Now wasn’t that a pleasant thought. How many times since the battle had someone given him an odd look in the hallways? How often had the conversation faltered, strangely, while someone was reporting to him? Seriously, did anyone know? He’d not thought to keep track of them, there were a few that he kept revisiting, but, still. It must have been at least some of them. Probably more than he’d realized. Certainly more than he saw.

The warmth and comfort of his wife’s lap is an odd place to feel lonely.

“I see what you mean, but, surely we can’t keep this up? I’ve tried so hard to let the crew know that my door is always open for their concerns. At this rate, the only ones who’ll ever come to see me are the ones wanting a chance to cross swords. Supposing I have a bad day? Supposing I don’t win hard enough? They’ll be calling [i]me[/i] a liar. Or worse, an imposter.”

Just imagine it; bound hand and hoof, pleading tearfully to the faces of friends, comrades, family, to no avail. Locked away, in the darkest depths of the brig, until you admit you were never Dolce in the first place...he hugs Vasilia's arms tight, and she in turn squeezes him close, till he could hear the reassuring thump-thump of her heart. Steady. Firm. [i]Real.[/i] He lets out a breath he doesn't remember holding in. "You see, ma'am, I don't mean to tell you how to make your movie, but surely it's not worth jeopardizing the whole voyage over?"