( Licyn nudged his companion, tipping his head in the direction of a certain Captain Maximilian Hawk. What lovely memories he has, of the Dawn's Reach Company, and not a lick of them on his face as he smiles and winks. )

What are your thoughts on pillow talk, love?

On second thought, ( Licyn says, adjusting his toga with what he hopes is a rakish grin, and what rather is, only he's feeling like he's been dropped back into hot water and no one bothered checking if he could swim ) maybe it was a touch ambitious to propose attending a... what is this called?

( he gestures to the courtyard and garden around them, the gathering at the cusp of dusk where they're meant to intercept and prevent some minor senator's daughter from making free with some other minor senator's daughter. It's tedious, but in no sense does he want anything he's heard of the Hand or its head to be leading the politics around here. Why not sway a vote in Messalina's favour? Slow down the dead in whatever way works for long enough they can get out the Gateway and let the Storms take what remains?

Pardon him. He's displeased at finding himself here again, only he doesn't remember leaving, and the span of missing time is deeply unsettling now that he's not attempting to get laid in the mercantile parts of town. )

A garden party?