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Mihail did not want for much in life. Physically, he had most everything he could desire, and that which he did not possess, he could generally obtain with ease. In truth, the only way in which his life was lacking was emotionally. It was not in the way he seemed to avoid feeling for most things - his overwhelming apathy had always been something with which he was more than comfortable - but it was the absence of long-lasting romance which often tugged at his heart and left him worrying for his solitude. He had little trouble falling into fleeting relationships and overnight affairs, and in the past seven years of his life had slept with myriad men and women who took his fancy, but the vast majority of those romances never lasted, and those that did never seemed to progress past such early and insignificant stages.
His sister was part of the reason for his continuing lack of a fixed romance, although that may well have only been a side effect of Mihail's apparent inability to claim fault for himself. Every time he had brought her a new lover with intentions of taking the relationship further, she had rejected them. It was hardly as if it were a common occurrence: only once or twice a month did he appear before the woman with a lovelorn expression on his face and the name of some new lover on his lips. But they were never good enough. They were never cunning enough, nor useful enough, and they were undoubtedly never noble enough. Nethis desired that the youngest Thanasi marry well, and she was unlikely to let him have his way if it didn't suit the family.
Nonetheless, he still had intentions to ask for her blessing this day.
For the past few weeks, he had been infatuated with a pretty redheaded girl he'd met in the marketplace when picking up his most recent order of red-and-black arrows. He'd flirted with her only since she too had been browsing the fletcher's stall, and she'd fluttered her bright eyelashes at him, gestured towards his personally designed arrows and commented that he must have been quite skilled to require such a customised weapon. It had hit that streak of vanity within him, his lips had twitched into a prideful smirk, and he had informed her he was the most accomplished archer in Athenia - as per that competition he had attended and subsequently won only six years prior, for Colchis had held no such competition as of yet - and then shared with her both his name and title. Hers was Halkyone, and she hailed from some Drakos province he had never visited. He had thought her charming.
In the fortnight which followed, she and Mihail had shared a bed more than once. He had run his thin fingers through her auburn locks, and she had tangled hers within his black tresses, and there had been no doubts as to the budding romance between them. It was not quite love, but the kind of teenage infatuation which continued well into one's early twenties, and it was the cause of Mihail's visit to his sister's chambers this early Teleos morning. Two weeks was hardly enough to consider marriage, but he had not come with marital intentions that day; instead, he wished to request that she might let them court more officially, rather than the whispered affair they presently continued.
Whenever such matters arose, Mihail made a habit of dressing up. He was of the general impression that Nethis would take more kindly to her little brother's flights of fancy if he made an effort to look imposing, something which had been the case since his youngest years (although, truth be told, a feminine eight-year-old in elegant clothing may well have been the least intimidating thing imaginable). It was less complicated now that his features had matured and were cut harsher, and the sharp lines of his crimson chiton paired with the dark makeup which rimmed his eyes and the silver-snaked circlet which rested in his curls brought a new coldness to his appearance which could have frightened plenty - just not Nethis.
His sandals slapped with the confident rhythm of someone who had planned their actions far in advance against the dark stone floor of the Thanasi home as he crossed from his chambers to his sister's, his beloved Draco perched comfortably on his shoulders. Having spent so much of his childhood by her side, Nethis had never been far away, and the journey across the second-floor to her room was never substantial, had there not been a sudden distraction in his path. It would have been a lie to say Mihail was familiar with every employee in his family's service, nor could he name every guard, even if some of them were so delightfully gorgeous they seemed unforgettable, but this man exiting Nethis's rooms he was sure he had never seen in his life, and he was quite sure he was neither guard nor suitor (else his sister deserved a talking-to equal to those he received whenever he approached her about a potential partner as little imperious as this man).
"Who are you?" he demanded, his tone unapologetically accusatory and hands now resting daintily on his waistline as he glared at the unknown man. Mihail did not tend to trust those who wandered the halls of his home unannounced, and particularly not when they had been dealing with the most cunning of his sisters. "I am a Lord of this house, and I do not take kindly to strangers."
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Mihail did not want for much in life. Physically, he had most everything he could desire, and that which he did not possess, he could generally obtain with ease. In truth, the only way in which his life was lacking was emotionally. It was not in the way he seemed to avoid feeling for most things - his overwhelming apathy had always been something with which he was more than comfortable - but it was the absence of long-lasting romance which often tugged at his heart and left him worrying for his solitude. He had little trouble falling into fleeting relationships and overnight affairs, and in the past seven years of his life had slept with myriad men and women who took his fancy, but the vast majority of those romances never lasted, and those that did never seemed to progress past such early and insignificant stages.
His sister was part of the reason for his continuing lack of a fixed romance, although that may well have only been a side effect of Mihail's apparent inability to claim fault for himself. Every time he had brought her a new lover with intentions of taking the relationship further, she had rejected them. It was hardly as if it were a common occurrence: only once or twice a month did he appear before the woman with a lovelorn expression on his face and the name of some new lover on his lips. But they were never good enough. They were never cunning enough, nor useful enough, and they were undoubtedly never noble enough. Nethis desired that the youngest Thanasi marry well, and she was unlikely to let him have his way if it didn't suit the family.
Nonetheless, he still had intentions to ask for her blessing this day.
For the past few weeks, he had been infatuated with a pretty redheaded girl he'd met in the marketplace when picking up his most recent order of red-and-black arrows. He'd flirted with her only since she too had been browsing the fletcher's stall, and she'd fluttered her bright eyelashes at him, gestured towards his personally designed arrows and commented that he must have been quite skilled to require such a customised weapon. It had hit that streak of vanity within him, his lips had twitched into a prideful smirk, and he had informed her he was the most accomplished archer in Athenia - as per that competition he had attended and subsequently won only six years prior, for Colchis had held no such competition as of yet - and then shared with her both his name and title. Hers was Halkyone, and she hailed from some Drakos province he had never visited. He had thought her charming.
In the fortnight which followed, she and Mihail had shared a bed more than once. He had run his thin fingers through her auburn locks, and she had tangled hers within his black tresses, and there had been no doubts as to the budding romance between them. It was not quite love, but the kind of teenage infatuation which continued well into one's early twenties, and it was the cause of Mihail's visit to his sister's chambers this early Teleos morning. Two weeks was hardly enough to consider marriage, but he had not come with marital intentions that day; instead, he wished to request that she might let them court more officially, rather than the whispered affair they presently continued.
Whenever such matters arose, Mihail made a habit of dressing up. He was of the general impression that Nethis would take more kindly to her little brother's flights of fancy if he made an effort to look imposing, something which had been the case since his youngest years (although, truth be told, a feminine eight-year-old in elegant clothing may well have been the least intimidating thing imaginable). It was less complicated now that his features had matured and were cut harsher, and the sharp lines of his crimson chiton paired with the dark makeup which rimmed his eyes and the silver-snaked circlet which rested in his curls brought a new coldness to his appearance which could have frightened plenty - just not Nethis.
His sandals slapped with the confident rhythm of someone who had planned their actions far in advance against the dark stone floor of the Thanasi home as he crossed from his chambers to his sister's, his beloved Draco perched comfortably on his shoulders. Having spent so much of his childhood by her side, Nethis had never been far away, and the journey across the second-floor to her room was never substantial, had there not been a sudden distraction in his path. It would have been a lie to say Mihail was familiar with every employee in his family's service, nor could he name every guard, even if some of them were so delightfully gorgeous they seemed unforgettable, but this man exiting Nethis's rooms he was sure he had never seen in his life, and he was quite sure he was neither guard nor suitor (else his sister deserved a talking-to equal to those he received whenever he approached her about a potential partner as little imperious as this man).
"Who are you?" he demanded, his tone unapologetically accusatory and hands now resting daintily on his waistline as he glared at the unknown man. Mihail did not tend to trust those who wandered the halls of his home unannounced, and particularly not when they had been dealing with the most cunning of his sisters. "I am a Lord of this house, and I do not take kindly to strangers."
Mihail did not want for much in life. Physically, he had most everything he could desire, and that which he did not possess, he could generally obtain with ease. In truth, the only way in which his life was lacking was emotionally. It was not in the way he seemed to avoid feeling for most things - his overwhelming apathy had always been something with which he was more than comfortable - but it was the absence of long-lasting romance which often tugged at his heart and left him worrying for his solitude. He had little trouble falling into fleeting relationships and overnight affairs, and in the past seven years of his life had slept with myriad men and women who took his fancy, but the vast majority of those romances never lasted, and those that did never seemed to progress past such early and insignificant stages.
His sister was part of the reason for his continuing lack of a fixed romance, although that may well have only been a side effect of Mihail's apparent inability to claim fault for himself. Every time he had brought her a new lover with intentions of taking the relationship further, she had rejected them. It was hardly as if it were a common occurrence: only once or twice a month did he appear before the woman with a lovelorn expression on his face and the name of some new lover on his lips. But they were never good enough. They were never cunning enough, nor useful enough, and they were undoubtedly never noble enough. Nethis desired that the youngest Thanasi marry well, and she was unlikely to let him have his way if it didn't suit the family.
Nonetheless, he still had intentions to ask for her blessing this day.
For the past few weeks, he had been infatuated with a pretty redheaded girl he'd met in the marketplace when picking up his most recent order of red-and-black arrows. He'd flirted with her only since she too had been browsing the fletcher's stall, and she'd fluttered her bright eyelashes at him, gestured towards his personally designed arrows and commented that he must have been quite skilled to require such a customised weapon. It had hit that streak of vanity within him, his lips had twitched into a prideful smirk, and he had informed her he was the most accomplished archer in Athenia - as per that competition he had attended and subsequently won only six years prior, for Colchis had held no such competition as of yet - and then shared with her both his name and title. Hers was Halkyone, and she hailed from some Drakos province he had never visited. He had thought her charming.
In the fortnight which followed, she and Mihail had shared a bed more than once. He had run his thin fingers through her auburn locks, and she had tangled hers within his black tresses, and there had been no doubts as to the budding romance between them. It was not quite love, but the kind of teenage infatuation which continued well into one's early twenties, and it was the cause of Mihail's visit to his sister's chambers this early Teleos morning. Two weeks was hardly enough to consider marriage, but he had not come with marital intentions that day; instead, he wished to request that she might let them court more officially, rather than the whispered affair they presently continued.
Whenever such matters arose, Mihail made a habit of dressing up. He was of the general impression that Nethis would take more kindly to her little brother's flights of fancy if he made an effort to look imposing, something which had been the case since his youngest years (although, truth be told, a feminine eight-year-old in elegant clothing may well have been the least intimidating thing imaginable). It was less complicated now that his features had matured and were cut harsher, and the sharp lines of his crimson chiton paired with the dark makeup which rimmed his eyes and the silver-snaked circlet which rested in his curls brought a new coldness to his appearance which could have frightened plenty - just not Nethis.
His sandals slapped with the confident rhythm of someone who had planned their actions far in advance against the dark stone floor of the Thanasi home as he crossed from his chambers to his sister's, his beloved Draco perched comfortably on his shoulders. Having spent so much of his childhood by her side, Nethis had never been far away, and the journey across the second-floor to her room was never substantial, had there not been a sudden distraction in his path. It would have been a lie to say Mihail was familiar with every employee in his family's service, nor could he name every guard, even if some of them were so delightfully gorgeous they seemed unforgettable, but this man exiting Nethis's rooms he was sure he had never seen in his life, and he was quite sure he was neither guard nor suitor (else his sister deserved a talking-to equal to those he received whenever he approached her about a potential partner as little imperious as this man).
"Who are you?" he demanded, his tone unapologetically accusatory and hands now resting daintily on his waistline as he glared at the unknown man. Mihail did not tend to trust those who wandered the halls of his home unannounced, and particularly not when they had been dealing with the most cunning of his sisters. "I am a Lord of this house, and I do not take kindly to strangers."
As a young boy, Damocles had learned of the importance of image and appearances. Sure, his teacher may have not inspired any love or grace, with his gnarled limbs, pale-skin, thin-features and dark eyes projecting a haunting image if ever, but that was the point. Had he kept his once-elegant and fashionable form, one of the kindly, gentle-smiled and soft-faced, pink-lipped court scribe, his ruin would have been certain. His crimes were great and weighed heavily against the crown royal, but still Plaeguis eluded death. His robes may have been tattered and threadbare, but better a perpetually scratchy rag than a swung sword downcast his neck. The virtues of appearance might have seen less-than-important to some, but the old man thought otherwise, making this principle just one of many he shared with his apprentice.
Plaeguis may have donned the image of a senile, crooked, and feeble, street-fairing mendicant, but his student had advocated for a slightly different look for himself. Classically tall, dark and handsome; the man who was known as Damocles the Terrible was nothing if not an overwhelmingly attractive man. His heavily marked features were chiseled, his dark hair was rich and thick, and his complexion was olive, yet scar-bound, subtly hinting to his past as a warrior. His commanding height, strong, herculean build, and piercing gray orbs made him an exceedingly imposing person to be around; one that seems to convey the ease of grace and confidence of an experienced leader of men.
Yet, while his authoritative presence easily swayed notice from any room he entertained, his size and shape was not his chief definite feature, for that specific aspect was reserved for his eyes, grey as the iron that was continually mined at his home province. They were precedential and magnetic, ever demanding the attention of any who had made the mistake of staring into those terrifyingly seductive silver orbs. It wasn’t for any good reason that his epithet was the Terrible. Nevertheless, he figured there was no danger in upkeeping his somewhat famous stare, seeing as he was currently visiting the veritable den of snakes that was the manse of the infamous House of Thanasi.
Much to his surprise, the royal metropolitan residence of the Thanasi was an oddly simple one. After climbing a wide, but brief flight of stone steps, he was led inside a dimly lit, but spacious foyer, sparingly decorated with wall hangings, tapestries, statuaries and frescoes. At the end of this hall was a wooden table, containing an empty offerings plate left mostly for guests. He found this a particularly telling item. It seemed that for as wealthy and grand this ancient brood was, they were not noticeably inclined to host others to their demesne. How fitting however, that those who would adopt the snake as symbol would live lives as solitary as those venomous creatures.
A few servants hurried about, no doubt heading a specific order or command from one of the possible members of the salacious bloodline. He had no knowledge of any company that might appear at him by this hour, seeing as he had been summoned by instructions of the elder witches themselves. He had not received a proper address or name concerning who was his invoker, but that was but a simple, trivial detail that weighed little in his mind. Whether business or pleasure, he had always made space to beguile the machinations of the dark lords and ladies of the Nethisa. And of course he had reason to continue to entertain their delicious intrigues. Proximity to that den of vipers had made him grow and prosper well beyond his regular position, aiding and abetting in his growth as one of Colchis’s premier military minds.
“If it would please you, might you kindly make yourself to mistress’s chamber? I shall guide you.” Contemplated a serving girl of low stature and simple brown locks. She had been shacking like a leaf against wind, no doubt a byproduct of being exposed to some terror or horror convoluted by the vipers of Thanasi. Against her frame, fragile figure, Damocles only held a charming, simple smile and softly placed a hand on her shoulder, calmly setting a humbling air of causality that apparently held her trembling thereafter. “Please, lead away.” He settling whispered as he followed suit and fashioned himself to the second floor of the house in hished, confident strides. Hereforth, the general layout of the manse dramatically changed, becoming a colorful patchwork of paradoxical colors, that seemed to confusingly clash against one another in a rather abrupt manner. Mayhaps, an artist’s touch would have provided for an easier transition, but of course, he was not here for matters of interior design. At long last, he learned who had sent for him, none other than Nethis herself, the unofficial leader of the household.
His meeting with the lady of the Thanasi had been as expected, a dance etched between conspiracy and desire. Surprisingly he had, for the most of it, kept his thoughts and desires to himself, but regaled her with his insight and opinions when asked. He knew better than to intrude on her contemplations in an aggressive way, and so only espoused his stances when asked. In time, he provided her with some updated information about the state of affairs of Magnemea, which he submitted by spoken word of course, knowing that written details could land on dangerous hands. His association with the apparent witch had been indeed profitable, but Damocles was no fool. He knew very well that in the grand scheme of things, he mattered very little to the chief viper of that den of snakes, but that didn’t mean he had to prostrate himself and abide by her every whim. Sure, a better account of his findings would be understood in writing, but he would rather sever his hands than be connected to one of the multiple plots of the mistress of the house. Ultimately, after the better grasp of a hour passed, the towering Captain of the Damned offered his courtesy bows and found reason to leave her presence. Yet, as he left, another one of that brooding line of royals contemplated him.
“Who are you?” inquired the physically contrarian youth against him. He was an odd male, or at least he presumed he was a male. His build was slight and oddly smooth, lacking in the broadness or harshness of soldiers of war. His features were sharp and well-kept, as expected of someone of royal blood and so-called proper breeding, with misty blue eyes and dark, luscious locks of rich hair that came well on his head. He was garbed in a simple outfit, fitting well with the minimalism of the manse, though an incidentally threatening snake was perched close by. Had these iridescent and craven assailants of viciousness been so oddly attracted to snakes so as to make them pets and thralls? It would seem in character in hindsight, but nevertheless, it struck him. Judging by his feminine traits and brooding exterior, Damocles made the bold assumption that he was before none other than Mihail, Nethis's youngest brother, causing the herculean warrior to fill with decadent, and sinful enjoyment. "I am a Lord of this house, and I do not take kindly to strangers." reaffirmed the youth, absolutely confirming his suspicions about him.
To his question, Damocles turned his intense, silver eyes at the pale boy and forcefully emanated a terrifying look of bewildering amusement. His handsome face contorted to a playful grin, capturing the humor he amassed from the unabashedly fey youth. “I am but a man of no consequence.” He began, manifesting forthwith a husky, thick voice that could assuredly pry open a lady’s thighs open in sudden, wanton desire. “Ah! Yet why would we have but be strangers then? I would surely like to be your friend.” he retorted with dry delight in his enthrallingly charming grey eyes. “It is an honor, after all, to be met by the greatly revered Lord Mihail of the ancient, and most royal House of Thanasi!” His tone remained languidly, if not torturously slow, occasionally highlighting his words with a slight, naughty growl so as to captivate the youth’s attention. “Do permit me to stand on ceremony and introduce myself nonetheless, your eminent grace.” Continued the towering, and darkly clad man as he greeted the youngling with a courteous bow of is head, showcasing his almost encyclopedic knowledge of manners and etiquette. “I am Damocles of Magnemea, a mere man with little praise to my name. And I am at your very humble service and behest.”
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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As a young boy, Damocles had learned of the importance of image and appearances. Sure, his teacher may have not inspired any love or grace, with his gnarled limbs, pale-skin, thin-features and dark eyes projecting a haunting image if ever, but that was the point. Had he kept his once-elegant and fashionable form, one of the kindly, gentle-smiled and soft-faced, pink-lipped court scribe, his ruin would have been certain. His crimes were great and weighed heavily against the crown royal, but still Plaeguis eluded death. His robes may have been tattered and threadbare, but better a perpetually scratchy rag than a swung sword downcast his neck. The virtues of appearance might have seen less-than-important to some, but the old man thought otherwise, making this principle just one of many he shared with his apprentice.
Plaeguis may have donned the image of a senile, crooked, and feeble, street-fairing mendicant, but his student had advocated for a slightly different look for himself. Classically tall, dark and handsome; the man who was known as Damocles the Terrible was nothing if not an overwhelmingly attractive man. His heavily marked features were chiseled, his dark hair was rich and thick, and his complexion was olive, yet scar-bound, subtly hinting to his past as a warrior. His commanding height, strong, herculean build, and piercing gray orbs made him an exceedingly imposing person to be around; one that seems to convey the ease of grace and confidence of an experienced leader of men.
