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Rafail was in quite the quandary. Traditionally, he functioned with a degree of selfishness, which might make even the least charitable of noblemen envious, a lifelong reassurance that he was considerably superior to most others, blended with a healthy dose of arguably ineffective parenting, undoubtedly partially responsible for this. And yet, this particular day, such an egotistical nature evaded him, for he had found himself feeling marginally apologetic toward the only man he considered a friend (perhaps ironically, given their families overwhelming distaste for one another). Still, reconciliation had to begin somewhere, and, although Rafail was usually comfortably against the Stravos family, he tended to enjoy the company of their youngest son. Their interests managed to fall in the same vein, at least.
He was not confident as to why he felt such pity. Truth be told, it seemed things were going well for his younger friend at present, if one could consider the current state of Athenia' well'. Elias had installed himself in the palace - that home for which Rafail had so longed if solely because he still believed it rightfully belonged to the Marikas name - and, for all intents and purposes, appeared to have claimed the title that went with it. If it was as simple as that, Rafail wondered why Papa hadn't done it long ago. But a part of him seemed confident that Elias required some cheering, especially given all the tragedy which had befallen his family after a particular senate meeting of which they did not speak, and, thus, he had chosen to prepare an afternoon of delights in which the two of them could partake. It was nothing special, really, for the choice of activity was no different on most other occasions that the pair had met up, but the devil is always in the detail, and Rafail had made quite the effort with these details.
Only recently had his latest economic venture for Thesnia come to fruition. The province was a beautiful one, if one cared for such a rural environment, but it had never quite been up Rafail's alley, and the ratio of youth to the elderly was truly devastating. Such skewed proportions had even become, in part, the cause of a slight economic downturn in recent years, as those who might have been able to provide something of value to the farming province disappeared to the capital. But the youngest Marikas had found a solution which he had believed would not only benefit the land over which he half-heartedly reigned but satisfy his desires. In the past few months, a once-familial home in the not-quite-bustling centre of Thesnia had been repurposed to serve as a brothel, which he had quickly populated with all his favoured maidens from those Athenian whorehouses he so commonly frequented. The idea was simple: the profits from the endeavour would be reinvested back into the province to ensure its finances; the allure of a new bordello should assure the youth that there was still reason to stay in the region, and Rafail would have complimentary access for the rest of his life (a factor which certainly ranked high in his ambitions).
The women who clung to his side this day were from that same establishment, the two of them curvaceous in all the right ways with almost matching manes of blonde hair which had been pinned into elaborate updos, as if they bore some noble title they had kept well-hidden. Though one's eyes were chestnut and the other's were a pale silver, they were close enough to Rafail's image of an ideal woman (he had no shame in admitting that he preferred those who held some resemblance to his own gender-reversed reflection), and he was sure they would appease his friend in turn. Besides, he knew of Elias's distaste for strong women, lest they remind him of his female relations (something Rafail could not quite comprehend as unfortunate), and the pair he had selected were particular ditzy, with just the slightest penchant for sycophancy, and a highly desirable quantity of experience. Either one had been dressed elegantly, and yet not so much that they might appear to outdo their male counterparts, in colours reminiscent of both House Stravos and Marikas, and each carrying an arguably excessive jar of wine fresh from the vineyards of Messaly.
Rafail too had chosen that same extravagance in his style of dress for which he was well known, the uncommon navy blue so dark one might have thought it purple, the hem lined with a golden thread patterned to resemble the waves of the ocean, a belt made from a chain of golden coins wrapped around his waist. He looked inordinately regal as he made the short stroll from the Marikas mansion to the palace, the journey only a few minutes long thanks to the small distance between them. Unlike his typical visits, however, the guards barring the entrance seemed to have multiplied, and, as he attempted to pass by them, he was halted in his imperious path. It was not something which had ever occurred before, and a momentary burst of shock spread across his features as he attempted to process exactly what was being refused of him.
"I am a Marikas," he announced, as if they were not already aware of this fact, a hint of wrath already noticeable in his tone. If he had had a sudden change of demeanour and so wished, he could have climbed into the palace grounds from the gardens of his home property, and yet he had kindly chosen to make a formal entrance - that, and he wasn't entirely keen on ruining the costly fabric of his chiton with such an effort. His hands shifted from the waists of his companions to rest on his own, brow furrowing into that displeased expression so familiar to him. "Lord Rafail of Marikas. My guests and I are here to see my cousin, and I shall not be denied entry by some peasant son who thinks himself capable of telling me what I can and cannot do."
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Rafail was in quite the quandary. Traditionally, he functioned with a degree of selfishness, which might make even the least charitable of noblemen envious, a lifelong reassurance that he was considerably superior to most others, blended with a healthy dose of arguably ineffective parenting, undoubtedly partially responsible for this. And yet, this particular day, such an egotistical nature evaded him, for he had found himself feeling marginally apologetic toward the only man he considered a friend (perhaps ironically, given their families overwhelming distaste for one another). Still, reconciliation had to begin somewhere, and, although Rafail was usually comfortably against the Stravos family, he tended to enjoy the company of their youngest son. Their interests managed to fall in the same vein, at least.
He was not confident as to why he felt such pity. Truth be told, it seemed things were going well for his younger friend at present, if one could consider the current state of Athenia' well'. Elias had installed himself in the palace - that home for which Rafail had so longed if solely because he still believed it rightfully belonged to the Marikas name - and, for all intents and purposes, appeared to have claimed the title that went with it. If it was as simple as that, Rafail wondered why Papa hadn't done it long ago. But a part of him seemed confident that Elias required some cheering, especially given all the tragedy which had befallen his family after a particular senate meeting of which they did not speak, and, thus, he had chosen to prepare an afternoon of delights in which the two of them could partake. It was nothing special, really, for the choice of activity was no different on most other occasions that the pair had met up, but the devil is always in the detail, and Rafail had made quite the effort with these details.
Only recently had his latest economic venture for Thesnia come to fruition. The province was a beautiful one, if one cared for such a rural environment, but it had never quite been up Rafail's alley, and the ratio of youth to the elderly was truly devastating. Such skewed proportions had even become, in part, the cause of a slight economic downturn in recent years, as those who might have been able to provide something of value to the farming province disappeared to the capital. But the youngest Marikas had found a solution which he had believed would not only benefit the land over which he half-heartedly reigned but satisfy his desires. In the past few months, a once-familial home in the not-quite-bustling centre of Thesnia had been repurposed to serve as a brothel, which he had quickly populated with all his favoured maidens from those Athenian whorehouses he so commonly frequented. The idea was simple: the profits from the endeavour would be reinvested back into the province to ensure its finances; the allure of a new bordello should assure the youth that there was still reason to stay in the region, and Rafail would have complimentary access for the rest of his life (a factor which certainly ranked high in his ambitions).
The women who clung to his side this day were from that same establishment, the two of them curvaceous in all the right ways with almost matching manes of blonde hair which had been pinned into elaborate updos, as if they bore some noble title they had kept well-hidden. Though one's eyes were chestnut and the other's were a pale silver, they were close enough to Rafail's image of an ideal woman (he had no shame in admitting that he preferred those who held some resemblance to his own gender-reversed reflection), and he was sure they would appease his friend in turn. Besides, he knew of Elias's distaste for strong women, lest they remind him of his female relations (something Rafail could not quite comprehend as unfortunate), and the pair he had selected were particular ditzy, with just the slightest penchant for sycophancy, and a highly desirable quantity of experience. Either one had been dressed elegantly, and yet not so much that they might appear to outdo their male counterparts, in colours reminiscent of both House Stravos and Marikas, and each carrying an arguably excessive jar of wine fresh from the vineyards of Messaly.
Rafail too had chosen that same extravagance in his style of dress for which he was well known, the uncommon navy blue so dark one might have thought it purple, the hem lined with a golden thread patterned to resemble the waves of the ocean, a belt made from a chain of golden coins wrapped around his waist. He looked inordinately regal as he made the short stroll from the Marikas mansion to the palace, the journey only a few minutes long thanks to the small distance between them. Unlike his typical visits, however, the guards barring the entrance seemed to have multiplied, and, as he attempted to pass by them, he was halted in his imperious path. It was not something which had ever occurred before, and a momentary burst of shock spread across his features as he attempted to process exactly what was being refused of him.
"I am a Marikas," he announced, as if they were not already aware of this fact, a hint of wrath already noticeable in his tone. If he had had a sudden change of demeanour and so wished, he could have climbed into the palace grounds from the gardens of his home property, and yet he had kindly chosen to make a formal entrance - that, and he wasn't entirely keen on ruining the costly fabric of his chiton with such an effort. His hands shifted from the waists of his companions to rest on his own, brow furrowing into that displeased expression so familiar to him. "Lord Rafail of Marikas. My guests and I are here to see my cousin, and I shall not be denied entry by some peasant son who thinks himself capable of telling me what I can and cannot do."
Rafail was in quite the quandary. Traditionally, he functioned with a degree of selfishness, which might make even the least charitable of noblemen envious, a lifelong reassurance that he was considerably superior to most others, blended with a healthy dose of arguably ineffective parenting, undoubtedly partially responsible for this. And yet, this particular day, such an egotistical nature evaded him, for he had found himself feeling marginally apologetic toward the only man he considered a friend (perhaps ironically, given their families overwhelming distaste for one another). Still, reconciliation had to begin somewhere, and, although Rafail was usually comfortably against the Stravos family, he tended to enjoy the company of their youngest son. Their interests managed to fall in the same vein, at least.
He was not confident as to why he felt such pity. Truth be told, it seemed things were going well for his younger friend at present, if one could consider the current state of Athenia' well'. Elias had installed himself in the palace - that home for which Rafail had so longed if solely because he still believed it rightfully belonged to the Marikas name - and, for all intents and purposes, appeared to have claimed the title that went with it. If it was as simple as that, Rafail wondered why Papa hadn't done it long ago. But a part of him seemed confident that Elias required some cheering, especially given all the tragedy which had befallen his family after a particular senate meeting of which they did not speak, and, thus, he had chosen to prepare an afternoon of delights in which the two of them could partake. It was nothing special, really, for the choice of activity was no different on most other occasions that the pair had met up, but the devil is always in the detail, and Rafail had made quite the effort with these details.
