Inimitable Livers
Team: Sneaky Little Scribes
Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa frowned as he rubbed at a smudge on his ornamental breastplate. His body slave had fallen ill on the journey to Antirhodos, and he didn’t trust these dark-skinned barbarians with his formal Augusticlavia tunic. Studying his reflection in the circle of polished bronze, he ran his hands over the embroidery and smoothed down his hair. He allowed himself a terse nod at the precise presentation.
A scrap of papyrus on the table caught his eye as he turned. There had been rumors among the men that Marcus Antonius was planning some sort of grand soiree. Agrippa was honored to receive a personal invitation from the General, a Triumvir of the Roman Republic, but political mingling at this level made him nervous. Witty repartee
