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Well, in some artistic sense. Bas could not imagine actually drowning to be preferable, but there were enough similarities for the metaphor to work in his mind.
He remembered, as a child, he and his brothers would shove and tackle one another in the waters by their parents' merchant estate on the edge of Acaris. Every now and then, Maxios or Leander would grab him by the ankles and drag him beneath the water. Being so much smaller than them in breadth of body, he seemed to shoot down through the water like a reed. Once his feet touched the bottom, he could look up to see the sun dappling the water above, nearly his entire height.
There was a whole world above that, he knew, with all the life and the hurry. With family and loved ones. Yet, even as a child, he wondered what it would be like to simply stay there beneath the waves, with Poseidon's wave's cradling him like sirens' arms. The water seemed to make his head feel both light and heavy, and the currents dizzying as well.
That. That's what made him think of this.
Basilides sat with his head laying on the desk provided by the boarding house where he had taken up a semi-permanent residence, dressed in the same chiton he had worn for several days now, that same waterlogged feeling seemed to make his head feel to heavy to lift. One of the bottles that caused it perched high like a lighthouse at the corner of the desk. Beneath his head were a smattering of papers, invoices, and missives - all unanswered or out of date.
His parents and the Guild would wonder what happened.
Never before could Bas ever be considered lax in his his work, particularly when dealing with accounts and invoices. There was a meticulous nature in him that was hard to quell, yet it seemed almost evicted from himself - much like what happened to him a night or so ago, when he was physically tossed from the eatery when they ran out of the particular wine he was drinking. He began to chide them - loudly - about their shoddy record-keeping, which found him out on the cobblestones within minutes. He had a patchy, healing scrape on his cheekbone to show for it.
If Zeph had been there, he would have said something charming to smooth over the situation. Or he would have sang a song to quiet it all down. Or, in truth, Basilides would have never gotten to that point of drunkenness because he knew he would have to carry the over-drunk acrobat back to their quarters.
None of that happened, though. Zeph was dead.
Remembering the truth of it had Basilides lift his head, his hand wringing the neck of the bottle so he could remove the cork and drink deeply from it, lines of wine making its way down his cheek, weaving through the forest of scruff that had started to grow there. With the bottle drained, he looked down at all the things his head had been covering, feeling a sense of overwhelm and guilt wash over him like a wave. He was letting to many people down - he already had let more people down in his life than he ever would have imagined.
The Troupe. The Guild. His parents. His brothers. Zephyrus. Princess Xene.
Unreplied missives were scattered across the top of the desk with others slid beneath the door in the past few days. On the backs of some of them were rudimentary sketches of a young man with doe eyes, then another of a ring of fire with him posed in the middle, then another with the symbol of Zeus that he had around his neck.
Basilides was no artist. He could never get Zeph's eyes just right. He picked up the pen again, dipping it into ink, trying to fix it. No, that was not right. He started over.
Midway through crowning the funerary portrait with his lover's curls, hating how he did not have ink in the same leather brown as Zephyrus' hair, he started as there were knocks on the door. He ignored them at first, continuing to work on making that one curl go the opposite direction, right in the middle of his brow.
The knock on the door intensified.
"Be gone! I have paid my coin for the month," Basilides growled loudly, adding beneath his breath, "Check your records for it."
When the banging on the door did not subside, he stood, shoving the chair back and taking a wobbly stance, which immediately shot pain through his head like Zeus' bolts before crossing to the door. Once the latches were undone, he opened it a quarter of the way, just wide enough for him to stick his head and one shoulder out through it.
"What?"
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This must be what it felt like, to drown.
Well, in some artistic sense. Bas could not imagine actually drowning to be preferable, but there were enough similarities for the metaphor to work in his mind.
He remembered, as a child, he and his brothers would shove and tackle one another in the waters by their parents' merchant estate on the edge of Acaris. Every now and then, Maxios or Leander would grab him by the ankles and drag him beneath the water. Being so much smaller than them in breadth of body, he seemed to shoot down through the water like a reed. Once his feet touched the bottom, he could look up to see the sun dappling the water above, nearly his entire height.
There was a whole world above that, he knew, with all the life and the hurry. With family and loved ones. Yet, even as a child, he wondered what it would be like to simply stay there beneath the waves, with Poseidon's wave's cradling him like sirens' arms. The water seemed to make his head feel both light and heavy, and the currents dizzying as well.
That. That's what made him think of this.
Basilides sat with his head laying on the desk provided by the boarding house where he had taken up a semi-permanent residence, dressed in the same chiton he had worn for several days now, that same waterlogged feeling seemed to make his head feel to heavy to lift. One of the bottles that caused it perched high like a lighthouse at the corner of the desk. Beneath his head were a smattering of papers, invoices, and missives - all unanswered or out of date.
His parents and the Guild would wonder what happened.
Never before could Bas ever be considered lax in his his work, particularly when dealing with accounts and invoices. There was a meticulous nature in him that was hard to quell, yet it seemed almost evicted from himself - much like what happened to him a night or so ago, when he was physically tossed from the eatery when they ran out of the particular wine he was drinking. He began to chide them - loudly - about their shoddy record-keeping, which found him out on the cobblestones within minutes. He had a patchy, healing scrape on his cheekbone to show for it.
If Zeph had been there, he would have said something charming to smooth over the situation. Or he would have sang a song to quiet it all down. Or, in truth, Basilides would have never gotten to that point of drunkenness because he knew he would have to carry the over-drunk acrobat back to their quarters.
