're an absolute—"
    #Ignore him and continue to look around.
        "You'll just ignore me and continue to look for things to steal?"
        
        Basically, yes. I hope he'd take the hint and leave.
        
        "You are a half-brained moron if you think that I'd—"

Suddenly, he puts the palm of his hand on my mouth and shoves me behind the tapestry.

What in the hells?!

*if ch1_biter
    If this is how he chooses to play, perhaps I should bite him. Again.
    
    *fake_choice
        #No. Someone's coming.
        #Yes!
            Teaches him not to man-handle me like this! Just as I'm about to go for another bite of that bastard, he stomps his boot on my toes.
            
            It takes everything not to shout at him, at his boot, at my hurt toes. Then, he tightens his hand on my mouth. The absolute—
*if not(ch1_biter)
    Who does he think he is, covering my mouth like that?

The door opens.

I halt every movement and stop breathing.

I realize that Marcus shoved us here to hide. Thankfully, the cloth is long enough to hide our feet, and it's hanging loosely enough so that our shape isn't hopefully too obvious.

Someone walks briskly towards the center of the room. The lid of the heavy bronze chest opens. Then it closes. Finally, the steps leave the room. Both of us listen for a good moment or two before letting out a big breath. As the warm air tickles my ear, I realize something: 

I can feel Marcus's muscles firmly against me. Every part of him is tightly against me.

*fake_choice
    #Freeze. Why is he so close to me?!
        *set clueless +1
        A surge of fear runs back to me, paralyzing me in the process.
        
        "What are you thinking about? You're stiff as a plank of wood." There is the same underlying mockery in his words there always is. In another setting, it would annoy me, most likely anger me. This time, however, the way his breath tickles the back of my ear sends a jolt of embarrassment through me. 
        
        I can't move. He must know it, since he shifts his position just a fraction, so as to press himself even tighter against me.
        
        "Could you…" I try to speak, but only a half of what I wanted to say comes out.
        
        He turns to look at me. What he sees, I'm not sure, but his eyes widen at the sight of my face. Then, he pushes me away from him. It's not a forceful push but enough for me to almost fall on my butt.
        
        "Oh. Sorry." He rubs the back of his neck. "Let's just leave. Let's see what the stranger left us, if anything."
    #Turn around and punch him half-heartedly.
        I act purely on instinct. Everything in me screams that he's too close, I need to push him away. So, I do the only thing I can: I punch him on his arm. It's more half-hearted than I hoped, it lacks any real commitment a punch would require. I blame it on my bewildered state. However, it does send him a clear signal: 'Stay away from me, you nasty creep.'
        
        At least I hoped it would. He, however, merely looks at my fist with his brow raised. "Do you call that a punch?"
        
        My face heats up as a surge of anger flashes through me. "You want another round?"
        
        "Now now, calm yourself, you feisty little moron. Let's see what the stranger left us, if anything."
    #Flee the hideout. Now.
        I take a tight hold of the tapestry as I try to break free from his closeness. However, it proves to be a bit [i]too[/i] tight of a hold.
        
        The whole tapestry comes crashing down after me.
        
        "Oh, shit!" Marcus gawks at the fallen tapestry. "You absolute moron. Look what you did."
        
        "It was your fault for pressing against me."
        
        "Pressing against you? Is that where your dirty mind went?"
        
        "My… no!"
        
        "Now, now, you perverted moron. I'll have to see what to do with this mess. Be a good little soldier and see what the stranger left us, if anything."
    #Ignore it and leave in an orderly manner.
        Without giving him a time of the day I leave the hideout and gather my surroundings.
        
        Marcus comes after me and says: "Let's see what the stranger left us, if anything."
        
I take a step toward the chest. There's a lingering scent of something bittersweet. It's familiar. Spices and…

Saffron. 

Marcus sighs. "Well, if it isn't the smell of my dearest mother. What is she planning now?"

"What do you mean, 'now'?"

"You'd be surprised to hear what she's been up to in the past. She's a rascal." He takes a look at the chest. "The smell is stronger there. She left something for us."

I open the chest and there it is: a scroll. A letter, it seems.

Marcus squints his eyes at the letter. "Let me see."

*fake_choice
    #"No. I will read it first."
        "Well, hurry up. I want to leave already. I'm still hungry." He whines as I take the scroll. "What does it say?"
        
        "Just give me a moment." I hiss at him. Stupid Marcus. I open the scroll. There's only one, neatly written sentence: 'The Emperor is coming to Mogontiacum next spring.'
        
        That's all there is.
        
        "Well?"
        
        "It says that the Emperor is coming here next spring."
    #Give it to him.
        Something about his voice makes me give the letter to him. He knows something about it. 
        
        He reads it quickly and looks at me. "What's your relationship with her?"
        
        "Camilla and I? We're… acquaintances?" I peer at the letter. "Why? What does it say?"
        
        He waits for a heartbeat before saying: "It says that the Emperor is coming here next spring."
        
        Every fiber in me perks up. "The Emperor?" 
        
Marcus shrugs. "It's not that unusual. He does like to check the periphery of the Empire from time to time." 
        
"But why did Camilla want us to know?" Or me, more likely.
        
Marcus shakes his head. "I don't know." He really does look like he doesn't know. "Whatever this is, I would suggest you to forget about it."
        
"What? But—"
        
"Not buts, you moron. I know what you're thinking. You will die."
        
"No, but—" His glare makes me swallow my words. But there are so many questions: "What if she didn't know that I was going to find this?"

"You're not as sneaky as you'd like to think you are."

"Hey!"

