milliways_bar | (no subject)

"May I say you have excellent taste in refreshments?" asks a mildly amused, resonant baritone.

It belongs to a tall--nearly six foot six--handsome man with intense green eyes. In fact, other than the ridiculous height, he looks rather Roman.

He indicates her papers. "Managing something, I assume? Nothing else generates that kind of bureaucratic ridiculousness."

"I do not understand the custom of eating thin, stale bread, but, that is what was provided with my cheese."

Her eyes, however, travel from her paperwork, upward. She's seen more than a few Romans in her time...including the legions stationed in her country, and well, of course, her lovers.

A very small smile plays on her face; a dangerous smile.

She props herself up a little more before answering him.

"Managing Egypt," she says with a smile. "The finest nation in the world."

At the dangerous smile, Tavi's stance shifts very, very slightly, from almost (almost) normal to a rather different one. His weight rests on his heels, apparently relaxed, his chin lifted and ever so slightly tilted.

To a human eye, it's a rather challenging and arrogant stance. To the wolf-like creatures he learned it from, however, it's wary respect.

"I will not dispute its status in your world," he says with a smile. "On Earth, I believe? My people are distant kin of the Romans, though our descent diverged from theirs... rather spectacularly."

His expression is more than a little wry.

She's used to arrogance, challenging, and wary respect. Having ended up either overtly or covertly having all of her siblings killed in order to be (and continue to be) queen, people have to make sure to take her very seriously.

"On Earth, yes," she nods, "I can see your Roman features quite clearly. You could easily blend with any of the Romans stationed in my land."

It may be hard to tell if that's a compliment or not, though, she does respect the Romans a lot.

He smiles ruefully. "When I was younger I kept having to ask any Romans I met around the Bar if they were Roman or Aleran. It proved... interesting, both here and at home."

Indicating a nearby chair, he asks politely, "May I sit?"

She gestures, nodding. "You may."

Then she thinks about his statement. "Have you met my Mark Antony? He is the finest example of Rome."

Well...that's what their propaganda says, at any rate.

Tavi sits down, stretching his legs out in front of him, ankles crossed, relaxed and confident at once.

"The first Roman I met, actually. I thought he was Aleran until I asked--it was rather confusing for me at the time." He smiles at the memory. "I was reading Gaius Julius' book on the Gallic Wars that day. It's part of our ancient history, as good as lost--you can imagine what it was like to meet a man who knew him personally."

A very slow smile spreads across the Queen's face.

"You are speaking to a woman who knew him very personally," she says, slowly. "My heart was broken the day he was murdered. It was my dear Antony that put me back together."

She touches one of the papyri fondly.

"They are both shining examples of men."

Tavi's eyebrows go up, and he sits up a little, interest in his eyes. "Really?" He looks--not quite happy, not quite admiring, but... fascinated, perhaps, is the word. And to an extent like he hadn't realized it before now.

He's done his research, since having access to the Bar, on just what the Romans were like, and who they were. He knows who Cleopatra is--and for him, they've talked before.

"It's an honor, my lady," he says, with all proper courtesy. "Gaius Tavarus of Alera."

She deserves that kind of respect from him.

She smiles softly, as she nods, setting aside her paperwork.

"Yes, they are both dear to my heart, as, I hope I am, and have been to theirs."

She inclines her head a little. Enough for a proper greeting.

"Cleopatra VII Philopator, Queen and Pharaoh of Upper and Lower Egypt, The Living Isis..., well, the titles do run on, don't they?"

She's a playful thing. Dangerously playful.

"I'm sure you are," he says with a faint smile.

And then his smile turns very, very rueful. "They do. Granted, Alerans have, for the most part, avoided the overload of titles--although they've managed to curse me with one."

He scowls a little. That 'Magnus' at the end of his name was so very much not his idea.

That letter, well, she knows the underlying thing is that he needs more troops sent to Athens...but, it's got his undying affection in it.

She makes sure to hold on to that. It helps her hold on to her kingdom.

"I think, out of all mine, I prefer Living Isis the best. Antony has been named Dionysis, so, it is fitting."

Tavi's expression is wry, with tired fondness for his people and their insanity.

As though he weren't the worse of the lot.

"We don't have gods as the Romans did, and technically I have no titles beyond being First Lord."

Then, with a roll of his eyes, he adds in exasperation, "They just decided to add Magnus to my name, and somehow all my persuasion couldn't get it out of the legal records. I still refuse to sign with it, but..."

For all his arrogance and knowledge of his own cleverness, he's surprisingly humble at times.