Yet, while his authoritative presence easily swayed notice from any room he entertained, his size and shape was not his chief definite feature, for that specific aspect was reserved for his eyes, grey as the iron that was continually mined at his home province. They were precedential and magnetic, ever demanding the attention of any who had made the mistake of staring into those terrifyingly seductive silver orbs. It wasn’t for any good reason that his epithet was the Terrible. Nevertheless, he figured there was no danger in upkeeping his somewhat famous stare, seeing as he was currently visiting the veritable den of snakes that was the manse of the infamous House of Thanasi.
Much to his surprise, the royal metropolitan residence of the Thanasi was an oddly simple one. After climbing a wide, but brief flight of stone steps, he was led inside a dimly lit, but spacious foyer, sparingly decorated with wall hangings, tapestries, statuaries and frescoes. At the end of this hall was a wooden table, containing an empty offerings plate left mostly for guests. He found this a particularly telling item. It seemed that for as wealthy and grand this ancient brood was, they were not noticeably inclined to host others to their demesne. How fitting however, that those who would adopt the snake as symbol would live lives as solitary as those venomous creatures.
A few servants hurried about, no doubt heading a specific order or command from one of the possible members of the salacious bloodline. He had no knowledge of any company that might appear at him by this hour, seeing as he had been summoned by instructions of the elder witches themselves. He had not received a proper address or name concerning who was his invoker, but that was but a simple, trivial detail that weighed little in his mind. Whether business or pleasure, he had always made space to beguile the machinations of the dark lords and ladies of the Nethisa. And of course he had reason to continue to entertain their delicious intrigues. Proximity to that den of vipers had made him grow and prosper well beyond his regular position, aiding and abetting in his growth as one of Colchis’s premier military minds.
“If it would please you, might you kindly make yourself to mistress’s chamber? I shall guide you.” Contemplated a serving girl of low stature and simple brown locks. She had been shacking like a leaf against wind, no doubt a byproduct of being exposed to some terror or horror convoluted by the vipers of Thanasi. Against her frame, fragile figure, Damocles only held a charming, simple smile and softly placed a hand on her shoulder, calmly setting a humbling air of causality that apparently held her trembling thereafter. “Please, lead away.” He settling whispered as he followed suit and fashioned himself to the second floor of the house in hished, confident strides. Hereforth, the general layout of the manse dramatically changed, becoming a colorful patchwork of paradoxical colors, that seemed to confusingly clash against one another in a rather abrupt manner. Mayhaps, an artist’s touch would have provided for an easier transition, but of course, he was not here for matters of interior design. At long last, he learned who had sent for him, none other than Nethis herself, the unofficial leader of the household.
His meeting with the lady of the Thanasi had been as expected, a dance etched between conspiracy and desire. Surprisingly he had, for the most of it, kept his thoughts and desires to himself, but regaled her with his insight and opinions when asked. He knew better than to intrude on her contemplations in an aggressive way, and so only espoused his stances when asked. In time, he provided her with some updated information about the state of affairs of Magnemea, which he submitted by spoken word of course, knowing that written details could land on dangerous hands. His association with the apparent witch had been indeed profitable, but Damocles was no fool. He knew very well that in the grand scheme of things, he mattered very little to the chief viper of that den of snakes, but that didn’t mean he had to prostrate himself and abide by her every whim. Sure, a better account of his findings would be understood in writing, but he would rather sever his hands than be connected to one of the multiple plots of the mistress of the house. Ultimately, after the better grasp of a hour passed, the towering Captain of the Damned offered his courtesy bows and found reason to leave her presence. Yet, as he left, another one of that brooding line of royals contemplated him.
“Who are you?” inquired the physically contrarian youth against him. He was an odd male, or at least he presumed he was a male. His build was slight and oddly smooth, lacking in the broadness or harshness of soldiers of war. His features were sharp and well-kept, as expected of someone of royal blood and so-called proper breeding, with misty blue eyes and dark, luscious locks of rich hair that came well on his head. He was garbed in a simple outfit, fitting well with the minimalism of the manse, though an incidentally threatening snake was perched close by. Had these iridescent and craven assailants of viciousness been so oddly attracted to snakes so as to make them pets and thralls? It would seem in character in hindsight, but nevertheless, it struck him. Judging by his feminine traits and brooding exterior, Damocles made the bold assumption that he was before none other than Mihail, Nethis's youngest brother, causing the herculean warrior to fill with decadent, and sinful enjoyment. "I am a Lord of this house, and I do not take kindly to strangers." reaffirmed the youth, absolutely confirming his suspicions about him.
To his question, Damocles turned his intense, silver eyes at the pale boy and forcefully emanated a terrifying look of bewildering amusement. His handsome face contorted to a playful grin, capturing the humor he amassed from the unabashedly fey youth. “I am but a man of no consequence.” He began, manifesting forthwith a husky, thick voice that could assuredly pry open a lady’s thighs open in sudden, wanton desire. “Ah! Yet why would we have but be strangers then? I would surely like to be your friend.” he retorted with dry delight in his enthrallingly charming grey eyes. “It is an honor, after all, to be met by the greatly revered Lord Mihail of the ancient, and most royal House of Thanasi!” His tone remained languidly, if not torturously slow, occasionally highlighting his words with a slight, naughty growl so as to captivate the youth’s attention. “Do permit me to stand on ceremony and introduce myself nonetheless, your eminent grace.” Continued the towering, and darkly clad man as he greeted the youngling with a courteous bow of is head, showcasing his almost encyclopedic knowledge of manners and etiquette. “I am Damocles of Magnemea, a mere man with little praise to my name. And I am at your very humble service and behest.”
As a young boy, Damocles had learned of the importance of image and appearances. Sure, his teacher may have not inspired any love or grace, with his gnarled limbs, pale-skin, thin-features and dark eyes projecting a haunting image if ever, but that was the point. Had he kept his once-elegant and fashionable form, one of the kindly, gentle-smiled and soft-faced, pink-lipped court scribe, his ruin would have been certain. His crimes were great and weighed heavily against the crown royal, but still Plaeguis eluded death. His robes may have been tattered and threadbare, but better a perpetually scratchy rag than a swung sword downcast his neck. The virtues of appearance might have seen less-than-important to some, but the old man thought otherwise, making this principle just one of many he shared with his apprentice.
Plaeguis may have donned the image of a senile, crooked, and feeble, street-fairing mendicant, but his student had advocated for a slightly different look for himself. Classically tall, dark and handsome; the man who was known as Damocles the Terrible was nothing if not an overwhelmingly attractive man. His heavily marked features were chiseled, his dark hair was rich and thick, and his complexion was olive, yet scar-bound, subtly hinting to his past as a warrior. His commanding height, strong, herculean build, and piercing gray orbs made him an exceedingly imposing person to be around; one that seems to convey the ease of grace and confidence of an experienced leader of men.
Yet, while his authoritative presence easily swayed notice from any room he entertained, his size and shape was not his chief definite feature, for that specific aspect was reserved for his eyes, grey as the iron that was continually mined at his home province. They were precedential and magnetic, ever demanding the attention of any who had made the mistake of staring into those terrifyingly seductive silver orbs. It wasn’t for any good reason that his epithet was the Terrible. Nevertheless, he figured there was no danger in upkeeping his somewhat famous stare, seeing as he was currently visiting the veritable den of snakes that was the manse of the infamous House of Thanasi.
Much to his surprise, the royal metropolitan residence of the Thanasi was an oddly simple one. After climbing a wide, but brief flight of stone steps, he was led inside a dimly lit, but spacious foyer, sparingly decorated with wall hangings, tapestries, statuaries and frescoes. At the end of this hall was a wooden table, containing an empty offerings plate left mostly for guests. He found this a particularly telling item. It seemed that for as wealthy and grand this ancient brood was, they were not noticeably inclined to host others to their demesne. How fitting however, that those who would adopt the snake as symbol would live lives as solitary as those venomous creatures.
A few servants hurried about, no doubt heading a specific order or command from one of the possible members of the salacious bloodline. He had no knowledge of any company that might appear at him by this hour, seeing as he had been summoned by instructions of the elder witches themselves. He had not received a proper address or name concerning who was his invoker, but that was but a simple, trivial detail that weighed little in his mind. Whether business or pleasure, he had always made space to beguile the machinations of the dark lords and ladies of the Nethisa. And of course he had reason to continue to entertain their delicious intrigues. Proximity to that den of vipers had made him grow and prosper well beyond his regular position, aiding and abetting in his growth as one of Colchis’s premier military minds.
“If it would please you, might you kindly make yourself to mistress’s chamber? I shall guide you.” Contemplated a serving girl of low stature and simple brown locks. She had been shacking like a leaf against wind, no doubt a byproduct of being exposed to some terror or horror convoluted by the vipers of Thanasi. Against her frame, fragile figure, Damocles only held a charming, simple smile and softly placed a hand on her shoulder, calmly setting a humbling air of causality that apparently held her trembling thereafter. “Please, lead away.” He settling whispered as he followed suit and fashioned himself to the second floor of the house in hished, confident strides. Hereforth, the general layout of the manse dramatically changed, becoming a colorful patchwork of paradoxical colors, that seemed to confusingly clash against one another in a rather abrupt manner. Mayhaps, an artist’s touch would have provided for an easier transition, but of course, he was not here for matters of interior design. At long last, he learned who had sent for him, none other than Nethis herself, the unofficial leader of the household.
His meeting with the lady of the Thanasi had been as expected, a dance etched between conspiracy and desire. Surprisingly he had, for the most of it, kept his thoughts and desires to himself, but regaled her with his insight and opinions when asked. He knew better than to intrude on her contemplations in an aggressive way, and so only espoused his stances when asked. In time, he provided her with some updated information about the state of affairs of Magnemea, which he submitted by spoken word of course, knowing that written details could land on dangerous hands. His association with the apparent witch had been indeed profitable, but Damocles was no fool. He knew very well that in the grand scheme of things, he mattered very little to the chief viper of that den of snakes, but that didn’t mean he had to prostrate himself and abide by her every whim. Sure, a better account of his findings would be understood in writing, but he would rather sever his hands than be connected to one of the multiple plots of the mistress of the house. Ultimately, after the better grasp of a hour passed, the towering Captain of the Damned offered his courtesy bows and found reason to leave her presence. Yet, as he left, another one of that brooding line of royals contemplated him.
“Who are you?” inquired the physically contrarian youth against him. He was an odd male, or at least he presumed he was a male. His build was slight and oddly smooth, lacking in the broadness or harshness of soldiers of war. His features were sharp and well-kept, as expected of someone of royal blood and so-called proper breeding, with misty blue eyes and dark, luscious locks of rich hair that came well on his head. He was garbed in a simple outfit, fitting well with the minimalism of the manse, though an incidentally threatening snake was perched close by. Had these iridescent and craven assailants of viciousness been so oddly attracted to snakes so as to make them pets and thralls? It would seem in character in hindsight, but nevertheless, it struck him. Judging by his feminine traits and brooding exterior, Damocles made the bold assumption that he was before none other than Mihail, Nethis's youngest brother, causing the herculean warrior to fill with decadent, and sinful enjoyment. "I am a Lord of this house, and I do not take kindly to strangers." reaffirmed the youth, absolutely confirming his suspicions about him.
To his question, Damocles turned his intense, silver eyes at the pale boy and forcefully emanated a terrifying look of bewildering amusement. His handsome face contorted to a playful grin, capturing the humor he amassed from the unabashedly fey youth. “I am but a man of no consequence.” He began, manifesting forthwith a husky, thick voice that could assuredly pry open a lady’s thighs open in sudden, wanton desire. “Ah! Yet why would we have but be strangers then? I would surely like to be your friend.” he retorted with dry delight in his enthrallingly charming grey eyes. “It is an honor, after all, to be met by the greatly revered Lord Mihail of the ancient, and most royal House of Thanasi!” His tone remained languidly, if not torturously slow, occasionally highlighting his words with a slight, naughty growl so as to captivate the youth’s attention. “Do permit me to stand on ceremony and introduce myself nonetheless, your eminent grace.” Continued the towering, and darkly clad man as he greeted the youngling with a courteous bow of is head, showcasing his almost encyclopedic knowledge of manners and etiquette. “I am Damocles of Magnemea, a mere man with little praise to my name. And I am at your very humble service and behest.”
Mihail enjoyed sycophancy. He liked to see others cower before his traditionally unimposing appearance, and he relished the rush of power which burst through him at the knowledge that another was forced to treat him with such undue respect solely because he bore the name Thanasi. It was not often that he commanded such respect on his own (typically, it was thanks to the presence of Nethis or some other more unnerving member of his family that they seemed fearful of him, although most tended to be unaware that he too was capable of harm if he so willed it) and the way this stranger embellished his name made his pride flutter like his heart did whenever he encountered someone he thought worth his attention. For a moment, all trivial thoughts of petty romance with which he had planned to bombard his sister were forgotten, laid aside in favour of a burst of unadulterated arrogance.
He drummed his neat-painted fingernails on his hips, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards into a satisfied smirk. Regardless of his flattery, the man was not bad to look at either, and the youngest Thanasi's gaze drifted over his body, tongue flickering out to run over his lower lip. He was more than a little handsome, and the way he bore his teeth in that cocky smile affected Mihail in a way he did not quite wish to share. He emitted a light hum of appreciation, stepping forward with an outstretched hand, fingers tilted downwards so as to indicate he awaited a kiss, eyes half-closed as he looked up at the man in that naturally condescending manner of his.
"Damocles of Magnemea," he repeated, unsure if he'd heard the name even in passing. He was not unintelligent, and he tended to remember most names he came across, but this was not one he was too sure he had heard. "Little praise and no consequence is correct. I have not heard of you, and I do not care for friendships. I was not raised to trust and befriend any which man who offers me flattery." To do so would have been nothing short of sheer stupidity, for many attempted to take advantage of the royal houses of Greece, and not every nobleman was granted with great enough wit to recognise such plots.
Still, Mihail supposed his eldest sister must have placed some degree of favour upon this man if he had so easily wandered into her chambers and emerged seemingly unharmed and unaffected. It would not do to reject him entirely when he seemed at least somewhat willing to act in honour of the Thanasi family - not to mention his looks were appealing enough that the young lord did not desire him permanently removed from his sight so hurriedly. He gave him another glance, although this one was more fuelled by suspicion than lust, then spun on his heel and began in the opposite direction down the hallway, gesturing behind him to ensure he was followed as obviously implied. "Come."
It was not far to his own chambers. They were half-hidden away in an awkward corner of the archontikó, where Mother had once thrown him amidst his sisters so that they might occupy themselves with him instead. He never had minded so much as one might expect, for he had been more than happy to spend his hours surrounded by those sisters who loved him rather than others who did not, and, now older, he enjoyed the solitude its distance from most of the household oft provided him. Mihail was unsure what his objective was with this Damocles, but he was feeling kind enough to invite him to his own room for a blend of interaction and interrogation. It was not an uncommon tactic for getting what he needed out of people, and what he needed on this day was a little more information as to what his sister had been discussing with this man (not to mention it was an opportunity to stare at him further).
"Wine," he called out to one of the servants as they crossed his path, tilting his head towards Damocles as if to make clear that he now had a guest and would require more than the usual quantity of drink. "The good one, hm? Not that thin pisswater my brother likes." Dysius clearly had never developed the same taste for alcohol as Mihail, and, perhaps ironically, seemed to prefer the simultaneously more feminine and noble version of the drink, watered-down until one could barely taste the delicious bitterness beneath. It was barely enough to put one in the inebriated state of mind that he so enjoyed.
He did not speak until he reached the door to his room, pushing it open and gesturing for Damocles to follow. As was the case in the rest of the mansion, one could tell the difference between his personal and the household's generic taste in a single glance: he favoured elegance in his decor - blackened shades combined with those dark crimsons of his family's crest, a serpentine influence more than a little noticeable. Mihail dropped himself onto a luxuriously cushioned kline, momentarily leaning across to allow Draco to slide from his shoulders and along his arm onto a table decorated with a collection of cosmetics, the bottles opened and half-used, not yet tidied away despite their owner's inclination towards excessive cleanliness.
"Sit," he demanded, waving a hand at a seat opposite his own, his attention still mostly on the serpent, watching Damocles through those thick eyelashes of his, the smile on his face a blend of flirtatious and suspicious. "Now, tell me, Damocles..." He savoured the name for a moment, crossing one leg over another as he considered what to say, impatiently glancing over to the door as if to see if that godsforsaken wine had arrived yet. "You are at my service, and you wish to be my friend. A tad contrary, do you not think? I am not in the habit of offering favour without receiving something in return, and what I like best is information. Tell me why you were visiting my sister? And then, perhaps, show me why I should trust anything you tell me today. I do not have time for false intelligencers nor fake flatterers."
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Mihail enjoyed sycophancy. He liked to see others cower before his traditionally unimposing appearance, and he relished the rush of power which burst through him at the knowledge that another was forced to treat him with such undue respect solely because he bore the name Thanasi. It was not often that he commanded such respect on his own (typically, it was thanks to the presence of Nethis or some other more unnerving member of his family that they seemed fearful of him, although most tended to be unaware that he too was capable of harm if he so willed it) and the way this stranger embellished his name made his pride flutter like his heart did whenever he encountered someone he thought worth his attention. For a moment, all trivial thoughts of petty romance with which he had planned to bombard his sister were forgotten, laid aside in favour of a burst of unadulterated arrogance.
He drummed his neat-painted fingernails on his hips, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards into a satisfied smirk. Regardless of his flattery, the man was not bad to look at either, and the youngest Thanasi's gaze drifted over his body, tongue flickering out to run over his lower lip. He was more than a little handsome, and the way he bore his teeth in that cocky smile affected Mihail in a way he did not quite wish to share. He emitted a light hum of appreciation, stepping forward with an outstretched hand, fingers tilted downwards so as to indicate he awaited a kiss, eyes half-closed as he looked up at the man in that naturally condescending manner of his.
"Damocles of Magnemea," he repeated, unsure if he'd heard the name even in passing. He was not unintelligent, and he tended to remember most names he came across, but this was not one he was too sure he had heard. "Little praise and no consequence is correct. I have not heard of you, and I do not care for friendships. I was not raised to trust and befriend any which man who offers me flattery." To do so would have been nothing short of sheer stupidity, for many attempted to take advantage of the royal houses of Greece, and not every nobleman was granted with great enough wit to recognise such plots.
Still, Mihail supposed his eldest sister must have placed some degree of favour upon this man if he had so easily wandered into her chambers and emerged seemingly unharmed and unaffected. It would not do to reject him entirely when he seemed at least somewhat willing to act in honour of the Thanasi family - not to mention his looks were appealing enough that the young lord did not desire him permanently removed from his sight so hurriedly. He gave him another glance, although this one was more fuelled by suspicion than lust, then spun on his heel and began in the opposite direction down the hallway, gesturing behind him to ensure he was followed as obviously implied. "Come."
It was not far to his own chambers. They were half-hidden away in an awkward corner of the archontikó, where Mother had once thrown him amidst his sisters so that they might occupy themselves with him instead. He never had minded so much as one might expect, for he had been more than happy to spend his hours surrounded by those sisters who loved him rather than others who did not, and, now older, he enjoyed the solitude its distance from most of the household oft provided him. Mihail was unsure what his objective was with this Damocles, but he was feeling kind enough to invite him to his own room for a blend of interaction and interrogation. It was not an uncommon tactic for getting what he needed out of people, and what he needed on this day was a little more information as to what his sister had been discussing with this man (not to mention it was an opportunity to stare at him further).
