You can’t help but smile, you haven’t seen your maker for at least 600 years. More like 650, when you think on it.
“That is what generally happens when one is cursed with eternal life,” you answer him. “You look as fine and as filthy as you did on that day in Gaul when you snack into my tent and bit me,” you continue while looking him up and down. You then turn and walk back to your couch, assuming he is following.
He is following, though seems a bit hesitant to do so. “I was a bit ‘down in the dumps’”, he says, “quite literally actually, when I picked your scent from the edge of town. I hoped you wouldn’t mind me coming by.” He’s now holding up the bouquet of roses with a questioning smile on his face. “I got you these down the road.”
You take the flowers from him and head to the dining room in search of a vase for them, with him still following. You think to yourself how this man who used to walk as a god upon this earth is now shuffling his feet behind you. Though you aren’t surprised, he has become more and more timid as the centuries passed. You remember how he became too self conscious to speak to the queen of France.
“I’m happy to see you again after so long,” I try and make him more at ease. “Can you believe that the last time we were together this part of the world has’t even been discovered yet.” This is what passes for small talk among immortals.
“Yes... I mean no actually,” he suddenly sits down on a chair and grabs an apple from a fruit basket on the table. “I was actually wandering these lands ten thousand years before I ever met you.” He has somehow left nothing of the apple in a matter of seconds and already reaching for the next one. “Though I suppose it was a nice surprise for you. A whole new continent for you to explore.” You sense a shift in the air as he bites down into pear now. “Was it enjoyable for you Gaius?”
You stiffen at the sound of your old name, the one you aren’t remembered for. “It was, sire.” You find yourself on your knees. He looks almost as surprised as you are.
“I have fasted for almost 150 years, the last 63 of them I spent in the dessert, away from most temptation.” His hand, still thick with the smell of fruit, was now brushing the hair on your head. “And then I smelled you my love, my Caesar.”
You sink lower still. The small man still has power over you. You will spend the next week, year or century at his side until he grows tired of you again.