Only recently had his latest economic venture for Thesnia come to fruition. The province was a beautiful one, if one cared for such a rural environment, but it had never quite been up Rafail's alley, and the ratio of youth to the elderly was truly devastating. Such skewed proportions had even become, in part, the cause of a slight economic downturn in recent years, as those who might have been able to provide something of value to the farming province disappeared to the capital. But the youngest Marikas had found a solution which he had believed would not only benefit the land over which he half-heartedly reigned but satisfy his desires. In the past few months, a once-familial home in the not-quite-bustling centre of Thesnia had been repurposed to serve as a brothel, which he had quickly populated with all his favoured maidens from those Athenian whorehouses he so commonly frequented. The idea was simple: the profits from the endeavour would be reinvested back into the province to ensure its finances; the allure of a new bordello should assure the youth that there was still reason to stay in the region, and Rafail would have complimentary access for the rest of his life (a factor which certainly ranked high in his ambitions).
The women who clung to his side this day were from that same establishment, the two of them curvaceous in all the right ways with almost matching manes of blonde hair which had been pinned into elaborate updos, as if they bore some noble title they had kept well-hidden. Though one's eyes were chestnut and the other's were a pale silver, they were close enough to Rafail's image of an ideal woman (he had no shame in admitting that he preferred those who held some resemblance to his own gender-reversed reflection), and he was sure they would appease his friend in turn. Besides, he knew of Elias's distaste for strong women, lest they remind him of his female relations (something Rafail could not quite comprehend as unfortunate), and the pair he had selected were particular ditzy, with just the slightest penchant for sycophancy, and a highly desirable quantity of experience. Either one had been dressed elegantly, and yet not so much that they might appear to outdo their male counterparts, in colours reminiscent of both House Stravos and Marikas, and each carrying an arguably excessive jar of wine fresh from the vineyards of Messaly.
Rafail too had chosen that same extravagance in his style of dress for which he was well known, the uncommon navy blue so dark one might have thought it purple, the hem lined with a golden thread patterned to resemble the waves of the ocean, a belt made from a chain of golden coins wrapped around his waist. He looked inordinately regal as he made the short stroll from the Marikas mansion to the palace, the journey only a few minutes long thanks to the small distance between them. Unlike his typical visits, however, the guards barring the entrance seemed to have multiplied, and, as he attempted to pass by them, he was halted in his imperious path. It was not something which had ever occurred before, and a momentary burst of shock spread across his features as he attempted to process exactly what was being refused of him.
"I am a Marikas," he announced, as if they were not already aware of this fact, a hint of wrath already noticeable in his tone. If he had had a sudden change of demeanour and so wished, he could have climbed into the palace grounds from the gardens of his home property, and yet he had kindly chosen to make a formal entrance - that, and he wasn't entirely keen on ruining the costly fabric of his chiton with such an effort. His hands shifted from the waists of his companions to rest on his own, brow furrowing into that displeased expression so familiar to him. "Lord Rafail of Marikas. My guests and I are here to see my cousin, and I shall not be denied entry by some peasant son who thinks himself capable of telling me what I can and cannot do."
To all but those closest to heart, Elias of Stravos was meant to be stalwart. But as day bled into night, spilling color across the horizon, the number of people dwindled to nothing. The head of Stravos grew increasingly isolated within the palace, his plans coming to fruition as he sought to choke rebellions in their tracks. As the moon took its place as queen of the sky, Elias took to the bottle, eager to spill wine into his throat and siphon the limitless stress of his position into the bottle as he drew more and more of the sanguine fluid from it. Elias' reverie grew as his movements staggered, ordinarily direct and purposeful step diverted into a circular, dance-like pattern as he navigated the palace in aimless reverie. How one might see the regent of Athenia, lowered to a drunken wastrel as he languished within his crownless palace. When Apollo carried the sun through the sky, Elias was pristine, but the night brought with it drunken liberation. He reveled in his wounded glory, his chiton half-open in a spectacle of indecent majesty.
In the distance, Elias heard the scuffle as the guards stopped a man at the gates. While in his reverie the voice was not immediately recognized, the indignation in that tone was all too familiar. He'd hear it in his own whenever his authority was questioned, and his legs carried him instinctively towards the struggle. Part of Elias was eager to see the guards throw someone out like the trash they were... The other part of Elias heard the name Marikas and his awareness seemed to fall into place. Bit by bit realization dawned, and the Stravos' eyebrows raised in curiosity even as he stepped forth to intervene on Rafail's behalf. Or, rather, Elias had every intention of it. However, as he dwelled on the last steps leading into the gardens, he squinted to take a proper gander at the women on Rafail's arms. He stepped into the threshold, allowing the torchlight that spilled over the Marikas and his companion to properly appraise them.
"Raf!" he shouted out, the downtrodden Stravos' spirits lifted almost immediately as the organ within his chest began to tick just a smidge faster. On Rafail's arms were two stunning specimens. It was a testament to the Marikas' vanity that his tastes showed in them a feminine mirror to Raf himself, but the Stravos could overlook it as he saw the somewhat glazed nature of their smile. While Elias bore no dislike for women of intelligence and stature, he preferred those who knew to keep their mouths shut unless he deemed it necessary that they open. Curvaceous, enthused and well-groomed to boot, Elias let a chuckle escape his lips as he nearly pushed aside the guard. It was almost treachery, how they denied entry to one of Elias' few truly trusted friends, offending the very definition of friendship and hospitality. Elias, perhaps, put a bit too much force, tossing one of the guards to the ground and pushing himself off from him in turn. Elias stumbled back before a quick glance against the multitude allotted him the opportunity to imply that his show of force was purposely enacted.
"Imbeciles! Lord Rafail of Marikas shall not be denied entry by those of meager blood. Go on, get up and stand out of his way," he began, winking at each of Raf's companions in turn before he took a step back. He turned on the spot, losing grip on the ground and catching himself in one haphazard motion before he called out behind him,
"Please, please, come in, cousin! I'm so glad you've come," he exclaimed, emphasizing the words as if the whole encounter was a planned event. All the more daggers to shove into the hearts of his guard. Every jibe and criticism was set with an expectation that it never be repeated. However, Elias doubted the feeble mind of a hired hand could understand such nuance. Elias ushered Rafail in, taking the newly formed quartet into the belly of the palace. He was keen to show off, pointing out the majesty of marble and stone construction, the sweeping mantles and banners of Athenian royalty before he clapped his hands loudly. Barefoot servants approached the four of them, patting down the seldom-used couches for dust before Elias added,
"Bring wine! Would you care, cousin, for a drink or five? I might have the head start on you, but surely you'll catch up," he teased, flashing a broad grin at the Marikas before guiding himself and the lady at his arm to a loveseat. One hand rested upon her thigh as Elias made himself comfortable, shifting his shoulder to encourage the exquisite woman to press into his chest. An arm slung about her waist, with Elias clearly accustomed to manipulating movements so as to reach the position he desired.
"Who are your friends, hm?" he asked in a somewhat disinterested tone. It was only reasonable to pose the question, but surely their names wouldn't matter at any point in the evening. Quick to move on, he followed his question up with another without waiting for an answer.
"Are there any specific reasons for your visit, cousin? Or did you come to just to spoil me with your impeccable taste in women?"
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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To all but those closest to heart, Elias of Stravos was meant to be stalwart. But as day bled into night, spilling color across the horizon, the number of people dwindled to nothing. The head of Stravos grew increasingly isolated within the palace, his plans coming to fruition as he sought to choke rebellions in their tracks. As the moon took its place as queen of the sky, Elias took to the bottle, eager to spill wine into his throat and siphon the limitless stress of his position into the bottle as he drew more and more of the sanguine fluid from it. Elias' reverie grew as his movements staggered, ordinarily direct and purposeful step diverted into a circular, dance-like pattern as he navigated the palace in aimless reverie. How one might see the regent of Athenia, lowered to a drunken wastrel as he languished within his crownless palace. When Apollo carried the sun through the sky, Elias was pristine, but the night brought with it drunken liberation. He reveled in his wounded glory, his chiton half-open in a spectacle of indecent majesty.
In the distance, Elias heard the scuffle as the guards stopped a man at the gates. While in his reverie the voice was not immediately recognized, the indignation in that tone was all too familiar. He'd hear it in his own whenever his authority was questioned, and his legs carried him instinctively towards the struggle. Part of Elias was eager to see the guards throw someone out like the trash they were... The other part of Elias heard the name Marikas and his awareness seemed to fall into place. Bit by bit realization dawned, and the Stravos' eyebrows raised in curiosity even as he stepped forth to intervene on Rafail's behalf. Or, rather, Elias had every intention of it. However, as he dwelled on the last steps leading into the gardens, he squinted to take a proper gander at the women on Rafail's arms. He stepped into the threshold, allowing the torchlight that spilled over the Marikas and his companion to properly appraise them.
"Raf!" he shouted out, the downtrodden Stravos' spirits lifted almost immediately as the organ within his chest began to tick just a smidge faster. On Rafail's arms were two stunning specimens. It was a testament to the Marikas' vanity that his tastes showed in them a feminine mirror to Raf himself, but the Stravos could overlook it as he saw the somewhat glazed nature of their smile. While Elias bore no dislike for women of intelligence and stature, he preferred those who knew to keep their mouths shut unless he deemed it necessary that they open. Curvaceous, enthused and well-groomed to boot, Elias let a chuckle escape his lips as he nearly pushed aside the guard. It was almost treachery, how they denied entry to one of Elias' few truly trusted friends, offending the very definition of friendship and hospitality. Elias, perhaps, put a bit too much force, tossing one of the guards to the ground and pushing himself off from him in turn. Elias stumbled back before a quick glance against the multitude allotted him the opportunity to imply that his show of force was purposely enacted.