"I found you, didn't I? She's sharp. She might be an intolerable hag but she's a smart one at that."

The thought of being so easily readable is unnerving. What else have I given away? Or does he want me to think that?

"Don't look so glum. Besides, you haven't used my title for the whole evening." He smirks. "Well, since there's no one else here, I will forgive you."

*fake_choice
    #"Thank you so much for your generosity, Lord Centurion." If he doesn't mind that I don't call him by his title, then I will.
        "Did you just switch back to calling me that because I told that it didn't bother me?"
        
        I feign innocence. No, that's not the reason. Well, yes. Yes, it is.
        
        "You are easily readable, you just proved my point."
    #Roll my eyes at him. "Oh, please."
        "That's the sort of behavior that I'm forgiving you over and over again. You're a brat."
        
        "I am not a brat." Well, if I am, it's entirely his fault.
    #"Don't change the subject."
        "I already did."

He saunters toward the door. "We need to get back to the party. They must be wondering where we are. If you don't mind the dirty rumors, that's fine, but…"

"Yes, yes, let's go."
*goto ch4_where_to?

*label ch4_where_to?
*page_break
I linger on the hallway, looking at the ridiculous little altar with the Emperor fighting the lion. The candles are already died out.

The noises coming from the dining area make me feel a bit nauseous. Perhaps I don't need to go back.

Besides, I think I saw…

*choice
    #Niall entering the garden.
        *set niall_garden true
        *goto ch4_niall_garden
    #Marcus entering the garden.
        *set marcus_garden true
        *goto ch4_marcus_garden
    #Tinsae entering the garden.
        *set tinsae_garden true
        *goto ch4_tinsae_garden
    #Camilla entering the garden.
        *set camilla_garden true
        *goto ch4_camilla_garden
    
*label ch4_niall_garden
Niall sits by himself near the fountain, looking at a flowerbed. His gaze is wistful as he examines the flowers.

I squint my eyes at him. "What did you want from me?"

"What did I want? I was here first!"

Oh. Right. He was. I'm so used to him following me around, asking whether I'm alright, whether I need any help. I didn't even realize that I was the one who followed him here.

Wait. [i]Why[/i] did I follow him here? I knew that he would be here. I didn't want his company. Right? 

I frown at the mere thought.

"Are you alright?" He asks. Just as I expected.

*fake_choice
    #"I'm fine," I growl.
        I don't know what is so aggravating about him.
        
        No, I do know. It's the constant need to know if I'm alright. I [b]am[/b] alright. I'm just in the middle of the enemy camp, disguised and in constant mortal peril, waiting for death to take me any moment…
        
        Wait, I mean. "I am alright!"
        
        "Whoah. Alright. I get it. You're alright."
        
        I didn't mean to shout.
    #"I knew you'd ask that!" 
        He arches his brows. "Well, sorry for asking."
        
        He should be sorry. I don't know what is so aggravating about him.
        
        No, I do know. It's the constant need to know if I'm alright. I [b]am[/b] alright. I'm just in the middle of the enemy camp, disguised and in constant mortal peril, waiting for death to take me any moment…
        
        Wait, I mean. "I am alright!"
        
        "Whoah. Alright. I get it. You're alright."
        
        I didn't mean to shout.
    #"I'm just a little confused." By you. By my actions. 
        *set manipulative -1
        "You are? Why?"
        
        I shake my head. He doesn't need to know that the reason for my confusion is my more than questionable behavior. I shouldn't want to spend time with him. No no no. I didn't want to spend time with him. I just wandered here without knowing. 
        *if hatred = "manipulated"
            Wouldn't be the first time.
        
        He cocks his head at my non-answer. Then, he shrugs. "Alright."
    #Remain silent.
        It's a seemingly innocent question that holds so much weight in it. Why is he constantly asking me that?
        
        He cocks his head at my non-answer. Then, he shrugs. "Alright."
        
Silence falls between us.

*fake_choice
    #"Do you realize that I'm trying to push you away?"
        "Yes, you've made that completely clear. I'm not that stupid."
        
        Well, that's a relief, of sort.
        
        "I was the same."
        
        "You were?"
    #"What is your game?"
        "My game?" He shifts his gaze to his shoes before looking at me. "I don't have a game."
        
        Why should I believe him?
    #Remain silent.
    
He shifts uncomfortably. "I understand what it's like to —

"You don't—"

"Please, Hati, let me speak."

Oh. Well. Fine. I'm listening.

"I understand what it's like to be dragged into a foreign city. What it's like to leave your old life behind and try to survive in a new one. To find a new purpose, new dreams."

"What do you mean?"

"I was taken hostage and dragged to Rome as a child. My father is a chieftain in Hibernia. The Romans are trying to invade them, too. But they're starting to be more occupied in the North."

To be taken as a child from your home. That's exactly what the Romans do. 

*fake_choice
    #"I'm sorry."
        I am. I am sorry for the child that he used to be. However, now that he's an adult, he could change things.
    #Remain silent. I don't know what to say.
        The story is quite sad. I'm just not sure why he's telling me about it. Also, the topic makes me feel a little uncomfortable.
    #Remain silent. Is he really speaking the truth or is this a plan to try to get me closer to him?
        The story is quite sad. Provided it was the truth. How should I know if this is just an elaborate plan to get closer to me and… Well, I'm not sure what his end-game is. To collect enough evidence about me?
        
        But why would he bother?
        
However, there's no reason for him to stay here. "But you could leave Rome. As you said, they are currently occupied with their war in Caledonia." As much as it pains to say it out loud. "You could just leave and wait for them, if they would ever come."

