Myrine listens to the banter with equanimity, with one exception.<br/><br/>When Argentum shoots her a brief look, speaking of, "Curious and bemusing perspectives," her eyes slash over to him.  She looks accusatory and keen.<br/><br/>And Catulus, in turn, looks suspiciously at her.<br/><br/>A moment later, both of them are composed again - two more statues in a Grecian gallery, he the consummate elder statesman with rumpled toga and chiseled features, she the sleek barbarian, represented in the height of primal sensuality.  As the Heroes talk, they listen.  Their thoughts are as mysterious as any piece of marble.<br/><br/>Argentum mentions the Brute, and wins a ready nod from Catulus.  The old hero's focus returns from whatever deep quarter of thought he had been staring at, coming instantly bright to Argentum's words.  He is gathering his toga, advancing to put himself between Myrine and the Heroes, at the center of their assemblage, when Sybil asks about her skirts.<br/><br/>"Yes, certainly, Sibyl." Catulus responds, then bends half of his sober mouth down low.  "This is assuming that Marissa makes herself available to repair it.  But if not, I am sure Leo can be convinced to repair it for you.  I hear that he is quite proficient in matters of fashion."<br/><br/>Then the scroll on the Brute fills his hand as he gathers it from Argentum.  He unrolls it, but before his eyes can make more than the most passable scan of its surface, he lifts them from it.  They rise with a brooding dim to their gray.  His shoulders roll back, the majestic of his fine robes shifting on his firming frame, before speaking in a solid tone.<br/><br/>"Myrine.  Do excuse us.  You may avail yourself of our lodgings for the night."<br/><br/>Myrine is stalking for the downstairs passage before he is half done.  The slink of her slides by the Heroes, whetting their senses with a hint of aromatic heat, as if myrrh and musk, sand and sun were infused in her body.<br/><br/>She crooks a finger for Galla to follow, then glides down the stairs.<br/><br/>After she departs, Catulus shakes his head as if to clear it of a dull pain.  He dips his eyes to the scroll.  But while his features do not rise again, and still bear the heavy marks of concern in their staid substance, his voice is warm and collegial again when he speaks.<br/><br/>"So, dear friends - how do you propose to locate and capture this bestial rogue?"<br/>