"Imbeciles! Lord Rafail of Marikas shall not be denied entry by those of meager blood. Go on, get up and stand out of his way," he began, winking at each of Raf's companions in turn before he took a step back. He turned on the spot, losing grip on the ground and catching himself in one haphazard motion before he called out behind him,
"Please, please, come in, cousin! I'm so glad you've come," he exclaimed, emphasizing the words as if the whole encounter was a planned event. All the more daggers to shove into the hearts of his guard. Every jibe and criticism was set with an expectation that it never be repeated. However, Elias doubted the feeble mind of a hired hand could understand such nuance. Elias ushered Rafail in, taking the newly formed quartet into the belly of the palace. He was keen to show off, pointing out the majesty of marble and stone construction, the sweeping mantles and banners of Athenian royalty before he clapped his hands loudly. Barefoot servants approached the four of them, patting down the seldom-used couches for dust before Elias added,
"Bring wine! Would you care, cousin, for a drink or five? I might have the head start on you, but surely you'll catch up," he teased, flashing a broad grin at the Marikas before guiding himself and the lady at his arm to a loveseat. One hand rested upon her thigh as Elias made himself comfortable, shifting his shoulder to encourage the exquisite woman to press into his chest. An arm slung about her waist, with Elias clearly accustomed to manipulating movements so as to reach the position he desired.
"Who are your friends, hm?" he asked in a somewhat disinterested tone. It was only reasonable to pose the question, but surely their names wouldn't matter at any point in the evening. Quick to move on, he followed his question up with another without waiting for an answer.
"Are there any specific reasons for your visit, cousin? Or did you come to just to spoil me with your impeccable taste in women?"
To all but those closest to heart, Elias of Stravos was meant to be stalwart. But as day bled into night, spilling color across the horizon, the number of people dwindled to nothing. The head of Stravos grew increasingly isolated within the palace, his plans coming to fruition as he sought to choke rebellions in their tracks. As the moon took its place as queen of the sky, Elias took to the bottle, eager to spill wine into his throat and siphon the limitless stress of his position into the bottle as he drew more and more of the sanguine fluid from it. Elias' reverie grew as his movements staggered, ordinarily direct and purposeful step diverted into a circular, dance-like pattern as he navigated the palace in aimless reverie. How one might see the regent of Athenia, lowered to a drunken wastrel as he languished within his crownless palace. When Apollo carried the sun through the sky, Elias was pristine, but the night brought with it drunken liberation. He reveled in his wounded glory, his chiton half-open in a spectacle of indecent majesty.
In the distance, Elias heard the scuffle as the guards stopped a man at the gates. While in his reverie the voice was not immediately recognized, the indignation in that tone was all too familiar. He'd hear it in his own whenever his authority was questioned, and his legs carried him instinctively towards the struggle. Part of Elias was eager to see the guards throw someone out like the trash they were... The other part of Elias heard the name Marikas and his awareness seemed to fall into place. Bit by bit realization dawned, and the Stravos' eyebrows raised in curiosity even as he stepped forth to intervene on Rafail's behalf. Or, rather, Elias had every intention of it. However, as he dwelled on the last steps leading into the gardens, he squinted to take a proper gander at the women on Rafail's arms. He stepped into the threshold, allowing the torchlight that spilled over the Marikas and his companion to properly appraise them.
"Raf!" he shouted out, the downtrodden Stravos' spirits lifted almost immediately as the organ within his chest began to tick just a smidge faster. On Rafail's arms were two stunning specimens. It was a testament to the Marikas' vanity that his tastes showed in them a feminine mirror to Raf himself, but the Stravos could overlook it as he saw the somewhat glazed nature of their smile. While Elias bore no dislike for women of intelligence and stature, he preferred those who knew to keep their mouths shut unless he deemed it necessary that they open. Curvaceous, enthused and well-groomed to boot, Elias let a chuckle escape his lips as he nearly pushed aside the guard. It was almost treachery, how they denied entry to one of Elias' few truly trusted friends, offending the very definition of friendship and hospitality. Elias, perhaps, put a bit too much force, tossing one of the guards to the ground and pushing himself off from him in turn. Elias stumbled back before a quick glance against the multitude allotted him the opportunity to imply that his show of force was purposely enacted.
"Imbeciles! Lord Rafail of Marikas shall not be denied entry by those of meager blood. Go on, get up and stand out of his way," he began, winking at each of Raf's companions in turn before he took a step back. He turned on the spot, losing grip on the ground and catching himself in one haphazard motion before he called out behind him,
"Please, please, come in, cousin! I'm so glad you've come," he exclaimed, emphasizing the words as if the whole encounter was a planned event. All the more daggers to shove into the hearts of his guard. Every jibe and criticism was set with an expectation that it never be repeated. However, Elias doubted the feeble mind of a hired hand could understand such nuance. Elias ushered Rafail in, taking the newly formed quartet into the belly of the palace. He was keen to show off, pointing out the majesty of marble and stone construction, the sweeping mantles and banners of Athenian royalty before he clapped his hands loudly. Barefoot servants approached the four of them, patting down the seldom-used couches for dust before Elias added,
"Bring wine! Would you care, cousin, for a drink or five? I might have the head start on you, but surely you'll catch up," he teased, flashing a broad grin at the Marikas before guiding himself and the lady at his arm to a loveseat. One hand rested upon her thigh as Elias made himself comfortable, shifting his shoulder to encourage the exquisite woman to press into his chest. An arm slung about her waist, with Elias clearly accustomed to manipulating movements so as to reach the position he desired.
"Who are your friends, hm?" he asked in a somewhat disinterested tone. It was only reasonable to pose the question, but surely their names wouldn't matter at any point in the evening. Quick to move on, he followed his question up with another without waiting for an answer.
"Are there any specific reasons for your visit, cousin? Or did you come to just to spoil me with your impeccable taste in women?"
It took altogether far too long for someone to come to Rafail's aid, so far as he was concerned. The pair of guards had continued to bar him as if he was some scum from the streets of Athenia, and his complaints had been wholly ignored, which, in truth, was more of a humiliation given the girls on his arms, to whom he had so often claimed such status. Eventually, however, his cousin seemed to appear from nowhere, a well-desired if tardy saviour. The perturbed expression on the Marikas's face shifted into one that seemed altogether more satisfied, as if he had solved the entire situation himself, and he rolled his shoulders back to adjust the positioning of his dark chiton in an imperious motion, strutting past the imbecilic guards without sparing them a second glance.
"Yes, well, I could not quite give up the opportunity to visit my most beloved friend in what I imagine must be his time of dearest need," he responded, although it was clear that neither of them had ever quite experienced what one might call 'time of need'. His gaze drifted absent-mindedly over the displayed eccentricities of the palace, nodding every so often in response to something his cousin indicated, as if he had never been there before or did not think it rightfully belonging to his own family, before they finally came to a halt. Rafail had not come for a tour of the palace and, although he could sense the thrill in the other at having obtained such an extravagant new home and importance, he did not genuinely care so much. He was here for the drink and the pleasure of the evening, and he hoped his cousin was of a like mind.
When they were finally seated - his own arm curved carelessly around the shoulders of the second woman - he gave a curt nod in response to the query for wine, although it typically went without stating. "I would be honoured to have whatever drink you feel fit to serve me, for I am sure you shall treat me with more respect than your asinine guards. However..." His spare hand moved to gesture towards the two giant jugs he had had his companions carry in for the group to drink, set on the ground beside their couches as if intending to be consumed as quickly as possible. "I have brought you a selection of some of our finest wine from Messaly. Papa would be livid if he knew I had taken so much from our private stocks." This latter statement was mostly untrue, for Panos was unlikely to care in the slightest, but Rafail enjoyed the implication that he had gone to extreme lengths to make the evening more comfortable for himself and his friend.
The women, however, were a different matter. They had been chosen solely based on their outward appearances and the skill he had grown to know in them, and names were not something which often mattered when Rafail visited the brothel he had built on his land. Nonetheless, he racked his mind for memory, sure that it must have been mentioned at some point in the past. "Khryseis and...Themis." Whether the names were accurate or not, he did not care, for it was unlikely they were to be rejected regardless. "As for the cause of my visit, I only wished to spend some time with you. It has been so long since we have had the opportunity to relax, don't you think?"
It was true, in a sense. Given the kingdom's current state of turmoil, there had been far too much politics to handle, and Rafail could not imagine Elias had been having the grandest time either. So far as he was concerned, they both deserved some time for themselves, and there seemed no better way to do so than this.
Waving a hand to one of the servants who still lingered in silent demand that they hurry with the drinks they had been commanded to bring, and that they accompany said beverages with some kind of food, for his patience was already wearing thin. "All that said, I did care to see how you were. I want to know all the privileges of the palace and the position into which you have thrust yourself, and I want to experience it all. It has been so dreadfully lonely without your company; I feel Athenia is little without both our presence."
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It took altogether far too long for someone to come to Rafail's aid, so far as he was concerned. The pair of guards had continued to bar him as if he was some scum from the streets of Athenia, and his complaints had been wholly ignored, which, in truth, was more of a humiliation given the girls on his arms, to whom he had so often claimed such status. Eventually, however, his cousin seemed to appear from nowhere, a well-desired if tardy saviour. The perturbed expression on the Marikas's face shifted into one that seemed altogether more satisfied, as if he had solved the entire situation himself, and he rolled his shoulders back to adjust the positioning of his dark chiton in an imperious motion, strutting past the imbecilic guards without sparing them a second glance.
"Yes, well, I could not quite give up the opportunity to visit my most beloved friend in what I imagine must be his time of dearest need," he responded, although it was clear that neither of them had ever quite experienced what one might call 'time of need'. His gaze drifted absent-mindedly over the displayed eccentricities of the palace, nodding every so often in response to something his cousin indicated, as if he had never been there before or did not think it rightfully belonging to his own family, before they finally came to a halt. Rafail had not come for a tour of the palace and, although he could sense the thrill in the other at having obtained such an extravagant new home and importance, he did not genuinely care so much. He was here for the drink and the pleasure of the evening, and he hoped his cousin was of a like mind.