"I suppose I could. But this is my home now."

The corner of my eye twitches. What? Why would he think that? "The people who took you by force?"

"Marcus's family… They are my family. He is my family. They helped me when I needed it most."

*fake_choice
    #Feign sympathy. He's being awfully open about his past and feelings and I can use this.
        *set niall_manipulation true
        *set manipulative +2
        No matter the reason behind his current actions, this could benefit me. He's openly telling me about his past, he must feel comfortable about me. 
    #I actually feel a tinge of sympathy towards him.
        He was taken in as a child. No wonder he's indoctrinated and not willing to leave those who are responsible for this. If anything, this makes me more angry at the Romans.
        
        Disgusting child-stealing Romans.
    #"They kidnapped you. That's not exactly helping."
        "They didn't do that. They…"
        
        "Isn't the Legate in the Senate? And the Senate must've mandated that sort of tactic against Hibernia. So, in a sense, he did do that. Then he acted like he's saving you from who knows what, even if he was the one why you were ripped from your parents in the first place."
        
        He frowns as silence falls between us. Finally he says: "I… I suppose that is partly true. However, the Emperor has more power than the Senate. The late Emperor is to blame, I suppose."
        
        "Well, the Senate didn't help."
        
        He nods and ponders on my words.
        
I do wonder: how far does his loyalty towards the Romans go? He seems extremely Romanized and comfortable with his position. The bright blue tunic he's wearing is embellished with gold embroidery, he's fully enjoying his position of wealth.

That might be something to keep in mind.
    
Now that the conversation topic has shifted into family and kidnappings, it would be a good time to ask of him what I've been thinking about. Should I ask him if he knows where the twins are?

*fake_choice
    #Yes. He could help me.
        *goto ch4_niall_help
    #No. I'd rather ask someone else.
        I'm not sure if it's the fact that I don't truly trust him yet, or that I don't think that he even could help me. But I remain silent about the twins.
        
        "Hati? Are you sure you don't need anything?"
        
        I look away, my thoughts still plagued by what happened to my siblings. "Yes. I'm sure."
        
        "Could you look at me?"
        *goto ch4_niall_lookielook

*label ch4_niall_help
"My siblings are missing. I think they might be…" I can't say the word. It would only conjure up the mental images.
        
"I… heard about it from Marcus. I'm so sorry."

From Marcus? Are they gossiping about me? Annoyance stirs within but my composure remains. It was to be expected. They seem close. However, what else have they talked about?

Am I their regular conversation topic?
        
*fake_choice
    #"I don't need your pity, I need information."
        He nods. "I understand."
    #"Thank you. You would know what they are going through right now."
        It's a strategy of sorts; to pull at his heart strings. The lives of the twins is on the line, I need to make sure he helps me.
        
        His features twist into a deep frown; the strategy worked. The twins have even worse fate than he did but he would know what it's like to be torn from your home and carried to Rome. 
        
        Anger twists my stomach and I look away.
        
        "Hati. I'm so sorry."
        
        I shake my head.
    #Remain silent and wait for his answer.

"I know my words alone mean nothing. But I promise you this: I will not rest until they are safe." His tone sounds awfully genuine, if that was even possible in this pit of vipers. It sounds almost like… I could trust him. If I was mad enough to do that.

I'm not. Of course I'm not.
*page_break
*goto ch4_niall_lookielook

*label ch4_niall_lookielook
I look at him. And I find him looking at me. 

His eyes are quite green. It reminds me of the grove. It's the same color as the grove was during spring. The different hues of green danced together during spring, the pine, the moss, the young leaves sighing in the wind.

It brings me home.

He opens his mouth opens: "Your eyes… They are a lovely shade of…"

*fake_choice
    #"Blue."
        "It's like I'm looking straight into the deepest spot in the ocean."
        
        "Is that a good thing?"
        
        "I'm not sure. The sea can be terrifying."
        
        "Are you saying that I'm terrifying?"
        
        "You can be. Your eyes are sometimes filled with such anger that I fear it might swallow you and me with it."
        
        Oh.
    #"Green."
        "It's like I'm looking straight into a boghole, surrounded by masses of moss."
        
        "That doesn't sound like it's a good thing."
        
        He nods. "Well, yes, bogholes are dangerous. But the color is pretty."
        
        "So, are you saying that I'm both pretty and dangerous?"
        
        "NO!"
        
        Well, you didn't need to shout it to the rooftops.
        
        "I mean. Let's just talk about something else."
    #"Brown."
        "It's like looking at the fur of a grizzly bear."
        
        What? Is that a good thing?
        
        He purses his lips in thought. "I suppose that doesn't sound like a compliment, now that I think about it."
        
        "No. No it doesn't. Are you comparing me to a grizzly bear?"
        
        "You have the temper of one, for sure. But grizzlies are beautiful creatures."
        
        "So, you're saying that I'm a beautiful creature?"
        
        "What? No no no no."
        
        Well, thank you. Didn't need to deny it with such force.
        
        "I mean you're not ugly, either. I mean… umm. Let's just talk about something else."
    #"Grey."
        "It's like looking at a sea of fog that is about to swallow you."
        
        "That doesn't sound good."
        
        "No. I'm sorry. That didn't serve as a compliment at all. It just popped into my mind. But fog can be a beautiful thing, too."
        
        "So you're saying that I'm a beautiful thing, about to swallow you?"
        
        "What? No. No no no. No." He bites his lip. "I mean. I didn't mean to deny it like that. I mean that you're not ugly, I mean just that. Well… er. Let's just talk about something else, alright?"

