<div align="center"><strong><em>Autolycus - Infirmary</em></strong></div><hr/><br/>Autolycus finished washing Sorcha, his back carefully turned to Galo. It seemed he did not want to look his assistant in the eyes. He knew what this looked like. Him having his way with the obviously drugged slave, forcing her... Though that wasn't what it had felt like at all. He wondered if he should explain? And then he decided no, he didn’t want to share. He had so little privacy, so little to call his own. This was a little something he wanted to keep to himself, cherish even... Damnit! If only he hadn’t been caught like this! If only he'd locked the door! His head shot up then, as he heard the slaves approaching outside and he groaned inwardly. Please no... Thankfully Galo saw fit to send the slaves away. A small mercy. Did that mean his assistant was giving him the benefit of the doubt...?<br/><br/>He put down the bucket and sponge to pick up the tunic that Galo delivered to him a moment later, meaning to dress the Pict, when her eyes flew open, wide and fearful. She grabbed his arm and she spoke to him in rough, foreign tones. Scared, worried about something only she could see.<br/><br/>“Shhh… Easy…” he said in a deep, soft voice. “Just a dream… nothing to worry about…”<br/><br/>This sometimes happened. It was the poppy seed, it had a way of making people see strange disturbing things. An unfortunate side-effect, but relatively harmless at least. He caught Sorcha as she threatened to collapse against the table and slowly lowered her until she was lying down. “I’m going to dress you now… alright?” He said as he lifted her head off the table and pulled the tunic over it. “There… just putting your arms through the sleeves...” he kept talking as he dressed her. Explained everything he was doing. Of course she would not understand his words, but he hoped the sound of his voice might calm her a little.<br/><br/>When she was dressed, the rough cream-coloured tunic too-large on her small frame, he took a moment to consider the jar of herbs Galo had seen fit to bring him. Herbs that would stop a woman conceiving. Was that some none-too-subtle way of telling him just what a fool he was!? Yes, he would have to prevent the Pict from getting with child, would have to mix something into her drink, but it could wait a little while at least.<br/><br/>As he looked away from the jar he noticed the strange swirls Sorcha had drawn on the table… Drawn in blood - some significance there. Swirls. A kind of monster. Was she trying to tell him something? She’d tried to draw something before, he remembered. So, there was a will to communicate. Good.<br/><br/>Finally, he turned to Galo, who’d finished dealing with the other slave and now stood watching the woman on the table with a troubled expression. “She’ll be fine,” he said, in that same carefully neutral voice from before. “Poppy seeds and mandregona, solved in alcohol and vinegar. The usual mixture,” the one he always used for putting people to sleep. “Though… I’ve never quite experienced these side effects. I’d heard stories about mandrake of course, you know the ones,” a smirk, he’d always been skeptical about those stories. “I never thought…” he frowned, his eyes on the Pict once more as he pondered the implications.<br/><br/>He shook his head then, dismissing the thought, and slipped an arm around Sorcha. He pulled her arm around his neck and began to lift her off the table, meaning to get her into that cage.<br/><br/>“A hand… if you will?”