When they were finally seated - his own arm curved carelessly around the shoulders of the second woman - he gave a curt nod in response to the query for wine, although it typically went without stating. "I would be honoured to have whatever drink you feel fit to serve me, for I am sure you shall treat me with more respect than your asinine guards. However..." His spare hand moved to gesture towards the two giant jugs he had had his companions carry in for the group to drink, set on the ground beside their couches as if intending to be consumed as quickly as possible. "I have brought you a selection of some of our finest wine from Messaly. Papa would be livid if he knew I had taken so much from our private stocks." This latter statement was mostly untrue, for Panos was unlikely to care in the slightest, but Rafail enjoyed the implication that he had gone to extreme lengths to make the evening more comfortable for himself and his friend.
The women, however, were a different matter. They had been chosen solely based on their outward appearances and the skill he had grown to know in them, and names were not something which often mattered when Rafail visited the brothel he had built on his land. Nonetheless, he racked his mind for memory, sure that it must have been mentioned at some point in the past. "Khryseis and...Themis." Whether the names were accurate or not, he did not care, for it was unlikely they were to be rejected regardless. "As for the cause of my visit, I only wished to spend some time with you. It has been so long since we have had the opportunity to relax, don't you think?"
It was true, in a sense. Given the kingdom's current state of turmoil, there had been far too much politics to handle, and Rafail could not imagine Elias had been having the grandest time either. So far as he was concerned, they both deserved some time for themselves, and there seemed no better way to do so than this.
Waving a hand to one of the servants who still lingered in silent demand that they hurry with the drinks they had been commanded to bring, and that they accompany said beverages with some kind of food, for his patience was already wearing thin. "All that said, I did care to see how you were. I want to know all the privileges of the palace and the position into which you have thrust yourself, and I want to experience it all. It has been so dreadfully lonely without your company; I feel Athenia is little without both our presence."
It took altogether far too long for someone to come to Rafail's aid, so far as he was concerned. The pair of guards had continued to bar him as if he was some scum from the streets of Athenia, and his complaints had been wholly ignored, which, in truth, was more of a humiliation given the girls on his arms, to whom he had so often claimed such status. Eventually, however, his cousin seemed to appear from nowhere, a well-desired if tardy saviour. The perturbed expression on the Marikas's face shifted into one that seemed altogether more satisfied, as if he had solved the entire situation himself, and he rolled his shoulders back to adjust the positioning of his dark chiton in an imperious motion, strutting past the imbecilic guards without sparing them a second glance.
"Yes, well, I could not quite give up the opportunity to visit my most beloved friend in what I imagine must be his time of dearest need," he responded, although it was clear that neither of them had ever quite experienced what one might call 'time of need'. His gaze drifted absent-mindedly over the displayed eccentricities of the palace, nodding every so often in response to something his cousin indicated, as if he had never been there before or did not think it rightfully belonging to his own family, before they finally came to a halt. Rafail had not come for a tour of the palace and, although he could sense the thrill in the other at having obtained such an extravagant new home and importance, he did not genuinely care so much. He was here for the drink and the pleasure of the evening, and he hoped his cousin was of a like mind.
When they were finally seated - his own arm curved carelessly around the shoulders of the second woman - he gave a curt nod in response to the query for wine, although it typically went without stating. "I would be honoured to have whatever drink you feel fit to serve me, for I am sure you shall treat me with more respect than your asinine guards. However..." His spare hand moved to gesture towards the two giant jugs he had had his companions carry in for the group to drink, set on the ground beside their couches as if intending to be consumed as quickly as possible. "I have brought you a selection of some of our finest wine from Messaly. Papa would be livid if he knew I had taken so much from our private stocks." This latter statement was mostly untrue, for Panos was unlikely to care in the slightest, but Rafail enjoyed the implication that he had gone to extreme lengths to make the evening more comfortable for himself and his friend.
The women, however, were a different matter. They had been chosen solely based on their outward appearances and the skill he had grown to know in them, and names were not something which often mattered when Rafail visited the brothel he had built on his land. Nonetheless, he racked his mind for memory, sure that it must have been mentioned at some point in the past. "Khryseis and...Themis." Whether the names were accurate or not, he did not care, for it was unlikely they were to be rejected regardless. "As for the cause of my visit, I only wished to spend some time with you. It has been so long since we have had the opportunity to relax, don't you think?"
It was true, in a sense. Given the kingdom's current state of turmoil, there had been far too much politics to handle, and Rafail could not imagine Elias had been having the grandest time either. So far as he was concerned, they both deserved some time for themselves, and there seemed no better way to do so than this.
Waving a hand to one of the servants who still lingered in silent demand that they hurry with the drinks they had been commanded to bring, and that they accompany said beverages with some kind of food, for his patience was already wearing thin. "All that said, I did care to see how you were. I want to know all the privileges of the palace and the position into which you have thrust yourself, and I want to experience it all. It has been so dreadfully lonely without your company; I feel Athenia is little without both our presence."
Elias of Stravos would not and had no reason to apologize for the treatment that Rafail of Marikas encountered. In any case, he figured that his friend preferred the punishment of the offending party, so as to not draw the regal heir to Stravos lower by admitting any sort of fault. No, it was the prerogative of wretches to understand when to dismiss their orders and stay their hand, for it was so obvious that a man of blood nearly as royal as his own would be granted access into the palati, the home of the godly royal families of Athenian descent. Elias watched Rafail as he seemed to grow more and more assured, the disturbance present upon his countenance melting away bit by bit until there was satisfaction that wore itself upon his features. Then, the man strutted behind him, following Elias into the palace and leaving behind those fools to lick the wounds to both body and pride.
Elias listened well to his cousin and friend’s answer, his lips curving tightly at the mention of his dear need for friendship. It was true that Elias of Stravos required a friend. The life of a ruler without a crown was trying and though neither the Marikas nor the Stravos ever truly experienced poverty or hunger (even as all of Athenia burned or starved and the Stravos coffers were prohibited to access by the Athenian Senate itself). It mattered not that they were healthy and fed, for there were other needs that were just as important. Rafail of Marikas was not a man that Elias felt he wanted to pull into counsel. While he dearly loved his cousin, as both friend and family, it was asinine to pull him into what he did not want. There were many others that Elias could coerce or convince into joining the fight for the throne, and to make Rafail complicit in his dealings would be a grave betrayal to the friendship they shared.
For in the world that Elias plunged himself into, there were enough casualties and sufficient collateral damage that those very select few that Elias cared for need not be turned into victims themselves. Instead of dwelling further on the matter, Elias allowed himself to consider Rafail properly, letting his arm sling over the shoulders of the whore he’d brought along before the limb took to the small of her back. His digits moved to slide between her arm, toying with the woman’s breast to no complaint from her behalf. It was only natural for Elias to push boundaries, to assess what was permissible and to even nudge at that boundary. However, his attention was not fully on the whore, but rather at his cousin as he indulged Elias in the severity of difficulty that was securing the bottle of wine. Elias stifled a chuckle at it all, for the ire of a father was something by no means new to Elias, and likely far more severe than anything the Marikas sire would enact upon his naughty child. He kept the rebuttal to himself, not keen to share the depths of past misfortune. Not because he lacked any sort of trust in Rafail, but the time was hardly nigh for such a telling.
The reunion of two royal heirs, after all, was a joyous thing, and he considered the bottle for a moment before he let his lips brush playfully against the harlot’s jawline. He breathed into her ear, ”Be a dear and fetch us some of the nicer goblets, won’t you? You’ll hardly need to go very far. The servants will show you the way,” he encouraged. Once Elias’ seat was free of the woman’s presence, he let his smile extend. Rafail of Marikas was right, of course. Stravos and Marikas had spent far too little time together, both the families and the heirs themselves. It was a miracle of the Gods that Rafail had remembered his friend in his time of suffering, and that he’d decided to come in the night to lift his spirits. The heir to Stravos nodded in agreement, though he kept silent, knowing very well when Rafail finished speaking. There was a tell to the man, and it was apparent before he began to speak that there was more to say. He sent another servant after the whore Elias had dismissed, and the Stravos could almost see the vein that threatened to pop in his skull. Raf was never a patient man, and he knew it’d hardly change given the climate of Athenia. He chuckled anew, nodding in agreement as he went on about the suffering of Athenia without them.
”I’d be glad to accommodate you, if you’re wanting to stay, Raf! The privileges of the palati are legion, and I’d hate to see you fall into the cold and expose yourself to the ravenous filth that persist within the night. If your body is sore, you can take your company with you into the baths and soothe yourself. If your gullet is empty, eat with me and we’ll feast until we can bear no more. The four of us could play games of chance, if it strikes your fancy? With stakes of our own choosing,” he ruminated aloud, allowing his hungry gaze to fall upon the returning whore as she gave each of them a bronze goblet, all of which were filled by a slave holding the bottle of wine Rafail had offered. Two more returned with plenty more wine, with three others following in tow as a feast prepared and suited for men of their stature was brought along on a cart for them to take from at their leisure. Elias thought about the feast he saw, and wondered for a moment just how many were deprived of food so that they may feed.
Then he decided that he didn’t care for the answer, nor for those that suffered in consequence.
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Elias of Stravos would not and had no reason to apologize for the treatment that Rafail of Marikas encountered. In any case, he figured that his friend preferred the punishment of the offending party, so as to not draw the regal heir to Stravos lower by admitting any sort of fault. No, it was the prerogative of wretches to understand when to dismiss their orders and stay their hand, for it was so obvious that a man of blood nearly as royal as his own would be granted access into the palati, the home of the godly royal families of Athenian descent. Elias watched Rafail as he seemed to grow more and more assured, the disturbance present upon his countenance melting away bit by bit until there was satisfaction that wore itself upon his features. Then, the man strutted behind him, following Elias into the palace and leaving behind those fools to lick the wounds to both body and pride.