None of that happened, though. Zeph was dead.
Remembering the truth of it had Basilides lift his head, his hand wringing the neck of the bottle so he could remove the cork and drink deeply from it, lines of wine making its way down his cheek, weaving through the forest of scruff that had started to grow there. With the bottle drained, he looked down at all the things his head had been covering, feeling a sense of overwhelm and guilt wash over him like a wave. He was letting to many people down - he already had let more people down in his life than he ever would have imagined.
The Troupe. The Guild. His parents. His brothers. Zephyrus. Princess Xene.
Unreplied missives were scattered across the top of the desk with others slid beneath the door in the past few days. On the backs of some of them were rudimentary sketches of a young man with doe eyes, then another of a ring of fire with him posed in the middle, then another with the symbol of Zeus that he had around his neck.
Basilides was no artist. He could never get Zeph's eyes just right. He picked up the pen again, dipping it into ink, trying to fix it. No, that was not right. He started over.
Midway through crowning the funerary portrait with his lover's curls, hating how he did not have ink in the same leather brown as Zephyrus' hair, he started as there were knocks on the door. He ignored them at first, continuing to work on making that one curl go the opposite direction, right in the middle of his brow.
The knock on the door intensified.
"Be gone! I have paid my coin for the month," Basilides growled loudly, adding beneath his breath, "Check your records for it."
When the banging on the door did not subside, he stood, shoving the chair back and taking a wobbly stance, which immediately shot pain through his head like Zeus' bolts before crossing to the door. Once the latches were undone, he opened it a quarter of the way, just wide enough for him to stick his head and one shoulder out through it.
"What?"
This must be what it felt like, to drown.
Well, in some artistic sense. Bas could not imagine actually drowning to be preferable, but there were enough similarities for the metaphor to work in his mind.
He remembered, as a child, he and his brothers would shove and tackle one another in the waters by their parents' merchant estate on the edge of Acaris. Every now and then, Maxios or Leander would grab him by the ankles and drag him beneath the water. Being so much smaller than them in breadth of body, he seemed to shoot down through the water like a reed. Once his feet touched the bottom, he could look up to see the sun dappling the water above, nearly his entire height.
There was a whole world above that, he knew, with all the life and the hurry. With family and loved ones. Yet, even as a child, he wondered what it would be like to simply stay there beneath the waves, with Poseidon's wave's cradling him like sirens' arms. The water seemed to make his head feel both light and heavy, and the currents dizzying as well.
That. That's what made him think of this.
Basilides sat with his head laying on the desk provided by the boarding house where he had taken up a semi-permanent residence, dressed in the same chiton he had worn for several days now, that same waterlogged feeling seemed to make his head feel to heavy to lift. One of the bottles that caused it perched high like a lighthouse at the corner of the desk. Beneath his head were a smattering of papers, invoices, and missives - all unanswered or out of date.
His parents and the Guild would wonder what happened.
Never before could Bas ever be considered lax in his his work, particularly when dealing with accounts and invoices. There was a meticulous nature in him that was hard to quell, yet it seemed almost evicted from himself - much like what happened to him a night or so ago, when he was physically tossed from the eatery when they ran out of the particular wine he was drinking. He began to chide them - loudly - about their shoddy record-keeping, which found him out on the cobblestones within minutes. He had a patchy, healing scrape on his cheekbone to show for it.
If Zeph had been there, he would have said something charming to smooth over the situation. Or he would have sang a song to quiet it all down. Or, in truth, Basilides would have never gotten to that point of drunkenness because he knew he would have to carry the over-drunk acrobat back to their quarters.
None of that happened, though. Zeph was dead.
Remembering the truth of it had Basilides lift his head, his hand wringing the neck of the bottle so he could remove the cork and drink deeply from it, lines of wine making its way down his cheek, weaving through the forest of scruff that had started to grow there. With the bottle drained, he looked down at all the things his head had been covering, feeling a sense of overwhelm and guilt wash over him like a wave. He was letting to many people down - he already had let more people down in his life than he ever would have imagined.
The Troupe. The Guild. His parents. His brothers. Zephyrus. Princess Xene.
Unreplied missives were scattered across the top of the desk with others slid beneath the door in the past few days. On the backs of some of them were rudimentary sketches of a young man with doe eyes, then another of a ring of fire with him posed in the middle, then another with the symbol of Zeus that he had around his neck.
Basilides was no artist. He could never get Zeph's eyes just right. He picked up the pen again, dipping it into ink, trying to fix it. No, that was not right. He started over.
Midway through crowning the funerary portrait with his lover's curls, hating how he did not have ink in the same leather brown as Zephyrus' hair, he started as there were knocks on the door. He ignored them at first, continuing to work on making that one curl go the opposite direction, right in the middle of his brow.
The knock on the door intensified.
"Be gone! I have paid my coin for the month," Basilides growled loudly, adding beneath his breath, "Check your records for it."
When the banging on the door did not subside, he stood, shoving the chair back and taking a wobbly stance, which immediately shot pain through his head like Zeus' bolts before crossing to the door. Once the latches were undone, he opened it a quarter of the way, just wide enough for him to stick his head and one shoulder out through it.
"What?"
Hesiodos had a great appreciation for Basilides. He was an artist just like him, with a love of life, and not to mention a bed companion he cherished. After they shared bed in the arts festival, he continued visiting him often. They drank together, told stories to each other, laughed, danced – on Hesi’s encouragement, most of the time, usually after drinking quite a bit –, and most of the time they shared bed together.