"Wine," he called out to one of the servants as they crossed his path, tilting his head towards Damocles as if to make clear that he now had a guest and would require more than the usual quantity of drink. "The good one, hm? Not that thin pisswater my brother likes." Dysius clearly had never developed the same taste for alcohol as Mihail, and, perhaps ironically, seemed to prefer the simultaneously more feminine and noble version of the drink, watered-down until one could barely taste the delicious bitterness beneath. It was barely enough to put one in the inebriated state of mind that he so enjoyed.
He did not speak until he reached the door to his room, pushing it open and gesturing for Damocles to follow. As was the case in the rest of the mansion, one could tell the difference between his personal and the household's generic taste in a single glance: he favoured elegance in his decor - blackened shades combined with those dark crimsons of his family's crest, a serpentine influence more than a little noticeable. Mihail dropped himself onto a luxuriously cushioned kline, momentarily leaning across to allow Draco to slide from his shoulders and along his arm onto a table decorated with a collection of cosmetics, the bottles opened and half-used, not yet tidied away despite their owner's inclination towards excessive cleanliness.
"Sit," he demanded, waving a hand at a seat opposite his own, his attention still mostly on the serpent, watching Damocles through those thick eyelashes of his, the smile on his face a blend of flirtatious and suspicious. "Now, tell me, Damocles..." He savoured the name for a moment, crossing one leg over another as he considered what to say, impatiently glancing over to the door as if to see if that godsforsaken wine had arrived yet. "You are at my service, and you wish to be my friend. A tad contrary, do you not think? I am not in the habit of offering favour without receiving something in return, and what I like best is information. Tell me why you were visiting my sister? And then, perhaps, show me why I should trust anything you tell me today. I do not have time for false intelligencers nor fake flatterers."
Mihail enjoyed sycophancy. He liked to see others cower before his traditionally unimposing appearance, and he relished the rush of power which burst through him at the knowledge that another was forced to treat him with such undue respect solely because he bore the name Thanasi. It was not often that he commanded such respect on his own (typically, it was thanks to the presence of Nethis or some other more unnerving member of his family that they seemed fearful of him, although most tended to be unaware that he too was capable of harm if he so willed it) and the way this stranger embellished his name made his pride flutter like his heart did whenever he encountered someone he thought worth his attention. For a moment, all trivial thoughts of petty romance with which he had planned to bombard his sister were forgotten, laid aside in favour of a burst of unadulterated arrogance.
He drummed his neat-painted fingernails on his hips, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards into a satisfied smirk. Regardless of his flattery, the man was not bad to look at either, and the youngest Thanasi's gaze drifted over his body, tongue flickering out to run over his lower lip. He was more than a little handsome, and the way he bore his teeth in that cocky smile affected Mihail in a way he did not quite wish to share. He emitted a light hum of appreciation, stepping forward with an outstretched hand, fingers tilted downwards so as to indicate he awaited a kiss, eyes half-closed as he looked up at the man in that naturally condescending manner of his.
"Damocles of Magnemea," he repeated, unsure if he'd heard the name even in passing. He was not unintelligent, and he tended to remember most names he came across, but this was not one he was too sure he had heard. "Little praise and no consequence is correct. I have not heard of you, and I do not care for friendships. I was not raised to trust and befriend any which man who offers me flattery." To do so would have been nothing short of sheer stupidity, for many attempted to take advantage of the royal houses of Greece, and not every nobleman was granted with great enough wit to recognise such plots.
Still, Mihail supposed his eldest sister must have placed some degree of favour upon this man if he had so easily wandered into her chambers and emerged seemingly unharmed and unaffected. It would not do to reject him entirely when he seemed at least somewhat willing to act in honour of the Thanasi family - not to mention his looks were appealing enough that the young lord did not desire him permanently removed from his sight so hurriedly. He gave him another glance, although this one was more fuelled by suspicion than lust, then spun on his heel and began in the opposite direction down the hallway, gesturing behind him to ensure he was followed as obviously implied. "Come."
It was not far to his own chambers. They were half-hidden away in an awkward corner of the archontikó, where Mother had once thrown him amidst his sisters so that they might occupy themselves with him instead. He never had minded so much as one might expect, for he had been more than happy to spend his hours surrounded by those sisters who loved him rather than others who did not, and, now older, he enjoyed the solitude its distance from most of the household oft provided him. Mihail was unsure what his objective was with this Damocles, but he was feeling kind enough to invite him to his own room for a blend of interaction and interrogation. It was not an uncommon tactic for getting what he needed out of people, and what he needed on this day was a little more information as to what his sister had been discussing with this man (not to mention it was an opportunity to stare at him further).
"Wine," he called out to one of the servants as they crossed his path, tilting his head towards Damocles as if to make clear that he now had a guest and would require more than the usual quantity of drink. "The good one, hm? Not that thin pisswater my brother likes." Dysius clearly had never developed the same taste for alcohol as Mihail, and, perhaps ironically, seemed to prefer the simultaneously more feminine and noble version of the drink, watered-down until one could barely taste the delicious bitterness beneath. It was barely enough to put one in the inebriated state of mind that he so enjoyed.
He did not speak until he reached the door to his room, pushing it open and gesturing for Damocles to follow. As was the case in the rest of the mansion, one could tell the difference between his personal and the household's generic taste in a single glance: he favoured elegance in his decor - blackened shades combined with those dark crimsons of his family's crest, a serpentine influence more than a little noticeable. Mihail dropped himself onto a luxuriously cushioned kline, momentarily leaning across to allow Draco to slide from his shoulders and along his arm onto a table decorated with a collection of cosmetics, the bottles opened and half-used, not yet tidied away despite their owner's inclination towards excessive cleanliness.
"Sit," he demanded, waving a hand at a seat opposite his own, his attention still mostly on the serpent, watching Damocles through those thick eyelashes of his, the smile on his face a blend of flirtatious and suspicious. "Now, tell me, Damocles..." He savoured the name for a moment, crossing one leg over another as he considered what to say, impatiently glancing over to the door as if to see if that godsforsaken wine had arrived yet. "You are at my service, and you wish to be my friend. A tad contrary, do you not think? I am not in the habit of offering favour without receiving something in return, and what I like best is information. Tell me why you were visiting my sister? And then, perhaps, show me why I should trust anything you tell me today. I do not have time for false intelligencers nor fake flatterers."
In his past experiences, it was often the case that whence confronted by the typically unbearably sanctimonious presence of aristocrats, obsequious words of flattery would oft offer a quick means into their attention. This sentiment could not be most proven true by the exchanges between him and the scantily-clad would-be tyrant before him. He guessed that despite his fragile appearance, coiffed locks and feminine build, that second son and fifthborn child of the Thanasi would certainly find amusement coursing through him after such words of praised had been offered in such lavish praise. Judging by the way he puffed his chest and straighten his back, this snake-sired son of fleeting youth had borne little actual praise ever showed his way by right and proper means. This should not have bene much of a surprise however. To live under the shadow of a woman, even one as remarkably brilliant and absolutely ingenious as his sister, must have been a terrible insult to his subtle manhood, mayhaps a true and probably indicator as to whom held the reins of power in this ancient and ennobled family of venomous vipers.
Despite social conventions, Damocles had not made his appearance to that den of snakes without proper calculations on his behalf. For this occasion, he had garbed himself in unexpected finery, donning long blue robe pinned by a bronze broach, leather sandals, a black cape, a guard on his muscular forearms and shoulders, and a blue silk shawl around his waist, attached to a strap that crossed his chest. Two bracelets and one armlet, equally fashioned out of the same material as his broach, adorned his outfit fitting themselves across his muscle-ridged limbs as they, raised his outfit's plainness to a more upper-classed demeanor. Even if he was born to filth and grime, Damocles had worked hard over the years, amassing just enough wealth to pass as someone well-passed his birthright. Yet, perhaps the most telling of his accessories was a golden ring crowned by a scarlet ruby that could very much give the impression of grandeur and wealth that the hardened general oft enjoyed impressing. It had cost him the better part of six months pay, but with enough preparation, he was able to secure a jewel that could inspire curiosity in even the most classist of nobles, a result that well-justified its price.
“Ah, but I have heard of you, Mihail of Thanasi. Indeed, I’ve been regaled by a great many things concerning yourself.” Retorted Damocles in his archetypically deep, smoky and enthralling voice, furthering the impressive image that his commanding height and intense silver eyes evoked. “Alas, I shan’t bore you with such useless gossip. Those are but the words of common-folk and surely mustn’t inspire any much interest in such a paragon of kingly virtue as yourself.” He lured further still, purposely stopping his line of speech as a means to instill ironic curiosity and inquisitiveness on the contrarian boy-lord. “Tis mayhaps best that you learn little of me then, for I would not like to frighten you into a sleepless night’s cruel embrace.” Once more intrigued the colossal man as he casually scrolled around the hallway whilst maintaining his charming eyes firmly against the noble’s own pair.
As he left his words to come and take root upon the nobleman’s own mind, Damocles kept his composure and confidence ever-intact. He had little reason to appear as anything less than the wonder that he was. Simply because he was around the home of an aristocrat did not mean he had to hold them to esteemed reverence and debase himself to dote and swoon and fawn. Rather, he upheld his standing, relaxing his broad shoulders down his back as he heard the boy’s commands and allowed him to continue to believe that he held the reins of control in this little interaction. “With pleasure, Mihail...” He seductively confirmed with his deep, lust-inspiring voice coming to mark the heavy paces that his black sandals made against the stone floors of the manse.
In an effort to keep his eyes alert, Damocles once more kept examining the corridors and walls of the house, finding it rather subpar in comparison to what he would have expected from a royal with such a storied and legendary name. It seemed as though the suspicions swirling around the Thanasi were true. For all the pomp and circumstance that they held, it would appear that their resources were in decline, possibly all attributed to what he judged as a string of poor investments on behalf of the household. Perchance, their apparent loss of gold could be also attributed to their love for grandeur, which seemed to be made-manifest in Mihail and his flamboyancy. Yet, just as in battle, it would be a poor judge of prudence to cast such aspersion on his nightly hosts. He was never a man of bets, but if his experience had anything to warn him, it would be to keep his eyes peeled towards this family. Even if the snake lost one fang, its threat still remained after all.
Expectedly, his assumption over Mihail’s inclinations towards opulence had been proven true upon reaching his chambers. Compared to the dour and rather unimpressive appearance of the estate, the youngest Thanasi’s private quarters were sumptuous and elegance, decorated in various shades of scarlet red and ebony black, whilst occupying the various rooms in the expansive suite with statues, woodworks and luxurious furniture. Though he kept his unmovingly confident demeanor, he had to admit feeling a bit of ease on his behalf as that garish snake slithered away from his master’s arms. Eventually however, he would be instructed to sit, which he did without any objection. Still, instead of taking his place by the shoddy stool that that most junior of snakes had dismissively waved at, Damocles noticed a rather large armchair fashioned out of ebony that seemed to more or less fit his considerable size. Proper manners dictated that he take the stool, but his ego made him do otherwise. With short steps upon him, he sat on the armchair, eschewing convention whilst appearing not as a low-born peasant, but a proud, powerful king of old.
“Oh, my lord Mihail” he started, leaning his pronounced back against the armchair’s seat. “It seems you have but misunderstood my words. I may wish to be your friend, yet my loyalties are still reserved towards the Dinasteia Drakos.” Confirmed the muscular veteran of war as he smirked at the confusing that his words would surely cause upon the lordling. “As to why I was so warmly welcomed to your sweet sister’s chambers, I shall only reveal that I did so under explicit invitation signed by her hand and pressed by her grace.”He confirmed, saying much to reveal little as to his presence at the household.
Meanwhile, he studied the face of his inquisitive host, noticing growing frustration in him that most likely harbored root by the slothful delay in the wine’s arrival. Yet, the wait would not be prolonged far too much, for upon but brief moments between his answers, the servant girl, the same one that had so pleasantly escorted him towards Nethis’s suite, arrived at the room with the look of clear disappointment in her. It was only then that a darker thought came upon him, one that provoked a malicious idea to spring upon action. “Certainly my lord. May I?” he asked, politely asking a broad question before standing up in front of the servant girl.
Her eyes traveled away from his, and a clear blush formed on her face. Nevertheless, Damocles softly placed a hand on her chin, caressing her gaunt features with sheepish tenderness that apparently made the woman lower herself and smile longingly at the overwhelmingly handsome man. “Be still…”he soothingly whispered to her ear, like a lover upon the promise of love. In an instant, her incessant shaking halted, deeply falling for the the man’s spell only to be struck down in the cruelest way. Upon an instant, he drawing blood from her face as she collapsed right at his feet with the look of shock and horror clear on her reddened, bruised visage. “Creature…leave our presence and shelter yourself far from my sight. Take this as lesson learned for whenever again you delay in your acts, worm.” And with that, her eyes welled with bitter tears as she ran away in loud cries, leaving only Mihail and Damocles inside the room. “Did that suffice, my lord?”
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In his past experiences, it was often the case that whence confronted by the typically unbearably sanctimonious presence of aristocrats, obsequious words of flattery would oft offer a quick means into their attention. This sentiment could not be most proven true by the exchanges between him and the scantily-clad would-be tyrant before him. He guessed that despite his fragile appearance, coiffed locks and feminine build, that second son and fifthborn child of the Thanasi would certainly find amusement coursing through him after such words of praised had been offered in such lavish praise. Judging by the way he puffed his chest and straighten his back, this snake-sired son of fleeting youth had borne little actual praise ever showed his way by right and proper means. This should not have bene much of a surprise however. To live under the shadow of a woman, even one as remarkably brilliant and absolutely ingenious as his sister, must have been a terrible insult to his subtle manhood, mayhaps a true and probably indicator as to whom held the reins of power in this ancient and ennobled family of venomous vipers.
Despite social conventions, Damocles had not made his appearance to that den of snakes without proper calculations on his behalf. For this occasion, he had garbed himself in unexpected finery, donning long blue robe pinned by a bronze broach, leather sandals, a black cape, a guard on his muscular forearms and shoulders, and a blue silk shawl around his waist, attached to a strap that crossed his chest. Two bracelets and one armlet, equally fashioned out of the same material as his broach, adorned his outfit fitting themselves across his muscle-ridged limbs as they, raised his outfit's plainness to a more upper-classed demeanor. Even if he was born to filth and grime, Damocles had worked hard over the years, amassing just enough wealth to pass as someone well-passed his birthright. Yet, perhaps the most telling of his accessories was a golden ring crowned by a scarlet ruby that could very much give the impression of grandeur and wealth that the hardened general oft enjoyed impressing. It had cost him the better part of six months pay, but with enough preparation, he was able to secure a jewel that could inspire curiosity in even the most classist of nobles, a result that well-justified its price.
“Ah, but I have heard of you, Mihail of Thanasi. Indeed, I’ve been regaled by a great many things concerning yourself.” Retorted Damocles in his archetypically deep, smoky and enthralling voice, furthering the impressive image that his commanding height and intense silver eyes evoked. “Alas, I shan’t bore you with such useless gossip. Those are but the words of common-folk and surely mustn’t inspire any much interest in such a paragon of kingly virtue as yourself.” He lured further still, purposely stopping his line of speech as a means to instill ironic curiosity and inquisitiveness on the contrarian boy-lord. “Tis mayhaps best that you learn little of me then, for I would not like to frighten you into a sleepless night’s cruel embrace.” Once more intrigued the colossal man as he casually scrolled around the hallway whilst maintaining his charming eyes firmly against the noble’s own pair.
As he left his words to come and take root upon the nobleman’s own mind, Damocles kept his composure and confidence ever-intact. He had little reason to appear as anything less than the wonder that he was. Simply because he was around the home of an aristocrat did not mean he had to hold them to esteemed reverence and debase himself to dote and swoon and fawn. Rather, he upheld his standing, relaxing his broad shoulders down his back as he heard the boy’s commands and allowed him to continue to believe that he held the reins of control in this little interaction. “With pleasure, Mihail...” He seductively confirmed with his deep, lust-inspiring voice coming to mark the heavy paces that his black sandals made against the stone floors of the manse.
In an effort to keep his eyes alert, Damocles once more kept examining the corridors and walls of the house, finding it rather subpar in comparison to what he would have expected from a royal with such a storied and legendary name. It seemed as though the suspicions swirling around the Thanasi were true. For all the pomp and circumstance that they held, it would appear that their resources were in decline, possibly all attributed to what he judged as a string of poor investments on behalf of the household. Perchance, their apparent loss of gold could be also attributed to their love for grandeur, which seemed to be made-manifest in Mihail and his flamboyancy. Yet, just as in battle, it would be a poor judge of prudence to cast such aspersion on his nightly hosts. He was never a man of bets, but if his experience had anything to warn him, it would be to keep his eyes peeled towards this family. Even if the snake lost one fang, its threat still remained after all.
Expectedly, his assumption over Mihail’s inclinations towards opulence had been proven true upon reaching his chambers. Compared to the dour and rather unimpressive appearance of the estate, the youngest Thanasi’s private quarters were sumptuous and elegance, decorated in various shades of scarlet red and ebony black, whilst occupying the various rooms in the expansive suite with statues, woodworks and luxurious furniture. Though he kept his unmovingly confident demeanor, he had to admit feeling a bit of ease on his behalf as that garish snake slithered away from his master’s arms. Eventually however, he would be instructed to sit, which he did without any objection. Still, instead of taking his place by the shoddy stool that that most junior of snakes had dismissively waved at, Damocles noticed a rather large armchair fashioned out of ebony that seemed to more or less fit his considerable size. Proper manners dictated that he take the stool, but his ego made him do otherwise. With short steps upon him, he sat on the armchair, eschewing convention whilst appearing not as a low-born peasant, but a proud, powerful king of old.
“Oh, my lord Mihail” he started, leaning his pronounced back against the armchair’s seat. “It seems you have but misunderstood my words. I may wish to be your friend, yet my loyalties are still reserved towards the Dinasteia Drakos.” Confirmed the muscular veteran of war as he smirked at the confusing that his words would surely cause upon the lordling. “As to why I was so warmly welcomed to your sweet sister’s chambers, I shall only reveal that I did so under explicit invitation signed by her hand and pressed by her grace.”He confirmed, saying much to reveal little as to his presence at the household.
Meanwhile, he studied the face of his inquisitive host, noticing growing frustration in him that most likely harbored root by the slothful delay in the wine’s arrival. Yet, the wait would not be prolonged far too much, for upon but brief moments between his answers, the servant girl, the same one that had so pleasantly escorted him towards Nethis’s suite, arrived at the room with the look of clear disappointment in her. It was only then that a darker thought came upon him, one that provoked a malicious idea to spring upon action. “Certainly my lord. May I?” he asked, politely asking a broad question before standing up in front of the servant girl.
Her eyes traveled away from his, and a clear blush formed on her face. Nevertheless, Damocles softly placed a hand on her chin, caressing her gaunt features with sheepish tenderness that apparently made the woman lower herself and smile longingly at the overwhelmingly handsome man. “Be still…”he soothingly whispered to her ear, like a lover upon the promise of love. In an instant, her incessant shaking halted, deeply falling for the the man’s spell only to be struck down in the cruelest way. Upon an instant, he drawing blood from her face as she collapsed right at his feet with the look of shock and horror clear on her reddened, bruised visage. “Creature…leave our presence and shelter yourself far from my sight. Take this as lesson learned for whenever again you delay in your acts, worm.” And with that, her eyes welled with bitter tears as she ran away in loud cries, leaving only Mihail and Damocles inside the room. “Did that suffice, my lord?”
