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There was never a time that Evras wished for simpler days then she did now. Back then, she had been the quietest of all her sisters, would meekly follow instructions and do as she was told, for as the youngest girl, how important could she be? In her younger days, Evras merely wished to be useful, to not anger her father, for she had no spine as a child.
But becoming a mother had changed her.
Over the years, Evras had seen more and more, the need to stand up for Dion to ensure her son was protected, to speak up for him when he could not speak up for herself. Evras now saw the importance and need to ensure her welfare was being taken care of, for if anything untoward were to happen to her, what would happen to her son? Becoming a mother made one selfless, but it also made one selfish. For suddenly, their offspring was the only thing that mattered, and Evras couldn't care what happened to her father or family now, as long as her son was taken care of.
If her father had wanted Evras to remain neutral, that much Evras would do. But for Dionysios to so strongly and adamantly tell her to choose the Thanasi's over the Kotas, that she could not do. Evras could not fully and clearly remembered Ulla when she was younger, but what she did remember was despite being born a Kotas, her mother had never once turned her back on her husband's family, on the Thanasi's, throughout her marriage. A woman's position in life was to be with the family she would create, and that involved her son and her unborn child, and they were two individuals she would not risk under any circumstance.
She got as far as the foyer before the woman paused, a hand holding up the wall as the other shook by her side. The force and amount of strength and will it had taken to speak against her father that way had sapped much of her energy away, that Evras found herself needing the assistance of a wall to stand as her head spun. Thea's voice was audible, yet Evras found herself lacking the strength to turn and face her sister, and could only wait until the elder Thanasi's arms found their ways to her shoulder. Only then, did her blue-green eyes flutter open, and Evras managed a watery smile.
"He's angry, I presume?" she asked softly, in a tone that would remain unheard by those still in the dining hall. It hadn't been easy for Evras to speak up against her father that way. Dionysios had been viewed by Evras as a hero for most of her younger life, it was hard to come to terms that her own father would throw her life under the carriage for a chance at throne.
Feeling as if the blood was rushing away from her brain, Evras could only weakly accept the embrace from Thea, her hands instinctively went to her abdomen as the elder Thanasi spoke. The wry smile curled her lips upwards as she followed her sister's gaze. "I hope we will. If not, I do not think we'll have a 'they' to worry about." she murmured softly, an aching sadness carried in her tone. It was already precocious to begin with, her pregnancy, and her father's current demands and fits of anger weren't helping.
Silence lingered between the sister's, neither not at all knowing what to do at this point, before Evras spoke up again. "What does it say of me when I do not even wish to return to aid this 'ailing father' he speaks of, when a father cares naught for his own daughter's and grandson's life? I do not wish Dion to meet his grandfather this way. It would ruin his image of him." Dion had always been doted on by Dionysios when his mind got the better of him. Somehow, the grandfather had been gentle to the child, as if recognizing him.
Now, Evras wanted to keep her son far away from her own father.
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There was never a time that Evras wished for simpler days then she did now. Back then, she had been the quietest of all her sisters, would meekly follow instructions and do as she was told, for as the youngest girl, how important could she be? In her younger days, Evras merely wished to be useful, to not anger her father, for she had no spine as a child.
But becoming a mother had changed her.
Over the years, Evras had seen more and more, the need to stand up for Dion to ensure her son was protected, to speak up for him when he could not speak up for herself. Evras now saw the importance and need to ensure her welfare was being taken care of, for if anything untoward were to happen to her, what would happen to her son? Becoming a mother made one selfless, but it also made one selfish. For suddenly, their offspring was the only thing that mattered, and Evras couldn't care what happened to her father or family now, as long as her son was taken care of.
If her father had wanted Evras to remain neutral, that much Evras would do. But for Dionysios to so strongly and adamantly tell her to choose the Thanasi's over the Kotas, that she could not do. Evras could not fully and clearly remembered Ulla when she was younger, but what she did remember was despite being born a Kotas, her mother had never once turned her back on her husband's family, on the Thanasi's, throughout her marriage. A woman's position in life was to be with the family she would create, and that involved her son and her unborn child, and they were two individuals she would not risk under any circumstance.
She got as far as the foyer before the woman paused, a hand holding up the wall as the other shook by her side. The force and amount of strength and will it had taken to speak against her father that way had sapped much of her energy away, that Evras found herself needing the assistance of a wall to stand as her head spun. Thea's voice was audible, yet Evras found herself lacking the strength to turn and face her sister, and could only wait until the elder Thanasi's arms found their ways to her shoulder. Only then, did her blue-green eyes flutter open, and Evras managed a watery smile.
