Let's Kill Caesar

6: An Election of Dumb-f**kery

Endymion fled from the villa as soon as Aurora's rosy fingers brushed the skies of Rome. With the revelations of his father's political ambitious projections upon him, the young senator had many things upon his mind. One of which was that the elections were to be held in three weeks and thus far Endymion had very few allies to call upon.

So he began where he always did - Cicero. Who better to ask for advice than the renowned orator herself. Well, if she would let him. They were by no means friends, but far from enemies; although few were in the confidence of Alma Cicero so Endymion was as well off as anyone. Well, anyone but Clodius.

The streets were mostly bare as he walked down the street, hands in pockets and lips pink with the chill of the autumn winds. Endymion couldn't help the nausea that turned his stomach as he prepared to call upon the distinguished senator. Cicero was as intimidating as Pompey, weaving her words into strings of sentences too rich for Endymion's ears.

"I thought the walk was longer," he mumbled as the jasmine-woven gates of the Cicero villa rose from seemingly nowhere. Endymion tried to slow his steps but the god Janus wanted an early beginning to the novice senator's inevitable failure.

Within a few paces he was at the tall gate, mouth open like a cod. The titanium gate was covered in spiralling coils of jade leaves and jasmine blooms, their perfume thickening the air. Endymion pressed his lips together already deflated. His eyes fixed on the doorbell but his hand was paralysed with panic. It felt too fast, too...risky. Here a barely instated citizen stood in brown corduroy trousers, baggy tucked in shirt and obnoxious leather suspenders, and to top it off his worn laced boots. A joke. A joke with nothing to offer anyone, especially Cicero.

Endymion bowed his head and went to turn back down the street, when the gate snapped open.

"You have two words to explain why you're standing outside my house with that fucking pout on your face."

Alma Cicero crossed her arms, the rim of her glasses glinting in the honeyed light. The young woman cocked her head, a wry smile spreading her lips. She snapped her fingers. "Well Brutus? Spit it out - I need to know if it's worth my time."

"Doubt it." Endymion cringed as the words flew from his mouth. Great. Fucking great.

A small chortle. Endymion's head snapped up as Cicero beckoned him forward. "Come on in Brutus - you've caught my intrigue."

The senator blinked with surprise. "Really? I don't-"

"Just get in. Don't hesitate - I don't want you to get stuck in my gate. Fucking expensive to fix."

Endymion jogged across the threshold, head spinning as Cicero smirked at his bewildered gape. "Shut your mouth and come inside."

Alma didn't wait. No, in her particular hasty fashion she strode forward past the clipped bushes of jasmine, stone fountains and romantic benches through the open glass doors.

Endymion couldn't help the exposure he felt in her presence. She dominated the morning in her bold navy suit and crimson tie. Her ruddy skin was flushed with the morning cool and a sense of serious calm emanated from the very crease of her eyes.  All that seemed not-so-put together were her long cascading curls all askew and frizzy; but there was something so organised even in the chaos of the silky locks.

His feet scuffed on the landing of the house, heart leaping anxiously about his chest like a dolphin. Endymion's brain reeled as he stepped into Cicero's abode. He hadn't expected for her to even talk to him, let alone invite him inside.

The youth's thumbs tugged on the straps of his suspenders as Alma led him past crisp white walls and framed speeches of all the cases she had triumphed in her debut as a lawyer; too many to count. It was embarrassing to see how many were hung around. She was a mere two years the senior of Endymion's brother Aelius, yet her achievements were countless. Trophies of unyielding ambition. Ambition borne of a novus homo, a 'new man', a simply-raised girl from nowhere.

Endymion followed her through a spotless kitchen to a study piled with papers and empty coffee mugs.

"It's a little messy I'll admit," Cicero smiled, pushing two binders off an armchair. "Please, sit."

Endymion obeyed without a thought, his body all-too accustomed to the commanding tune of Alma's voice. The young woman managed to unearth a swivel chair and sat herself, one leg folded to the side. She looked like a scene from one of the many Cicero fanfictions floating around the cyberspace, all harsh lines, groomed clothes and 'masculine vibes'.

"Well Brutus?" A nudge of her chin. "Why were you prowling about my home?"

Endymion's throat bobbed. "It's stupid, really. I'll just be wasting your time."

Alma snorted, silver-blue eyes gleaming. "Like I said; you've intrigued me."

She straightened. "This isn't about yesterday, is it?"

A shudder ran down Endymion's spine as a vein in her temple pulsed.  "No! No, it's nothing like that."

Her shoulders fell a little. The man drew in a sharp breath, dragging a hand down his face. "It's awkward..."

Cicero huffed and jumped to her feet. "It's too early to listen to useless prattle, Endymion. I'm going to fetch us coffees-"

"Actually, I prefer tea?"

"Not today. Anyway, when I return you'll spit out exactly what you dragged yourself here to tell me."

With that said she left.

After a long minute of stationary awkwardness Endymion resulted to admiring the house. Sure, it wasn't as large as the others, but there was an elegant charm to it.

It didn't follow the traditional model of smooth pillars and rigid planning. No, the villa was mostly open and covered in wide, tall windows that framed the beauty of the gardens outside and spilled in light enough for Apollo himself.  Small carvings framed the top of the walls, scenes of a gallant past and memories of the life Alma discarded. Shelves overflowing with books covered the house, along with ill-placed wood-wick candles scented like a sweet shop.

There were no trophies of war or tributes to a predecessor; she had no one to follow up. The only sign of tribute was the shrine of Minerva set up elaborately in the corner of the study.

"Here."

Endymion flinched as a hot mug was pressed into his hand and Cicero swept past him. She pointed to a coaster on the accent table beside the armchair and seated herself back on her chair.

Endymion carefully placed the drink down and crossed his arms. Alma was staring at him, slurping obnoxiously on her coffee. Fuck. She's waiting on me. The youth scratched the nape of his neck. Still silence. He couldn't help but freeze beneath the weight of her gaze. Endymion dreaded to imagine how she made her eyes fall on Clodius.

Another slurp, narrowing of eyes. Get some balls and talk.

Endymion wet his lips. "I need advice."

Cicero grinned and drummed her fingers against the ceramic. "Advice? I'm flattered. Go on then."

Endymion sucked in a breath. He still couldn't believe she would hear him out. She was certainly a peculiar Roman for that. She had nothing to gain - it seemed on the cusp of erratic for a senator such as herself.

"I am running for a magistracy this month - I was hoping you could offer some help."

"Huh." Cicero took another sip of coffee. "Are you certain you wish to enter now?"

Endymion frowned. "Of course. Why not?"

He was met with cruel laughter. Alma shook her head, a broad sneer twisting her lips.

"Because," she drawled, "Caesar is returning. This will be full of tumultuous dumb-fuckery, believe you me."

"It always is." Endymion couldn't stop the fear from seeping into his words. He blinked in surprise as Cicero grabbed one of his knees, all her mirth vanished in an instant.

"No, Endymion. Not like this."