But they began to see each other less and less. He didn’t notice it at first, but as the time passed, it became more obvious. There was a point where the bard couldn’t remember when was the last time he saw him. At first Hesiodos would just spend the night with someone else, but… this was the moment he decided to intervene.
Basilides was more than a drinking companion, a fellow artist or a lover. He was his friend. And once Hesiodos realized something was wrong, he decided to visit him on the boarding house he was renting. He bought a jar of soft pink wine, a basked full of candied fruit and his lyre, just in case some music was needed, and walked towards the house with a pressure on his chest…
It was worry. Worry that something was happening to his friend. Or that something happened. Hesiodos was hell bent on being there for him if needed.
Once in front of the door, he took a couple deep breaths and knocked on the door. There was no answer. Hesiodos insisted as long as he needed, and the door opened, revealing the fellow Dionysian.
He looked miserable. Hesiodos heart broke a little.
“Bas…”, he looked at him with soft eyes; eyes that said ‘I’m here for you’, “May I come in?”
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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Hesiodos had a great appreciation for Basilides. He was an artist just like him, with a love of life, and not to mention a bed companion he cherished. After they shared bed in the arts festival, he continued visiting him often. They drank together, told stories to each other, laughed, danced – on Hesi’s encouragement, most of the time, usually after drinking quite a bit –, and most of the time they shared bed together.
But they began to see each other less and less. He didn’t notice it at first, but as the time passed, it became more obvious. There was a point where the bard couldn’t remember when was the last time he saw him. At first Hesiodos would just spend the night with someone else, but… this was the moment he decided to intervene.
Basilides was more than a drinking companion, a fellow artist or a lover. He was his friend. And once Hesiodos realized something was wrong, he decided to visit him on the boarding house he was renting. He bought a jar of soft pink wine, a basked full of candied fruit and his lyre, just in case some music was needed, and walked towards the house with a pressure on his chest…
It was worry. Worry that something was happening to his friend. Or that something happened. Hesiodos was hell bent on being there for him if needed.
Once in front of the door, he took a couple deep breaths and knocked on the door. There was no answer. Hesiodos insisted as long as he needed, and the door opened, revealing the fellow Dionysian.
He looked miserable. Hesiodos heart broke a little.
“Bas…”, he looked at him with soft eyes; eyes that said ‘I’m here for you’, “May I come in?”
Hesiodos had a great appreciation for Basilides. He was an artist just like him, with a love of life, and not to mention a bed companion he cherished. After they shared bed in the arts festival, he continued visiting him often. They drank together, told stories to each other, laughed, danced – on Hesi’s encouragement, most of the time, usually after drinking quite a bit –, and most of the time they shared bed together.
But they began to see each other less and less. He didn’t notice it at first, but as the time passed, it became more obvious. There was a point where the bard couldn’t remember when was the last time he saw him. At first Hesiodos would just spend the night with someone else, but… this was the moment he decided to intervene.
Basilides was more than a drinking companion, a fellow artist or a lover. He was his friend. And once Hesiodos realized something was wrong, he decided to visit him on the boarding house he was renting. He bought a jar of soft pink wine, a basked full of candied fruit and his lyre, just in case some music was needed, and walked towards the house with a pressure on his chest…
It was worry. Worry that something was happening to his friend. Or that something happened. Hesiodos was hell bent on being there for him if needed.
Once in front of the door, he took a couple deep breaths and knocked on the door. There was no answer. Hesiodos insisted as long as he needed, and the door opened, revealing the fellow Dionysian.
He looked miserable. Hesiodos heart broke a little.
“Bas…”, he looked at him with soft eyes; eyes that said ‘I’m here for you’, “May I come in?”
Bleary-eyed and irritated, Basilides found himself staring at the face before him for a moment. He must have been a sight. At least two - or maybe three? - weeks worth of stubble and overgrown curls that darted in whatever direction they chose. The scrape on his cheek and the dark circles under his red-rimmed eyes marring his otherwise smooth, lightly-tanned skin. The short chiton he wore was ill-fitting and plain, a sign that he had not stepped foot out into the world.
In the days after he learned about Zeph, he had his good days and his bad days. On the good days, he managed to handle his business and maintain social graces for a while. The bad had only recently started to outweigh the good, as seen by his general state of affairs.
As his mind registered who stood before him, fighting off the throbbing of his head and the tightening of his throat as the threat of bile loomed in his ribcage, he had several realizations at once.
Hesiodos was a friend, an old friend from his times early on with the troupe - ah, the thought of the troupe seemed to draw a sick slice against his spirit like a knife. Hesiodos was an artist and a storyteller, always there for a good time and a laugh. Those feelings were unfamiliar as of late, unless rehearsed on a better day it seemed. That thought wounded as well.
Perhaps, the deepest cut, was the instant memory of their last tryst together - sometime before the Festival of Dionysus, was it? Or after the Feast of Sinners? Regardless, they had shared a bed together, on that time and for many before it - all while Basilides had left Zephyrus neglected.
Yes, for his job with the troupe, Bas had dallied with men and women alike to woo and schmooze the coin out of their hands. On occasion, that resulted in flirtations and occasional stolen affections which were well paid for. Yet, with Hesiodos...those were choices he had made...and the guilt washed over him a moment.
The guilt nearly made Bas close the door in the bard's face so he could wallow in his own self-loathing for a while. Yet, he did not. He merely glanced away, grimacing at a multitude of things - the state he had been found in, the guilt he felt, the damned headache that seemed to split his skull in two. When he looked up again, he could not help but note the man's expression.
