#;marcus

Marcus stretches his arms above his head, the harsh warmth from the summer sun making him more tired than he cares to admit. It has taken him a little bit to adjust to all the changes. After all, when he died, Rome was nothing like it is now. It shouldn't surprise him. It's been over 1,000 years after all. He will be the first to admit that he isn't pleased by how much Christianity has swept through his city, his country, his home. What remains of what was is nothing but dust, nothing but something for people to oooh and aaah over.

It hurts, seeing the ghosts of his past like this, but what can he do? He often finds himself at the Colosseum or standing on the Via Appia, thinking about his life before this. What was once so great is, well...still great in its own way. Italy is the home of art and music and science. So many great minds travel from across the world to be in Rome, yet it isn't the same. It's a distinct kind of melancholy that has settled within him, but he knows he should just be grateful to be alive.

Marcus doesn't really want to be here, even though he knows he ought to be. Whatever it is Varro is saying to Hannibal right now, well, Marcus feels as if it'll mean nothing, in the end. He can feel it brewing, another war, another massive loss of life, another way to show that, ultimately, Rome is superior to any other civilization at the moment. However, he is still exhausted from the first war with Carthage. Need there be another right this second? How many times must he fight Carthage to prove a point?

He sighs a little, hardly listening to the conversation at hand. Something about leaving Saguntum and of course Hannibal would never do that, etc, etc. Marcus glances over at Hannibal, blinks when he sees he's looking right back at him. He scowls a little, looks back at the wall for a moment, glances back over..it's like a little game, isn't it?

       “Honestly, it’s my sister that frequents these parts more than me,” Marcus mused, Lana, his twin, was more social than he was. But that was entirely his own fault, although Marcus had no problem actually talking to people or even being social, he wasn’t as flamboyant as the other wolf. The tall dark haired man shifted back on his stool, bringing his beer to his lips and taking a generous drink before watching the bartender take a patron who seemed far too drunk to begin with. Lana had always been the party person and although Marcus had his fair share of parties under his belt, they were well before the modern times had complicated his life. 

         Business was different now, it was all online and even though Marcus prided himself on keeping up with the way things changed over the times, it was a frustration that would never cease to complicate his business. Importing and exporting, various items, it was his main goal to get the young generations to find interest in his products. Being stressful, he found himself at a bar that had been in the area for some time, when Lana had been more frequent with her visits between aiding this rebel group she found herself so preoccupied with in New Orleans, she had said this very bar was a wonderful spot to hang out.

              “What about you? Come here often?” Rusty, he was so fucking rusty, after the words left his lips Marcus almost immediately regretted them, so he washed them down with another drink, finishing off his beer and pushing it to the edge of the bar for another. “A shot of Scotch, too, dry--- Do you want anything?” He offered as a cover up, glancing to the person he’d tried to make conversation with. 

Marcus had made the executive decision to take the day off. Mostly for the fact that he feels like he's been running nonstop for years. But here they are now, well into Augustus' reign, and he feels better than ever. All he can hope is that it stays this way. Rome has a penchant for descending into chaos. He doesn't know how much more of that his body can take.

So he is down at his villa by the Tiber river, sitting out in his garden, just enjoying the sun. It's a nice day. It would be a shame to waste it on fucking politics. He thinks he's had enough politics to last him another lifetime and then some. Marcus closes his eyes and settles back in his seat when suddenly a shadow falls across him.

"Well, that is what happens when you try to break into the home of Rome himself."

Marcus seems oddly detached as he stares down at the body of the would be intruder. He has plenty of enemies in the Senate, plenty of men who would be happy to see him dead, but don't they know that they cannot kill him? Even if they meant to go after Priscilla to get at him, which is equally as stupid, it wouldn't amount to anything. Death doesn't touch either of them and it never will.

Marcus' hands are bloody. Remus' muzzle is, too. He sighs, as if this is all just one big inconvenience, which it is. He would have to lug the body all the way down to the Tiber now. Then clean up. Then hunt down the miserable idiot who tried this in the Senate meeting tomorrow.

— Ophelia to Marcus

Marcus snorts, leaning against the railing of the balcony, staring out at the Palatine hill. It's late. What few people remain are either drunk or insomniacs. There's a couple just underneath them, hanging off of each other and laughing. He tries to say that he isn't jealous whenever he sees people happy together, but the truth is that he is. The man he loved has long been buried along with everyone else. Such is the plight of immortality, he supposes, but that doesn't mean he has to like it.

"Should I take that as a compliment?" he muses, glancing over at Ophelia. She is rather strange, isn't he? He doesn't recognize her accent, he had to buy clothes for her from the market, she appeared like a goddess out of nowhere, yet claims that she isn't one. He doesn't know how much he believes that yet, but he'll find out one way or another.