Elias listened well to his cousin and friend’s answer, his lips curving tightly at the mention of his dear need for friendship. It was true that Elias of Stravos required a friend. The life of a ruler without a crown was trying and though neither the Marikas nor the Stravos ever truly experienced poverty or hunger (even as all of Athenia burned or starved and the Stravos coffers were prohibited to access by the Athenian Senate itself). It mattered not that they were healthy and fed, for there were other needs that were just as important. Rafail of Marikas was not a man that Elias felt he wanted to pull into counsel. While he dearly loved his cousin, as both friend and family, it was asinine to pull him into what he did not want. There were many others that Elias could coerce or convince into joining the fight for the throne, and to make Rafail complicit in his dealings would be a grave betrayal to the friendship they shared.
For in the world that Elias plunged himself into, there were enough casualties and sufficient collateral damage that those very select few that Elias cared for need not be turned into victims themselves. Instead of dwelling further on the matter, Elias allowed himself to consider Rafail properly, letting his arm sling over the shoulders of the whore he’d brought along before the limb took to the small of her back. His digits moved to slide between her arm, toying with the woman’s breast to no complaint from her behalf. It was only natural for Elias to push boundaries, to assess what was permissible and to even nudge at that boundary. However, his attention was not fully on the whore, but rather at his cousin as he indulged Elias in the severity of difficulty that was securing the bottle of wine. Elias stifled a chuckle at it all, for the ire of a father was something by no means new to Elias, and likely far more severe than anything the Marikas sire would enact upon his naughty child. He kept the rebuttal to himself, not keen to share the depths of past misfortune. Not because he lacked any sort of trust in Rafail, but the time was hardly nigh for such a telling.
The reunion of two royal heirs, after all, was a joyous thing, and he considered the bottle for a moment before he let his lips brush playfully against the harlot’s jawline. He breathed into her ear, ”Be a dear and fetch us some of the nicer goblets, won’t you? You’ll hardly need to go very far. The servants will show you the way,” he encouraged. Once Elias’ seat was free of the woman’s presence, he let his smile extend. Rafail of Marikas was right, of course. Stravos and Marikas had spent far too little time together, both the families and the heirs themselves. It was a miracle of the Gods that Rafail had remembered his friend in his time of suffering, and that he’d decided to come in the night to lift his spirits. The heir to Stravos nodded in agreement, though he kept silent, knowing very well when Rafail finished speaking. There was a tell to the man, and it was apparent before he began to speak that there was more to say. He sent another servant after the whore Elias had dismissed, and the Stravos could almost see the vein that threatened to pop in his skull. Raf was never a patient man, and he knew it’d hardly change given the climate of Athenia. He chuckled anew, nodding in agreement as he went on about the suffering of Athenia without them.
”I’d be glad to accommodate you, if you’re wanting to stay, Raf! The privileges of the palati are legion, and I’d hate to see you fall into the cold and expose yourself to the ravenous filth that persist within the night. If your body is sore, you can take your company with you into the baths and soothe yourself. If your gullet is empty, eat with me and we’ll feast until we can bear no more. The four of us could play games of chance, if it strikes your fancy? With stakes of our own choosing,” he ruminated aloud, allowing his hungry gaze to fall upon the returning whore as she gave each of them a bronze goblet, all of which were filled by a slave holding the bottle of wine Rafail had offered. Two more returned with plenty more wine, with three others following in tow as a feast prepared and suited for men of their stature was brought along on a cart for them to take from at their leisure. Elias thought about the feast he saw, and wondered for a moment just how many were deprived of food so that they may feed.
Then he decided that he didn’t care for the answer, nor for those that suffered in consequence.
Elias of Stravos would not and had no reason to apologize for the treatment that Rafail of Marikas encountered. In any case, he figured that his friend preferred the punishment of the offending party, so as to not draw the regal heir to Stravos lower by admitting any sort of fault. No, it was the prerogative of wretches to understand when to dismiss their orders and stay their hand, for it was so obvious that a man of blood nearly as royal as his own would be granted access into the palati, the home of the godly royal families of Athenian descent. Elias watched Rafail as he seemed to grow more and more assured, the disturbance present upon his countenance melting away bit by bit until there was satisfaction that wore itself upon his features. Then, the man strutted behind him, following Elias into the palace and leaving behind those fools to lick the wounds to both body and pride.
Elias listened well to his cousin and friend’s answer, his lips curving tightly at the mention of his dear need for friendship. It was true that Elias of Stravos required a friend. The life of a ruler without a crown was trying and though neither the Marikas nor the Stravos ever truly experienced poverty or hunger (even as all of Athenia burned or starved and the Stravos coffers were prohibited to access by the Athenian Senate itself). It mattered not that they were healthy and fed, for there were other needs that were just as important. Rafail of Marikas was not a man that Elias felt he wanted to pull into counsel. While he dearly loved his cousin, as both friend and family, it was asinine to pull him into what he did not want. There were many others that Elias could coerce or convince into joining the fight for the throne, and to make Rafail complicit in his dealings would be a grave betrayal to the friendship they shared.
For in the world that Elias plunged himself into, there were enough casualties and sufficient collateral damage that those very select few that Elias cared for need not be turned into victims themselves. Instead of dwelling further on the matter, Elias allowed himself to consider Rafail properly, letting his arm sling over the shoulders of the whore he’d brought along before the limb took to the small of her back. His digits moved to slide between her arm, toying with the woman’s breast to no complaint from her behalf. It was only natural for Elias to push boundaries, to assess what was permissible and to even nudge at that boundary. However, his attention was not fully on the whore, but rather at his cousin as he indulged Elias in the severity of difficulty that was securing the bottle of wine. Elias stifled a chuckle at it all, for the ire of a father was something by no means new to Elias, and likely far more severe than anything the Marikas sire would enact upon his naughty child. He kept the rebuttal to himself, not keen to share the depths of past misfortune. Not because he lacked any sort of trust in Rafail, but the time was hardly nigh for such a telling.
The reunion of two royal heirs, after all, was a joyous thing, and he considered the bottle for a moment before he let his lips brush playfully against the harlot’s jawline. He breathed into her ear, ”Be a dear and fetch us some of the nicer goblets, won’t you? You’ll hardly need to go very far. The servants will show you the way,” he encouraged. Once Elias’ seat was free of the woman’s presence, he let his smile extend. Rafail of Marikas was right, of course. Stravos and Marikas had spent far too little time together, both the families and the heirs themselves. It was a miracle of the Gods that Rafail had remembered his friend in his time of suffering, and that he’d decided to come in the night to lift his spirits. The heir to Stravos nodded in agreement, though he kept silent, knowing very well when Rafail finished speaking. There was a tell to the man, and it was apparent before he began to speak that there was more to say. He sent another servant after the whore Elias had dismissed, and the Stravos could almost see the vein that threatened to pop in his skull. Raf was never a patient man, and he knew it’d hardly change given the climate of Athenia. He chuckled anew, nodding in agreement as he went on about the suffering of Athenia without them.
”I’d be glad to accommodate you, if you’re wanting to stay, Raf! The privileges of the palati are legion, and I’d hate to see you fall into the cold and expose yourself to the ravenous filth that persist within the night. If your body is sore, you can take your company with you into the baths and soothe yourself. If your gullet is empty, eat with me and we’ll feast until we can bear no more. The four of us could play games of chance, if it strikes your fancy? With stakes of our own choosing,” he ruminated aloud, allowing his hungry gaze to fall upon the returning whore as she gave each of them a bronze goblet, all of which were filled by a slave holding the bottle of wine Rafail had offered. Two more returned with plenty more wine, with three others following in tow as a feast prepared and suited for men of their stature was brought along on a cart for them to take from at their leisure. Elias thought about the feast he saw, and wondered for a moment just how many were deprived of food so that they may feed.
Then he decided that he didn’t care for the answer, nor for those that suffered in consequence.
The privileges of the palati were not only numerous but, so far as Rafail was aware, also his birthright through his Marikas name, and he intended to take advantage of them so long as he was offered the opportunity. As soon as the suggestion had left his friend's lips that he might stay the night, his decision was fixed, and there would be no changing the man's opinion. Besides, although it seemed a fanciful thought, there may well be a chance to see the younger princess, who had been hidden away for far too long, in Rafail's opinion, and whose mind he still believed he could turn toward pleasant thoughts for himself (though he was still unsure what had prompted the about-turn in her original opinion of the blonde lord).
"I suppose I have no reason to return home for a while," he replied, acting as though he was still weighing the advantages of choosing to stay against the comforts of home. He assumed he would be equally accommodated in either location, only the palace was the palace, and for all the grandeur of the Marikas archontikó, it was not quite the same. "After all, my ancestors resided here for many years, and, therefore, it is essentially a distant home to me." The home he believed was owed to him, even if Rafail did not care for all the difficulties and tedious tasks that might come with the title of a monarch. "If you would not mind, I shall take a suite of rooms for the night, and I shall have someone sent next door for my men."
It seemed a suitable arrangement and, with such plans made, Rafail watched the appearance of additional wines and foods to make the evening more comfortable for the pair and their guests (for his decision to stay the night had him past the point of thinking himself a guest any longer), the corner of his lips upturned into a half-smirk of amusement at the well-deserved extravagance as he considered the last of his friend's suggestions. It was rare that Elias would recommend a plan the Marikas did not find incredibly enticing, for he had often noticed the pair had astoundingly similar mindsets, and this was no exception to the rule. Games of chance sounded like a delightful thought and, given the two ladies now sat with them, he could only imagine the stakes which might come into play.
As he sipped from his newly filled goblet, his fingers drummed pensively on the girl's collarbone, as if attempting to decide what might interest his friend as much as it did him. "Perhaps," he suggested, as the idea struck him quite suddenly, his tone pitched to imply excitement, more than a little pleased with his own thought process, "we might play with dice, and the losers shall have to strip off." Rafail looked pointedly at Themis - or was it Khryseis? - as he spoke, for though he knew both women's bodies exceptionally well, he could not imagine Elias would reject the possibility of blending their shared sexual appetite into the game. There were rare occasions when a stripped-down woman did not make an evening better.
Picking absentmindedly at an intricate bowl close to overflowing with grapes as he awaited an answer from his friend, the Thesnian baron thought he might add further to the conversation, although his thoughts this time around were rather more political than the last time he had opened his mouth to speak. "I have noticed, dear cousin, that there is a murmur of discontent amongst the..." He searched for the correct word, settling on one which tended to work for most individuals without title, regardless of wealth: "Amongst the peasantry. There is not enough food, there is not enough water, there is not enough anything. In truth, I do not care: it is not my fault they were born into so little, and something must separate the classes."