"He's angry, I presume?" she asked softly, in a tone that would remain unheard by those still in the dining hall. It hadn't been easy for Evras to speak up against her father that way. Dionysios had been viewed by Evras as a hero for most of her younger life, it was hard to come to terms that her own father would throw her life under the carriage for a chance at throne.
Feeling as if the blood was rushing away from her brain, Evras could only weakly accept the embrace from Thea, her hands instinctively went to her abdomen as the elder Thanasi spoke. The wry smile curled her lips upwards as she followed her sister's gaze. "I hope we will. If not, I do not think we'll have a 'they' to worry about." she murmured softly, an aching sadness carried in her tone. It was already precocious to begin with, her pregnancy, and her father's current demands and fits of anger weren't helping.
Silence lingered between the sister's, neither not at all knowing what to do at this point, before Evras spoke up again. "What does it say of me when I do not even wish to return to aid this 'ailing father' he speaks of, when a father cares naught for his own daughter's and grandson's life? I do not wish Dion to meet his grandfather this way. It would ruin his image of him." Dion had always been doted on by Dionysios when his mind got the better of him. Somehow, the grandfather had been gentle to the child, as if recognizing him.
Now, Evras wanted to keep her son far away from her own father.
There was never a time that Evras wished for simpler days then she did now. Back then, she had been the quietest of all her sisters, would meekly follow instructions and do as she was told, for as the youngest girl, how important could she be? In her younger days, Evras merely wished to be useful, to not anger her father, for she had no spine as a child.
But becoming a mother had changed her.
Over the years, Evras had seen more and more, the need to stand up for Dion to ensure her son was protected, to speak up for him when he could not speak up for herself. Evras now saw the importance and need to ensure her welfare was being taken care of, for if anything untoward were to happen to her, what would happen to her son? Becoming a mother made one selfless, but it also made one selfish. For suddenly, their offspring was the only thing that mattered, and Evras couldn't care what happened to her father or family now, as long as her son was taken care of.
If her father had wanted Evras to remain neutral, that much Evras would do. But for Dionysios to so strongly and adamantly tell her to choose the Thanasi's over the Kotas, that she could not do. Evras could not fully and clearly remembered Ulla when she was younger, but what she did remember was despite being born a Kotas, her mother had never once turned her back on her husband's family, on the Thanasi's, throughout her marriage. A woman's position in life was to be with the family she would create, and that involved her son and her unborn child, and they were two individuals she would not risk under any circumstance.
She got as far as the foyer before the woman paused, a hand holding up the wall as the other shook by her side. The force and amount of strength and will it had taken to speak against her father that way had sapped much of her energy away, that Evras found herself needing the assistance of a wall to stand as her head spun. Thea's voice was audible, yet Evras found herself lacking the strength to turn and face her sister, and could only wait until the elder Thanasi's arms found their ways to her shoulder. Only then, did her blue-green eyes flutter open, and Evras managed a watery smile.
"He's angry, I presume?" she asked softly, in a tone that would remain unheard by those still in the dining hall. It hadn't been easy for Evras to speak up against her father that way. Dionysios had been viewed by Evras as a hero for most of her younger life, it was hard to come to terms that her own father would throw her life under the carriage for a chance at throne.
Feeling as if the blood was rushing away from her brain, Evras could only weakly accept the embrace from Thea, her hands instinctively went to her abdomen as the elder Thanasi spoke. The wry smile curled her lips upwards as she followed her sister's gaze. "I hope we will. If not, I do not think we'll have a 'they' to worry about." she murmured softly, an aching sadness carried in her tone. It was already precocious to begin with, her pregnancy, and her father's current demands and fits of anger weren't helping.
Silence lingered between the sister's, neither not at all knowing what to do at this point, before Evras spoke up again. "What does it say of me when I do not even wish to return to aid this 'ailing father' he speaks of, when a father cares naught for his own daughter's and grandson's life? I do not wish Dion to meet his grandfather this way. It would ruin his image of him." Dion had always been doted on by Dionysios when his mind got the better of him. Somehow, the grandfather had been gentle to the child, as if recognizing him.
Now, Evras wanted to keep her son far away from her own father.