Then, his gaze darts away. "Um. Sorry. I didn't mean to analyze your eye color. That was weird of me."

*fake_choice
    #"I didn't mind."
        As the words leave me, I realize their absurdity. He does, too, since he looks at me as if I've lost my mind. "You didn't? But it's unprofessional of me. I'm not going about inspecting other soldiers' eye-color. That would be stupid."
        
        "Well… yes. That would be."
        
        The implication of that notion is left hanging between us. I don't know what to think of it, I doubt he does, either. 
        
        It's better not to think of it.
    #Remain silent. That was weird.
        Both of us fall silent, not willing to talk about the implications. I don't know what made me inspect his eye-color, either.
        
        It's better not to dwell on it.
    #Shrug. It's not that big of a deal.
        "I wouldn't worry about that."
        
        "You wouldn't?"
        
        I shake my head. "People just… look at each other's eye-colors from time to time. It's normal."
        
        "Oh. Thank the gods." His smile is relieved. "I'm glad you think so."
    #This is good. I'm starting to grow on him and he's taking initiative. I can use that.
        *set manipulative +2
        "I don't mind at all." I give him a smile.
        
        "You don't? Well, you should. This is highly unprofessional."
        
        "I don't care about that."
        
        "You don't?" He rubs the back of his neck.

Someone shouts from the dining area, most likely drunk out of heir mind. It makes Niall dart his gaze toward the sound, his body tensing up.

"Umm. I think we need to leave. At least I do. Wouldn't want anyone to think… Well. Good night!" With these words he almost runs away, not bothering to look back. It's like he's fleeing from me. Yet, he keeps coming back.

What a weird man. Also, what an eventful evening it's been.

And it doesn't even end there. I need to make haste so I can join Samhain. Wouldn't want to give the gods a reason to strike me dead.
*page_break
*goto_scene chapter4_samhain ch4_samhain

*label ch4_marcus_garden
I catch Marcus sitting on a bench beside a fountain. He's looking at a bed flowers next to him. He looks suspicious. Doesn't he always? "What are you doing here?"

He lets out a dry laugh. "What am I doing here? I was here first. You followed me like a lost puppy you are."

*fake_choice
    #"Who in their right mind would want to follow you? I'd rather drown in the river."
        "Now now, let's not be overly dramatic. You're always like this."
        
        "You're always like—"
        
        "You're doing it again. I'm just trying to look at these flowers in peace. You came here and started yelling at me." He pouts, mockingly of course, and acts as if he tries to look at the flowers.
        
        The corner of my eye twitches.
    #"I did not follow you."
        "Are you sure? I could swear that you saw me coming here."
        
        "You're wrong."
        
        "That's your tactic? To deny everything? Do you think I'm an idiot."
        
        I say nothing, letting the implication linger in the air.
        
        He squints his eyes at me.
    #Give him a stink-eye.
        "Ah, a classic. When you don't know what to say, resort to childishness."
        *if ch1_biter
            He shows me the palm of his hand that I bit. "At least you didn't resort to violence, like you did last time. I have a scar now, because of you."
            
            *fake_choice
                #"Good."
                    "Good! I should give you one, so we're even."
                    
                    "I'll pass, thanks."
                    
                    "Do you think you'll have any say in that?"
                    
                    "Just try me, you old fart."
                    
                    "You little shit."
                #"Sorry about that."
                    "Sorry doesn't bring my beautifully smooth skin back."
                    
                    I peer at his hand. It's calloused and looks rough to the touch. "You skin hasn't been smooth in years."
                    
                    "Insults, insults. You're breaking my heart."
                #Shrug.
                    "You don't care?"
                    
                    No, not really. I give him another shrug.
                    
                    "The nerve…"

However, he does have a point, no matter how nasty the thought is. I'm actually not sure why I came here. I knew that he was here. Yet, here I am.

*fake_choice
    #I'm here because I need to manipulate that fool.
        *set manipulative +2
        *set marcus_manipulator true 
        He must think I'm here because I like him. As if.
    #Honestly, I don't know why I'm here.
        I didn't… want to see him. Right? 
        
        I peer at his stupid face. As if in cue, he gives me his stupid grin. 

        For Twins' sake, I did NOT come here because of that fool.

        "Hmm." He smiles like a lynx. "You look conflicted. Like you don't know whether to smooch or punch me."
        
        *fake_choice
            #"I will punch you if you don't shut up."
                "Oh no, I'd better shut my mouth then."
                
                "You're giving me a headache."
                
                "I'm almost sorry. It's like I can't help myself when I'm with you. You're too easy to tease."
                
                I almost roll my eyes at him.
            #"In your dreams."
                "That is exactly what happens in my dreams."
                
                "That I punch you?"
                
                "Quite frequently. Then you kiss it better."
                
                "You're into that sort of thing?"
                
                He chuckles.
            #Remain silent. Stupid Marcus.

Then, he says: "Hey. Look at me."

"What? Why?"

"Just do it."

*fake_choice
    #Look at him.
        I don't know why I'm obeying him. Perhaps I'm curious. What is he up to?
        
        The corner of his mouth raises as our gaze meets.
    #Turn to him but keep my eyes closed.
        "Oh, for the love of all that is… Are you a child?"
        
        "If this makes me one, then yes."
        
        "Open your eyes."
        
        "No."
        
        "Open them. I don't remember the color. I want to check."
        
        He wants to check my eye-color? That sounds highly unpleasant. However, perhaps a part of me wants to know what his game is this time. 
        
        So, I open my eyes. The corner of his mouth raises as our gaze meets.
        