Hesiodos was worried. For him.
The thought of that disgusted him more than anything else to that point. Basilides could not bear it.
While under normal circumstances, Basilides would hardly ever turn away a visitor, the combination of guilt and self-loathing that he felt made him...irrational.
"No," he stated simply as he closed the door in the bard's face, not sharply. In fact, it was shut surprisingly quietly, which made the sound of the latch locking seem almost deafening.
Now, Basilides knew there was no way that Hesiodos would simply walk away that easily after having a door shut in his face, especially not after having seen the state that Bas was in. He had to think and work quickly.
With a heavy sigh, Bas took a step back. In turning around, he realized the state of things. At least a dozen cups and a half-dozen bottles checkered the room in various levels, some even laying on their sides on the floor. With a slight grumble, Basilides set to work trying to gather them, dropping one or two with a curse before setting most of them on the modest countertop by the wash basin.
There were several he missed.
And one he kicked, which knocked over another bottle on its own.
"Shit..."
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Bleary-eyed and irritated, Basilides found himself staring at the face before him for a moment. He must have been a sight. At least two - or maybe three? - weeks worth of stubble and overgrown curls that darted in whatever direction they chose. The scrape on his cheek and the dark circles under his red-rimmed eyes marring his otherwise smooth, lightly-tanned skin. The short chiton he wore was ill-fitting and plain, a sign that he had not stepped foot out into the world.
In the days after he learned about Zeph, he had his good days and his bad days. On the good days, he managed to handle his business and maintain social graces for a while. The bad had only recently started to outweigh the good, as seen by his general state of affairs.
As his mind registered who stood before him, fighting off the throbbing of his head and the tightening of his throat as the threat of bile loomed in his ribcage, he had several realizations at once.
Hesiodos was a friend, an old friend from his times early on with the troupe - ah, the thought of the troupe seemed to draw a sick slice against his spirit like a knife. Hesiodos was an artist and a storyteller, always there for a good time and a laugh. Those feelings were unfamiliar as of late, unless rehearsed on a better day it seemed. That thought wounded as well.
Perhaps, the deepest cut, was the instant memory of their last tryst together - sometime before the Festival of Dionysus, was it? Or after the Feast of Sinners? Regardless, they had shared a bed together, on that time and for many before it - all while Basilides had left Zephyrus neglected.
Yes, for his job with the troupe, Bas had dallied with men and women alike to woo and schmooze the coin out of their hands. On occasion, that resulted in flirtations and occasional stolen affections which were well paid for. Yet, with Hesiodos...those were choices he had made...and the guilt washed over him a moment.
The guilt nearly made Bas close the door in the bard's face so he could wallow in his own self-loathing for a while. Yet, he did not. He merely glanced away, grimacing at a multitude of things - the state he had been found in, the guilt he felt, the damned headache that seemed to split his skull in two. When he looked up again, he could not help but note the man's expression.
Hesiodos was worried. For him.
The thought of that disgusted him more than anything else to that point. Basilides could not bear it.
While under normal circumstances, Basilides would hardly ever turn away a visitor, the combination of guilt and self-loathing that he felt made him...irrational.
"No," he stated simply as he closed the door in the bard's face, not sharply. In fact, it was shut surprisingly quietly, which made the sound of the latch locking seem almost deafening.
Now, Basilides knew there was no way that Hesiodos would simply walk away that easily after having a door shut in his face, especially not after having seen the state that Bas was in. He had to think and work quickly.
With a heavy sigh, Bas took a step back. In turning around, he realized the state of things. At least a dozen cups and a half-dozen bottles checkered the room in various levels, some even laying on their sides on the floor. With a slight grumble, Basilides set to work trying to gather them, dropping one or two with a curse before setting most of them on the modest countertop by the wash basin.
There were several he missed.
And one he kicked, which knocked over another bottle on its own.
"Shit..."
Bleary-eyed and irritated, Basilides found himself staring at the face before him for a moment. He must have been a sight. At least two - or maybe three? - weeks worth of stubble and overgrown curls that darted in whatever direction they chose. The scrape on his cheek and the dark circles under his red-rimmed eyes marring his otherwise smooth, lightly-tanned skin. The short chiton he wore was ill-fitting and plain, a sign that he had not stepped foot out into the world.
In the days after he learned about Zeph, he had his good days and his bad days. On the good days, he managed to handle his business and maintain social graces for a while. The bad had only recently started to outweigh the good, as seen by his general state of affairs.
As his mind registered who stood before him, fighting off the throbbing of his head and the tightening of his throat as the threat of bile loomed in his ribcage, he had several realizations at once.
Hesiodos was a friend, an old friend from his times early on with the troupe - ah, the thought of the troupe seemed to draw a sick slice against his spirit like a knife. Hesiodos was an artist and a storyteller, always there for a good time and a laugh. Those feelings were unfamiliar as of late, unless rehearsed on a better day it seemed. That thought wounded as well.
Perhaps, the deepest cut, was the instant memory of their last tryst together - sometime before the Festival of Dionysus, was it? Or after the Feast of Sinners? Regardless, they had shared a bed together, on that time and for many before it - all while Basilides had left Zephyrus neglected.
Yes, for his job with the troupe, Bas had dallied with men and women alike to woo and schmooze the coin out of their hands. On occasion, that resulted in flirtations and occasional stolen affections which were well paid for. Yet, with Hesiodos...those were choices he had made...and the guilt washed over him a moment.