Dionysios watched with eyes more focused than they had been in a while. He had taught Nethis well to hide her thoughts and emotions behind a visage of ice but he was smart enough to know the path and manner in which her mind would work. He had helped to create that mind, after all.
When she finally spoke, his lip curled a little away from his teeth, a slight and simple expression of distaste. This family was full of betrayers and he needed to ensure that they would fall back into line as his blood and his lineage.
He knew why such dissent had occurred. He knew why his children had drifted in their own directions without his permission or authorisation. Why they had softened. A family was like a military leader. If they were left without a commander for too long then they became sloppy. Untrained. Ineffective.
He would not see them sink lower than they had already stooped.
"There is little an apology can do for lack of fealty." Dionysios snarled at his daughter, regardless of her reasons for inaction.
Evras had never been particularly skilled at child bearing. He knew the dangers. But they had an heir to the Colchis crown with Thanasi blood now. The Gods would decide whether another would be born or not. And he wasn't about to insult the Gods by altering his behaviour towards his own offspring.
There was a long pause of silence whilst Dionysios decided his next move, a single inhale through the nose a discerning sniff.
"You'll take the flogging meant for your sisters." He stated. "Five lashes each." His tone of voice was sort of dead. As if he wished not to have to inflict such a punishment on his eldest - the one whom he thought to be a peculiar favourite - but also unwilling to back down from his threat.
He would not appear weak.
"But first you are to clear what is left of your brother's wardrobe from the lawn." He added, flicking a hand towards the drawn curtains that still flickered as if dull flames lingered outside. "His ridiculous raiments should be ash by now and they'll not be gold for more unless its approved by myself."
His gaze turned to the table surface, clearly refusing to acknowledge their presence now.
"You may both leave my sight."
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Dionysios watched with eyes more focused than they had been in a while. He had taught Nethis well to hide her thoughts and emotions behind a visage of ice but he was smart enough to know the path and manner in which her mind would work. He had helped to create that mind, after all.
When she finally spoke, his lip curled a little away from his teeth, a slight and simple expression of distaste. This family was full of betrayers and he needed to ensure that they would fall back into line as his blood and his lineage.
He knew why such dissent had occurred. He knew why his children had drifted in their own directions without his permission or authorisation. Why they had softened. A family was like a military leader. If they were left without a commander for too long then they became sloppy. Untrained. Ineffective.
He would not see them sink lower than they had already stooped.
"There is little an apology can do for lack of fealty." Dionysios snarled at his daughter, regardless of her reasons for inaction.
Evras had never been particularly skilled at child bearing. He knew the dangers. But they had an heir to the Colchis crown with Thanasi blood now. The Gods would decide whether another would be born or not. And he wasn't about to insult the Gods by altering his behaviour towards his own offspring.
There was a long pause of silence whilst Dionysios decided his next move, a single inhale through the nose a discerning sniff.
"You'll take the flogging meant for your sisters." He stated. "Five lashes each." His tone of voice was sort of dead. As if he wished not to have to inflict such a punishment on his eldest - the one whom he thought to be a peculiar favourite - but also unwilling to back down from his threat.
He would not appear weak.
"But first you are to clear what is left of your brother's wardrobe from the lawn." He added, flicking a hand towards the drawn curtains that still flickered as if dull flames lingered outside. "His ridiculous raiments should be ash by now and they'll not be gold for more unless its approved by myself."
His gaze turned to the table surface, clearly refusing to acknowledge their presence now.
"You may both leave my sight."
Dionysios watched with eyes more focused than they had been in a while. He had taught Nethis well to hide her thoughts and emotions behind a visage of ice but he was smart enough to know the path and manner in which her mind would work. He had helped to create that mind, after all.
When she finally spoke, his lip curled a little away from his teeth, a slight and simple expression of distaste. This family was full of betrayers and he needed to ensure that they would fall back into line as his blood and his lineage.
He knew why such dissent had occurred. He knew why his children had drifted in their own directions without his permission or authorisation. Why they had softened. A family was like a military leader. If they were left without a commander for too long then they became sloppy. Untrained. Ineffective.
He would not see them sink lower than they had already stooped.
"There is little an apology can do for lack of fealty." Dionysios snarled at his daughter, regardless of her reasons for inaction.
Evras had never been particularly skilled at child bearing. He knew the dangers. But they had an heir to the Colchis crown with Thanasi blood now. The Gods would decide whether another would be born or not. And he wasn't about to insult the Gods by altering his behaviour towards his own offspring.
