Cesare Borgia: Invisibility
"Grazie, grazie mille" - he briefly looks up from the book Donna Isabel gave him - "what could be so interesting about invisibility?" He shrugs. He's got enough on his hands with Miquel whom he sees just fine unless Miquel doesn't want to, doesn't want to be seen or wants to be a pest, so the idea holds no great allure, not to him, whose greatest joy was to be seen, actually, at times and in places no-one expected him, and where his appearance put men to quaking. Granted, there was a degree of invisibility involved, making his return to the stage all the more dramatic, but that was just maschera, a play of masques and shadows. No great magic there.

And Your Honour wouldn't like to sneak up on your opponents, unseen, unheard? The swift judgment of invisible feme?

"Mh?" Cesare turns to Miquel. "No. No, why would I. Isn't that why I've got you?"

Miquel sits back and folds his hands in what seems to be a hoodie pouch, face too serene for his own good.

"I suppose it's a good thing you are invisible, now that your dress sense has firmly embraced the hideous," Cesare remarks. It sounds almost sweet.