Marcus sat back in his chair and took the cup. She caught his attention rather more immediately than even when he'd ordered her about, because she spoke. He rarely heard that and once he looked at her more closely he found that the slave who'd been tending to his daughter for years, was now like his daughter, a woman. He let his eyes drift over her figure for a long moment, before saying anything.<br/><br/>"Quick enough," he said, "and well mannered too." He extended his left hand, moving it to her leg, and letting it travel upwards on her thigh underneath her clothing, he held it there for a moment before removing it. Having a wife and family had not curbed the solider in Marcus, and the habits, and appetites remained. He supposed that his daughter could do without her slave for a little while, given the number he owned.<br/><br/>"Sit here, girl," he said, indicating the foot of his chair, "you can refill my cup, and in the meantime, tell me what you think of the fighters, I wouldn't trust one of the foreign slaves to tell me a showman from a lamb, but you're Roman born aren't you?" it was not a question, but a recollection, and of course, it was obvious she was not foreign. Asking a slave's opinion was not something Marcus often did, mostly because he wasn't interested, but the girl had interested him. He couldn't recall having taken interest in her since she was young, as a girl she'd been with his daughter, and therefore quite lightly treated for a slave, but as she grew older, she faded into the background. Marcus wondered why it had taken him so long to notice her appeal.