"Nonetheless, I had a thought. As a Marikas, my family controls more provinces than any other, and a fair few of them, in fact, primarily produce foodstuffs." Rafail took one of the grapes between thumb and index finger, squeezing it in amusement until it burst, as if this were a casual matter. "Now, I am thoroughly well-fed, as are my people in Thesnia, given how much we produce, but I thought I might be inclined to offer you some help on the subject of the rest of the Athenian populace. Whether you wish to feed them or use it against them or otherwise, I do not especially care, but I have the resources to help you as necessary, and I am perfectly willing to do so - there is plenty a Marikas can manage." He turned his gaze to face Elias, swirling the wine in his goblet in light circles and tilting his head to one side. "I have no doubts you shall return the favour someday, hm?"
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The privileges of the palati were not only numerous but, so far as Rafail was aware, also his birthright through his Marikas name, and he intended to take advantage of them so long as he was offered the opportunity. As soon as the suggestion had left his friend's lips that he might stay the night, his decision was fixed, and there would be no changing the man's opinion. Besides, although it seemed a fanciful thought, there may well be a chance to see the younger princess, who had been hidden away for far too long, in Rafail's opinion, and whose mind he still believed he could turn toward pleasant thoughts for himself (though he was still unsure what had prompted the about-turn in her original opinion of the blonde lord).
"I suppose I have no reason to return home for a while," he replied, acting as though he was still weighing the advantages of choosing to stay against the comforts of home. He assumed he would be equally accommodated in either location, only the palace was the palace, and for all the grandeur of the Marikas archontikó, it was not quite the same. "After all, my ancestors resided here for many years, and, therefore, it is essentially a distant home to me." The home he believed was owed to him, even if Rafail did not care for all the difficulties and tedious tasks that might come with the title of a monarch. "If you would not mind, I shall take a suite of rooms for the night, and I shall have someone sent next door for my men."
It seemed a suitable arrangement and, with such plans made, Rafail watched the appearance of additional wines and foods to make the evening more comfortable for the pair and their guests (for his decision to stay the night had him past the point of thinking himself a guest any longer), the corner of his lips upturned into a half-smirk of amusement at the well-deserved extravagance as he considered the last of his friend's suggestions. It was rare that Elias would recommend a plan the Marikas did not find incredibly enticing, for he had often noticed the pair had astoundingly similar mindsets, and this was no exception to the rule. Games of chance sounded like a delightful thought and, given the two ladies now sat with them, he could only imagine the stakes which might come into play.
As he sipped from his newly filled goblet, his fingers drummed pensively on the girl's collarbone, as if attempting to decide what might interest his friend as much as it did him. "Perhaps," he suggested, as the idea struck him quite suddenly, his tone pitched to imply excitement, more than a little pleased with his own thought process, "we might play with dice, and the losers shall have to strip off." Rafail looked pointedly at Themis - or was it Khryseis? - as he spoke, for though he knew both women's bodies exceptionally well, he could not imagine Elias would reject the possibility of blending their shared sexual appetite into the game. There were rare occasions when a stripped-down woman did not make an evening better.
Picking absentmindedly at an intricate bowl close to overflowing with grapes as he awaited an answer from his friend, the Thesnian baron thought he might add further to the conversation, although his thoughts this time around were rather more political than the last time he had opened his mouth to speak. "I have noticed, dear cousin, that there is a murmur of discontent amongst the..." He searched for the correct word, settling on one which tended to work for most individuals without title, regardless of wealth: "Amongst the peasantry. There is not enough food, there is not enough water, there is not enough anything. In truth, I do not care: it is not my fault they were born into so little, and something must separate the classes."
"Nonetheless, I had a thought. As a Marikas, my family controls more provinces than any other, and a fair few of them, in fact, primarily produce foodstuffs." Rafail took one of the grapes between thumb and index finger, squeezing it in amusement until it burst, as if this were a casual matter. "Now, I am thoroughly well-fed, as are my people in Thesnia, given how much we produce, but I thought I might be inclined to offer you some help on the subject of the rest of the Athenian populace. Whether you wish to feed them or use it against them or otherwise, I do not especially care, but I have the resources to help you as necessary, and I am perfectly willing to do so - there is plenty a Marikas can manage." He turned his gaze to face Elias, swirling the wine in his goblet in light circles and tilting his head to one side. "I have no doubts you shall return the favour someday, hm?"
The privileges of the palati were not only numerous but, so far as Rafail was aware, also his birthright through his Marikas name, and he intended to take advantage of them so long as he was offered the opportunity. As soon as the suggestion had left his friend's lips that he might stay the night, his decision was fixed, and there would be no changing the man's opinion. Besides, although it seemed a fanciful thought, there may well be a chance to see the younger princess, who had been hidden away for far too long, in Rafail's opinion, and whose mind he still believed he could turn toward pleasant thoughts for himself (though he was still unsure what had prompted the about-turn in her original opinion of the blonde lord).
"I suppose I have no reason to return home for a while," he replied, acting as though he was still weighing the advantages of choosing to stay against the comforts of home. He assumed he would be equally accommodated in either location, only the palace was the palace, and for all the grandeur of the Marikas archontikó, it was not quite the same. "After all, my ancestors resided here for many years, and, therefore, it is essentially a distant home to me." The home he believed was owed to him, even if Rafail did not care for all the difficulties and tedious tasks that might come with the title of a monarch. "If you would not mind, I shall take a suite of rooms for the night, and I shall have someone sent next door for my men."
It seemed a suitable arrangement and, with such plans made, Rafail watched the appearance of additional wines and foods to make the evening more comfortable for the pair and their guests (for his decision to stay the night had him past the point of thinking himself a guest any longer), the corner of his lips upturned into a half-smirk of amusement at the well-deserved extravagance as he considered the last of his friend's suggestions. It was rare that Elias would recommend a plan the Marikas did not find incredibly enticing, for he had often noticed the pair had astoundingly similar mindsets, and this was no exception to the rule. Games of chance sounded like a delightful thought and, given the two ladies now sat with them, he could only imagine the stakes which might come into play.
As he sipped from his newly filled goblet, his fingers drummed pensively on the girl's collarbone, as if attempting to decide what might interest his friend as much as it did him. "Perhaps," he suggested, as the idea struck him quite suddenly, his tone pitched to imply excitement, more than a little pleased with his own thought process, "we might play with dice, and the losers shall have to strip off." Rafail looked pointedly at Themis - or was it Khryseis? - as he spoke, for though he knew both women's bodies exceptionally well, he could not imagine Elias would reject the possibility of blending their shared sexual appetite into the game. There were rare occasions when a stripped-down woman did not make an evening better.
Picking absentmindedly at an intricate bowl close to overflowing with grapes as he awaited an answer from his friend, the Thesnian baron thought he might add further to the conversation, although his thoughts this time around were rather more political than the last time he had opened his mouth to speak. "I have noticed, dear cousin, that there is a murmur of discontent amongst the..." He searched for the correct word, settling on one which tended to work for most individuals without title, regardless of wealth: "Amongst the peasantry. There is not enough food, there is not enough water, there is not enough anything. In truth, I do not care: it is not my fault they were born into so little, and something must separate the classes."
"Nonetheless, I had a thought. As a Marikas, my family controls more provinces than any other, and a fair few of them, in fact, primarily produce foodstuffs." Rafail took one of the grapes between thumb and index finger, squeezing it in amusement until it burst, as if this were a casual matter. "Now, I am thoroughly well-fed, as are my people in Thesnia, given how much we produce, but I thought I might be inclined to offer you some help on the subject of the rest of the Athenian populace. Whether you wish to feed them or use it against them or otherwise, I do not especially care, but I have the resources to help you as necessary, and I am perfectly willing to do so - there is plenty a Marikas can manage." He turned his gaze to face Elias, swirling the wine in his goblet in light circles and tilting his head to one side. "I have no doubts you shall return the favour someday, hm?"
I suppose I have no reason to return home for a while.
Words were such superfluous things at times. Laden with a tone as if juggling the pros and cons of lingering against leaving, it was so natural for Elias of Stravos to dismiss Rafail's little preamble as the rest of his words bled through. An easy chuckle parted Elias' lips followed by a nod that sent delightful chills of pleasure down his spine. Elias of Stravos was already well and drunk, and had every intention of enjoying more and more. While those outside of the palati suffered and toiled under the weight of famine, there were no such struggles to face within the boundaries of the Royal Palati. Elias of Stravos tipped his head back, allowing one last delightful sip of wine to pour down his throat before the goblet he held was empty. The Headlord of Stravos felt an odd sense of emptiness in tandem with the goblet's, his lips pursed for a moment before he motioned for a slave to come to him. A plain-looking lass, Elias kept his gaze pointed away from her and towards the harlot at his side, winking at the woman before passing her the goblet instead.
"Fetch me another. Also, send people to Archontiko Marikas to bring whatever comforts of home our dear lord Rafail of Marikas lacks, hm?"
Elias was adamant to make it clear that his cousin was no guest, but a welcome denizen of the palati to his slaves. Once they were off, hushed tones denoted quiet commands placed between the slaves, and Elias was glad to hear the bare padding of their feet leave his awareness. He was quite relieved to have thrown all the slaves' footwear out and into the fires, so did their pitter-patter from place to place draw his ire. Elias cared very little about the name of the woman whose arm slung about his shoulders. What he did appreciate, however, was the fact that she held his goblet when it was delivered to him anew. What he knew of her was the delicate caress she made against his chest. His chiton slid just slightly from the motion, and he did nothing to right it as he listened to Rafail's suggestion. Games of chance were something Elias played far too little of for his liking. Once, he'd been less busy and more indulgent in the vice, but in the recent year all of his efforts had drawn fruit, then burned to the ground, only for the need for them to be redoubled.