In his past experiences, it was often the case that whence confronted by the typically unbearably sanctimonious presence of aristocrats, obsequious words of flattery would oft offer a quick means into their attention. This sentiment could not be most proven true by the exchanges between him and the scantily-clad would-be tyrant before him. He guessed that despite his fragile appearance, coiffed locks and feminine build, that second son and fifthborn child of the Thanasi would certainly find amusement coursing through him after such words of praised had been offered in such lavish praise. Judging by the way he puffed his chest and straighten his back, this snake-sired son of fleeting youth had borne little actual praise ever showed his way by right and proper means. This should not have bene much of a surprise however. To live under the shadow of a woman, even one as remarkably brilliant and absolutely ingenious as his sister, must have been a terrible insult to his subtle manhood, mayhaps a true and probably indicator as to whom held the reins of power in this ancient and ennobled family of venomous vipers.
Despite social conventions, Damocles had not made his appearance to that den of snakes without proper calculations on his behalf. For this occasion, he had garbed himself in unexpected finery, donning long blue robe pinned by a bronze broach, leather sandals, a black cape, a guard on his muscular forearms and shoulders, and a blue silk shawl around his waist, attached to a strap that crossed his chest. Two bracelets and one armlet, equally fashioned out of the same material as his broach, adorned his outfit fitting themselves across his muscle-ridged limbs as they, raised his outfit's plainness to a more upper-classed demeanor. Even if he was born to filth and grime, Damocles had worked hard over the years, amassing just enough wealth to pass as someone well-passed his birthright. Yet, perhaps the most telling of his accessories was a golden ring crowned by a scarlet ruby that could very much give the impression of grandeur and wealth that the hardened general oft enjoyed impressing. It had cost him the better part of six months pay, but with enough preparation, he was able to secure a jewel that could inspire curiosity in even the most classist of nobles, a result that well-justified its price.
“Ah, but I have heard of you, Mihail of Thanasi. Indeed, I’ve been regaled by a great many things concerning yourself.” Retorted Damocles in his archetypically deep, smoky and enthralling voice, furthering the impressive image that his commanding height and intense silver eyes evoked. “Alas, I shan’t bore you with such useless gossip. Those are but the words of common-folk and surely mustn’t inspire any much interest in such a paragon of kingly virtue as yourself.” He lured further still, purposely stopping his line of speech as a means to instill ironic curiosity and inquisitiveness on the contrarian boy-lord. “Tis mayhaps best that you learn little of me then, for I would not like to frighten you into a sleepless night’s cruel embrace.” Once more intrigued the colossal man as he casually scrolled around the hallway whilst maintaining his charming eyes firmly against the noble’s own pair.
As he left his words to come and take root upon the nobleman’s own mind, Damocles kept his composure and confidence ever-intact. He had little reason to appear as anything less than the wonder that he was. Simply because he was around the home of an aristocrat did not mean he had to hold them to esteemed reverence and debase himself to dote and swoon and fawn. Rather, he upheld his standing, relaxing his broad shoulders down his back as he heard the boy’s commands and allowed him to continue to believe that he held the reins of control in this little interaction. “With pleasure, Mihail...” He seductively confirmed with his deep, lust-inspiring voice coming to mark the heavy paces that his black sandals made against the stone floors of the manse.
In an effort to keep his eyes alert, Damocles once more kept examining the corridors and walls of the house, finding it rather subpar in comparison to what he would have expected from a royal with such a storied and legendary name. It seemed as though the suspicions swirling around the Thanasi were true. For all the pomp and circumstance that they held, it would appear that their resources were in decline, possibly all attributed to what he judged as a string of poor investments on behalf of the household. Perchance, their apparent loss of gold could be also attributed to their love for grandeur, which seemed to be made-manifest in Mihail and his flamboyancy. Yet, just as in battle, it would be a poor judge of prudence to cast such aspersion on his nightly hosts. He was never a man of bets, but if his experience had anything to warn him, it would be to keep his eyes peeled towards this family. Even if the snake lost one fang, its threat still remained after all.
Expectedly, his assumption over Mihail’s inclinations towards opulence had been proven true upon reaching his chambers. Compared to the dour and rather unimpressive appearance of the estate, the youngest Thanasi’s private quarters were sumptuous and elegance, decorated in various shades of scarlet red and ebony black, whilst occupying the various rooms in the expansive suite with statues, woodworks and luxurious furniture. Though he kept his unmovingly confident demeanor, he had to admit feeling a bit of ease on his behalf as that garish snake slithered away from his master’s arms. Eventually however, he would be instructed to sit, which he did without any objection. Still, instead of taking his place by the shoddy stool that that most junior of snakes had dismissively waved at, Damocles noticed a rather large armchair fashioned out of ebony that seemed to more or less fit his considerable size. Proper manners dictated that he take the stool, but his ego made him do otherwise. With short steps upon him, he sat on the armchair, eschewing convention whilst appearing not as a low-born peasant, but a proud, powerful king of old.
“Oh, my lord Mihail” he started, leaning his pronounced back against the armchair’s seat. “It seems you have but misunderstood my words. I may wish to be your friend, yet my loyalties are still reserved towards the Dinasteia Drakos.” Confirmed the muscular veteran of war as he smirked at the confusing that his words would surely cause upon the lordling. “As to why I was so warmly welcomed to your sweet sister’s chambers, I shall only reveal that I did so under explicit invitation signed by her hand and pressed by her grace.”He confirmed, saying much to reveal little as to his presence at the household.
Meanwhile, he studied the face of his inquisitive host, noticing growing frustration in him that most likely harbored root by the slothful delay in the wine’s arrival. Yet, the wait would not be prolonged far too much, for upon but brief moments between his answers, the servant girl, the same one that had so pleasantly escorted him towards Nethis’s suite, arrived at the room with the look of clear disappointment in her. It was only then that a darker thought came upon him, one that provoked a malicious idea to spring upon action. “Certainly my lord. May I?” he asked, politely asking a broad question before standing up in front of the servant girl.
Her eyes traveled away from his, and a clear blush formed on her face. Nevertheless, Damocles softly placed a hand on her chin, caressing her gaunt features with sheepish tenderness that apparently made the woman lower herself and smile longingly at the overwhelmingly handsome man. “Be still…”he soothingly whispered to her ear, like a lover upon the promise of love. In an instant, her incessant shaking halted, deeply falling for the the man’s spell only to be struck down in the cruelest way. Upon an instant, he drawing blood from her face as she collapsed right at his feet with the look of shock and horror clear on her reddened, bruised visage. “Creature…leave our presence and shelter yourself far from my sight. Take this as lesson learned for whenever again you delay in your acts, worm.” And with that, her eyes welled with bitter tears as she ran away in loud cries, leaving only Mihail and Damocles inside the room. “Did that suffice, my lord?”
Mihail was typically conflicted when it came to disobedience. There was always a sense of confusion as to whether or not he held authority over a particular individual, or rather, whether he held sufficient status to correct their misdeeds. Such was the case with Damocles for, although his title was lower and he appeared to have some dealings with Nethis, he was not in Mihail's employ, and, as such, the twenty-two-year-old was unsure as to whether or not it would have been appropriate to indicate his error. He decided upon the former.
"That is my second favourite chair, and it is not where I requested you sit," he commented, eyeing the armchair upon which the other had perched himself, an eyebrow quirking upwards in the disbelief that his silent instruction had been ignored. The stool towards which he had initially indicated was far from the most extravagant seat, but it was not quite uncomfortable, and it forced their gaze to a similar level, unlike the ebony seat where the youngest Thanasi so often sat to devour his readings. Still, he made no further comment on the larger man's choice of chair, assuming the disapproving downwards tilt of his lips would be enough to signal his obvious continued distaste.
Leaning enough to one side that he could prop himself up on one elbow against the armrest of his kline, he listened to his guest's explanation, though his features did not waver in any indication that he might be amused or displeased by the man's words. Mihail had long since learned to hold his thoughts under some apathetic mask, and it rarely tended to slip save for when he was in the company of the family he trusted. They had never been simple to fool, and he never quite wished to try.
"If you were so intent on friendship, then you would not come to me and inform me that your loyalties have already been gifted elsewhere, and particularly not to a house with which my own has such little interest. As for my sister, if I wish to know the cause of your visit, then there is nothing to stop me questioning her on the subject, though I suggest you inform me of your reasons now and save me the unnecessary inquisition." His words were laced with a harsh undertone he did not even attempt to hide, and only now did his eyes narrow as if to express an objection, although his gaze was no longer on Damocles and, instead, had drifted away from the bulkier man towards the door of his chambers, his entire position shifting somewhat to accompany the gesture.
Mihail was oft unsure how he wished to handle displays of defiance, mainly when he held little jurisdiction over others and his typical penchant for violence could not be satisfied, but he had little care for tardiness. The man had not been raised with much of a flair for patience - a fault which could likely be attributed to three of the Thanasi children and inherited from their father's steadfast determination for success, whatever the cost - and the dislike for slowness extended past any schemes. He was not so addicted to the sweet liquid as some thought, but when he craved it, a delay in receiving wine could frustrate him to his core.
It seemed his pout was to be answered, however, for the door eased open with the usual creak of old wood, and the girl to which he had made his command for the grape-juice stumbled in with the jug of drink balanced in her arms, a goblet for Mihail's guest in one hand, his own unnecessary with the number of half-emptied libations that littered his bedroom. No sooner had she left it on a low table between the pair of men, that Damocles stood from his chair and approached her, his words implying that he was about to show Mihail the trustworthiness he had requested.
He would have been lying if he claimed not to have been impressed. The tactics Damocles used were not dissimilar to Mihail's own, particularly the way he eased the girl into a false sense of security before unleashing the force of his rage upon her, although the Thanasi suspected he could have done far more harm had he willed it. He had already been somewhat enticed by the way the man pulled her toward him, feeling that same fire within him that most did when they found themselves drawn to another, but it was not until the soldier drew blood that he was wholly seduced by the moment.
'Bloodlust' may only have meant a desire to inflict damage on another, but it took on a separate meaning when it was applied to Mihail. For, while he found himself often craving the rare opportunity to inflict pain upon another, there was a genuine lust within him to the sight of blood, and, as a thin trail of blood trickled along the servant's face and onto the stone floor of the room, he gave a sharp intake of breath, teeth biting down on his lower lip so hard that it was a surprise he did not begin to bleed himself. That sadistic streak which ordinarily endeavoured to hide under apathy had been titillated by the scene before him, and Mihail felt the corner of his mouth shift upwards into a satisfied smirk.
He did not speak before the girl had left, but reached to pour himself a generous goblet of wine, swallowing more than half the glass before he set it down once more, tilted his head to one side and fixed his gaze on Damocles, as if examining him in a new light. Finally, he nodded, the action curt but more pleasant. "It shall suffice."
Their relationship had shifted now, albeit not significantly. Where once Mihail had held no respect for the man, there were now the beginnings of positive regard, though only time could tell how they would evolve. Changing one's entire viewpoint of another after only a single display of integrity would never be a wise idea. Nonetheless, the level of condescension in his eyes was decreased, and he now spoke as if this were someone with which he was beginning to consider an alliance (something which was rarely the case, for Mihail preferred to take without being forced to give in return). "You wish to be my friend," he repeated, for the idea had only been established before, and now he was willing to give it some merit. "Tell me this gossip you claim to have heard of me. I am always partial to hearing what others say of myself and my Dynasteía, lest something need be done." The Thanasis did not hold the most excellent reputation, though not without cause, and he enjoyed know which rumours required quelling or encouraging, else he saw little purpose.
As for Damocles himself, Mihail still knew very little, and that was not the way he liked things. He doubted there would be anything in the man's past which could leave him lying awake at night - given how little he already slept - so he pressed the matter once more. "Tell me of yourself. You may already have proved some loyalty, but I cannot begin to trust a man of which I know nothing. I require, for lack of a better word, some collateral of yours."
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Mihail was typically conflicted when it came to disobedience. There was always a sense of confusion as to whether or not he held authority over a particular individual, or rather, whether he held sufficient status to correct their misdeeds. Such was the case with Damocles for, although his title was lower and he appeared to have some dealings with Nethis, he was not in Mihail's employ, and, as such, the twenty-two-year-old was unsure as to whether or not it would have been appropriate to indicate his error. He decided upon the former.
"That is my second favourite chair, and it is not where I requested you sit," he commented, eyeing the armchair upon which the other had perched himself, an eyebrow quirking upwards in the disbelief that his silent instruction had been ignored. The stool towards which he had initially indicated was far from the most extravagant seat, but it was not quite uncomfortable, and it forced their gaze to a similar level, unlike the ebony seat where the youngest Thanasi so often sat to devour his readings. Still, he made no further comment on the larger man's choice of chair, assuming the disapproving downwards tilt of his lips would be enough to signal his obvious continued distaste.
Leaning enough to one side that he could prop himself up on one elbow against the armrest of his kline, he listened to his guest's explanation, though his features did not waver in any indication that he might be amused or displeased by the man's words. Mihail had long since learned to hold his thoughts under some apathetic mask, and it rarely tended to slip save for when he was in the company of the family he trusted. They had never been simple to fool, and he never quite wished to try.
"If you were so intent on friendship, then you would not come to me and inform me that your loyalties have already been gifted elsewhere, and particularly not to a house with which my own has such little interest. As for my sister, if I wish to know the cause of your visit, then there is nothing to stop me questioning her on the subject, though I suggest you inform me of your reasons now and save me the unnecessary inquisition." His words were laced with a harsh undertone he did not even attempt to hide, and only now did his eyes narrow as if to express an objection, although his gaze was no longer on Damocles and, instead, had drifted away from the bulkier man towards the door of his chambers, his entire position shifting somewhat to accompany the gesture.
Mihail was oft unsure how he wished to handle displays of defiance, mainly when he held little jurisdiction over others and his typical penchant for violence could not be satisfied, but he had little care for tardiness. The man had not been raised with much of a flair for patience - a fault which could likely be attributed to three of the Thanasi children and inherited from their father's steadfast determination for success, whatever the cost - and the dislike for slowness extended past any schemes. He was not so addicted to the sweet liquid as some thought, but when he craved it, a delay in receiving wine could frustrate him to his core.
It seemed his pout was to be answered, however, for the door eased open with the usual creak of old wood, and the girl to which he had made his command for the grape-juice stumbled in with the jug of drink balanced in her arms, a goblet for Mihail's guest in one hand, his own unnecessary with the number of half-emptied libations that littered his bedroom. No sooner had she left it on a low table between the pair of men, that Damocles stood from his chair and approached her, his words implying that he was about to show Mihail the trustworthiness he had requested.
He would have been lying if he claimed not to have been impressed. The tactics Damocles used were not dissimilar to Mihail's own, particularly the way he eased the girl into a false sense of security before unleashing the force of his rage upon her, although the Thanasi suspected he could have done far more harm had he willed it. He had already been somewhat enticed by the way the man pulled her toward him, feeling that same fire within him that most did when they found themselves drawn to another, but it was not until the soldier drew blood that he was wholly seduced by the moment.
'Bloodlust' may only have meant a desire to inflict damage on another, but it took on a separate meaning when it was applied to Mihail. For, while he found himself often craving the rare opportunity to inflict pain upon another, there was a genuine lust within him to the sight of blood, and, as a thin trail of blood trickled along the servant's face and onto the stone floor of the room, he gave a sharp intake of breath, teeth biting down on his lower lip so hard that it was a surprise he did not begin to bleed himself. That sadistic streak which ordinarily endeavoured to hide under apathy had been titillated by the scene before him, and Mihail felt the corner of his mouth shift upwards into a satisfied smirk.
He did not speak before the girl had left, but reached to pour himself a generous goblet of wine, swallowing more than half the glass before he set it down once more, tilted his head to one side and fixed his gaze on Damocles, as if examining him in a new light. Finally, he nodded, the action curt but more pleasant. "It shall suffice."
Their relationship had shifted now, albeit not significantly. Where once Mihail had held no respect for the man, there were now the beginnings of positive regard, though only time could tell how they would evolve. Changing one's entire viewpoint of another after only a single display of integrity would never be a wise idea. Nonetheless, the level of condescension in his eyes was decreased, and he now spoke as if this were someone with which he was beginning to consider an alliance (something which was rarely the case, for Mihail preferred to take without being forced to give in return). "You wish to be my friend," he repeated, for the idea had only been established before, and now he was willing to give it some merit. "Tell me this gossip you claim to have heard of me. I am always partial to hearing what others say of myself and my Dynasteía, lest something need be done." The Thanasis did not hold the most excellent reputation, though not without cause, and he enjoyed know which rumours required quelling or encouraging, else he saw little purpose.
As for Damocles himself, Mihail still knew very little, and that was not the way he liked things. He doubted there would be anything in the man's past which could leave him lying awake at night - given how little he already slept - so he pressed the matter once more. "Tell me of yourself. You may already have proved some loyalty, but I cannot begin to trust a man of which I know nothing. I require, for lack of a better word, some collateral of yours."
Mihail was typically conflicted when it came to disobedience. There was always a sense of confusion as to whether or not he held authority over a particular individual, or rather, whether he held sufficient status to correct their misdeeds. Such was the case with Damocles for, although his title was lower and he appeared to have some dealings with Nethis, he was not in Mihail's employ, and, as such, the twenty-two-year-old was unsure as to whether or not it would have been appropriate to indicate his error. He decided upon the former.
"That is my second favourite chair, and it is not where I requested you sit," he commented, eyeing the armchair upon which the other had perched himself, an eyebrow quirking upwards in the disbelief that his silent instruction had been ignored. The stool towards which he had initially indicated was far from the most extravagant seat, but it was not quite uncomfortable, and it forced their gaze to a similar level, unlike the ebony seat where the youngest Thanasi so often sat to devour his readings. Still, he made no further comment on the larger man's choice of chair, assuming the disapproving downwards tilt of his lips would be enough to signal his obvious continued distaste.
Leaning enough to one side that he could prop himself up on one elbow against the armrest of his kline, he listened to his guest's explanation, though his features did not waver in any indication that he might be amused or displeased by the man's words. Mihail had long since learned to hold his thoughts under some apathetic mask, and it rarely tended to slip save for when he was in the company of the family he trusted. They had never been simple to fool, and he never quite wished to try.
"If you were so intent on friendship, then you would not come to me and inform me that your loyalties have already been gifted elsewhere, and particularly not to a house with which my own has such little interest. As for my sister, if I wish to know the cause of your visit, then there is nothing to stop me questioning her on the subject, though I suggest you inform me of your reasons now and save me the unnecessary inquisition." His words were laced with a harsh undertone he did not even attempt to hide, and only now did his eyes narrow as if to express an objection, although his gaze was no longer on Damocles and, instead, had drifted away from the bulkier man towards the door of his chambers, his entire position shifting somewhat to accompany the gesture.
Mihail was oft unsure how he wished to handle displays of defiance, mainly when he held little jurisdiction over others and his typical penchant for violence could not be satisfied, but he had little care for tardiness. The man had not been raised with much of a flair for patience - a fault which could likely be attributed to three of the Thanasi children and inherited from their father's steadfast determination for success, whatever the cost - and the dislike for slowness extended past any schemes. He was not so addicted to the sweet liquid as some thought, but when he craved it, a delay in receiving wine could frustrate him to his core.
