Sleeping Dragon chosen paths

At the unamused mention of Rome, Scythia's heart lamented. She could have launched into a dissertation of Paralía and its charms at a length to rival that of the Iliad but —the country was no longer hers to defend. Subsequently, the insult was excused with a familiar amusement. Softening her eyes on the sable woman, the Odýsseia treated her as she did her own friends. Of course with the exemption of one they were all distrait Roman elites with a penchant for blood gaiety —especially it seemed, when the wound was inflicted into an allies' back. 

With an altogether amiable expression, she advised the woman with sweetened tone. "Good aegis, all Romans are chroniclers," she cooed. "Yet, I assure you that your Domina would be remiss to know you allowed one as skilled in stratagem and venery as I to eschew her collection." Quavering her head at the woman in the way one might while facetiously correcting a child, she coiled her tail near before sitting.

Perhaps when Scythia grew more accustomed to the culture she would revel in the chance to simply advise someone to fuck the hell off without the use of verbal masks and arabesques. For now though, she would go the Roman way.