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The spearman saunters up to you, arrogance smeared over his blunt features. He reminds you of every overconfident man you’ve had to disarm, rolled into one person - you’ve hardly met the man but feel that you can predict the twists and turns of your negotiation with perfect foresight.
He grotesquely eyes your figure through your robes, doing his best to imagine you naked. He doesn’t even bother to hide his ogling. You sigh inwardly in irritation, even as you flash him a winning smile. You don’t have the energy to loathe every indiscreet man - Hellas is full of such brutes, and you’d drive yourself right into Tartarus if you carried around every such slight on your back. Swallowing your pride as a noblewoman, you trade a flirtatious greeting with the moron, and his eyes open in surprise before gaining a predatory, hooded quality - he is clearly disbelieving of your apparent attraction, and nonetheless, delusionally confident in his ability to seduce you.
Repeating his earlier demands, he announces loudly, “Silver, food or comp –“ but you cut him off with a musical giggle, saying:
“I choose your company!” and smiling coquettishly. “I am Pylia, and this –“ you wave behind you, “is my traveling troupe!” The spearman stares at you flatly for a long moment before you realize that he doesn’t understand. You helpfully continue:
“We are performers, hoping to entertain Lord Damachides with our newest original play, and thereby win acclaim.” At this, he shrugs, and grunts vaguely in understanding.
“Silver, food or -“
“Strong-greaved Danaan, I choose your company - you must have misheard me previously?” You catch him eyeing his own tunic and exposed calves, before he nods. He begins to unfashion his tunic, but you hold up a hand in alarm.
Picking apart his surly attitude with a few “innocent” questions, all but batting your eyelashes, you knock him off-balance. With five minutes, he has agreed to escort you to the Damachidean Palace in exchange for expounding on his life story, in return for several "favors" that you will obtain from his liege Lord. You learn that his name is Sinis - you go so far as to promise him a visit amongst the hedges, but you suspect that even he doesn’t really believe this. It’s enough for him to bathe in your beauty for a few hours and to regale his friends with false tales of his “conquest” later. His squadmates sullenly tramp along behind your chorus, probably more out of boredom than loyalty. Through your discourse, Sinis reveals himself as a true unfortunate, barely better than one of the Κενταυροι, an ignorant savage trained to hold a spear and look menacing, but without the drive or will to better himself. He is rolling along the trail of his own life, with no understanding of the world or those in it. You honestly cannot imagine such a perspective, but thankfully, you don't need to.
>more coming