The guilt nearly made Bas close the door in the bard's face so he could wallow in his own self-loathing for a while. Yet, he did not. He merely glanced away, grimacing at a multitude of things - the state he had been found in, the guilt he felt, the damned headache that seemed to split his skull in two. When he looked up again, he could not help but note the man's expression.
Hesiodos was worried. For him.
The thought of that disgusted him more than anything else to that point. Basilides could not bear it.
While under normal circumstances, Basilides would hardly ever turn away a visitor, the combination of guilt and self-loathing that he felt made him...irrational.
"No," he stated simply as he closed the door in the bard's face, not sharply. In fact, it was shut surprisingly quietly, which made the sound of the latch locking seem almost deafening.
Now, Basilides knew there was no way that Hesiodos would simply walk away that easily after having a door shut in his face, especially not after having seen the state that Bas was in. He had to think and work quickly.
With a heavy sigh, Bas took a step back. In turning around, he realized the state of things. At least a dozen cups and a half-dozen bottles checkered the room in various levels, some even laying on their sides on the floor. With a slight grumble, Basilides set to work trying to gather them, dropping one or two with a curse before setting most of them on the modest countertop by the wash basin.
There were several he missed.
And one he kicked, which knocked over another bottle on its own.
"Shit..."
To say that Xene was irritated with her newest confidant would be the greatest understatement of the day. To have her letters ignored by the man was the most enraging part. Selfishly, she looked to him for some of her socialization, and the lack of his presence was both annoying and grating on the nerves. Whatever was ailing him had been ailing him for too long. She didn't understand what was keeping him holed up, but Xene was sure that she didn't need to. He would tell her when she impressed her presence upon him.
Not wanting the world to know that she was hunting down the young Basilides of Acaris, Xene had opted for a warmer chiton and a cloak that she could use to cover her head and her face. Dressed in a pale, silvery blue color, her clothes were still fine, but the princess opted to keep her head down, her eyes down, and allow Heron to follow close at her back as they navigated the outer city of Vasiliadon together.
Having omitted the use of her horse, the princess remained silently aware of the hovering hand of her guard at her back, his gaze straight ahead, as if he were hunting for problems or anyone that might step into their path and break the quiet urgency of their strides together. Heron was particularly protective as they slipped deeper into the outer city, his guiding hand moving her this way and that, out of one path and into another. Tucked close to him, the princess let her gaze drift up toward the sky for a moment as she debated the situation they'd be facing.
Basilides wasn't answering her letters.
And that was unacceptable.
Selfishly, it really didn't matter what he may have been dealing with, the princess wouldn't handle such neglect.
Navigating her into the small boarding house, Heron kept close to her side as Xene put just the slightest bit of distance between them so that she could make her way up to the counter. Asking for Basilides' room, the person pointed her up the stairs and to a room with the number five painted on the door. Giving a slight nod, she turned away and started immediately up the stairs before anyone could question her. As she started up the stairs, a man came down. She briefly recognized him as the bard, Hesiodos. "Hey-" she tried to get his attention but he was gone before she had a chance to say anything else.
Glancing to Heron at her back, she shrugged and then picked her way upward, taking two steps at a time until she was trailing the hall and knocking on the fifth door in the hallway. Xene could hear the shuffling of someone inside, as well as the knocking of ceramics that Xene knew to mean wine. Lifting her hand slowly, she wrapped her knuckles on the door.
"Basilides of Acaris, I will not stand for silence. Frankly, I'm insulted by it," Xene said through the door, her only warning. She was sure she didn't need to introduce herself any other way. Her tone was often enough, she the princess stood close to the door, listening for any extra movements from inside of the room. Each second he made her wait was nother second she had to let her temper flare.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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To say that Xene was irritated with her newest confidant would be the greatest understatement of the day. To have her letters ignored by the man was the most enraging part. Selfishly, she looked to him for some of her socialization, and the lack of his presence was both annoying and grating on the nerves. Whatever was ailing him had been ailing him for too long. She didn't understand what was keeping him holed up, but Xene was sure that she didn't need to. He would tell her when she impressed her presence upon him.
Not wanting the world to know that she was hunting down the young Basilides of Acaris, Xene had opted for a warmer chiton and a cloak that she could use to cover her head and her face. Dressed in a pale, silvery blue color, her clothes were still fine, but the princess opted to keep her head down, her eyes down, and allow Heron to follow close at her back as they navigated the outer city of Vasiliadon together.
Having omitted the use of her horse, the princess remained silently aware of the hovering hand of her guard at her back, his gaze straight ahead, as if he were hunting for problems or anyone that might step into their path and break the quiet urgency of their strides together. Heron was particularly protective as they slipped deeper into the outer city, his guiding hand moving her this way and that, out of one path and into another. Tucked close to him, the princess let her gaze drift up toward the sky for a moment as she debated the situation they'd be facing.
Basilides wasn't answering her letters.
And that was unacceptable.
Selfishly, it really didn't matter what he may have been dealing with, the princess wouldn't handle such neglect.
Navigating her into the small boarding house, Heron kept close to her side as Xene put just the slightest bit of distance between them so that she could make her way up to the counter. Asking for Basilides' room, the person pointed her up the stairs and to a room with the number five painted on the door. Giving a slight nod, she turned away and started immediately up the stairs before anyone could question her. As she started up the stairs, a man came down. She briefly recognized him as the bard, Hesiodos. "Hey-" she tried to get his attention but he was gone before she had a chance to say anything else.
