Blooper

I want to introduce you to a character that got cut. His name is Crispus, a blond-haired Legionary with a fashion sense and a big mouth on him. He was one of my favorites. However, the RO count was already too damned high, had to let him go. Parts of him are now Quinn and Niall. It's like they cannibalized my poor boy. Anyway, here is his introduction scene that I wrote a couple of years ago.

As I'm making my way out of another training day of fighting the damned dummies, a man appears out of nowhere next to me. 

A Legionary. What does he want from me?

There's a lock of blond curly hair falling on his freckled face. He swipes the hair away before clearing his throat. As he shifts his gaze to the ground I follow his lead along his sinewy shins all the way to the flashy green-red socks. The socks have gaping holes for his well-maintained toes.

I look at him with a blank expression. Why is this unknown man showing me his socks? Furthermore, why does he look so proud of them?

"Well? What do you think?" He urges me to share my thoughts. However, as he reads my blank expression with little difficulty, he rolls his eyes.

"These, my friend, are the latest trend among the Praetorian Guard." He stretches his other foot at me as if a closer look would convince me of their worth.

    #"They're... nice."

        "Nice?" He sighs as he lowers his leg back down. "I suppose I can live with that." He nods with some approval as his eyes stroll down my figure.

        *if clothes = "cheap"

            "Oh my, those are some rags." His approval quickly shifts into the complete opposite as he takes a hold of my worn tunic to investigate it.

            "Hey!"

            "The textile is so old it's almost crumbling to the touch."

            "What? No it's not!" I peer at the cloth with a deep frown. I know it's not the poshest of clothes but it's not [i]that[/i] bad.

            "I should give you mine."

            "I don't need your charity."

            "Green is your color, let me get back to it."

            This man doesn't listen to me at all! Anger starts to take over my confusion.

        *if clothes = "fine"

            "That's quite an impressive apparel." Without warning, he takes a hold of my tunic to investigate it.

            "Hey!"

            "Such a great quality of needlework." He mumbles to himself, ignoring my protests. Why is this man fondling me with no shame? Anger starts to take over my confusion.

    #"Praetorian Guard?"

        "Oh, right. You're an Auxiliary. Briton?" 

        I nod, not really sure if I should entertain this conversation.

        "The Praetorians are the imperial guard. They're the best of the best." He halts for a brief moment, a wistful look on his face. "They can just sit back in Rome and relax. While we're stuck here in the North freezing our asses off."

        "Excuse me?" 

        "Sorry, sorry. You live even norther than this place!" He raises his hands in defense. "You must've gotten used to it. However, one could get used to the smell of shit but it doesn't make it less shit."

        "Excuse me!"

        There's a shit-eating grin on his face now. "You're too easy to tease. It's your grim face that just begs for it. But I'm sorry, I shouldn't offend your homeland."

        Now he's insulting my face. Anger starts to take over my confusion before I even have time to register his apology.

    #Just stare at him.

        I really have no words for this man.

        After a moment of standing on his one leg, he cusses and throws his hands in the air in an extravagant gesture.

        "Why must I suffer here with these uncultured swine?"

        "Are you calling me a pig now?"

        "Yes, yes I am, and every other man in this blasted Legion."

As I'm left to figure out who this man is, why is he bothering [i]and[/i] insulting me, he provides me with his name, as if I needed it.

"I'm Crispus."

Before I can answer, or require information on why I should care about his name, we're interrupted.

*page_break

"Soldiers."

A deep voice calls to us, drawing both of our attention to the imposing man clad in Centurion's apparel. 

Marcus. 

Is he following me? I frown in instinct.

His eyes find mine but his usual sadistic smile is gone. Instead, there's a hint of annoyance.

"Lord Centurion." Both of us salute him.

His attention is drawn to the blond man next to me. In his feet, to be more exact.

“What in Jupiter’s name are those ridiculous pieces of garment, soldier?"

“Why, Lord Centurion, these are my socks.” 

“...Take them off." 

I start sidestepping away as the two Romans battle over fashion statements. "Stay where you are." A stern command makes me stop on my feet.