[As he speaks, Romulus tries not to frown. What a cunning god. Positing himself as someone who cares and worries for someone as lowly in the court like Romulus, and trying to pry for weakness from him by guising his words as concern. It's tricky to navigate, to be sure. Refuse and he'll be made out as an ingrate who spurred the kindness of a greater god. Accept, and his wounds will be found, and his position will liquefy just like that.]
[After all the trouble Remus goes through to ensure they're not reduced to nothing, too.]
[But, Romulus isn't the god of warfare and strategy for nothing.]
[Head still bent, he shakes his head.]
None of this blood on me is mine. I do not bleed like a mortal, after all.
[Well, he'll start bleeding all over the place if he stays here any longer, but a lie is not a lie until it's found out.]
And... as for cleaning. I would not want to sully your beautiful hands with myself. To stain you would be a dishonour I would never be able to repent from.
[There. Maybe that'll stroke his ego enough to let him off?]
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