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"So war," Octavius muses, sipping Jed's piss-beer, "bloody stupid, isn't it?"
"Reckon so," Jedidiah agrees, sniffing at the strange red brew Octavius had passed him.
"What else shall we do with our time, then? Rape, pillage?"
Jed shakes his head. "Naw. Gigantor would get mad." He snaps his fingers, "I got it! We'll join forces and gang up on the meanies with the sharp pointy—"
"No," Octavius vetoes immediately, rubbing a spot on his backside where a particularly mean spear had stayed lodged for a few days back in the Campaign of '04.
"I don't hear you comin' up with any good ideas," Jed mutters, swigging down the awful wine stuff.
"Well, as is proper after a successful campaign, we could have a Triumph, a five course feast, and after a visit the vomitorium… we could retire to my bed chamber."
"A vomi-what?"
Octavius raises an eyebrow at where Jed's attention is focused. "What kind of uncultured imbecile are you? A vomitorium, of course."
"Hey," Jed says, lips forming into a pout, "you know I don't like it when you call me names, 'Tavius."
Octavius puts a hand on his shoulder. "I apologize." He let the hand move down Jed's shoulder to come rest on his chest. "In truth, the most important part of the offer was the last."
Jed perks up. "Bed chamber, huh?"
Octavius nods, casually laying his hand on his sword in case Jed doesn't take kindly to the suggestion.
"Will you let me wear the toga?"
Octavius drops a hand down onto Jed's hip, fingers working underneath the gun belt. "Only if you behave yourself."
"Oh-ho."
But they don't even make it back to the bed chamber before both the gun and sword have clattered to the floor, and the toga not long after it.