It seemed his pout was to be answered, however, for the door eased open with the usual creak of old wood, and the girl to which he had made his command for the grape-juice stumbled in with the jug of drink balanced in her arms, a goblet for Mihail's guest in one hand, his own unnecessary with the number of half-emptied libations that littered his bedroom. No sooner had she left it on a low table between the pair of men, that Damocles stood from his chair and approached her, his words implying that he was about to show Mihail the trustworthiness he had requested.
He would have been lying if he claimed not to have been impressed. The tactics Damocles used were not dissimilar to Mihail's own, particularly the way he eased the girl into a false sense of security before unleashing the force of his rage upon her, although the Thanasi suspected he could have done far more harm had he willed it. He had already been somewhat enticed by the way the man pulled her toward him, feeling that same fire within him that most did when they found themselves drawn to another, but it was not until the soldier drew blood that he was wholly seduced by the moment.
'Bloodlust' may only have meant a desire to inflict damage on another, but it took on a separate meaning when it was applied to Mihail. For, while he found himself often craving the rare opportunity to inflict pain upon another, there was a genuine lust within him to the sight of blood, and, as a thin trail of blood trickled along the servant's face and onto the stone floor of the room, he gave a sharp intake of breath, teeth biting down on his lower lip so hard that it was a surprise he did not begin to bleed himself. That sadistic streak which ordinarily endeavoured to hide under apathy had been titillated by the scene before him, and Mihail felt the corner of his mouth shift upwards into a satisfied smirk.
He did not speak before the girl had left, but reached to pour himself a generous goblet of wine, swallowing more than half the glass before he set it down once more, tilted his head to one side and fixed his gaze on Damocles, as if examining him in a new light. Finally, he nodded, the action curt but more pleasant. "It shall suffice."
Their relationship had shifted now, albeit not significantly. Where once Mihail had held no respect for the man, there were now the beginnings of positive regard, though only time could tell how they would evolve. Changing one's entire viewpoint of another after only a single display of integrity would never be a wise idea. Nonetheless, the level of condescension in his eyes was decreased, and he now spoke as if this were someone with which he was beginning to consider an alliance (something which was rarely the case, for Mihail preferred to take without being forced to give in return). "You wish to be my friend," he repeated, for the idea had only been established before, and now he was willing to give it some merit. "Tell me this gossip you claim to have heard of me. I am always partial to hearing what others say of myself and my Dynasteía, lest something need be done." The Thanasis did not hold the most excellent reputation, though not without cause, and he enjoyed know which rumours required quelling or encouraging, else he saw little purpose.
As for Damocles himself, Mihail still knew very little, and that was not the way he liked things. He doubted there would be anything in the man's past which could leave him lying awake at night - given how little he already slept - so he pressed the matter once more. "Tell me of yourself. You may already have proved some loyalty, but I cannot begin to trust a man of which I know nothing. I require, for lack of a better word, some collateral of yours."
Damocles instantly recognized the look on the secondborn son of the Thanasi's wellborn features. It was the look of craven bloodlust, that murderous intent that he had seen in so many of the faces of criminals-turned-warriors, the sign of unhinged sadism that classified anyone to a most deplorable place amongst the confines of ethics and morality. He himself was never one for such sign of excessive cruelty, such disproportionate display of violence that dealt so much shallow, empty profits so as to be ignorable. Nevertheless, he still raised his hand, striking the woman against the marbled, checkered floor with the weight of half an armored hand against her sunken, gaunt visage. A part of him wanted to shield her away, take her from the malice of the boy-snake that had so deplorably expressed his debauched hunger for cruelty. Yet, in the grand scheme of things, he cared little for her well-being. He might not have gained much from the act itself, but the interest he noticed in those hollow, grey eyes across him spoke of an otherwise enviable award.
"As you so wish, Snake King." he confirmed, quickly grabbing a small cloth that had lain on a sideways table, using it to wipe away most of that unworthy woman's still-warmed blood from his crunched, hardened hands. Subsequently, he sighed to himself in a shallow manner, reflecting on the excessive means he had just gone through. How dare this filthy, deplorable verminous creature bare her own flesh sanguineness against his own tepid flesh? Had she no semblance of modesty in her mere existence? Mayhaps, he had graced her well and proper, laying his heavyset fingers against her crass features. This had probably not been such an awful experienced as he considered in hindsight. Throughout his brief time with Mihail, he had made the brief assumption that he had barely paid attention to this serving girl's existence. She should be thankful to both the Gods and himself for having brought his attention upon that snake-boy's interest, even if it had been a momentary transaction. Of course, what else did he expect from someone so ignobly dismissible.
As he finished cleaning most of the blood off his hand, Damocles turned to the distant heir of Old Man Dionysios, slathering his cold, snaring tongue against the underside of his palm, flicking away the last remnants of that filthy liquid while subsequently offering Mihail a predatorily depraved smirk, affixing his own features so as to pretend that he shared in a similar level of wicked sadism. "I must say, such filthily disgusting flavor!" he off-handedly remarked, using a language that he assumed would appease his newest seduction. "Comparatively, I bet you taste positively divine, my Lord." He teased, grabbing one of the goblets that had been previously brought over before luxuriating against the wine, drowning out the bitterly metallic flavor that still rung inside him. Afterwards, he swiped his black hair backwards, pushing some of the strands that feel forward into their rightful place, and made his way back to the chair he had so brazenly claimed as his plaything for the time being.
Upon resuming his previously noted spot, the towering man paid attention to the boy across him, taking note of his figure, his signs and his general demeanor. Though it was brief, he noted the change in his eyes, the brief twinkle in his otherwise emotionless, heartless snares that had so viciously opened upon the small revelation laid before him just mere seconds ago. Had he unlocked such magnificent viciousness in this youth so as to have him change his perception in but the briefest of exchanges? He wagered that the answer to such a question was a categorical yes. He had indeed, changed the tone of their conversation, donning some much-needed weight against the regality of the boy. No longer was he just another warrior of some far-flung province in the middle of Greece. He had garnered enough credentials for the time being to be seen in a more positive light. Whatever would result from this small alteration in their exchange would be up to the Fates, but that didnt mean he couldn't try to influence their sway a bit.
"Sadly, my lord Mihail, I fear I only have but the most egregious of slanderous lies to report upon the ill-based judgement of a people that know nothing." He began, drawing on what he perceived would be the man across him's narcissistic side. "Common lore unjustifiably claims that your teeth are carved into pointed knives, that your breath is intoxicatingly nauseous and that your eyes are painted black with venomous rage! Rumor goes on to regale that you lay with filthy peasants, that men come claim you as pleasurable plaything upon the strike of the Plutonian night's arrival and that you so move along the stringcourse of your eldest sister Nethis master puppetry." He begot, inviting upon himself the probability of raising the ire of the secondborn son of the Thanasi. His own lips moved to a friendly smile as he moved to calm the snake-boy with a few words of comfort. "Yet, I must assure you that these rumors have been dealt with as of now. Aside military advice, your gorgeous sister had, in her wisdom, intimated upon me a request to suppress these most heinous of accusations, and thusly spare any blemish upon the glory that is this, the House of Thanasi." he revealed, taking a generous taste of the expensive beverage dug on his chalice.
"I've but only lent my report to Lady Thanasi just moments before meeting you." He continued, clearing some of the wine away from his mustache as looked piercingly to the boy's eyes with his own, silver orbs, upholding a penetrating stare that manifested credence to his words. He had little to hide inasmuch as his handling of this most recent affair. Sure, he wasn't officially under the service of this family, but even if he was pressed to answer for his hand against this matter, he would provide only the words of a man of little relevance. Yes, he was a captain of the Drakos, but if pressed to grant sway to his whispers, he would go forth and say he was moved by the words of Essa, that most precious of flowers whom he had carefully cultivated into support some odd years ago. "If you so wish, I could either provide you with a copy I had one of my lieutenants write or..." intrigued Damocles, drawing his smoky words with a subtle growl that indicated some modicum of captivation. "I could take you to see my craft yourself. I dare not be so bold and extend an invitation to your sister, for she has the soft heart of a woman and might very well be appalled by the sight. Yet, against you, whom stands rightful king amongst men, I do so grant such possibility." insinuated the classically handsome man as he stood up and served himself another portion of the wine, before offering to fill the other's own chalice.
"What say you? Would you like to behold just how highly those lowborn peasants now regard you?" intrigued Damocles, taking his own chalice back to his side as he made his way back to the chair he had sat. In that moment he heard the contempt in Mihail's following question, understanding his position of unease exponentially clear. "Well, if you must know. One of my own rumors is that I killed over one hundred men by myself in the last war, that I gave an order for my men to rape, pillage and plunder the Egyptian countryside and that I have personally sired uncountable scores of children with both noble and common ladies." he laughed oh so casually, making light of his reputation as he indulged once more in the beverage. "Though, of these only one is true. I wonder, could you so correctly ascertain which one of these is true, my lord?"
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Damocles instantly recognized the look on the secondborn son of the Thanasi's wellborn features. It was the look of craven bloodlust, that murderous intent that he had seen in so many of the faces of criminals-turned-warriors, the sign of unhinged sadism that classified anyone to a most deplorable place amongst the confines of ethics and morality. He himself was never one for such sign of excessive cruelty, such disproportionate display of violence that dealt so much shallow, empty profits so as to be ignorable. Nevertheless, he still raised his hand, striking the woman against the marbled, checkered floor with the weight of half an armored hand against her sunken, gaunt visage. A part of him wanted to shield her away, take her from the malice of the boy-snake that had so deplorably expressed his debauched hunger for cruelty. Yet, in the grand scheme of things, he cared little for her well-being. He might not have gained much from the act itself, but the interest he noticed in those hollow, grey eyes across him spoke of an otherwise enviable award.
"As you so wish, Snake King." he confirmed, quickly grabbing a small cloth that had lain on a sideways table, using it to wipe away most of that unworthy woman's still-warmed blood from his crunched, hardened hands. Subsequently, he sighed to himself in a shallow manner, reflecting on the excessive means he had just gone through. How dare this filthy, deplorable verminous creature bare her own flesh sanguineness against his own tepid flesh? Had she no semblance of modesty in her mere existence? Mayhaps, he had graced her well and proper, laying his heavyset fingers against her crass features. This had probably not been such an awful experienced as he considered in hindsight. Throughout his brief time with Mihail, he had made the brief assumption that he had barely paid attention to this serving girl's existence. She should be thankful to both the Gods and himself for having brought his attention upon that snake-boy's interest, even if it had been a momentary transaction. Of course, what else did he expect from someone so ignobly dismissible.
As he finished cleaning most of the blood off his hand, Damocles turned to the distant heir of Old Man Dionysios, slathering his cold, snaring tongue against the underside of his palm, flicking away the last remnants of that filthy liquid while subsequently offering Mihail a predatorily depraved smirk, affixing his own features so as to pretend that he shared in a similar level of wicked sadism. "I must say, such filthily disgusting flavor!" he off-handedly remarked, using a language that he assumed would appease his newest seduction. "Comparatively, I bet you taste positively divine, my Lord." He teased, grabbing one of the goblets that had been previously brought over before luxuriating against the wine, drowning out the bitterly metallic flavor that still rung inside him. Afterwards, he swiped his black hair backwards, pushing some of the strands that feel forward into their rightful place, and made his way back to the chair he had so brazenly claimed as his plaything for the time being.
Upon resuming his previously noted spot, the towering man paid attention to the boy across him, taking note of his figure, his signs and his general demeanor. Though it was brief, he noted the change in his eyes, the brief twinkle in his otherwise emotionless, heartless snares that had so viciously opened upon the small revelation laid before him just mere seconds ago. Had he unlocked such magnificent viciousness in this youth so as to have him change his perception in but the briefest of exchanges? He wagered that the answer to such a question was a categorical yes. He had indeed, changed the tone of their conversation, donning some much-needed weight against the regality of the boy. No longer was he just another warrior of some far-flung province in the middle of Greece. He had garnered enough credentials for the time being to be seen in a more positive light. Whatever would result from this small alteration in their exchange would be up to the Fates, but that didnt mean he couldn't try to influence their sway a bit.
"Sadly, my lord Mihail, I fear I only have but the most egregious of slanderous lies to report upon the ill-based judgement of a people that know nothing." He began, drawing on what he perceived would be the man across him's narcissistic side. "Common lore unjustifiably claims that your teeth are carved into pointed knives, that your breath is intoxicatingly nauseous and that your eyes are painted black with venomous rage! Rumor goes on to regale that you lay with filthy peasants, that men come claim you as pleasurable plaything upon the strike of the Plutonian night's arrival and that you so move along the stringcourse of your eldest sister Nethis master puppetry." He begot, inviting upon himself the probability of raising the ire of the secondborn son of the Thanasi. His own lips moved to a friendly smile as he moved to calm the snake-boy with a few words of comfort. "Yet, I must assure you that these rumors have been dealt with as of now. Aside military advice, your gorgeous sister had, in her wisdom, intimated upon me a request to suppress these most heinous of accusations, and thusly spare any blemish upon the glory that is this, the House of Thanasi." he revealed, taking a generous taste of the expensive beverage dug on his chalice.
"I've but only lent my report to Lady Thanasi just moments before meeting you." He continued, clearing some of the wine away from his mustache as looked piercingly to the boy's eyes with his own, silver orbs, upholding a penetrating stare that manifested credence to his words. He had little to hide inasmuch as his handling of this most recent affair. Sure, he wasn't officially under the service of this family, but even if he was pressed to answer for his hand against this matter, he would provide only the words of a man of little relevance. Yes, he was a captain of the Drakos, but if pressed to grant sway to his whispers, he would go forth and say he was moved by the words of Essa, that most precious of flowers whom he had carefully cultivated into support some odd years ago. "If you so wish, I could either provide you with a copy I had one of my lieutenants write or..." intrigued Damocles, drawing his smoky words with a subtle growl that indicated some modicum of captivation. "I could take you to see my craft yourself. I dare not be so bold and extend an invitation to your sister, for she has the soft heart of a woman and might very well be appalled by the sight. Yet, against you, whom stands rightful king amongst men, I do so grant such possibility." insinuated the classically handsome man as he stood up and served himself another portion of the wine, before offering to fill the other's own chalice.
"What say you? Would you like to behold just how highly those lowborn peasants now regard you?" intrigued Damocles, taking his own chalice back to his side as he made his way back to the chair he had sat. In that moment he heard the contempt in Mihail's following question, understanding his position of unease exponentially clear. "Well, if you must know. One of my own rumors is that I killed over one hundred men by myself in the last war, that I gave an order for my men to rape, pillage and plunder the Egyptian countryside and that I have personally sired uncountable scores of children with both noble and common ladies." he laughed oh so casually, making light of his reputation as he indulged once more in the beverage. "Though, of these only one is true. I wonder, could you so correctly ascertain which one of these is true, my lord?"
Damocles instantly recognized the look on the secondborn son of the Thanasi's wellborn features. It was the look of craven bloodlust, that murderous intent that he had seen in so many of the faces of criminals-turned-warriors, the sign of unhinged sadism that classified anyone to a most deplorable place amongst the confines of ethics and morality. He himself was never one for such sign of excessive cruelty, such disproportionate display of violence that dealt so much shallow, empty profits so as to be ignorable. Nevertheless, he still raised his hand, striking the woman against the marbled, checkered floor with the weight of half an armored hand against her sunken, gaunt visage. A part of him wanted to shield her away, take her from the malice of the boy-snake that had so deplorably expressed his debauched hunger for cruelty. Yet, in the grand scheme of things, he cared little for her well-being. He might not have gained much from the act itself, but the interest he noticed in those hollow, grey eyes across him spoke of an otherwise enviable award.
"As you so wish, Snake King." he confirmed, quickly grabbing a small cloth that had lain on a sideways table, using it to wipe away most of that unworthy woman's still-warmed blood from his crunched, hardened hands. Subsequently, he sighed to himself in a shallow manner, reflecting on the excessive means he had just gone through. How dare this filthy, deplorable verminous creature bare her own flesh sanguineness against his own tepid flesh? Had she no semblance of modesty in her mere existence? Mayhaps, he had graced her well and proper, laying his heavyset fingers against her crass features. This had probably not been such an awful experienced as he considered in hindsight. Throughout his brief time with Mihail, he had made the brief assumption that he had barely paid attention to this serving girl's existence. She should be thankful to both the Gods and himself for having brought his attention upon that snake-boy's interest, even if it had been a momentary transaction. Of course, what else did he expect from someone so ignobly dismissible.
As he finished cleaning most of the blood off his hand, Damocles turned to the distant heir of Old Man Dionysios, slathering his cold, snaring tongue against the underside of his palm, flicking away the last remnants of that filthy liquid while subsequently offering Mihail a predatorily depraved smirk, affixing his own features so as to pretend that he shared in a similar level of wicked sadism. "I must say, such filthily disgusting flavor!" he off-handedly remarked, using a language that he assumed would appease his newest seduction. "Comparatively, I bet you taste positively divine, my Lord." He teased, grabbing one of the goblets that had been previously brought over before luxuriating against the wine, drowning out the bitterly metallic flavor that still rung inside him. Afterwards, he swiped his black hair backwards, pushing some of the strands that feel forward into their rightful place, and made his way back to the chair he had so brazenly claimed as his plaything for the time being.
Upon resuming his previously noted spot, the towering man paid attention to the boy across him, taking note of his figure, his signs and his general demeanor. Though it was brief, he noted the change in his eyes, the brief twinkle in his otherwise emotionless, heartless snares that had so viciously opened upon the small revelation laid before him just mere seconds ago. Had he unlocked such magnificent viciousness in this youth so as to have him change his perception in but the briefest of exchanges? He wagered that the answer to such a question was a categorical yes. He had indeed, changed the tone of their conversation, donning some much-needed weight against the regality of the boy. No longer was he just another warrior of some far-flung province in the middle of Greece. He had garnered enough credentials for the time being to be seen in a more positive light. Whatever would result from this small alteration in their exchange would be up to the Fates, but that didnt mean he couldn't try to influence their sway a bit.
"Sadly, my lord Mihail, I fear I only have but the most egregious of slanderous lies to report upon the ill-based judgement of a people that know nothing." He began, drawing on what he perceived would be the man across him's narcissistic side. "Common lore unjustifiably claims that your teeth are carved into pointed knives, that your breath is intoxicatingly nauseous and that your eyes are painted black with venomous rage! Rumor goes on to regale that you lay with filthy peasants, that men come claim you as pleasurable plaything upon the strike of the Plutonian night's arrival and that you so move along the stringcourse of your eldest sister Nethis master puppetry." He begot, inviting upon himself the probability of raising the ire of the secondborn son of the Thanasi. His own lips moved to a friendly smile as he moved to calm the snake-boy with a few words of comfort. "Yet, I must assure you that these rumors have been dealt with as of now. Aside military advice, your gorgeous sister had, in her wisdom, intimated upon me a request to suppress these most heinous of accusations, and thusly spare any blemish upon the glory that is this, the House of Thanasi." he revealed, taking a generous taste of the expensive beverage dug on his chalice.
"I've but only lent my report to Lady Thanasi just moments before meeting you." He continued, clearing some of the wine away from his mustache as looked piercingly to the boy's eyes with his own, silver orbs, upholding a penetrating stare that manifested credence to his words. He had little to hide inasmuch as his handling of this most recent affair. Sure, he wasn't officially under the service of this family, but even if he was pressed to answer for his hand against this matter, he would provide only the words of a man of little relevance. Yes, he was a captain of the Drakos, but if pressed to grant sway to his whispers, he would go forth and say he was moved by the words of Essa, that most precious of flowers whom he had carefully cultivated into support some odd years ago. "If you so wish, I could either provide you with a copy I had one of my lieutenants write or..." intrigued Damocles, drawing his smoky words with a subtle growl that indicated some modicum of captivation. "I could take you to see my craft yourself. I dare not be so bold and extend an invitation to your sister, for she has the soft heart of a woman and might very well be appalled by the sight. Yet, against you, whom stands rightful king amongst men, I do so grant such possibility." insinuated the classically handsome man as he stood up and served himself another portion of the wine, before offering to fill the other's own chalice.