"It's just as I remembered. The color of—"

*fake_choice
    #Green.
        *set eyecolor "green"
        "That's the color of an ass-sponge."
        
        "The… ass-sponge?"
        
        "Haven't you seen one in a toilet? It's the one that you use to wipe your ass. Its got a stick and—"
        
        "What should I do with this information?"
        
        "Alas, I do not know. It just popped into my mind."
    #Blue.
        *set eyecolor "blue"
        "That hue of blue reminds me of a bruise."
        
        "Bruise?"
        
        "Yes. Freshly formed bruise. It's not a pleasant color, is what I'm saying."
        
        "Thank you for elaborating."
        
        "Not a problem at all."
    #Gray.
        *set eyecolor "gray"
        "That hue of gray is like dishwater."

        "Um. Excuse me? Aren't your eyes also grey?"
        
        "They're a different shade, darker. They are mysterious, what-lurks-within sort of way. Also, why do you know the color of my eyes? Have you been looking? Inspecting their color?"
        
        *fake_choice
            #"No!"
                "Oh, but I think you have. You'd have to peer quite intensively to see the actual shade."
            #"Who calls their own eyes mysterious?"
                Ignoring the bait, I ask the most obvious. He sounds ridiculous. It's nothing new, of course.
                
                "I've heard it before and confirmed it as a fact."
                
                I shake my head. Who in their right mind has called his eyes mysterious?
            #Remain silent and ignore his bait.
    #Brown.
        *set eyecolor "brown"
        "That's the color of dirt beneath my boot."
        
        I stand still and glare at him.

"You just wanted to insult my eyecolor?"

"Basically, yes. This romantic setting got me in the mood."

*fake_choice
    #"You're an asshole."
        "I suppose that was a little mean. I apologize. Your eyes don't look like
        *if eyecolor = "blue"
            a bruise
        *if eyecolor = "gray"
            dishwater
        *if eyecolor = "brown"
            dirt underneath my boot
        *if eyecolor = "green"
            an ass-sponge
        at all."
        
        He doesn't look, nor sound, sorry at all.
    #"Your eyes look like two assholes."
        He snorts.
        *if not(eyecolor = "gray")
            "I like to think that they are two mysterious assholes, thank you very much."
            
            "You're welcome think however you like."
        *if eyecolor = "gray" 
            "[i]Mysterious[/i] assholes, mind you."
    #Scoff and look away.
        "Don't be mad. I was a little mean, I'm sorry." He doesn't sound sorry at all. Besides, I can hear a distinct tone of smiling from his voice. Grinning, more like. The asshole.
    #Remain silent.
        "Are you giving me a silent treatment?"
        
        "Yes."
        
        "That is cruel. I apologize for my insulting words." However, he doesn't look, nor sound, sorry at all.

The conversation dies out as the both of us keep looking at the fountain. Despite his insults, this could be the perfect opportunity to ask him if he knows what happened to my family. He knows who I am, he must know. He's been acting like he does. How much does he know? There's only one way to find out.

After steeling my mind and readying myself to deal with the topic, I turn to him: "Do you know what happened to my siblings?"

Silence falls between us as the grin on his face disappears like it never was there. He looks away, his gaze grazing the nearby flowerbed. He doesn't say anything for a good while, only the noises from the nearby dinner party disturbs the silence. 

Just as I'm about to ask again, he says: "I'm not sure."

I shake my head. That's not good enough. "You have to know something."

"I know that the little ones survived. I made sure of—"

"You made sure of what?"

"They are alive. They were not harmed. My army is not a bunch of monsters killing children."

"Yes, they are just a bunch of monsters enslaving children."

He darts his gaze to me, his jaw clenched tight. "It's the Roman way. Those in power expect slaves from the military campaigns."

I almost scoff. "And you just obey."

"What else should I do, exactly? What is your grand plan that I can do about the whole fucking Empire?" His tone of voice is growing more and more agitated.
        
I open my mouth to speak but he silences me.

"If it's not me, then it's someone else. If I'm not there to calm the pillaging down, then there's someone else who would do much worse. What else can I do?" He looks at me as if he's genuinely expecting me to answer him. To give him something.
        
*fake_choice
    #I'm not here to give him anything. He can wallow in his self-pity, for all I care.
        I frown at him. I don't know why he would expect me to give him any sort of forgiveness. "Are you seriously asking me to relieve your moral anguish?"
        
        "I… no. Of course not."
    #"You could crawl into the deepest hole in the whole Empire, for all I care. You will find out what happened to the twins or I'll kill you when you sleep."
        His arches his brows at me, clearly not expecting death threats. He should expect them. What else would I give him? Relief for his moral anguish?
        
        Bah!
        
        The surprise on his features quickly turn into amusement. "I'll keep that in mind. I know that's what you'd prefer to do to me, after all."
        
        Since it's apparent that he knows who I am, then yes. He should know that I want nothing more than to kill him. Yet, here we are. I need his help. He will have to wait for his death.
    #I suppose he has a point. But it's not impossible to make a change. And I plan on telling him so.
        Even if I hate the Romans, hate everything they stand for, I suppose I can understand that one person has a difficult time to change the thinking of the whole people. However, it's not possible. Even one person can make a difference.
        
        "I understand. But it's not impossible."
        
        He purses his lips. 
        
        "You can influence people around you. You can spread good and those people will spread good themselves and—"
        
        He chuckles. "That's adorable."

        "What?"
        
        "I didn't take you for an idealist."
        
        "It's not idealism, it's common sense! Don't start patronizing me, you're the one at fault here!"
        