There was a long pause of silence whilst Dionysios decided his next move, a single inhale through the nose a discerning sniff.
"You'll take the flogging meant for your sisters." He stated. "Five lashes each." His tone of voice was sort of dead. As if he wished not to have to inflict such a punishment on his eldest - the one whom he thought to be a peculiar favourite - but also unwilling to back down from his threat.
He would not appear weak.
"But first you are to clear what is left of your brother's wardrobe from the lawn." He added, flicking a hand towards the drawn curtains that still flickered as if dull flames lingered outside. "His ridiculous raiments should be ash by now and they'll not be gold for more unless its approved by myself."
His gaze turned to the table surface, clearly refusing to acknowledge their presence now.
"You may both leave my sight."
There was a long moment of silence and within it, fleetingly and foolishly, Nethis thought she might have pulled it off. Yes, he wasn’t best pleased, but he was that with each of them every time one of them chose to open their mouth tonight, so why should this be any different?
That belief was easily shattered in the look he gave her. There were pieces and parts of herself that had languished over the years, becoming less important in the face of a man ailed and necessary puppetry to keep things together, but this near-miraculous return of Dionysios’ strength reawakened them; the piece of herself that was perpetually a little girl seeking her father’s approval and the part of her that wanted so badly to make him proud suddenly mattered again and she couldn’t help but wish they didn’t because they only served to make his response worse.
Chastisement for undermining was one thing, being told off for apologizing another, but it genuinely pricked that the purpose behind both didn’t matter at all. Disloyalty was not an accusation she wanted to let stand. But then, she had no desire to argue with him and what difference did another apology make when summed down her choice was disobedience?
Teeth bit into her tongue and she winced but said nothing to address his displeasure because there was nothing she could say. She had walked right into it with quiet acceptance, gambling on a sliver of fondness and the now rapidly disappearing belief that Dionysios wasn’t enough himself to carry this through.
She was wrong. He was and she was going to pay for it in lashes.
Oddly, she couldn’t hate him for that. Now knowing what was to come, she wanted to a little because hate was easier to anchor herself with than dread, but it didn’t escape her notice that this was the first thing he said without any sort of pleasure and she understood that his back was against a proverbial wall, that she had left him no other choice. She had known that when she practically invited this, so the understanding translated into a distinct lack of protest; she simply repeated a phrase already given once that would keep her from trouble. "Yes, Father."
A glace to the door followed, a fleeting wishful gesture. She was hardly in good enough standing now to ask to leave and expect to be allowed and she certainly wasn’t going to follow Evras and Thea’s poor example to earn herself more lashes. As such, there was no choice but to sit with this and hope Dionysios was tired enough of them and this perfect failure of an evening that he would draw it to a close.
Perhaps she should have been a little more careful with what she wished for and included a how; as if being sent to war weren’t enough for Mihail and lashes the same for her, he laid further consequence out in revealing Mihail’s clothes destroyed and assigning her the task of cleaning it up.
Frankly, if Mihail had a response to the fact that his wardrobe was burning and burned, she didn’t care. She was aware enough to understand this would grieve him, but selfishly, her thoughts were far too wrapped up in herself and they’d stay there until the lawn was clean, the lashes were received and Nethis could find balance against who Dionysios intended to be going forward and whatever the future might bring for his health.
As such, when they were dismissed, she didn’t spare Mihail a glance and she didn’t give any more credence to her own rather confusing feelings. She simply went to do as she was told, because, in this case, the only way out was through and the rest could be dealt with later.
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There was a long moment of silence and within it, fleetingly and foolishly, Nethis thought she might have pulled it off. Yes, he wasn’t best pleased, but he was that with each of them every time one of them chose to open their mouth tonight, so why should this be any different?
That belief was easily shattered in the look he gave her. There were pieces and parts of herself that had languished over the years, becoming less important in the face of a man ailed and necessary puppetry to keep things together, but this near-miraculous return of Dionysios’ strength reawakened them; the piece of herself that was perpetually a little girl seeking her father’s approval and the part of her that wanted so badly to make him proud suddenly mattered again and she couldn’t help but wish they didn’t because they only served to make his response worse.
Chastisement for undermining was one thing, being told off for apologizing another, but it genuinely pricked that the purpose behind both didn’t matter at all. Disloyalty was not an accusation she wanted to let stand. But then, she had no desire to argue with him and what difference did another apology make when summed down her choice was disobedience?