"What say you? Would you like to behold just how highly those lowborn peasants now regard you?" intrigued Damocles, taking his own chalice back to his side as he made his way back to the chair he had sat. In that moment he heard the contempt in Mihail's following question, understanding his position of unease exponentially clear. "Well, if you must know. One of my own rumors is that I killed over one hundred men by myself in the last war, that I gave an order for my men to rape, pillage and plunder the Egyptian countryside and that I have personally sired uncountable scores of children with both noble and common ladies." he laughed oh so casually, making light of his reputation as he indulged once more in the beverage. "Though, of these only one is true. I wonder, could you so correctly ascertain which one of these is true, my lord?"
"Perhaps. That is not for you to discover," Mihail answered matter-of-factly, the corner of his mouth now dropping back into a flat line, clearly uninterested by the idea that he should taste 'divine'. He may well have enjoyed the blood flow of others, but he had always found his own to be of little interest. It poured far too freely, so far as he was concerned, and he disliked the image and the weakness it portrayed. If any were to be privy to the vulnerability of such a state, then it would have to be someone with which Mihail felt particularly secure, and there were not many individuals who could lay claim to that title (at present, in fact, it was only his sisters, and it was highly unlikely they would be tasting his blood at all). "And I did not invite you into my chambers to discuss the possible taste of my blood."
They were stupid claims. Idiotic enough that the youngest Thanasi could not help but snort in amusement. If the people truly were spreading such false rumours - and he was sure they were not, for he had always prided himself in the quantity and quality of the spies in which he confided throughout the streets of Midas - then they were not as intelligent as Mihail often credited them to be. Somehow, however, he assumed these statements had been embellished for his benefit. Some of his teeth were more pointed than the usual, but only marginally so, and he thought his scent was delightful (that was the benefit of those plentiful cosmetic perfumes to which he was so partial). At the fourth of Damocles's rumours, however, his expression changed to something far more entertained, because that, at least, was true. Mihail made no secret of the fact that he would gladly sleep with any who struck his fancy and returned the favour, gender regardless, and did not mind if the entirety of the kingdom was aware. So be it if they were to learn that the norm was not the only possibility. Perhaps it would do them good.
Aside from those brief bursts of apparent contentment, his expression had not shifted from mostly blank for the length of time it took to impart these rumours and, once they were finished and Damocles was reassuring him that all was well, and that those gossip-mongers had been handled, it remained equally impassive, as if unimpressed. Why should he be otherwise? Quelling rumours were not tricky in Mihail's eyes, and he had done it a hundred times himself, just as he had started his own gossip another thousand. He was not in the habit of praising others for completing tasks he could manage with little struggle himself.
Since that initial gulp, he had been sipping his wine slowly, but now he downed the remainder of the sweet liquid and set down the goblet, fixing his gaze onto Damocles in what he thought a rightfully accusatory manner. "I do not appreciate false titles. If you wish to extend me a compliment, then you may do so, but do not think I shall begin to side with you on every matter solely because you opt to refer to me with a crown I do not possess." Likely, the title would never be his, but Mihail had mostly resigned himself to such a belief, as there were plenty of things he desired more intently, and were far closer to his grasp. Crowns could wait when significant power could be gained in other ways. Still, he allowed Damocles to refill his drink, considering his offer as if he had not just chastised him a moment earlier. "I have better matters with which to occupy myself and, besides, I am not in the habit of accepting invitations from strange men solely because they attempt to sway me with carefully chosen compliments. The copy shall do. Besides, why should I place myself in potential danger with no trusted companion but a man I have only met moments prior? It would be an act of the utmost stupidity, and I am far from idiotic." Underestimated continuously, perhaps, but not stupid.
The conversation did not dull from then on, and, as the other spoke quite jovially of his exploits, Mihail wondered whether he had made an error in asking such a question of a man who clearly desired to brag about his past achievements. He was not usually in the habit of entertaining men like this unless he had more pleasurable ulterior motives and, although he did find the man sat opposite him handsome, his mind had yet to stray to such a possibility. He continued to tap his fingers absentmindedly on his armrest, thoughts running through the given options as if truly attempting to decide which statement had been truthful, and which had been lies. It was not something with which he typically struggled, but his ability was dulled somewhat by the fact that he was not thoroughly invested in the game. Eventually, he settled on a series of responses, but it was still clear his mind was not entirely on the subject.
"Unless you possess truly Herculean strength, I doubt you killed over a hundred men yourself. As for the other two, I do not genuinely care. I have associated with men who have done plenty of atrocities, and I do not judge by past actions that exist solely as the claims of others. What I care for is your usefulness." There was nothing in a man if all they had were past and potentially falsified stories, and Mihail preferred to see the value in tangible skills. He leaned back in his seat, sipping from his refilled goblet and keeping his eyes trained on Damocles, still trying to note any weakness in the man. "I do not want to listen to tales of your past greatness. At this moment, you are not this mighty warrior you so readily claim to be, and you are only some man whom I have offered entry into my chambers from the kindness of my heart - and trust me, this is not a frequent occurrence - and, thus, I suggest you do what you can to make me think you useful. I wish to know exactly what value you provide, and I care to hear the kinds of tales which you would not tell another for fear of discovery, and which I, therefore, know I can trust. Else, I have no need of you."
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"Perhaps. That is not for you to discover," Mihail answered matter-of-factly, the corner of his mouth now dropping back into a flat line, clearly uninterested by the idea that he should taste 'divine'. He may well have enjoyed the blood flow of others, but he had always found his own to be of little interest. It poured far too freely, so far as he was concerned, and he disliked the image and the weakness it portrayed. If any were to be privy to the vulnerability of such a state, then it would have to be someone with which Mihail felt particularly secure, and there were not many individuals who could lay claim to that title (at present, in fact, it was only his sisters, and it was highly unlikely they would be tasting his blood at all). "And I did not invite you into my chambers to discuss the possible taste of my blood."
They were stupid claims. Idiotic enough that the youngest Thanasi could not help but snort in amusement. If the people truly were spreading such false rumours - and he was sure they were not, for he had always prided himself in the quantity and quality of the spies in which he confided throughout the streets of Midas - then they were not as intelligent as Mihail often credited them to be. Somehow, however, he assumed these statements had been embellished for his benefit. Some of his teeth were more pointed than the usual, but only marginally so, and he thought his scent was delightful (that was the benefit of those plentiful cosmetic perfumes to which he was so partial). At the fourth of Damocles's rumours, however, his expression changed to something far more entertained, because that, at least, was true. Mihail made no secret of the fact that he would gladly sleep with any who struck his fancy and returned the favour, gender regardless, and did not mind if the entirety of the kingdom was aware. So be it if they were to learn that the norm was not the only possibility. Perhaps it would do them good.
Aside from those brief bursts of apparent contentment, his expression had not shifted from mostly blank for the length of time it took to impart these rumours and, once they were finished and Damocles was reassuring him that all was well, and that those gossip-mongers had been handled, it remained equally impassive, as if unimpressed. Why should he be otherwise? Quelling rumours were not tricky in Mihail's eyes, and he had done it a hundred times himself, just as he had started his own gossip another thousand. He was not in the habit of praising others for completing tasks he could manage with little struggle himself.
Since that initial gulp, he had been sipping his wine slowly, but now he downed the remainder of the sweet liquid and set down the goblet, fixing his gaze onto Damocles in what he thought a rightfully accusatory manner. "I do not appreciate false titles. If you wish to extend me a compliment, then you may do so, but do not think I shall begin to side with you on every matter solely because you opt to refer to me with a crown I do not possess." Likely, the title would never be his, but Mihail had mostly resigned himself to such a belief, as there were plenty of things he desired more intently, and were far closer to his grasp. Crowns could wait when significant power could be gained in other ways. Still, he allowed Damocles to refill his drink, considering his offer as if he had not just chastised him a moment earlier. "I have better matters with which to occupy myself and, besides, I am not in the habit of accepting invitations from strange men solely because they attempt to sway me with carefully chosen compliments. The copy shall do. Besides, why should I place myself in potential danger with no trusted companion but a man I have only met moments prior? It would be an act of the utmost stupidity, and I am far from idiotic." Underestimated continuously, perhaps, but not stupid.
The conversation did not dull from then on, and, as the other spoke quite jovially of his exploits, Mihail wondered whether he had made an error in asking such a question of a man who clearly desired to brag about his past achievements. He was not usually in the habit of entertaining men like this unless he had more pleasurable ulterior motives and, although he did find the man sat opposite him handsome, his mind had yet to stray to such a possibility. He continued to tap his fingers absentmindedly on his armrest, thoughts running through the given options as if truly attempting to decide which statement had been truthful, and which had been lies. It was not something with which he typically struggled, but his ability was dulled somewhat by the fact that he was not thoroughly invested in the game. Eventually, he settled on a series of responses, but it was still clear his mind was not entirely on the subject.
"Unless you possess truly Herculean strength, I doubt you killed over a hundred men yourself. As for the other two, I do not genuinely care. I have associated with men who have done plenty of atrocities, and I do not judge by past actions that exist solely as the claims of others. What I care for is your usefulness." There was nothing in a man if all they had were past and potentially falsified stories, and Mihail preferred to see the value in tangible skills. He leaned back in his seat, sipping from his refilled goblet and keeping his eyes trained on Damocles, still trying to note any weakness in the man. "I do not want to listen to tales of your past greatness. At this moment, you are not this mighty warrior you so readily claim to be, and you are only some man whom I have offered entry into my chambers from the kindness of my heart - and trust me, this is not a frequent occurrence - and, thus, I suggest you do what you can to make me think you useful. I wish to know exactly what value you provide, and I care to hear the kinds of tales which you would not tell another for fear of discovery, and which I, therefore, know I can trust. Else, I have no need of you."
"Perhaps. That is not for you to discover," Mihail answered matter-of-factly, the corner of his mouth now dropping back into a flat line, clearly uninterested by the idea that he should taste 'divine'. He may well have enjoyed the blood flow of others, but he had always found his own to be of little interest. It poured far too freely, so far as he was concerned, and he disliked the image and the weakness it portrayed. If any were to be privy to the vulnerability of such a state, then it would have to be someone with which Mihail felt particularly secure, and there were not many individuals who could lay claim to that title (at present, in fact, it was only his sisters, and it was highly unlikely they would be tasting his blood at all). "And I did not invite you into my chambers to discuss the possible taste of my blood."
They were stupid claims. Idiotic enough that the youngest Thanasi could not help but snort in amusement. If the people truly were spreading such false rumours - and he was sure they were not, for he had always prided himself in the quantity and quality of the spies in which he confided throughout the streets of Midas - then they were not as intelligent as Mihail often credited them to be. Somehow, however, he assumed these statements had been embellished for his benefit. Some of his teeth were more pointed than the usual, but only marginally so, and he thought his scent was delightful (that was the benefit of those plentiful cosmetic perfumes to which he was so partial). At the fourth of Damocles's rumours, however, his expression changed to something far more entertained, because that, at least, was true. Mihail made no secret of the fact that he would gladly sleep with any who struck his fancy and returned the favour, gender regardless, and did not mind if the entirety of the kingdom was aware. So be it if they were to learn that the norm was not the only possibility. Perhaps it would do them good.
Aside from those brief bursts of apparent contentment, his expression had not shifted from mostly blank for the length of time it took to impart these rumours and, once they were finished and Damocles was reassuring him that all was well, and that those gossip-mongers had been handled, it remained equally impassive, as if unimpressed. Why should he be otherwise? Quelling rumours were not tricky in Mihail's eyes, and he had done it a hundred times himself, just as he had started his own gossip another thousand. He was not in the habit of praising others for completing tasks he could manage with little struggle himself.
Since that initial gulp, he had been sipping his wine slowly, but now he downed the remainder of the sweet liquid and set down the goblet, fixing his gaze onto Damocles in what he thought a rightfully accusatory manner. "I do not appreciate false titles. If you wish to extend me a compliment, then you may do so, but do not think I shall begin to side with you on every matter solely because you opt to refer to me with a crown I do not possess." Likely, the title would never be his, but Mihail had mostly resigned himself to such a belief, as there were plenty of things he desired more intently, and were far closer to his grasp. Crowns could wait when significant power could be gained in other ways. Still, he allowed Damocles to refill his drink, considering his offer as if he had not just chastised him a moment earlier. "I have better matters with which to occupy myself and, besides, I am not in the habit of accepting invitations from strange men solely because they attempt to sway me with carefully chosen compliments. The copy shall do. Besides, why should I place myself in potential danger with no trusted companion but a man I have only met moments prior? It would be an act of the utmost stupidity, and I am far from idiotic." Underestimated continuously, perhaps, but not stupid.
The conversation did not dull from then on, and, as the other spoke quite jovially of his exploits, Mihail wondered whether he had made an error in asking such a question of a man who clearly desired to brag about his past achievements. He was not usually in the habit of entertaining men like this unless he had more pleasurable ulterior motives and, although he did find the man sat opposite him handsome, his mind had yet to stray to such a possibility. He continued to tap his fingers absentmindedly on his armrest, thoughts running through the given options as if truly attempting to decide which statement had been truthful, and which had been lies. It was not something with which he typically struggled, but his ability was dulled somewhat by the fact that he was not thoroughly invested in the game. Eventually, he settled on a series of responses, but it was still clear his mind was not entirely on the subject.
"Unless you possess truly Herculean strength, I doubt you killed over a hundred men yourself. As for the other two, I do not genuinely care. I have associated with men who have done plenty of atrocities, and I do not judge by past actions that exist solely as the claims of others. What I care for is your usefulness." There was nothing in a man if all they had were past and potentially falsified stories, and Mihail preferred to see the value in tangible skills. He leaned back in his seat, sipping from his refilled goblet and keeping his eyes trained on Damocles, still trying to note any weakness in the man. "I do not want to listen to tales of your past greatness. At this moment, you are not this mighty warrior you so readily claim to be, and you are only some man whom I have offered entry into my chambers from the kindness of my heart - and trust me, this is not a frequent occurrence - and, thus, I suggest you do what you can to make me think you useful. I wish to know exactly what value you provide, and I care to hear the kinds of tales which you would not tell another for fear of discovery, and which I, therefore, know I can trust. Else, I have no need of you."
After paying close, focused attention to the way the Thanasi boy moved and mused about the embellished tales that Damocles spew forth with gathered ease. He was quick to notice a small pierce in the stoic youth’s apathetic armor when the topic of sexuality was raised, causing the brazen militant to contemplate a small victory of sorts. He had baited the boy, using petty gossip and dismissive rumors to try and gain some insight into the inner machinations of the pale-faced boy’s mind. It amused him, to see how that tiny change of expression formed across the boy’s face. Most would have dismissed such a small reaction to be nothing but insignificant and unimportant at all. Yet, Damocles was cunning and he was clever. He had no real need for false sycophancy here, though it probably would not hurt to use curt words in the presence of the boy,
“Of course my lord. It is exactly like you say. Compared to me, you have so many affairs, of far more importance, to tend to.” Twisted the Magnemean as he kept his grey eyes closely upon the languid movements of the aloof-featured youth. “Alas, I only said that you are but one of a kingly composure, a paragon of royal virtue…but if you so wish, I could retake my words and keep them to myself.” He corrected, handling the other his glass of wine with a careful stride of his feet that followed through a shifted movement. “It would be a pity however…” lured Damocles, dragging his words torturously slow so as to encaptivate the other into his actions. “I could offer much to one such as yourself.” Once he finished his sentence, Damocles returned to his spot, maintaining his eyes firmly against the other’s reactions so as to read more and more into him, digesting each and every one of his gestures as a calculated effort in precise examination. It was only then that he figured what his next line of approach would be, one that might very well be more conducive to his cause.
In an instant, without offering much in the form of intention, the colossal Magnemean swept his black locks backwards under the pretension of handling the heat of the room. “Forgive me my lord…” He baited, casually unhooking the topmost layer of his clothes so as to reveal a hint of his Herculean form. Underneath the chamber’s pale light, the soldier made his form aware. He was unusually tall, dark and handsome, with strong, broad shoulders, powerful arms and a crafted set of chiseled abs that could inspire envy in most men. He was muscled like a fantasy, with his olive, tanned complexion beholding the burly-ridges of his well-built appearance. His ridiculously handsome face turned mischievous as a wolfish, predatory grin formed on his face, and his signature silver eyes shone lasciviously through his narrowed stares. “But this heat, it is unbearable.” He justified, keeping his salacious grin fast on his saturnine features so as to maintain his attempt at captivation.
Naturally, Damocles knew that he would not sleep with the boy at all. He might have fancied the company of some men in the past, but none of the traits he appreciated in such beings were apparent in the youth’s appearance. Though he was fair-skinned and dark haired, which he appreciated in others, he was thin and slight of frame, and feminine in his looks, all of which were attributes that did not directly correlate to any form of attraction in the Magnemean. Of course, just because he himself was not attracted to the Thanasi, did not mean he could not utilize some of his own unexpected good-looks to try and gain some further footing with him, to galvanize him into a state of appreciation for his muscular, sculpted body. Was it shallow to appeal to such a base ability? Yes, it was, incredibly so. Was it somewhat underhanded? Unwaveringly so. Did he particularly care for such labels? Not in the least bit. Besides, he was only charming the boy. As far as he was concerned, he was not going to lay with him at all.
“I apologize for my current state, but I simply could not tolerate the heat any longer.” Coyly teased the Magnemean as he turned his attention to the other’s words, thinking about what exactly he could say to entice the other into action. He was not a fool, for he would not simply reveal all his darkest secrets to the Thanasi boy. Still, perhaps he could throw him a bone here and there. “As I said before, my lord, I am but a man of little consequence. I have no great, mysterious tales to regale, aside military histories, and those are quite dull in their character.” He ruminated, showcasing his musculature so as to catapult his sex appeal beyond its necessary level. “Though, there might be a tale that I could provide you.” Tempted Damocles as he addressed the content of his wine so as to satisfy his tongue’s interest. “I could perhaps tell you about my past relationship with a royal.” His words were weighted and strong, beholding the seriousness of his tone, one that was not entirely falsified at all. Of course however, out of loyalty for his past, he knew he had to tread carefully, for he would not reveal the identity of his past lover at all. “Would you like to hear?”
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After paying close, focused attention to the way the Thanasi boy moved and mused about the embellished tales that Damocles spew forth with gathered ease. He was quick to notice a small pierce in the stoic youth’s apathetic armor when the topic of sexuality was raised, causing the brazen militant to contemplate a small victory of sorts. He had baited the boy, using petty gossip and dismissive rumors to try and gain some insight into the inner machinations of the pale-faced boy’s mind. It amused him, to see how that tiny change of expression formed across the boy’s face. Most would have dismissed such a small reaction to be nothing but insignificant and unimportant at all. Yet, Damocles was cunning and he was clever. He had no real need for false sycophancy here, though it probably would not hurt to use curt words in the presence of the boy,
“Of course my lord. It is exactly like you say. Compared to me, you have so many affairs, of far more importance, to tend to.” Twisted the Magnemean as he kept his grey eyes closely upon the languid movements of the aloof-featured youth. “Alas, I only said that you are but one of a kingly composure, a paragon of royal virtue…but if you so wish, I could retake my words and keep them to myself.” He corrected, handling the other his glass of wine with a careful stride of his feet that followed through a shifted movement. “It would be a pity however…” lured Damocles, dragging his words torturously slow so as to encaptivate the other into his actions. “I could offer much to one such as yourself.” Once he finished his sentence, Damocles returned to his spot, maintaining his eyes firmly against the other’s reactions so as to read more and more into him, digesting each and every one of his gestures as a calculated effort in precise examination. It was only then that he figured what his next line of approach would be, one that might very well be more conducive to his cause.