Glancing to Heron at her back, she shrugged and then picked her way upward, taking two steps at a time until she was trailing the hall and knocking on the fifth door in the hallway. Xene could hear the shuffling of someone inside, as well as the knocking of ceramics that Xene knew to mean wine. Lifting her hand slowly, she wrapped her knuckles on the door.
"Basilides of Acaris, I will not stand for silence. Frankly, I'm insulted by it," Xene said through the door, her only warning. She was sure she didn't need to introduce herself any other way. Her tone was often enough, she the princess stood close to the door, listening for any extra movements from inside of the room. Each second he made her wait was nother second she had to let her temper flare.
To say that Xene was irritated with her newest confidant would be the greatest understatement of the day. To have her letters ignored by the man was the most enraging part. Selfishly, she looked to him for some of her socialization, and the lack of his presence was both annoying and grating on the nerves. Whatever was ailing him had been ailing him for too long. She didn't understand what was keeping him holed up, but Xene was sure that she didn't need to. He would tell her when she impressed her presence upon him.
Not wanting the world to know that she was hunting down the young Basilides of Acaris, Xene had opted for a warmer chiton and a cloak that she could use to cover her head and her face. Dressed in a pale, silvery blue color, her clothes were still fine, but the princess opted to keep her head down, her eyes down, and allow Heron to follow close at her back as they navigated the outer city of Vasiliadon together.
Having omitted the use of her horse, the princess remained silently aware of the hovering hand of her guard at her back, his gaze straight ahead, as if he were hunting for problems or anyone that might step into their path and break the quiet urgency of their strides together. Heron was particularly protective as they slipped deeper into the outer city, his guiding hand moving her this way and that, out of one path and into another. Tucked close to him, the princess let her gaze drift up toward the sky for a moment as she debated the situation they'd be facing.
Basilides wasn't answering her letters.
And that was unacceptable.
Selfishly, it really didn't matter what he may have been dealing with, the princess wouldn't handle such neglect.
Navigating her into the small boarding house, Heron kept close to her side as Xene put just the slightest bit of distance between them so that she could make her way up to the counter. Asking for Basilides' room, the person pointed her up the stairs and to a room with the number five painted on the door. Giving a slight nod, she turned away and started immediately up the stairs before anyone could question her. As she started up the stairs, a man came down. She briefly recognized him as the bard, Hesiodos. "Hey-" she tried to get his attention but he was gone before she had a chance to say anything else.
Glancing to Heron at her back, she shrugged and then picked her way upward, taking two steps at a time until she was trailing the hall and knocking on the fifth door in the hallway. Xene could hear the shuffling of someone inside, as well as the knocking of ceramics that Xene knew to mean wine. Lifting her hand slowly, she wrapped her knuckles on the door.
"Basilides of Acaris, I will not stand for silence. Frankly, I'm insulted by it," Xene said through the door, her only warning. She was sure she didn't need to introduce herself any other way. Her tone was often enough, she the princess stood close to the door, listening for any extra movements from inside of the room. Each second he made her wait was nother second she had to let her temper flare.
Hesiodos almost didn’t recognize Basilides when he saw him.
The bard’s mouth hung open when he saw the man’s appearance before him. He seemed more of a husk than a man, like a shade of Hades that didn’t manage to take Charon’s ferry and was left to wander on the shore. Hesiodos barely registered what he said to him before he closed the door on his face. Even then, he was still in shock…
Hesiodos didn’t believe it was Bas… but he knew it was. The room was the correct one. His face was, too, except for the hair and the beard… Hesiodos took a moment and exited, almost stumbled upon a finely dressed woman that seemed to call him. He was going to leave and forget this happened. It was clear that Bas didn’t want to see anybody…
Hesiodos decided to sit outside, twiddling his thumbs. When that proved too boring, he began to idly pick the strings of his lyre… he would need to gather himself and go to Bas later. He couldn’t leave him on his own like this.
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Hesiodos almost didn’t recognize Basilides when he saw him.
The bard’s mouth hung open when he saw the man’s appearance before him. He seemed more of a husk than a man, like a shade of Hades that didn’t manage to take Charon’s ferry and was left to wander on the shore. Hesiodos barely registered what he said to him before he closed the door on his face. Even then, he was still in shock…
Hesiodos didn’t believe it was Bas… but he knew it was. The room was the correct one. His face was, too, except for the hair and the beard… Hesiodos took a moment and exited, almost stumbled upon a finely dressed woman that seemed to call him. He was going to leave and forget this happened. It was clear that Bas didn’t want to see anybody…
Hesiodos decided to sit outside, twiddling his thumbs. When that proved too boring, he began to idly pick the strings of his lyre… he would need to gather himself and go to Bas later. He couldn’t leave him on his own like this.
Hesiodos almost didn’t recognize Basilides when he saw him.
The bard’s mouth hung open when he saw the man’s appearance before him. He seemed more of a husk than a man, like a shade of Hades that didn’t manage to take Charon’s ferry and was left to wander on the shore. Hesiodos barely registered what he said to him before he closed the door on his face. Even then, he was still in shock…
Hesiodos didn’t believe it was Bas… but he knew it was. The room was the correct one. His face was, too, except for the hair and the beard… Hesiodos took a moment and exited, almost stumbled upon a finely dressed woman that seemed to call him. He was going to leave and forget this happened. It was clear that Bas didn’t want to see anybody…
Hesiodos decided to sit outside, twiddling his thumbs. When that proved too boring, he began to idly pick the strings of his lyre… he would need to gather himself and go to Bas later. He couldn’t leave him on his own like this.