The bid for the throne has brought ruin to the good graces of Elias of Stravos, he admitted to himself. Once, Elias was allowed to drink and fuck to his heart's content. Now? His time was limited and it took to the nights for him to satisfy the innate desires that ran rampant throughout his being. Dark impulses were counted upon instead, the hardened heart of a man gone through the rigors of his station's ruin. The very thought of his disgrace stiffened him, brought the pleasant drunkenness and turned it into downer deliberation, a sobering thing that wrenched the vise out from beneath him. He hoped for it all to come to a close soon, and every bit of accolade that could help him on his way was a perfect opportunity. If the same accolade brought great fortune and fame to his friends... then there was only more reason for accepting.
"These terms are fair," he deemed, a chuckle on his lips, but it seemed that Rafail was not yet done. The baron of Thesnia picked a grape from a nearby bowl and began to steer the subject towards a more political mind-frame. Elias of Stravos found his interests tickled at the idea. Seldom were politics discussed outside of the purview of Apollo's sun, but what Rafail had to say was more... honest than he might've seen in other men. Rafail admitted freely that he cared nothing for the people, which Elias could empathize with. The Athenian people were pawns in the Stravos' bid for the throne, to be manipulated and swayed to his ends in the continuous failures of the remaining Xanthos heiress. Elias nodded in understanding as Rafail continued on, quite reluctant to interrupt the man until everything he had to say was on the table.
It was an awkward thing, to answer with witnesses, so he took his goblet, draining some of it before leaving the rest for the whore in his arm to take. He pressed his lips briefly to hers before he breathed into her ear,
"I'd like you and your friend to prepare yourselves for Lord Marikas' and my game. Get with the slaves and pick an ensemble that is properly fitted to be removed in layers," he said. When she rose, he struck at her rear with a playful chuckle before they slinked off into the distance. With the room clear for them to converse honestly, Elias of Stravos was more than willing to be a bit honest, himself. Rafail had less to worry about in the regard of treachery than Elias did, after all.
"The people can suffer for a little while longer, my friend. But... this gives a thought. The Harvest Festival is coming soon. Leverage the bounty that Thesnia has to offer. Bring it to the capitol at the celebration, as a large surprise and together we can be lauded as the great heroes of the event," he coaxed, his voice honeyed and the idea escaping his lips as a quiet conspiracy meant only for his cousin to hear. He even drew closer, rising from his chair to take the space Raf's whore had been in moments before.
"It will be to both of our benefit, to gain some of the praises the both of us have been lacking in, hm? Imagine the glory of it all, Thesnia's bounty taking over the great Harvest unbeknownst to everyone. A miracle bounty brought from our great province of Thesnia." He repeated himself again and again, intent on driving it home within Rafail's mind that this course of action was the best thing for them both.
Elias winked at his cousin before he clapped on his back. He'd see what the man thought of that proposal, but only after he returned to his place. He whistled sharply to hail the slaves and usher in their newly dressed whores.
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I suppose I have no reason to return home for a while.
Words were such superfluous things at times. Laden with a tone as if juggling the pros and cons of lingering against leaving, it was so natural for Elias of Stravos to dismiss Rafail's little preamble as the rest of his words bled through. An easy chuckle parted Elias' lips followed by a nod that sent delightful chills of pleasure down his spine. Elias of Stravos was already well and drunk, and had every intention of enjoying more and more. While those outside of the palati suffered and toiled under the weight of famine, there were no such struggles to face within the boundaries of the Royal Palati. Elias of Stravos tipped his head back, allowing one last delightful sip of wine to pour down his throat before the goblet he held was empty. The Headlord of Stravos felt an odd sense of emptiness in tandem with the goblet's, his lips pursed for a moment before he motioned for a slave to come to him. A plain-looking lass, Elias kept his gaze pointed away from her and towards the harlot at his side, winking at the woman before passing her the goblet instead.
"Fetch me another. Also, send people to Archontiko Marikas to bring whatever comforts of home our dear lord Rafail of Marikas lacks, hm?"
Elias was adamant to make it clear that his cousin was no guest, but a welcome denizen of the palati to his slaves. Once they were off, hushed tones denoted quiet commands placed between the slaves, and Elias was glad to hear the bare padding of their feet leave his awareness. He was quite relieved to have thrown all the slaves' footwear out and into the fires, so did their pitter-patter from place to place draw his ire. Elias cared very little about the name of the woman whose arm slung about his shoulders. What he did appreciate, however, was the fact that she held his goblet when it was delivered to him anew. What he knew of her was the delicate caress she made against his chest. His chiton slid just slightly from the motion, and he did nothing to right it as he listened to Rafail's suggestion. Games of chance were something Elias played far too little of for his liking. Once, he'd been less busy and more indulgent in the vice, but in the recent year all of his efforts had drawn fruit, then burned to the ground, only for the need for them to be redoubled.
The bid for the throne has brought ruin to the good graces of Elias of Stravos, he admitted to himself. Once, Elias was allowed to drink and fuck to his heart's content. Now? His time was limited and it took to the nights for him to satisfy the innate desires that ran rampant throughout his being. Dark impulses were counted upon instead, the hardened heart of a man gone through the rigors of his station's ruin. The very thought of his disgrace stiffened him, brought the pleasant drunkenness and turned it into downer deliberation, a sobering thing that wrenched the vise out from beneath him. He hoped for it all to come to a close soon, and every bit of accolade that could help him on his way was a perfect opportunity. If the same accolade brought great fortune and fame to his friends... then there was only more reason for accepting.
"These terms are fair," he deemed, a chuckle on his lips, but it seemed that Rafail was not yet done. The baron of Thesnia picked a grape from a nearby bowl and began to steer the subject towards a more political mind-frame. Elias of Stravos found his interests tickled at the idea. Seldom were politics discussed outside of the purview of Apollo's sun, but what Rafail had to say was more... honest than he might've seen in other men. Rafail admitted freely that he cared nothing for the people, which Elias could empathize with. The Athenian people were pawns in the Stravos' bid for the throne, to be manipulated and swayed to his ends in the continuous failures of the remaining Xanthos heiress. Elias nodded in understanding as Rafail continued on, quite reluctant to interrupt the man until everything he had to say was on the table.
It was an awkward thing, to answer with witnesses, so he took his goblet, draining some of it before leaving the rest for the whore in his arm to take. He pressed his lips briefly to hers before he breathed into her ear,
"I'd like you and your friend to prepare yourselves for Lord Marikas' and my game. Get with the slaves and pick an ensemble that is properly fitted to be removed in layers," he said. When she rose, he struck at her rear with a playful chuckle before they slinked off into the distance. With the room clear for them to converse honestly, Elias of Stravos was more than willing to be a bit honest, himself. Rafail had less to worry about in the regard of treachery than Elias did, after all.
"The people can suffer for a little while longer, my friend. But... this gives a thought. The Harvest Festival is coming soon. Leverage the bounty that Thesnia has to offer. Bring it to the capitol at the celebration, as a large surprise and together we can be lauded as the great heroes of the event," he coaxed, his voice honeyed and the idea escaping his lips as a quiet conspiracy meant only for his cousin to hear. He even drew closer, rising from his chair to take the space Raf's whore had been in moments before.
"It will be to both of our benefit, to gain some of the praises the both of us have been lacking in, hm? Imagine the glory of it all, Thesnia's bounty taking over the great Harvest unbeknownst to everyone. A miracle bounty brought from our great province of Thesnia." He repeated himself again and again, intent on driving it home within Rafail's mind that this course of action was the best thing for them both.
Elias winked at his cousin before he clapped on his back. He'd see what the man thought of that proposal, but only after he returned to his place. He whistled sharply to hail the slaves and usher in their newly dressed whores.
I suppose I have no reason to return home for a while.
Words were such superfluous things at times. Laden with a tone as if juggling the pros and cons of lingering against leaving, it was so natural for Elias of Stravos to dismiss Rafail's little preamble as the rest of his words bled through. An easy chuckle parted Elias' lips followed by a nod that sent delightful chills of pleasure down his spine. Elias of Stravos was already well and drunk, and had every intention of enjoying more and more. While those outside of the palati suffered and toiled under the weight of famine, there were no such struggles to face within the boundaries of the Royal Palati. Elias of Stravos tipped his head back, allowing one last delightful sip of wine to pour down his throat before the goblet he held was empty. The Headlord of Stravos felt an odd sense of emptiness in tandem with the goblet's, his lips pursed for a moment before he motioned for a slave to come to him. A plain-looking lass, Elias kept his gaze pointed away from her and towards the harlot at his side, winking at the woman before passing her the goblet instead.
"Fetch me another. Also, send people to Archontiko Marikas to bring whatever comforts of home our dear lord Rafail of Marikas lacks, hm?"
Elias was adamant to make it clear that his cousin was no guest, but a welcome denizen of the palati to his slaves. Once they were off, hushed tones denoted quiet commands placed between the slaves, and Elias was glad to hear the bare padding of their feet leave his awareness. He was quite relieved to have thrown all the slaves' footwear out and into the fires, so did their pitter-patter from place to place draw his ire. Elias cared very little about the name of the woman whose arm slung about his shoulders. What he did appreciate, however, was the fact that she held his goblet when it was delivered to him anew. What he knew of her was the delicate caress she made against his chest. His chiton slid just slightly from the motion, and he did nothing to right it as he listened to Rafail's suggestion. Games of chance were something Elias played far too little of for his liking. Once, he'd been less busy and more indulgent in the vice, but in the recent year all of his efforts had drawn fruit, then burned to the ground, only for the need for them to be redoubled.
The bid for the throne has brought ruin to the good graces of Elias of Stravos, he admitted to himself. Once, Elias was allowed to drink and fuck to his heart's content. Now? His time was limited and it took to the nights for him to satisfy the innate desires that ran rampant throughout his being. Dark impulses were counted upon instead, the hardened heart of a man gone through the rigors of his station's ruin. The very thought of his disgrace stiffened him, brought the pleasant drunkenness and turned it into downer deliberation, a sobering thing that wrenched the vise out from beneath him. He hoped for it all to come to a close soon, and every bit of accolade that could help him on his way was a perfect opportunity. If the same accolade brought great fortune and fame to his friends... then there was only more reason for accepting.
