"You know, I make a mean steak." He said, popping the cork off and setting it down to the left of his plate. Her steak smelled delightful, he admitted privately. Venison steak was new to him, but he would try anything once. "Maybe once this whole thing is over I'll invite you over to a cookout."  

He admired her for how much she had things so well ordered here. He could survive like an automaton if he were alone in the wilderness, but he found he was a bit too disorganized when out of service to have such a spiffy place as Sabatine's. Maybe he wasn't giving himself enough credit, but he was impressed nonetheless. When he tastes the steak and drank a bit of the beer, he whistled appreciatively. "On second thought, I'll need to invite you over to cook [i]with[/i] me. This is officer good." 

It was partially a joke. Officer good was a stupid, half ironic slang-term for anything above expectations. But his praise was honest. 

"Something else to focus on? I'll take that as hyperbole, Sab. From what I know, he's the kind of man who needs exile or death before you can take your eyes off of him. I think he thinks the same of us, or he soon will. I don't know anyone else who can catch his attention, unless he's harassing other legionnaires you know of." 

Her mouth was full, but she shook her head, waving her fork around as if to go 'you know what I mean.' He smiled to himself and took another sip of the beer. His mind went from the food to the fight they had ahead. No way in Hades were they solving this without more death. It made him oddly nostalgic. 

"You know, on my first tour my team got a call to this cog. A friendly. It had been hit abaft and boarded. They needed a senator for information. They didn't tell us the details. We had unus nulla to kill any invader on board. Nothing we never did before, but when we got in, we were told they were dissimulo persona-" Military slang for impersonating a roman legionnaire. "- and it seemed to check out. They wore our colors but had hand-me down arms, something a barbarian might carry. We hit them hard. I remember taking my cultro to a throat, and he spoke something in our language when he died." Tiber seemed to pause, as if in thought. He sighed and shook his head once. "Anyway, we rounded the last of them up and took the senator. We were not given leave to let any of them live, other than him. Before we followed orders, one of the men told us we were tyrants. He called us fools. We found out right there, we had been killing romans. The senator had fled Terra with his personal retinue and with whatever arms they could find. The damage to their ship wasn't from invaders, but terran batteries in their escape. We were bringing back a senator for execution, not saving him. I just... I don't know. It stuck with me, after that. I guess I'm just glad I know I'm fighting with and for something I really agree with." 

There was an awkward silence for a few moments, and Tiber broke it with a chuckle. He gestured with the earthenware bottle. "Sorry, beer's strong. Must be hitting me already."