The mere movement of collecting cups and bottles - bending over and rising again - seemed to somehow remind him of the times his father took all the boys out on a choppy sea. While he was blessed to never have faced the nausea that some did when aboard a ship, it still left that feeling of tightness in his throat and the uncomfortable liquid sensation behind his eyes. He had to take a moment, setting the cups against the countertop and using his hands splayed across the wood to support himself.
His eyes pinched closed, trying to right the room in a way and after blinking a few times, the edges of his vision were less blackened. Seeing Hesiodos felt like a gut-punch. Did he regret his meetings with the man over the years? Never. He was one of the few he could consider a friend, even with all the time spent apart. The misfortune of the association between the bard and his lost lover...
Gods, just thinking about his brought the sting of tears to his eyes. Not again. Letting the top of his head press against the simple cabinets above the countertop, he wrenched his eyes closed even harder, trying his hardest to stop the tears from flowing again. Once they began, they would not stop until they were through. Frustration at that fact filled him with irrational rage, and his had slammed against the countertop at the lack of control he could have in this moment, unable to stop the tears from falling down his cheek.
The knock on the door drew his attention again, his head turning too quickly as he nearly prepared to bark harsher words to the bard to send him on his way. The voice beyond the door sent the merchant's spine straightening in an instant, to the point of nearly knocking himself off his feet.
Princess Xene? Here??
While the tears still traced their trails down his cheeks, the fear and dread of facing the royal he had wronged outside his door stopped him from drowning in his thoughts in an instant. For the first time in days, the gravity of the state he had fallen into hit, and with wide eyes he looked down at his clothes and the room around him. Gods, what a mess. Picking up the bottles had helped, but it was nowhere near presentable for the Mikaelidas princess.
With his forearm he wiped away the tearstains and the drivels that lingered at the tip of his nose, running a hand over his face a few times before attempting to run it through his hair. While not matted like some wild curr, it would take more than the few handfuls of water that he splashed across his face and through his curls to remedy this.
Steadying himself, he drew in a few deeper breaths and straightened his spine. He made a quick decision then and there, to try to invite them down to the tavern below. The barkeep had mentioned a private room in the back, right? Bas could not remember.
Unlatching the door, Basilides swallowed hard a moment, doing his best to keep up appearances and knowing he would fail instantly. As he opened the door, he stepped into the corridor with his hand hooked behind him to keep the door from closing entirely as he bent at the hips into a bow, purposefully keeping his eyes cast downward for the moment.
"Your Highness," he greeted her, his baritone sounding quite froggy from the tears that had threatened moments earlier. He swallowed again to try to clear his throat before speaking again, "Forgive me for my...state. Any apology I give would fall short of what is needed for this... and for my silence."
After a moment in his repentant bow, he chanced a glance up at her through overlong curls, not knowing what to expect from the petite woman. His eyes could not help but slide over briefly to her guard before looking back to her as he straightened his spine again.
"There is a private dining room below, if it pleases..." he said, his words trailing as a better look at the princess gave him the indication that she was unlikely to take any suggestion he had to give in that moment.
Shit...
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The mere movement of collecting cups and bottles - bending over and rising again - seemed to somehow remind him of the times his father took all the boys out on a choppy sea. While he was blessed to never have faced the nausea that some did when aboard a ship, it still left that feeling of tightness in his throat and the uncomfortable liquid sensation behind his eyes. He had to take a moment, setting the cups against the countertop and using his hands splayed across the wood to support himself.
His eyes pinched closed, trying to right the room in a way and after blinking a few times, the edges of his vision were less blackened. Seeing Hesiodos felt like a gut-punch. Did he regret his meetings with the man over the years? Never. He was one of the few he could consider a friend, even with all the time spent apart. The misfortune of the association between the bard and his lost lover...
Gods, just thinking about his brought the sting of tears to his eyes. Not again. Letting the top of his head press against the simple cabinets above the countertop, he wrenched his eyes closed even harder, trying his hardest to stop the tears from flowing again. Once they began, they would not stop until they were through. Frustration at that fact filled him with irrational rage, and his had slammed against the countertop at the lack of control he could have in this moment, unable to stop the tears from falling down his cheek.
The knock on the door drew his attention again, his head turning too quickly as he nearly prepared to bark harsher words to the bard to send him on his way. The voice beyond the door sent the merchant's spine straightening in an instant, to the point of nearly knocking himself off his feet.
Princess Xene? Here??
While the tears still traced their trails down his cheeks, the fear and dread of facing the royal he had wronged outside his door stopped him from drowning in his thoughts in an instant. For the first time in days, the gravity of the state he had fallen into hit, and with wide eyes he looked down at his clothes and the room around him. Gods, what a mess. Picking up the bottles had helped, but it was nowhere near presentable for the Mikaelidas princess.
With his forearm he wiped away the tearstains and the drivels that lingered at the tip of his nose, running a hand over his face a few times before attempting to run it through his hair. While not matted like some wild curr, it would take more than the few handfuls of water that he splashed across his face and through his curls to remedy this.
Steadying himself, he drew in a few deeper breaths and straightened his spine. He made a quick decision then and there, to try to invite them down to the tavern below. The barkeep had mentioned a private room in the back, right? Bas could not remember.
Unlatching the door, Basilides swallowed hard a moment, doing his best to keep up appearances and knowing he would fail instantly. As he opened the door, he stepped into the corridor with his hand hooked behind him to keep the door from closing entirely as he bent at the hips into a bow, purposefully keeping his eyes cast downward for the moment.