"These terms are fair," he deemed, a chuckle on his lips, but it seemed that Rafail was not yet done. The baron of Thesnia picked a grape from a nearby bowl and began to steer the subject towards a more political mind-frame. Elias of Stravos found his interests tickled at the idea. Seldom were politics discussed outside of the purview of Apollo's sun, but what Rafail had to say was more... honest than he might've seen in other men. Rafail admitted freely that he cared nothing for the people, which Elias could empathize with. The Athenian people were pawns in the Stravos' bid for the throne, to be manipulated and swayed to his ends in the continuous failures of the remaining Xanthos heiress. Elias nodded in understanding as Rafail continued on, quite reluctant to interrupt the man until everything he had to say was on the table.
It was an awkward thing, to answer with witnesses, so he took his goblet, draining some of it before leaving the rest for the whore in his arm to take. He pressed his lips briefly to hers before he breathed into her ear,
"I'd like you and your friend to prepare yourselves for Lord Marikas' and my game. Get with the slaves and pick an ensemble that is properly fitted to be removed in layers," he said. When she rose, he struck at her rear with a playful chuckle before they slinked off into the distance. With the room clear for them to converse honestly, Elias of Stravos was more than willing to be a bit honest, himself. Rafail had less to worry about in the regard of treachery than Elias did, after all.
"The people can suffer for a little while longer, my friend. But... this gives a thought. The Harvest Festival is coming soon. Leverage the bounty that Thesnia has to offer. Bring it to the capitol at the celebration, as a large surprise and together we can be lauded as the great heroes of the event," he coaxed, his voice honeyed and the idea escaping his lips as a quiet conspiracy meant only for his cousin to hear. He even drew closer, rising from his chair to take the space Raf's whore had been in moments before.
"It will be to both of our benefit, to gain some of the praises the both of us have been lacking in, hm? Imagine the glory of it all, Thesnia's bounty taking over the great Harvest unbeknownst to everyone. A miracle bounty brought from our great province of Thesnia." He repeated himself again and again, intent on driving it home within Rafail's mind that this course of action was the best thing for them both.
Elias winked at his cousin before he clapped on his back. He'd see what the man thought of that proposal, but only after he returned to his place. He whistled sharply to hail the slaves and usher in their newly dressed whores.
"Oh, Elias, don't trouble yourself too dearly; I can have my own staff bring over my requirements tomorrow," Rafail objected, although he was noticeably half-hearted in the comment as he waved for another goblet of wine to be brought to him as well. He had barely accepted the offer to stay in the palace, and he was already planning to make the most out of it, even if that meant ordering about the servants who bore him no loyalty (although, in his opinion - which was often the correct one anyhow - all servants should have been subject to the whims of those who clearly held superior social standing).
As the Marikas had expected, his utterly genius idea had gone down well with his friend. The man had come closer - close enough that, ordinarily, Rafail would have rejected the movement for fear of being deemed interested in the wrong sex - and he seemed excited in his whispering. Elias knew precisely the words which would seduce his cousin, for once the blonde had heard the term 'hero', there was no chance of him turning back. That was his dream, after all, only second, perhaps, to earning that princely title he was so confident he deserved. The people of Athenia would see him as the hero he was, and they would laud his beauty and wit and charm and strength - because practically all heroes were seen as perfect in all those regards - and then all the women of the kingdom would desire him, and Father would be proud, and Pavlos would be humiliated. That was practically everything Rafail wanted in one fell swoop, and he was drawn to the idea immediately.
"Very well. I shall hold off on our bounty until the Festival - it should provide us time to collect more, in any case - and increase that which we then offer the populace." And the more they could provide, the more grateful the people would be. There seemed nothing wrong with the suggestion. "I shall send word to Thesnia as soon as I can to begin the organisation for the event, and you will, of course, be aware of every step of the preparations." Not that Rafail would ever have hidden the arrangements from his friend - there would have been little point in doing so - but he did want Elias to understand that he was entirely supportive of his ambitions, and, to a certain extent, they were in this matter together.
But this was not a time for them to continue to discuss dull politics. Now that this subject had been handled, they could advance onto the fun of the evening, for that was why Rafail was here, after all. He didn't want to waste away the evening talking about everything they could do to better the world when they were meant to be taking this time to themselves (besides, caring about other people was fundamentally dull - the Marikas would much rather indulge himself than others).
Their women had returned, and so perfectly dressed for the game that had been proposed. Rafail was in half a mind to strip them both fully now and take them into one of the many private rooms of the palace without waiting for the game to finish. "Come sit," he called over to his whore, dropping his hands to the blonde girl's waist as he tugged her down to balance herself on his lap. His other hand reached around her to take his refilled goblet of wine once more, downing it in a quick movement as if to prepare himself for the game.
"Shall we?" he asked his cousin, taking a selection of dice from the table before them and holding them out to Elias. "I am your guest, so it is only fair you play first."
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"Oh, Elias, don't trouble yourself too dearly; I can have my own staff bring over my requirements tomorrow," Rafail objected, although he was noticeably half-hearted in the comment as he waved for another goblet of wine to be brought to him as well. He had barely accepted the offer to stay in the palace, and he was already planning to make the most out of it, even if that meant ordering about the servants who bore him no loyalty (although, in his opinion - which was often the correct one anyhow - all servants should have been subject to the whims of those who clearly held superior social standing).
As the Marikas had expected, his utterly genius idea had gone down well with his friend. The man had come closer - close enough that, ordinarily, Rafail would have rejected the movement for fear of being deemed interested in the wrong sex - and he seemed excited in his whispering. Elias knew precisely the words which would seduce his cousin, for once the blonde had heard the term 'hero', there was no chance of him turning back. That was his dream, after all, only second, perhaps, to earning that princely title he was so confident he deserved. The people of Athenia would see him as the hero he was, and they would laud his beauty and wit and charm and strength - because practically all heroes were seen as perfect in all those regards - and then all the women of the kingdom would desire him, and Father would be proud, and Pavlos would be humiliated. That was practically everything Rafail wanted in one fell swoop, and he was drawn to the idea immediately.
"Very well. I shall hold off on our bounty until the Festival - it should provide us time to collect more, in any case - and increase that which we then offer the populace." And the more they could provide, the more grateful the people would be. There seemed nothing wrong with the suggestion. "I shall send word to Thesnia as soon as I can to begin the organisation for the event, and you will, of course, be aware of every step of the preparations." Not that Rafail would ever have hidden the arrangements from his friend - there would have been little point in doing so - but he did want Elias to understand that he was entirely supportive of his ambitions, and, to a certain extent, they were in this matter together.
But this was not a time for them to continue to discuss dull politics. Now that this subject had been handled, they could advance onto the fun of the evening, for that was why Rafail was here, after all. He didn't want to waste away the evening talking about everything they could do to better the world when they were meant to be taking this time to themselves (besides, caring about other people was fundamentally dull - the Marikas would much rather indulge himself than others).
Their women had returned, and so perfectly dressed for the game that had been proposed. Rafail was in half a mind to strip them both fully now and take them into one of the many private rooms of the palace without waiting for the game to finish. "Come sit," he called over to his whore, dropping his hands to the blonde girl's waist as he tugged her down to balance herself on his lap. His other hand reached around her to take his refilled goblet of wine once more, downing it in a quick movement as if to prepare himself for the game.
"Shall we?" he asked his cousin, taking a selection of dice from the table before them and holding them out to Elias. "I am your guest, so it is only fair you play first."
"Oh, Elias, don't trouble yourself too dearly; I can have my own staff bring over my requirements tomorrow," Rafail objected, although he was noticeably half-hearted in the comment as he waved for another goblet of wine to be brought to him as well. He had barely accepted the offer to stay in the palace, and he was already planning to make the most out of it, even if that meant ordering about the servants who bore him no loyalty (although, in his opinion - which was often the correct one anyhow - all servants should have been subject to the whims of those who clearly held superior social standing).
As the Marikas had expected, his utterly genius idea had gone down well with his friend. The man had come closer - close enough that, ordinarily, Rafail would have rejected the movement for fear of being deemed interested in the wrong sex - and he seemed excited in his whispering. Elias knew precisely the words which would seduce his cousin, for once the blonde had heard the term 'hero', there was no chance of him turning back. That was his dream, after all, only second, perhaps, to earning that princely title he was so confident he deserved. The people of Athenia would see him as the hero he was, and they would laud his beauty and wit and charm and strength - because practically all heroes were seen as perfect in all those regards - and then all the women of the kingdom would desire him, and Father would be proud, and Pavlos would be humiliated. That was practically everything Rafail wanted in one fell swoop, and he was drawn to the idea immediately.
"Very well. I shall hold off on our bounty until the Festival - it should provide us time to collect more, in any case - and increase that which we then offer the populace." And the more they could provide, the more grateful the people would be. There seemed nothing wrong with the suggestion. "I shall send word to Thesnia as soon as I can to begin the organisation for the event, and you will, of course, be aware of every step of the preparations." Not that Rafail would ever have hidden the arrangements from his friend - there would have been little point in doing so - but he did want Elias to understand that he was entirely supportive of his ambitions, and, to a certain extent, they were in this matter together.
But this was not a time for them to continue to discuss dull politics. Now that this subject had been handled, they could advance onto the fun of the evening, for that was why Rafail was here, after all. He didn't want to waste away the evening talking about everything they could do to better the world when they were meant to be taking this time to themselves (besides, caring about other people was fundamentally dull - the Marikas would much rather indulge himself than others).
Their women had returned, and so perfectly dressed for the game that had been proposed. Rafail was in half a mind to strip them both fully now and take them into one of the many private rooms of the palace without waiting for the game to finish. "Come sit," he called over to his whore, dropping his hands to the blonde girl's waist as he tugged her down to balance herself on his lap. His other hand reached around her to take his refilled goblet of wine once more, downing it in a quick movement as if to prepare himself for the game.
"Shall we?" he asked his cousin, taking a selection of dice from the table before them and holding them out to Elias. "I am your guest, so it is only fair you play first."