" Glaucus, put on your shoes,” Milo said. I ignored him. Men scurried here and there on a hundred unknown errands, or grunted under the burden of massive clay amphorae and wooden chests. Some sat mending nets, others untangling lengths of rope. The reeks of fresh pine pitch, salt, and sweat fought each other, no one winning.
“Glaucus…” Milo’s hand fell on my shoulder and gave me a little shake.
“Oh! Sorry. Were you talking to me?”
“Were you listening?” he countered. “If you won’t answer to ‘Glaucus,’ why insist I call you by that name? "

― Esther M. Friesner , Nobody's Prize (Nobody's Princess, #2)