( by now, they are beginning to notice, there is truly no limit to what the gods will bring to mytilene, and it is not gorgo's job to judge what can and will be useful to the city at length. there are other people, most of them men, far out of her circles, who make these decisions. she is here to learn, to gather information like flowers. and, naturally, to show their hospitality.

as well as to secure her own reputation and status as the preferred singer of the city, of the whole island.

currently, though, hostility is radiating off the woman who has surely been touched by some god, with those ears and the tail, so hospitality seems a far-fetched thing to send for and to show and to give her. regardless, gorgo beckons for her father who comes over and carefully hands her an amphora, starkly decorated, that she takes and holds out in offer. )

Welcome to Mytilene. This is Lesbos in the great Empire of Hellas. My name is Gorgo. ( the large flask is extended another inch, almost like an intangible nudge. ) Please receive our gift of gratitude.

( the olive oil, virgin and fine in quality, sloshes around loudly inside. )