        The smile on his face almost dies, but not completely. Its remains stay as he looks at me. There's warmth lingering beneath his eyes, if I'm not seeing things. 
        
        I must be seeing things. Then, he shakes his head.
    #"How should I know? Talk to the politicians, tell them that taking slaves is wrong."
        He looks at me as if I'm talking nonsense. Then, he shakes his head. "My father is the politician here, not me. Talk to him about these things, if you want to influence the politics."
        
        "You could—"
        
        "I do not need to explain my actions to you." His words are cold, his features emotionless.
        
        Fine.
    #"You're doing what you can. You're diminishing suffering around you." I'm speaking the truth.
        *set manipulative -1
        His mouth drops as the words leave me. My mouth almost drop with his. This doesn't sound like me at all. I should be accusing him of everything. He's the face of everything bad that ever happened to me. He's the one who…
        
        Yet, despite all of that, there's something halting my tongue. Something in his gaze almost makes me believe that he's doing everything he can.
        
        Almost. He did kill everyone. Yet he's acting like he's doing good by killing them and… I'm not sure what to think. Why is this so complicated? A part of me wants to take everything I said back, to punch him, to kick his shin, and flee the scene. Another part of me wants to… what does it want? To understand? What a stupid part that is.
        
        He rubs the back of his neck. "I… didn't expect that."
        
        "Me neither."
        
        A small, almost genuine smile appears on his face as he says: "Thank you."
    #"You're doing what you can. You're diminishing suffering around you." I mean none of it, he's making people suffer. He was responsible for killing everyone dear to me and enslaving the rest. He's vulnerable. I will make use of that.
        *set marcus_manipulator true
        *set manipulative +2
        His mouth drops as the deceitful words leave me. He doesn't seem to suspect anything. 
               
        "I… didn't expect that."
        
        I shrug and try to appear as if the words just slipped from my mouth.
        
        A small, almost genuine smile appears on his face as he says: "Thank you."
        
        Good. He thinks I was genuine. I almost smile back at him but it would be suspicious.
        
He looks away, his gaze downcast. "I apologize for my outburst. It will not happen again. I will find the little ones."

Without saying goodbye, he leaves. His hasty departure managed to leave me quite puzzled. Why would he pretend that he cares about anything? 

Well, this has been an eventful evening.

And it doesn't even end there. I need to make haste so I can join Samhain. Wouldn't want the gods to strike me dead.
*page_break
*goto_scene chapter4_samhain ch4_samhain

*label ch4_camilla_garden
Camilla sits on a bench near a fountain, her gaze turned upward, looking at the stars. She takes a quick note of me as I approach her. But, she doesn't say anything, she just returns her gaze back to the sky.

*fake_choice
    #Sit next to her.
        *set ch4_camilla_bench true
        The bench is cold to the touch as I sit next to her. She doesn't shy away from me, it's as if she expected me to sit here.
    #Remain standing.

Then, she asks: "Did you have a fun evening?"
        
I merely scoff at the question. Fun is not the word I would use to describe the evening. It makes her smile.
        
She shakes her head. "I loathe these parties. Did you know that these are expected to be held every day?"
        
"What?" They eat that much food every day? What a waste.
        
"If you eat alone with your family, you're seen as a lonesome loser."
        
"That's… stupid."
        
"It truly is."

*if ch4_camilla_bench
    I take a look at her fingers next to mine. They look delicate, yet extremely cold. It's freezing here.
    
    *fake_choice
        #I want to take her hand. She looks cold.
            Her features are more solemn than usual. Her gaze is now downcast on the ground, she seems less aware of her surroundings than usual. 
            
            So, I do what my instinct tells me to: I put my hand on top of hers.
            
            She turns her gaze slowly to me, a tell-tale of the fact that she's not feeling herself. Otherwise she would've probably smacked me already. Yet, she keeps the hand there, underneath mine. She looks at it before looking at me.
            
            "What are you doing?"
            
            "I'm warming your hand."
            
            She nods slowly. "I see." The corner of her mouth rises, just a little bit. "You may."
            
            I almost smile at her, myself. It doesn't take long before her fingers have melted, I'm more warmly clothed than she is with her thin dress.
            
            She takes a note of that fact, too. "I think my hand is warm already."
            
            *fake_choice
                #Move my hand away.
                    "It seems that you're right," I say and move my hand. Both of us look away, as if nothing happened.
                #Keep it there for a moment longer.
                    "I'm not sure if it is, though."
                    
                    "Oh?"
                    
                    "I shall keep it there for a moment longer. Just to be sure."
                    
                    She lets out a little scoff. "You—"
                    
                    "Fool. Yes."
                    
                    Then, it's as if she can't help herself. She gives in and grants me a wide smile. It reaches her eyes and it keeps lingering there for a good while before dying out like a flame of a candle. And her hand remains in its place just a little while longer. Only the sound of someone walking by makes her yank it away from me.
                    
                    Both of us look away, as if nothing happened.
        #I keep my hands to myself. I don't want to take initiative.
            I look at the hand next to mine, my fingers twitch, but I don't place my hand on hers. But as I look away, something grazes my finger.
            
            Camilla has slided her hand closer to mine. It's not much, but the change is noticeable. I peer at her but she doesn't look back.
        #I keep my hands to myself.

*page_break
There's a long moment of silence as we're both wrapped in our own thoughts. Neither disturbs the other, it's weirdly calm. The air is chilly but it's a welcome change from the stuffy air of the dinner.

Now that we're here and no one is likely listening in, there is something that I could ask of her.

Should I ask her help to locate my siblings?