Teeth bit into her tongue and she winced but said nothing to address his displeasure because there was nothing she could say. She had walked right into it with quiet acceptance, gambling on a sliver of fondness and the now rapidly disappearing belief that Dionysios wasn’t enough himself to carry this through.
She was wrong. He was and she was going to pay for it in lashes.
Oddly, she couldn’t hate him for that. Now knowing what was to come, she wanted to a little because hate was easier to anchor herself with than dread, but it didn’t escape her notice that this was the first thing he said without any sort of pleasure and she understood that his back was against a proverbial wall, that she had left him no other choice. She had known that when she practically invited this, so the understanding translated into a distinct lack of protest; she simply repeated a phrase already given once that would keep her from trouble. "Yes, Father."
A glace to the door followed, a fleeting wishful gesture. She was hardly in good enough standing now to ask to leave and expect to be allowed and she certainly wasn’t going to follow Evras and Thea’s poor example to earn herself more lashes. As such, there was no choice but to sit with this and hope Dionysios was tired enough of them and this perfect failure of an evening that he would draw it to a close.
Perhaps she should have been a little more careful with what she wished for and included a how; as if being sent to war weren’t enough for Mihail and lashes the same for her, he laid further consequence out in revealing Mihail’s clothes destroyed and assigning her the task of cleaning it up.
Frankly, if Mihail had a response to the fact that his wardrobe was burning and burned, she didn’t care. She was aware enough to understand this would grieve him, but selfishly, her thoughts were far too wrapped up in herself and they’d stay there until the lawn was clean, the lashes were received and Nethis could find balance against who Dionysios intended to be going forward and whatever the future might bring for his health.
As such, when they were dismissed, she didn’t spare Mihail a glance and she didn’t give any more credence to her own rather confusing feelings. She simply went to do as she was told, because, in this case, the only way out was through and the rest could be dealt with later.
There was a long moment of silence and within it, fleetingly and foolishly, Nethis thought she might have pulled it off. Yes, he wasn’t best pleased, but he was that with each of them every time one of them chose to open their mouth tonight, so why should this be any different?
That belief was easily shattered in the look he gave her. There were pieces and parts of herself that had languished over the years, becoming less important in the face of a man ailed and necessary puppetry to keep things together, but this near-miraculous return of Dionysios’ strength reawakened them; the piece of herself that was perpetually a little girl seeking her father’s approval and the part of her that wanted so badly to make him proud suddenly mattered again and she couldn’t help but wish they didn’t because they only served to make his response worse.
Chastisement for undermining was one thing, being told off for apologizing another, but it genuinely pricked that the purpose behind both didn’t matter at all. Disloyalty was not an accusation she wanted to let stand. But then, she had no desire to argue with him and what difference did another apology make when summed down her choice was disobedience?
Teeth bit into her tongue and she winced but said nothing to address his displeasure because there was nothing she could say. She had walked right into it with quiet acceptance, gambling on a sliver of fondness and the now rapidly disappearing belief that Dionysios wasn’t enough himself to carry this through.
She was wrong. He was and she was going to pay for it in lashes.
Oddly, she couldn’t hate him for that. Now knowing what was to come, she wanted to a little because hate was easier to anchor herself with than dread, but it didn’t escape her notice that this was the first thing he said without any sort of pleasure and she understood that his back was against a proverbial wall, that she had left him no other choice. She had known that when she practically invited this, so the understanding translated into a distinct lack of protest; she simply repeated a phrase already given once that would keep her from trouble. "Yes, Father."
A glace to the door followed, a fleeting wishful gesture. She was hardly in good enough standing now to ask to leave and expect to be allowed and she certainly wasn’t going to follow Evras and Thea’s poor example to earn herself more lashes. As such, there was no choice but to sit with this and hope Dionysios was tired enough of them and this perfect failure of an evening that he would draw it to a close.
Perhaps she should have been a little more careful with what she wished for and included a how; as if being sent to war weren’t enough for Mihail and lashes the same for her, he laid further consequence out in revealing Mihail’s clothes destroyed and assigning her the task of cleaning it up.
Frankly, if Mihail had a response to the fact that his wardrobe was burning and burned, she didn’t care. She was aware enough to understand this would grieve him, but selfishly, her thoughts were far too wrapped up in herself and they’d stay there until the lawn was clean, the lashes were received and Nethis could find balance against who Dionysios intended to be going forward and whatever the future might bring for his health.