In an instant, without offering much in the form of intention, the colossal Magnemean swept his black locks backwards under the pretension of handling the heat of the room. “Forgive me my lord…” He baited, casually unhooking the topmost layer of his clothes so as to reveal a hint of his Herculean form. Underneath the chamber’s pale light, the soldier made his form aware. He was unusually tall, dark and handsome, with strong, broad shoulders, powerful arms and a crafted set of chiseled abs that could inspire envy in most men. He was muscled like a fantasy, with his olive, tanned complexion beholding the burly-ridges of his well-built appearance. His ridiculously handsome face turned mischievous as a wolfish, predatory grin formed on his face, and his signature silver eyes shone lasciviously through his narrowed stares. “But this heat, it is unbearable.” He justified, keeping his salacious grin fast on his saturnine features so as to maintain his attempt at captivation.
Naturally, Damocles knew that he would not sleep with the boy at all. He might have fancied the company of some men in the past, but none of the traits he appreciated in such beings were apparent in the youth’s appearance. Though he was fair-skinned and dark haired, which he appreciated in others, he was thin and slight of frame, and feminine in his looks, all of which were attributes that did not directly correlate to any form of attraction in the Magnemean. Of course, just because he himself was not attracted to the Thanasi, did not mean he could not utilize some of his own unexpected good-looks to try and gain some further footing with him, to galvanize him into a state of appreciation for his muscular, sculpted body. Was it shallow to appeal to such a base ability? Yes, it was, incredibly so. Was it somewhat underhanded? Unwaveringly so. Did he particularly care for such labels? Not in the least bit. Besides, he was only charming the boy. As far as he was concerned, he was not going to lay with him at all.
“I apologize for my current state, but I simply could not tolerate the heat any longer.” Coyly teased the Magnemean as he turned his attention to the other’s words, thinking about what exactly he could say to entice the other into action. He was not a fool, for he would not simply reveal all his darkest secrets to the Thanasi boy. Still, perhaps he could throw him a bone here and there. “As I said before, my lord, I am but a man of little consequence. I have no great, mysterious tales to regale, aside military histories, and those are quite dull in their character.” He ruminated, showcasing his musculature so as to catapult his sex appeal beyond its necessary level. “Though, there might be a tale that I could provide you.” Tempted Damocles as he addressed the content of his wine so as to satisfy his tongue’s interest. “I could perhaps tell you about my past relationship with a royal.” His words were weighted and strong, beholding the seriousness of his tone, one that was not entirely falsified at all. Of course however, out of loyalty for his past, he knew he had to tread carefully, for he would not reveal the identity of his past lover at all. “Would you like to hear?”
After paying close, focused attention to the way the Thanasi boy moved and mused about the embellished tales that Damocles spew forth with gathered ease. He was quick to notice a small pierce in the stoic youth’s apathetic armor when the topic of sexuality was raised, causing the brazen militant to contemplate a small victory of sorts. He had baited the boy, using petty gossip and dismissive rumors to try and gain some insight into the inner machinations of the pale-faced boy’s mind. It amused him, to see how that tiny change of expression formed across the boy’s face. Most would have dismissed such a small reaction to be nothing but insignificant and unimportant at all. Yet, Damocles was cunning and he was clever. He had no real need for false sycophancy here, though it probably would not hurt to use curt words in the presence of the boy,
“Of course my lord. It is exactly like you say. Compared to me, you have so many affairs, of far more importance, to tend to.” Twisted the Magnemean as he kept his grey eyes closely upon the languid movements of the aloof-featured youth. “Alas, I only said that you are but one of a kingly composure, a paragon of royal virtue…but if you so wish, I could retake my words and keep them to myself.” He corrected, handling the other his glass of wine with a careful stride of his feet that followed through a shifted movement. “It would be a pity however…” lured Damocles, dragging his words torturously slow so as to encaptivate the other into his actions. “I could offer much to one such as yourself.” Once he finished his sentence, Damocles returned to his spot, maintaining his eyes firmly against the other’s reactions so as to read more and more into him, digesting each and every one of his gestures as a calculated effort in precise examination. It was only then that he figured what his next line of approach would be, one that might very well be more conducive to his cause.
In an instant, without offering much in the form of intention, the colossal Magnemean swept his black locks backwards under the pretension of handling the heat of the room. “Forgive me my lord…” He baited, casually unhooking the topmost layer of his clothes so as to reveal a hint of his Herculean form. Underneath the chamber’s pale light, the soldier made his form aware. He was unusually tall, dark and handsome, with strong, broad shoulders, powerful arms and a crafted set of chiseled abs that could inspire envy in most men. He was muscled like a fantasy, with his olive, tanned complexion beholding the burly-ridges of his well-built appearance. His ridiculously handsome face turned mischievous as a wolfish, predatory grin formed on his face, and his signature silver eyes shone lasciviously through his narrowed stares. “But this heat, it is unbearable.” He justified, keeping his salacious grin fast on his saturnine features so as to maintain his attempt at captivation.
Naturally, Damocles knew that he would not sleep with the boy at all. He might have fancied the company of some men in the past, but none of the traits he appreciated in such beings were apparent in the youth’s appearance. Though he was fair-skinned and dark haired, which he appreciated in others, he was thin and slight of frame, and feminine in his looks, all of which were attributes that did not directly correlate to any form of attraction in the Magnemean. Of course, just because he himself was not attracted to the Thanasi, did not mean he could not utilize some of his own unexpected good-looks to try and gain some further footing with him, to galvanize him into a state of appreciation for his muscular, sculpted body. Was it shallow to appeal to such a base ability? Yes, it was, incredibly so. Was it somewhat underhanded? Unwaveringly so. Did he particularly care for such labels? Not in the least bit. Besides, he was only charming the boy. As far as he was concerned, he was not going to lay with him at all.
“I apologize for my current state, but I simply could not tolerate the heat any longer.” Coyly teased the Magnemean as he turned his attention to the other’s words, thinking about what exactly he could say to entice the other into action. He was not a fool, for he would not simply reveal all his darkest secrets to the Thanasi boy. Still, perhaps he could throw him a bone here and there. “As I said before, my lord, I am but a man of little consequence. I have no great, mysterious tales to regale, aside military histories, and those are quite dull in their character.” He ruminated, showcasing his musculature so as to catapult his sex appeal beyond its necessary level. “Though, there might be a tale that I could provide you.” Tempted Damocles as he addressed the content of his wine so as to satisfy his tongue’s interest. “I could perhaps tell you about my past relationship with a royal.” His words were weighted and strong, beholding the seriousness of his tone, one that was not entirely falsified at all. Of course however, out of loyalty for his past, he knew he had to tread carefully, for he would not reveal the identity of his past lover at all. “Would you like to hear?”
Honestly, Mihail did not have the time to work with those who worked so tirelessly to twist their words and trick him. He had spent the entirety of his sorry life manipulating what he meant so that others would fall to his desires, and he had been taught by the very best. There was nobody who could outdo Nethis in her cunning, and he was glad that she had been the one to train him. He was far from flawless, but it was not easy to trick him as so many tried. But he could forgive the gargantuan man before him for his pathetic attempts, for this was only their first meeting, and every word Damocles had heard about him until now was nothing more than silly rumours spread by the unwise people of Colchis. People who thought Mihail was worthless and stupid and nothing more than a child floundering in the shadows of his sister and father, and who had no fear of him but of his name. He could forgive the man, but that opinion would have to change.
"No," he replied, tone harsh and expression more so, his lips tightening into a thin line as he set down the goblet he had been nurturing for so long, leaning back in his perched seat and crossing his arms. "Do not invent orders. I have not requested that you keep your words to yourself, only that you provide tangible proof of your alleged value - a thoroughly reasonable request, given the purpose of our meeting, I think you shall find." He found the other's gaze with his own, fixing his eyes upon him to make clear that he was not the sort who could be threatened, no matter the size of his verbal opponent. Unless Damocles was about to pull the entire ocean out of his sleeve, Mihail was quite sure he had the upper hand in their debate, and there was no reason to be panicked in his presence.
Apparently, intimidation was not the tactic for which Damocles was reaching. Mihail watched the way the man swept back his hair and slowly shifted his clothing so that the Thanasi lord would be offered a better view of his body, which was undoubtedly muscular in all the ways that any girl would have adored. There had been many soldiers with similarly sculpted bodies that Mihail had met during his visits to Nethisa, specially assigned to accompany him through the streets of the unsafe province because he had such a pretty face and enjoyed nothing more than running his hands all over them. Damocles was, perhaps, only his type in a hypothetical sense, in that it was no trouble to refer to the older man as good-looking, but he was too outspoken thus far, and, as a result, his looks did not enthuse Mihail all that much.
Nonetheless, he was still looking. If someone was going to give him a show, he would never say no. "I understand. It would not be the first time things have grown heated in my chambers. If you feel the need to undress somewhat, then I cannot object."
"We have all had past relationships with royals." Mihail quirked his lips upwards in amusement, as if the other's claim was nothing more than a joke. It was, perhaps, unfair, as it was unlikely that those of the lower classes could find it as easy as he to sleep with those bearing a royal name or title - wants were harder to fulfil if you had not the means to achieve any of your desires. "But, I suppose I would be keen to listen to your tale, if you do not spare me any of the details. I cannot bear those who leave out the only points of interest in their stories. But first..."
His gaze flickered away from Damocles for a moment, drifting to focus instead on one of the designs tracing the prettily-decorated ceiling, as if he had no time for his guest. "First, we need to discuss what I want from this." That seemed all too fair. The black-haired man shifted his position as if thoughtful, his tongue flickering out for a split second to run across his upper lip as he considered his options before he turned back to the soldier across from him. "As the youngest of my family, I think you will find that I am often underestimated. Those rumours you shared with me are in the minority, for most think little of me and, though it might be a foolish move on their behalf, it does suit me rather well at present. I do, however, enjoy knowing what they say, but my spies on the streets can only provide me with so much." He pulled himself up, spinning smoothly where he sat so that he was entirely directed towards Damocles, resting his elbows on his knees. "You are a soldier. You control men with positions in the military, where I do not have nearly as much hold as I desire. I want them to provide me with information. In exchange...I will gladly offer you a favour, but only if their words are satisfactory to me. Something of your choice, though no absurdities. I do not have time for any idiocies, as I am certain you can understand." Mihail smiled, his head tilting to one side. "Yes?"
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Honestly, Mihail did not have the time to work with those who worked so tirelessly to twist their words and trick him. He had spent the entirety of his sorry life manipulating what he meant so that others would fall to his desires, and he had been taught by the very best. There was nobody who could outdo Nethis in her cunning, and he was glad that she had been the one to train him. He was far from flawless, but it was not easy to trick him as so many tried. But he could forgive the gargantuan man before him for his pathetic attempts, for this was only their first meeting, and every word Damocles had heard about him until now was nothing more than silly rumours spread by the unwise people of Colchis. People who thought Mihail was worthless and stupid and nothing more than a child floundering in the shadows of his sister and father, and who had no fear of him but of his name. He could forgive the man, but that opinion would have to change.
"No," he replied, tone harsh and expression more so, his lips tightening into a thin line as he set down the goblet he had been nurturing for so long, leaning back in his perched seat and crossing his arms. "Do not invent orders. I have not requested that you keep your words to yourself, only that you provide tangible proof of your alleged value - a thoroughly reasonable request, given the purpose of our meeting, I think you shall find." He found the other's gaze with his own, fixing his eyes upon him to make clear that he was not the sort who could be threatened, no matter the size of his verbal opponent. Unless Damocles was about to pull the entire ocean out of his sleeve, Mihail was quite sure he had the upper hand in their debate, and there was no reason to be panicked in his presence.
Apparently, intimidation was not the tactic for which Damocles was reaching. Mihail watched the way the man swept back his hair and slowly shifted his clothing so that the Thanasi lord would be offered a better view of his body, which was undoubtedly muscular in all the ways that any girl would have adored. There had been many soldiers with similarly sculpted bodies that Mihail had met during his visits to Nethisa, specially assigned to accompany him through the streets of the unsafe province because he had such a pretty face and enjoyed nothing more than running his hands all over them. Damocles was, perhaps, only his type in a hypothetical sense, in that it was no trouble to refer to the older man as good-looking, but he was too outspoken thus far, and, as a result, his looks did not enthuse Mihail all that much.
Nonetheless, he was still looking. If someone was going to give him a show, he would never say no. "I understand. It would not be the first time things have grown heated in my chambers. If you feel the need to undress somewhat, then I cannot object."
"We have all had past relationships with royals." Mihail quirked his lips upwards in amusement, as if the other's claim was nothing more than a joke. It was, perhaps, unfair, as it was unlikely that those of the lower classes could find it as easy as he to sleep with those bearing a royal name or title - wants were harder to fulfil if you had not the means to achieve any of your desires. "But, I suppose I would be keen to listen to your tale, if you do not spare me any of the details. I cannot bear those who leave out the only points of interest in their stories. But first..."
His gaze flickered away from Damocles for a moment, drifting to focus instead on one of the designs tracing the prettily-decorated ceiling, as if he had no time for his guest. "First, we need to discuss what I want from this." That seemed all too fair. The black-haired man shifted his position as if thoughtful, his tongue flickering out for a split second to run across his upper lip as he considered his options before he turned back to the soldier across from him. "As the youngest of my family, I think you will find that I am often underestimated. Those rumours you shared with me are in the minority, for most think little of me and, though it might be a foolish move on their behalf, it does suit me rather well at present. I do, however, enjoy knowing what they say, but my spies on the streets can only provide me with so much." He pulled himself up, spinning smoothly where he sat so that he was entirely directed towards Damocles, resting his elbows on his knees. "You are a soldier. You control men with positions in the military, where I do not have nearly as much hold as I desire. I want them to provide me with information. In exchange...I will gladly offer you a favour, but only if their words are satisfactory to me. Something of your choice, though no absurdities. I do not have time for any idiocies, as I am certain you can understand." Mihail smiled, his head tilting to one side. "Yes?"
Honestly, Mihail did not have the time to work with those who worked so tirelessly to twist their words and trick him. He had spent the entirety of his sorry life manipulating what he meant so that others would fall to his desires, and he had been taught by the very best. There was nobody who could outdo Nethis in her cunning, and he was glad that she had been the one to train him. He was far from flawless, but it was not easy to trick him as so many tried. But he could forgive the gargantuan man before him for his pathetic attempts, for this was only their first meeting, and every word Damocles had heard about him until now was nothing more than silly rumours spread by the unwise people of Colchis. People who thought Mihail was worthless and stupid and nothing more than a child floundering in the shadows of his sister and father, and who had no fear of him but of his name. He could forgive the man, but that opinion would have to change.
"No," he replied, tone harsh and expression more so, his lips tightening into a thin line as he set down the goblet he had been nurturing for so long, leaning back in his perched seat and crossing his arms. "Do not invent orders. I have not requested that you keep your words to yourself, only that you provide tangible proof of your alleged value - a thoroughly reasonable request, given the purpose of our meeting, I think you shall find." He found the other's gaze with his own, fixing his eyes upon him to make clear that he was not the sort who could be threatened, no matter the size of his verbal opponent. Unless Damocles was about to pull the entire ocean out of his sleeve, Mihail was quite sure he had the upper hand in their debate, and there was no reason to be panicked in his presence.
Apparently, intimidation was not the tactic for which Damocles was reaching. Mihail watched the way the man swept back his hair and slowly shifted his clothing so that the Thanasi lord would be offered a better view of his body, which was undoubtedly muscular in all the ways that any girl would have adored. There had been many soldiers with similarly sculpted bodies that Mihail had met during his visits to Nethisa, specially assigned to accompany him through the streets of the unsafe province because he had such a pretty face and enjoyed nothing more than running his hands all over them. Damocles was, perhaps, only his type in a hypothetical sense, in that it was no trouble to refer to the older man as good-looking, but he was too outspoken thus far, and, as a result, his looks did not enthuse Mihail all that much.
Nonetheless, he was still looking. If someone was going to give him a show, he would never say no. "I understand. It would not be the first time things have grown heated in my chambers. If you feel the need to undress somewhat, then I cannot object."
"We have all had past relationships with royals." Mihail quirked his lips upwards in amusement, as if the other's claim was nothing more than a joke. It was, perhaps, unfair, as it was unlikely that those of the lower classes could find it as easy as he to sleep with those bearing a royal name or title - wants were harder to fulfil if you had not the means to achieve any of your desires. "But, I suppose I would be keen to listen to your tale, if you do not spare me any of the details. I cannot bear those who leave out the only points of interest in their stories. But first..."
His gaze flickered away from Damocles for a moment, drifting to focus instead on one of the designs tracing the prettily-decorated ceiling, as if he had no time for his guest. "First, we need to discuss what I want from this." That seemed all too fair. The black-haired man shifted his position as if thoughtful, his tongue flickering out for a split second to run across his upper lip as he considered his options before he turned back to the soldier across from him. "As the youngest of my family, I think you will find that I am often underestimated. Those rumours you shared with me are in the minority, for most think little of me and, though it might be a foolish move on their behalf, it does suit me rather well at present. I do, however, enjoy knowing what they say, but my spies on the streets can only provide me with so much." He pulled himself up, spinning smoothly where he sat so that he was entirely directed towards Damocles, resting his elbows on his knees. "You are a soldier. You control men with positions in the military, where I do not have nearly as much hold as I desire. I want them to provide me with information. In exchange...I will gladly offer you a favour, but only if their words are satisfactory to me. Something of your choice, though no absurdities. I do not have time for any idiocies, as I am certain you can understand." Mihail smiled, his head tilting to one side. "Yes?"
It would take time for Damocles to gain more insight into the Thanasi youth. He had only met the man, but there were quite a few things he could tell right off the bat. Obviously, he was a pragmatic opportunistic, not necessarily a bad thing, and in many ways, as far as the militant could tell, a rather good thing that spoke of his ability to adapt and change to fit the circumstances of his moment. Furthermore, this man showed a cleaver wit and strategic mind of sorts, which was more than he could say for some of the nobles he had the displeasure of meeting. Yes, there was much that could be gained by interacting with this boy. It might be a bit of a puzzle to gain a more stable connection with him, but the time spent would be well-worth it he wagered.
In that moment, the conversation to what Mihail would want, opening up the topic to one that Damocles could better ascertain and make a better educated guess on. Typically, discovering what another person wanted required a bit more exposure to them, something that he had not been afforded right this instance. Yet, he was not one for squandering an opportunity himself, as he too was sure Mihail concurred. And perhaps, it would do well to better hold his tongue and pay closer attention to the actual idiom that the son of the Thanasi had been speaking, one that oftentimes went unspoken and untold, made manifest by gestures and body language. He still kept the same playful grin on his face, but he was going to be more patient and careful about this moving forward. He was after all a royal, and as such, there really was no urgency to rush towards a blossomed relationship of sorts.