*fake_choice
    #Yes. I need every help I can get.
        "I don't know where my siblings are. They could be dead, or…"
        
        She nods. "I know."
        
        "How do you know that?"
        
        She shrugs. "Of course I know. It's being handled."
        
        "What does that mean?" Does it mean that she's already looking for them?
        
        "It means what it sounds like."
        
        So… she is looking for them. "Why are you so nice to me?"
    #No. I doubt she'd help me. I'll ask someone else.

She frowns, as if she doesn't believe what she's hearing. "I'm nice?" She cocks her head.

"Somewhat, yes. When you're not insulting me."

"I do nothing without a reason. But you're right. I'm treating you more softly than I should." She tilts her head slightly at me. "You're a barbarian. I should treat you like one."

*fake_choice
    #"You are a posh Roman who thinks too much of herself."
        She smiles. It almost reaches her eyes. "Too much? Hardly. You don't stay alive in Rome if you don't trust in your abilities."
        
        Rome sounds like a den of wolves. I will never want to see that city.
        
        She continues in a wistful tone: "Rome is aconite. Beautiful but could kill you in an instant if you're not careful."
    #"And why is it that you don't treat me like one?"
        I'm genuinely wondering that myself. 
            
        "It's a good question."
        
        "But you won't answer that?"
        
        She doesn't reply.
    #Remain silent.
        I take in the insult without much thought. I've gotten used to it by now. 
        
        "No snarky comeback?"
        
        I shake my head.
        
        "Hm." She nods.

*if not(camilla_manipulator)
    Here I am questioning her motives when I'm left in the dark by my own. Why am I here? I knew she was here. I followed her.
    
*if camilla_manipulator
    I need to know why she is doing this, it can't be just for the good of her heart. That's ridiculous.
    
Moonlight colors her wig almost white. 

"Oh, so you think you can just look at me like that?"

She peers at me. "Your eyes."

"What about them?"

"I just realized what color they are. It's…"

*fake_choice
    #"Blue."
        "It's quite rare to see Romans with blue eyes. It's more common in the North, I believe?"
        
        I nod.
        
        "It's quite lovely how people differ from region to region. Not only are their manners different, but their looks, too."
        
        "I suppose."
    #"Green."
        "It's quite rare to see Romans with green eyes. It's more common in the North, I believe?"
        
        I nod.
        
        "It's quite lovely how people differ from region to region. Not only are their manners different, but their looks, too."
        
        "I suppose."
    #"Brown."
        "It's a peculiar shade of brown. It has an orange tint to it."
        
        "Oh?"
        
        She nods.
    #"Grey."
        "Your eyes are almost black. It reminds me of someone…" She grimaces and I realize that she's probably thinking about Marcus.
        
        Ugh, don't make me think of that man's eyes.
        
        "Yes, let's not think about that. Yours are more lovely."
        
        "Wow, thanks."
        
        "You're welcome."
        
She keeps looking into my eyes. And it's starting to feel quite awkward. The sounds of the dinner party still taking place echo to where we are standing, but it does little to distract her from staring at me.

*fake_choice
    #The scrutiny makes my cheeks to heat up.
        Her gaze moves to my cheeks. The corner of her mouth rises. "Don't be shy."
        
        "I'm not."
        
        "Don't deny it. I think it's adorable."
        
        Adorable? I'm not sure if I like the sound of that. She looks like she's about to devour me.
    #Look away and try to come up with something to talk about.
        I shift my gaze away from her. "So… what do you think of the weather?"
        
        She lets out a laugh. "Weather? That's flimsy."
        
        "That was the first thing that came to mind. You have only yourself to blame, I'm not used to being stared at with such intensity."
        
        "Oh? Then I ought to stare at you more often."
        
        "Yes, thank you, that's what I meant by that."
        
        "You're quite welcome," she says and gives me another piercing look, this time more theatrically.
    #Stare at her eyes as a revenge.
        As a revenge, I start scrutinizing her eyes. They widen just a fraction by my counter-attack, but it doesn't take long for her to recover. So, we end up staring at each other for a good while.
    
"Darling? Are you here?" The Legate's voice. 

She darts her gaze to the source of his voice, her features distorted into a grimace. "Ugh." 

And with that, she leaves to the opposite direction where the Legate's voice came from. She doesn't spare me another glance nor a word of goodbye. I leave, too. I'd hate to bump on the Legate. I've had enough of him for this lifetime.

What an eventful evening it has been.

And it doesn't even end there. I need to make haste so I can join Samhain.
*page_break
*goto_scene chapter4_samhain ch4_samhain

*label ch4_tinsae_garden
*page_break 
Tinsae looks at a fountain while moonlight shines on her hair. When she notices my arrival, she turns to me with a wide smile. "What a pleasant surprise."

I nod as a greeting.

"I think there's no one else here. It's peaceful."

Both of us listen to the silence for a moment longer before Tinsae asks:

"Could you tell me something about your home?"

Oh. 

She smells my hesitation and says: "If it helps, would you like me to tell you about mine?"

I shrug. Why not.
        
She gives me a smile. "I wasn't always familiar with this sort of lifestyle. This is…" She gestures at the marble pillars, the ridiculous fountains. "This was not me."

It's certainly not me, either. "What was you?"

A shadow crossed her face before she gives me a small smile. "Nothing like this. I had to work to gain everything I am today."
        
A part of me wants to ask her for an elaboration but the look on her face tells me that she wouldn't feel comfortable to tell me. At least, not yet. So, I merely nod. "But you made it this far."
        
A wide, satisfied smile pervades her features. "Yes. I did."