As such, when they were dismissed, she didn’t spare Mihail a glance and she didn’t give any more credence to her own rather confusing feelings. She simply went to do as she was told, because, in this case, the only way out was through and the rest could be dealt with later.
Of course, Nethis couldn't do a thing. Mihail was unsure what he had expected from his sister, but he should have known that when Father had a ridiculous idea in mind and was in a spur of good health, there was little even she could do to stop him. Her silence irritated but did not worry him, and at his father's words, he dropped his gaze to the table, unwilling to express any further sentiment on the subject. If his father wished for him to die in some harsh battle, then so be it. Mihail did not live a life directed by the nonsensical whims of others.
He drummed his painted nails on the tabletop as Father addressed Nethis, wondering how long until he would be able to leave the table and return to his chambers. Evras and Thea had gotten away with it, even though their sister was to be punished in their place, but Mihail saw nothing wrong with the possibility that, if he misbehaved, someone else could be punished. Dysius, perhaps. He did deserve it. Gods, he deserved it. It was hardly even Mihail's inherent dislike of his brother that warranted the redirected punishment, but the fact that Father did not seem quite competent enough (at least to Mihail) to have arranged the military transfer himself. Dysius deserved pain and, although Mihail was as yet unsure what he would do to his brother, he was confident it would be far from kind. Kindness should only be extended to those who deserved it, or those who needed to be tricked.
As he was mentioned once more, Mihail's head naturally flicked up, and his brows knitted themselves into a suspicious frown as he attempted to process precisely what Father was saying. Then, all of a sudden, his eyes shifted to the window behind the man, where the outdoors had glimmered ominously from the first moments of their meal, as if realising what he had not before, and he pushed his seat from the table, rushing immediately to glance out at the offending lawn. There, still decorated by a few lingering flames, were the remains of what must have been an impressive bonfire, and a few patches of burnt but once-fine fabric which, even in their ruined state, he could identify as his own. His eyes narrowed, and he turned back to Father, unable even to look at Nethis for help in the heat of the moment.
"What have you done to my wardrobe?" he demanded, though the question was unnecessary when the answer sat so obviously before him. There would be nothing left but the chiton and its accessories that he currently wore and, although the ability to purchase new garments was no difficulty when there were so many wealthy men in Colchis willing to spend their coin on another, he could not help but fill with rage at the fact that all he had had been destroyed. And for what? Because Father did not like them? There were plenty of unsavoury details about the older man about which Mihail was not all that keen, and yet he did not resort to such petty actions as this. War and the destruction of a wardrobe. Hmph.
When Father dismissed both of them, the dark-haired man made a show of the way he adjusted his brightly-coloured epiblema - barely all he had left - his expression more stoic than he meant it. He did not look at his father until he stood in the doorway of the room, and then paused, flicking his head over his shoulder to face him with the sort of vigour it was unlikely Dionysios had ever noted in his son before. "You will be sorry," he hissed at the man, though he had yet to decide how best to act upon those words, then he swung on his heel, directing himself immediately towards his chambers where the sweet release of a long smoke would surely await him.
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Of course, Nethis couldn't do a thing. Mihail was unsure what he had expected from his sister, but he should have known that when Father had a ridiculous idea in mind and was in a spur of good health, there was little even she could do to stop him. Her silence irritated but did not worry him, and at his father's words, he dropped his gaze to the table, unwilling to express any further sentiment on the subject. If his father wished for him to die in some harsh battle, then so be it. Mihail did not live a life directed by the nonsensical whims of others.
He drummed his painted nails on the tabletop as Father addressed Nethis, wondering how long until he would be able to leave the table and return to his chambers. Evras and Thea had gotten away with it, even though their sister was to be punished in their place, but Mihail saw nothing wrong with the possibility that, if he misbehaved, someone else could be punished. Dysius, perhaps. He did deserve it. Gods, he deserved it. It was hardly even Mihail's inherent dislike of his brother that warranted the redirected punishment, but the fact that Father did not seem quite competent enough (at least to Mihail) to have arranged the military transfer himself. Dysius deserved pain and, although Mihail was as yet unsure what he would do to his brother, he was confident it would be far from kind. Kindness should only be extended to those who deserved it, or those who needed to be tricked.