Finally, they were getting at the crux of their little discussion here, unravelling the more fascinating points of all the little games they seemed to have been circuling around. In that moment, Damocles realized that words of pomp and ceremony would not fit the Thanasi youth. He seemed to be remarkably in-tune with his public perception, and so, the militant figured that may have been why his earlier compliments had been so coldly received. Well, it mattered little. Merely a change of tactics it was, nothing more, nothing less. As it was, the content of their words shifted, gaining more importance and weight than before, which had been mostly reserved to just a mental spar of sorts. With his attention collected, but his determination to say less and hear more, Damocles focused on the other, listening intently as he quieted down.
So, it seemed as though the little lord Thanasi desired a stronger hand to play concerning the military and its going-abouts? Well, that would certainly be a card that Damocles could easily play. He had heard of Mihail’s affinity for secrets in a prior Court session he had attended, but this was far more advantageous than merely providing some secrets of sort. In his life, Damocles had never apologized for having climbed his way to where he was, and he was not planning on starting to write apology letters now. Naturally, there had been a great many whom he had displeased and even pissed off, but that was not necessarily a bad thing…if they could be disposed off easily. So yes, while he could only use his whispers to help Mihail and receive something in exchange, why could he not do that and also target specific people whom he was not particularly fond of? Perhaps, he would not start with the most significant and major of whispers, for those would require a bit more trust than they seemed to enjoy right now anyways, but mayhaps he could get rid of some smaller, less annoying, but still bothersome fishes.
“I supposed this is an arrangement that could be profitable for us both.” Acknowledged the Magnemean as he clasped his hands behind his back and nodded at the Thanasi youth, contemplating the possibilities that laid myriad before him if this was a fruitful engagement of sorts. “As you said, I am privy to some whispers and rumors that not everyone has access to.” He repeated, relaxing in his gestures as he considered the long list of suspicions and rumors he could regale at this late hour. “Very well, I think this arrangement is fair.” He acknowledged, smiling at the Thanasi youth without showing the same bluster and intensity he showed before, showing a more composed and calmed demeanor.
“For a first demonstration, would you be interested in some whispers about a more familiar land? Pieria perhaps?” suggested the militant as he turned on his heels and faced the Thanasi youth with a rather sudued but still open tone to his baritone voice. “There are some rather interesting words that have reached my ear concerning the soldiers that secure the Temple of Hephaestus.”
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It would take time for Damocles to gain more insight into the Thanasi youth. He had only met the man, but there were quite a few things he could tell right off the bat. Obviously, he was a pragmatic opportunistic, not necessarily a bad thing, and in many ways, as far as the militant could tell, a rather good thing that spoke of his ability to adapt and change to fit the circumstances of his moment. Furthermore, this man showed a cleaver wit and strategic mind of sorts, which was more than he could say for some of the nobles he had the displeasure of meeting. Yes, there was much that could be gained by interacting with this boy. It might be a bit of a puzzle to gain a more stable connection with him, but the time spent would be well-worth it he wagered.
In that moment, the conversation to what Mihail would want, opening up the topic to one that Damocles could better ascertain and make a better educated guess on. Typically, discovering what another person wanted required a bit more exposure to them, something that he had not been afforded right this instance. Yet, he was not one for squandering an opportunity himself, as he too was sure Mihail concurred. And perhaps, it would do well to better hold his tongue and pay closer attention to the actual idiom that the son of the Thanasi had been speaking, one that oftentimes went unspoken and untold, made manifest by gestures and body language. He still kept the same playful grin on his face, but he was going to be more patient and careful about this moving forward. He was after all a royal, and as such, there really was no urgency to rush towards a blossomed relationship of sorts.
Finally, they were getting at the crux of their little discussion here, unravelling the more fascinating points of all the little games they seemed to have been circuling around. In that moment, Damocles realized that words of pomp and ceremony would not fit the Thanasi youth. He seemed to be remarkably in-tune with his public perception, and so, the militant figured that may have been why his earlier compliments had been so coldly received. Well, it mattered little. Merely a change of tactics it was, nothing more, nothing less. As it was, the content of their words shifted, gaining more importance and weight than before, which had been mostly reserved to just a mental spar of sorts. With his attention collected, but his determination to say less and hear more, Damocles focused on the other, listening intently as he quieted down.
So, it seemed as though the little lord Thanasi desired a stronger hand to play concerning the military and its going-abouts? Well, that would certainly be a card that Damocles could easily play. He had heard of Mihail’s affinity for secrets in a prior Court session he had attended, but this was far more advantageous than merely providing some secrets of sort. In his life, Damocles had never apologized for having climbed his way to where he was, and he was not planning on starting to write apology letters now. Naturally, there had been a great many whom he had displeased and even pissed off, but that was not necessarily a bad thing…if they could be disposed off easily. So yes, while he could only use his whispers to help Mihail and receive something in exchange, why could he not do that and also target specific people whom he was not particularly fond of? Perhaps, he would not start with the most significant and major of whispers, for those would require a bit more trust than they seemed to enjoy right now anyways, but mayhaps he could get rid of some smaller, less annoying, but still bothersome fishes.
“I supposed this is an arrangement that could be profitable for us both.” Acknowledged the Magnemean as he clasped his hands behind his back and nodded at the Thanasi youth, contemplating the possibilities that laid myriad before him if this was a fruitful engagement of sorts. “As you said, I am privy to some whispers and rumors that not everyone has access to.” He repeated, relaxing in his gestures as he considered the long list of suspicions and rumors he could regale at this late hour. “Very well, I think this arrangement is fair.” He acknowledged, smiling at the Thanasi youth without showing the same bluster and intensity he showed before, showing a more composed and calmed demeanor.
“For a first demonstration, would you be interested in some whispers about a more familiar land? Pieria perhaps?” suggested the militant as he turned on his heels and faced the Thanasi youth with a rather sudued but still open tone to his baritone voice. “There are some rather interesting words that have reached my ear concerning the soldiers that secure the Temple of Hephaestus.”
It would take time for Damocles to gain more insight into the Thanasi youth. He had only met the man, but there were quite a few things he could tell right off the bat. Obviously, he was a pragmatic opportunistic, not necessarily a bad thing, and in many ways, as far as the militant could tell, a rather good thing that spoke of his ability to adapt and change to fit the circumstances of his moment. Furthermore, this man showed a cleaver wit and strategic mind of sorts, which was more than he could say for some of the nobles he had the displeasure of meeting. Yes, there was much that could be gained by interacting with this boy. It might be a bit of a puzzle to gain a more stable connection with him, but the time spent would be well-worth it he wagered.
In that moment, the conversation to what Mihail would want, opening up the topic to one that Damocles could better ascertain and make a better educated guess on. Typically, discovering what another person wanted required a bit more exposure to them, something that he had not been afforded right this instance. Yet, he was not one for squandering an opportunity himself, as he too was sure Mihail concurred. And perhaps, it would do well to better hold his tongue and pay closer attention to the actual idiom that the son of the Thanasi had been speaking, one that oftentimes went unspoken and untold, made manifest by gestures and body language. He still kept the same playful grin on his face, but he was going to be more patient and careful about this moving forward. He was after all a royal, and as such, there really was no urgency to rush towards a blossomed relationship of sorts.
Finally, they were getting at the crux of their little discussion here, unravelling the more fascinating points of all the little games they seemed to have been circuling around. In that moment, Damocles realized that words of pomp and ceremony would not fit the Thanasi youth. He seemed to be remarkably in-tune with his public perception, and so, the militant figured that may have been why his earlier compliments had been so coldly received. Well, it mattered little. Merely a change of tactics it was, nothing more, nothing less. As it was, the content of their words shifted, gaining more importance and weight than before, which had been mostly reserved to just a mental spar of sorts. With his attention collected, but his determination to say less and hear more, Damocles focused on the other, listening intently as he quieted down.
So, it seemed as though the little lord Thanasi desired a stronger hand to play concerning the military and its going-abouts? Well, that would certainly be a card that Damocles could easily play. He had heard of Mihail’s affinity for secrets in a prior Court session he had attended, but this was far more advantageous than merely providing some secrets of sort. In his life, Damocles had never apologized for having climbed his way to where he was, and he was not planning on starting to write apology letters now. Naturally, there had been a great many whom he had displeased and even pissed off, but that was not necessarily a bad thing…if they could be disposed off easily. So yes, while he could only use his whispers to help Mihail and receive something in exchange, why could he not do that and also target specific people whom he was not particularly fond of? Perhaps, he would not start with the most significant and major of whispers, for those would require a bit more trust than they seemed to enjoy right now anyways, but mayhaps he could get rid of some smaller, less annoying, but still bothersome fishes.
“I supposed this is an arrangement that could be profitable for us both.” Acknowledged the Magnemean as he clasped his hands behind his back and nodded at the Thanasi youth, contemplating the possibilities that laid myriad before him if this was a fruitful engagement of sorts. “As you said, I am privy to some whispers and rumors that not everyone has access to.” He repeated, relaxing in his gestures as he considered the long list of suspicions and rumors he could regale at this late hour. “Very well, I think this arrangement is fair.” He acknowledged, smiling at the Thanasi youth without showing the same bluster and intensity he showed before, showing a more composed and calmed demeanor.
“For a first demonstration, would you be interested in some whispers about a more familiar land? Pieria perhaps?” suggested the militant as he turned on his heels and faced the Thanasi youth with a rather sudued but still open tone to his baritone voice. “There are some rather interesting words that have reached my ear concerning the soldiers that secure the Temple of Hephaestus.”
Mihail was glad to see that his request was not immediately shunned. It seemed that so many were far from eager to share secrets with others, and particularly when those secrets were not theirs to give. Of course, he could not relate to the idea, for he found it nonsensical to grow bogged down by dull morals which only wasted one's time in the long-run. Information should have been sorted by little more than its value, and it was good to see that the militaristic man seated opposite him appeared to share that view. Had he not, well, then the Thanasi would not have found much purpose in his continued presence in his chambers. He was not one to negotiate — if he could not have what he desired, then Mihail was not ready to waste time.
"I am glad you agree," he responded, the words far more designed to encourage him to begin speaking than chosen to express genuine pleasure at the situation. People, so it appeared, were generally more malleable when faced with either compliments or threats, and a quick show of satisfaction was likely to elicit a positive answer. The smile too gave him a further reassurance. "Do continue."
His lips curved upwards into a smile designed to be pleasant, rather than the flirtatious or disdainful expression which usually graced his features. It was moderately genuine, though with a slight challenging undertone to it which really existed for no purpose other than to incite a faster piece of conversation.
"Oh, before you do!" The thought struck him suddenly as his brown eyes went back to the heavy jug of wine that had been brought in, carefully calculating how much of its contents must have disappeared by that time. Quite a lot, given the size of his own goblets. "Would you like for me to send out for a little more wine? I am rather craving some." Not that the question mattered to him, for he was already pulling himself from his seat to move to the door, and called out some curt request that more of the house's finest wine be sent his way before he returned to stretch himself out on the kline once more, half-reclining himself. "Apologies. I simply find that wine is rather delightful, and I cannot allow my guests to go without." Or himself, rather.
The dark-haired lord made a gesture for the other to continue speaking, which was perhaps lucky, as he appeared to have plenty to say. Dear gods, the man did ramble a little, didn't he? Mihail had always enjoyed the fun of drawing things out and relishing the moment, but he was not so keen on the way others did the same, and especially not when he was eager for information. He did not care for the source — he had plenty of spies of his own dotted around Nethisa and Megaris, and though they could not always provide gossip that could turn the heads of the court, even the smallest piece of a rumour was valuable when in the proper hands. Pieria was not the most fascinating place in the world, and he had only visited a few times in his life, and never with much explicit purpose, but anything that could be gleaned from it was good enough.
He nodded, falling back again and relaxing at the possibility of something good. Soldiers could be the source of fantastic tales. "Do share. And do not leave any of the details, understood? I am not offering a rare favour of mine for basic gossip I could steal away from any of the uninformed servants." Although, in truth, the servants were often privy to things that Mihail found surprisingly useful (one could never beat the whispers they gathered from the other noble houses of Colchis). He reached across to select his silver smoking pipe from the table by his bed, glad to see that it was still full, and took a long drag. "I do like the baron of Pieria, but he would be far more useful to me if I had a little more information against his foolishness. I am certain he has finer wines than what he attempts to serve me." It seemed ridiculous that the man should not acknowledge one of his superiors when he made an effort to visit, but he supposed it could be chalked up to hubris.
The Thanasi watched him for a while, waiting to hear whatever story he was planning to share as he dragged languidly on his pipe, savouring the smoke. He had not had a smoke for a few hours now, and he found that the present situation only improved in quality as soon as he inhaled the heavy smoke. As the other spoke, the thought that he should, at the very least, attempt some hospitality past the offering of wine, and held out the pipe, though there was apparent hesitation in the action, reluctant as he was to share the elegant pipe with anybody else. It had been expensive.
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Mihail was glad to see that his request was not immediately shunned. It seemed that so many were far from eager to share secrets with others, and particularly when those secrets were not theirs to give. Of course, he could not relate to the idea, for he found it nonsensical to grow bogged down by dull morals which only wasted one's time in the long-run. Information should have been sorted by little more than its value, and it was good to see that the militaristic man seated opposite him appeared to share that view. Had he not, well, then the Thanasi would not have found much purpose in his continued presence in his chambers. He was not one to negotiate — if he could not have what he desired, then Mihail was not ready to waste time.
"I am glad you agree," he responded, the words far more designed to encourage him to begin speaking than chosen to express genuine pleasure at the situation. People, so it appeared, were generally more malleable when faced with either compliments or threats, and a quick show of satisfaction was likely to elicit a positive answer. The smile too gave him a further reassurance. "Do continue."
His lips curved upwards into a smile designed to be pleasant, rather than the flirtatious or disdainful expression which usually graced his features. It was moderately genuine, though with a slight challenging undertone to it which really existed for no purpose other than to incite a faster piece of conversation.
"Oh, before you do!" The thought struck him suddenly as his brown eyes went back to the heavy jug of wine that had been brought in, carefully calculating how much of its contents must have disappeared by that time. Quite a lot, given the size of his own goblets. "Would you like for me to send out for a little more wine? I am rather craving some." Not that the question mattered to him, for he was already pulling himself from his seat to move to the door, and called out some curt request that more of the house's finest wine be sent his way before he returned to stretch himself out on the kline once more, half-reclining himself. "Apologies. I simply find that wine is rather delightful, and I cannot allow my guests to go without." Or himself, rather.
The dark-haired lord made a gesture for the other to continue speaking, which was perhaps lucky, as he appeared to have plenty to say. Dear gods, the man did ramble a little, didn't he? Mihail had always enjoyed the fun of drawing things out and relishing the moment, but he was not so keen on the way others did the same, and especially not when he was eager for information. He did not care for the source — he had plenty of spies of his own dotted around Nethisa and Megaris, and though they could not always provide gossip that could turn the heads of the court, even the smallest piece of a rumour was valuable when in the proper hands. Pieria was not the most fascinating place in the world, and he had only visited a few times in his life, and never with much explicit purpose, but anything that could be gleaned from it was good enough.
He nodded, falling back again and relaxing at the possibility of something good. Soldiers could be the source of fantastic tales. "Do share. And do not leave any of the details, understood? I am not offering a rare favour of mine for basic gossip I could steal away from any of the uninformed servants." Although, in truth, the servants were often privy to things that Mihail found surprisingly useful (one could never beat the whispers they gathered from the other noble houses of Colchis). He reached across to select his silver smoking pipe from the table by his bed, glad to see that it was still full, and took a long drag. "I do like the baron of Pieria, but he would be far more useful to me if I had a little more information against his foolishness. I am certain he has finer wines than what he attempts to serve me." It seemed ridiculous that the man should not acknowledge one of his superiors when he made an effort to visit, but he supposed it could be chalked up to hubris.
The Thanasi watched him for a while, waiting to hear whatever story he was planning to share as he dragged languidly on his pipe, savouring the smoke. He had not had a smoke for a few hours now, and he found that the present situation only improved in quality as soon as he inhaled the heavy smoke. As the other spoke, the thought that he should, at the very least, attempt some hospitality past the offering of wine, and held out the pipe, though there was apparent hesitation in the action, reluctant as he was to share the elegant pipe with anybody else. It had been expensive.
Mihail was glad to see that his request was not immediately shunned. It seemed that so many were far from eager to share secrets with others, and particularly when those secrets were not theirs to give. Of course, he could not relate to the idea, for he found it nonsensical to grow bogged down by dull morals which only wasted one's time in the long-run. Information should have been sorted by little more than its value, and it was good to see that the militaristic man seated opposite him appeared to share that view. Had he not, well, then the Thanasi would not have found much purpose in his continued presence in his chambers. He was not one to negotiate — if he could not have what he desired, then Mihail was not ready to waste time.
"I am glad you agree," he responded, the words far more designed to encourage him to begin speaking than chosen to express genuine pleasure at the situation. People, so it appeared, were generally more malleable when faced with either compliments or threats, and a quick show of satisfaction was likely to elicit a positive answer. The smile too gave him a further reassurance. "Do continue."
His lips curved upwards into a smile designed to be pleasant, rather than the flirtatious or disdainful expression which usually graced his features. It was moderately genuine, though with a slight challenging undertone to it which really existed for no purpose other than to incite a faster piece of conversation.
"Oh, before you do!" The thought struck him suddenly as his brown eyes went back to the heavy jug of wine that had been brought in, carefully calculating how much of its contents must have disappeared by that time. Quite a lot, given the size of his own goblets. "Would you like for me to send out for a little more wine? I am rather craving some." Not that the question mattered to him, for he was already pulling himself from his seat to move to the door, and called out some curt request that more of the house's finest wine be sent his way before he returned to stretch himself out on the kline once more, half-reclining himself. "Apologies. I simply find that wine is rather delightful, and I cannot allow my guests to go without." Or himself, rather.
The dark-haired lord made a gesture for the other to continue speaking, which was perhaps lucky, as he appeared to have plenty to say. Dear gods, the man did ramble a little, didn't he? Mihail had always enjoyed the fun of drawing things out and relishing the moment, but he was not so keen on the way others did the same, and especially not when he was eager for information. He did not care for the source — he had plenty of spies of his own dotted around Nethisa and Megaris, and though they could not always provide gossip that could turn the heads of the court, even the smallest piece of a rumour was valuable when in the proper hands. Pieria was not the most fascinating place in the world, and he had only visited a few times in his life, and never with much explicit purpose, but anything that could be gleaned from it was good enough.
He nodded, falling back again and relaxing at the possibility of something good. Soldiers could be the source of fantastic tales. "Do share. And do not leave any of the details, understood? I am not offering a rare favour of mine for basic gossip I could steal away from any of the uninformed servants." Although, in truth, the servants were often privy to things that Mihail found surprisingly useful (one could never beat the whispers they gathered from the other noble houses of Colchis). He reached across to select his silver smoking pipe from the table by his bed, glad to see that it was still full, and took a long drag. "I do like the baron of Pieria, but he would be far more useful to me if I had a little more information against his foolishness. I am certain he has finer wines than what he attempts to serve me." It seemed ridiculous that the man should not acknowledge one of his superiors when he made an effort to visit, but he supposed it could be chalked up to hubris.
The Thanasi watched him for a while, waiting to hear whatever story he was planning to share as he dragged languidly on his pipe, savouring the smoke. He had not had a smoke for a few hours now, and he found that the present situation only improved in quality as soon as he inhaled the heavy smoke. As the other spoke, the thought that he should, at the very least, attempt some hospitality past the offering of wine, and held out the pipe, though there was apparent hesitation in the action, reluctant as he was to share the elegant pipe with anybody else. It had been expensive.