She remains silent, looking at the flowerbed. Almost all of the flowers have withered away, leaving behind only dead petals and barren leaves. 

*fake_choice
    #Tell her something truthful because something in me wants to tell her.
        I believe that she told me the truth about her past. A part of me wants to share her a truth about mine. The first thing that pops into my mind is my family.
        
        "I love my family."
        
        Tinsae gives me a warm look. "Your face warms up when you talk about them. Even when it's painful, the pain is coated with love."
        
        I… suppose that's nice to hear.
    #Tell her something to make her pity me. That might prove useful for me later.
        *set tinsae_manipulator true
        *set manipulative +2
        *if tinsae_family_truth
            She already knows the fate of my family. I will have to paint their fate even more sad. A small part of me tightens as I prepare myself to use the fate of my family to manipulate her. However, it's necessary.
        *if not(tinsae_family_truth)
            "My whole family is dead." Is the truth but it's served in a way that benefits me. She will take pity on me.
            
        With a shaky breath I say: "I… saw my father beheaded." I try to distance myself from the words leaving my mouth, as if it happened to someone else. It was not my father whose head fell flat on the ground. 
            
        Her eyes widen as her lips open slightly. "By Isis, I… I'm so sorry. I…" She searches for words, unable to find them. "I…"
        
        I shake my head. "It is what it is."
    #I don't feel comfortable to share anything yet.
        She nods in understanding before the denying words even leave my lips. "You don't need to tell me anything you're not ready to share."
        
A thought pops into my head: she must have information, she's a merchant and she travels. I have money, I could pay for her services.

*fake_choice
    #Ask her to locate my siblings.
        *set tinsae_siblings true
        "Could you… find somebody for me? Two of them."
        
        *if tinsae_family_truth 
            Tinsae nods. "I'm already on it."
        
            My mouth drops. "You are?"
        
        *if not(tinsae_family_truth)
            "Who is it that you're looking for?"
            
            "My younger siblings. Two of them. They were taken as… slaves." I spit the word out of my mouth.
            
            She nods, her brows furrowed. "I understand. I'm so sorry."
            
            I shake my head. I don't need any pity, I just want the twins found.
            
        She gives me another nod, this time spiced with a warm smile. "I have connections all over Rome. I will find them." She sounds so sure of it. It almost makes me believe her. 
        
        "I… thank you."
        
        "Thank me when I find them."
        
        "Don't you want any compensation or—"
        
        She raises her hand and shakes her head. "I'm not doing this for money. Your happiness is enough."
        
        I open my mouth to say something. But nothing comes out. Why would she think that highly of my happiness? How… weird. 
    #I won't ask her to look for my siblings.
        "What is it? You look like you want to say something."
        
        I shake my head. I don't know what I'm going to do to find them but I don't want to ask anyone about it.

Silence falls between us. Only the sounds of the still on-going dinner party reaches our spot. By the sound of it, there's a shouting match going on. Those are the kinds of competitions where no one wins. 

Then, I feel Tinsae's gaze on me. 

I turn to look at her, almost asking what's wrong, but she speaks first: "I hope you don't mind me saying but… Your eyes." She peers at me. At my eyes, to be more exact. The inspection almost makes me ask if I have pink eye before she continues: "They are beautiful."

"They are?"

"The color is spectacular." She inspects my eyes and I find myself unwilling to look away.

*fake_choice
    #"They are so blue, like two striking sapphires."
        *set eyecolor "blue"
    #"That hue of green is heavenly, it reminds me of jade."
        *set eyecolor "green"
    #"I've never seen such an enchanting shade of gray, it's akin to anthracite."
        *set eyecolor "gray"
    #"Such an exquisite shade of brown, it's warm and inviting like amber."
        *set eyecolor "brown"
        
She keeps looking at me. She keeps looking into my eyes, peering into my soul. All that leaves my lips is: "Oh." I don't think I've ever been complimented in such a way. 

The stunned air of 'oh' leaving me merely makes her smile. "I'm only speaking the truth. I hope someone has informed you of the beauty of your eyes in the past."

*fake_choice
    #"Well, no." Not at all.
        "That is a pity. They ought to be disciplined for such a misconduct."
        
        Just as I'm trying to come up with some sort of a comeback, she smiles and looks toward the dining room.
    #"Your eyes are quite beautiful, too."
        They are beautiful. They remind me of chestnuts. The tone is cozy. 
        
        She smiles. "How nice of you. Thank you." She seems pleased as she looks toward the dining room.
    #Remain silent. I don't know what to say to compliments.
        I really don't know what to say when someone compliments me. One time, when I was complimented for my new haircut, I denied the praise by saying that they're wrong and my hair is awful. I'm not that bad anymore but… it's still quite difficult.
        
        She gives me a small frown. Just a tiny one, to make me feel like she knows how difficult this is for me. "If you don't mind, I would like to compliment you more in the future."
        
        "I… well. Alright."
        
        "Thank you." The frown melts away from her face. Instead, there's the same, warm smile before she looks toward the dining room.
    #Remain silent. I have no words.
        I just nod at her words but remain otherwise silent. 
        
        She shakes her head with a small smile. Her gaze shifts toward the dining room.
"Someone has passed out by the door frame."

I peek to see the truth of her words. Two slaves have gathered around to poke someone lying on the ground. 

"When people start losing their consciousness, it means it's time to leave." She flashes me a smile. "Good night."

"Good night." I answer and look after her.

What an eventful evening this has been.

And it doesn't even end there. I need to make haste so I can join Samhain.
*page_break
*goto_scene chapter4_samhain ch4_samhain