As he was mentioned once more, Mihail's head naturally flicked up, and his brows knitted themselves into a suspicious frown as he attempted to process precisely what Father was saying. Then, all of a sudden, his eyes shifted to the window behind the man, where the outdoors had glimmered ominously from the first moments of their meal, as if realising what he had not before, and he pushed his seat from the table, rushing immediately to glance out at the offending lawn. There, still decorated by a few lingering flames, were the remains of what must have been an impressive bonfire, and a few patches of burnt but once-fine fabric which, even in their ruined state, he could identify as his own. His eyes narrowed, and he turned back to Father, unable even to look at Nethis for help in the heat of the moment.
"What have you done to my wardrobe?" he demanded, though the question was unnecessary when the answer sat so obviously before him. There would be nothing left but the chiton and its accessories that he currently wore and, although the ability to purchase new garments was no difficulty when there were so many wealthy men in Colchis willing to spend their coin on another, he could not help but fill with rage at the fact that all he had had been destroyed. And for what? Because Father did not like them? There were plenty of unsavoury details about the older man about which Mihail was not all that keen, and yet he did not resort to such petty actions as this. War and the destruction of a wardrobe. Hmph.
When Father dismissed both of them, the dark-haired man made a show of the way he adjusted his brightly-coloured epiblema - barely all he had left - his expression more stoic than he meant it. He did not look at his father until he stood in the doorway of the room, and then paused, flicking his head over his shoulder to face him with the sort of vigour it was unlikely Dionysios had ever noted in his son before. "You will be sorry," he hissed at the man, though he had yet to decide how best to act upon those words, then he swung on his heel, directing himself immediately towards his chambers where the sweet release of a long smoke would surely await him.
Of course, Nethis couldn't do a thing. Mihail was unsure what he had expected from his sister, but he should have known that when Father had a ridiculous idea in mind and was in a spur of good health, there was little even she could do to stop him. Her silence irritated but did not worry him, and at his father's words, he dropped his gaze to the table, unwilling to express any further sentiment on the subject. If his father wished for him to die in some harsh battle, then so be it. Mihail did not live a life directed by the nonsensical whims of others.
He drummed his painted nails on the tabletop as Father addressed Nethis, wondering how long until he would be able to leave the table and return to his chambers. Evras and Thea had gotten away with it, even though their sister was to be punished in their place, but Mihail saw nothing wrong with the possibility that, if he misbehaved, someone else could be punished. Dysius, perhaps. He did deserve it. Gods, he deserved it. It was hardly even Mihail's inherent dislike of his brother that warranted the redirected punishment, but the fact that Father did not seem quite competent enough (at least to Mihail) to have arranged the military transfer himself. Dysius deserved pain and, although Mihail was as yet unsure what he would do to his brother, he was confident it would be far from kind. Kindness should only be extended to those who deserved it, or those who needed to be tricked.
As he was mentioned once more, Mihail's head naturally flicked up, and his brows knitted themselves into a suspicious frown as he attempted to process precisely what Father was saying. Then, all of a sudden, his eyes shifted to the window behind the man, where the outdoors had glimmered ominously from the first moments of their meal, as if realising what he had not before, and he pushed his seat from the table, rushing immediately to glance out at the offending lawn. There, still decorated by a few lingering flames, were the remains of what must have been an impressive bonfire, and a few patches of burnt but once-fine fabric which, even in their ruined state, he could identify as his own. His eyes narrowed, and he turned back to Father, unable even to look at Nethis for help in the heat of the moment.
"What have you done to my wardrobe?" he demanded, though the question was unnecessary when the answer sat so obviously before him. There would be nothing left but the chiton and its accessories that he currently wore and, although the ability to purchase new garments was no difficulty when there were so many wealthy men in Colchis willing to spend their coin on another, he could not help but fill with rage at the fact that all he had had been destroyed. And for what? Because Father did not like them? There were plenty of unsavoury details about the older man about which Mihail was not all that keen, and yet he did not resort to such petty actions as this. War and the destruction of a wardrobe. Hmph.
When Father dismissed both of them, the dark-haired man made a show of the way he adjusted his brightly-coloured epiblema - barely all he had left - his expression more stoic than he meant it. He did not look at his father until he stood in the doorway of the room, and then paused, flicking his head over his shoulder to face him with the sort of vigour it was unlikely Dionysios had ever noted in his son before. "You will be sorry," he hissed at the man, though he had yet to decide how best to act upon those words, then he swung on his heel, directing himself immediately towards his chambers where the sweet release of a long smoke would surely await him.