"Your Highness," he greeted her, his baritone sounding quite froggy from the tears that had threatened moments earlier. He swallowed again to try to clear his throat before speaking again, "Forgive me for my...state. Any apology I give would fall short of what is needed for this... and for my silence."
After a moment in his repentant bow, he chanced a glance up at her through overlong curls, not knowing what to expect from the petite woman. His eyes could not help but slide over briefly to her guard before looking back to her as he straightened his spine again.
"There is a private dining room below, if it pleases..." he said, his words trailing as a better look at the princess gave him the indication that she was unlikely to take any suggestion he had to give in that moment.
Shit...
The mere movement of collecting cups and bottles - bending over and rising again - seemed to somehow remind him of the times his father took all the boys out on a choppy sea. While he was blessed to never have faced the nausea that some did when aboard a ship, it still left that feeling of tightness in his throat and the uncomfortable liquid sensation behind his eyes. He had to take a moment, setting the cups against the countertop and using his hands splayed across the wood to support himself.
His eyes pinched closed, trying to right the room in a way and after blinking a few times, the edges of his vision were less blackened. Seeing Hesiodos felt like a gut-punch. Did he regret his meetings with the man over the years? Never. He was one of the few he could consider a friend, even with all the time spent apart. The misfortune of the association between the bard and his lost lover...
Gods, just thinking about his brought the sting of tears to his eyes. Not again. Letting the top of his head press against the simple cabinets above the countertop, he wrenched his eyes closed even harder, trying his hardest to stop the tears from flowing again. Once they began, they would not stop until they were through. Frustration at that fact filled him with irrational rage, and his had slammed against the countertop at the lack of control he could have in this moment, unable to stop the tears from falling down his cheek.
The knock on the door drew his attention again, his head turning too quickly as he nearly prepared to bark harsher words to the bard to send him on his way. The voice beyond the door sent the merchant's spine straightening in an instant, to the point of nearly knocking himself off his feet.
Princess Xene? Here??
While the tears still traced their trails down his cheeks, the fear and dread of facing the royal he had wronged outside his door stopped him from drowning in his thoughts in an instant. For the first time in days, the gravity of the state he had fallen into hit, and with wide eyes he looked down at his clothes and the room around him. Gods, what a mess. Picking up the bottles had helped, but it was nowhere near presentable for the Mikaelidas princess.
With his forearm he wiped away the tearstains and the drivels that lingered at the tip of his nose, running a hand over his face a few times before attempting to run it through his hair. While not matted like some wild curr, it would take more than the few handfuls of water that he splashed across his face and through his curls to remedy this.
Steadying himself, he drew in a few deeper breaths and straightened his spine. He made a quick decision then and there, to try to invite them down to the tavern below. The barkeep had mentioned a private room in the back, right? Bas could not remember.
Unlatching the door, Basilides swallowed hard a moment, doing his best to keep up appearances and knowing he would fail instantly. As he opened the door, he stepped into the corridor with his hand hooked behind him to keep the door from closing entirely as he bent at the hips into a bow, purposefully keeping his eyes cast downward for the moment.
"Your Highness," he greeted her, his baritone sounding quite froggy from the tears that had threatened moments earlier. He swallowed again to try to clear his throat before speaking again, "Forgive me for my...state. Any apology I give would fall short of what is needed for this... and for my silence."
After a moment in his repentant bow, he chanced a glance up at her through overlong curls, not knowing what to expect from the petite woman. His eyes could not help but slide over briefly to her guard before looking back to her as he straightened his spine again.
"There is a private dining room below, if it pleases..." he said, his words trailing as a better look at the princess gave him the indication that she was unlikely to take any suggestion he had to give in that moment.
Shit...
The princess not used to being made to wait. Nor was she used to being ignored by those who she considered close to herself. To do so was an insult that she would not take lightly, and she didn't. Delicate fingertips tapped impatiently against the wooden frame of the doorway, and she could feel Heron at her back, tense an unsure of where the princess' temper would take them today. It was a brief glance that had Heron backing up a few steps in order to lean casually against the wall on the other side of the hall.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Her fingers were close to digging into the wood by the time Basilides opened the door of his room. Her blue gaze took him in, observed the slight wavering of his voice and his unkempt appearance. This was unacceptable for a man who was supposed to be escorting a princess, a close personal friend, an a man allowed into court by her graces alone. Narrowing her gaze at him, she allowed him to bow and to speak, but said nothing in return to him at first, her golden curls framing her face in a way that truly made her seem as ferocious as a lion.
"It would not please me," Xene finally noted when Basilides mentioned a private dining room. Glancing behind her, the princess met Heron's eye. "Watch the hall," she noted, and then slid her gaze back to her friend. Her hands met the man's shoulders and the princess shoved him back into the room with more force than was probably necessary, and that was likely unexpected of a woman as small as herself. She didn't care if he stumbled and fell and Xene followed him into the room, closing the door firmly behind her.
It was here that she took a moment to truly observe his surroundings. Filthy and unkempt, just like himself. It irked her even more. What level of self-pity had he fallen into that he had to live like the peasants? Sniffing a little bit, she curled her lip slightly. "Is this where you've been holed up, Basilides? You look a sorry mess," she snapped at him, her irritation showing very clearly in her gaze. "What in Hades have you been doing here? Ignoring my letters and my summons?" The princess took a step closer to him and sniffed.
Xene made a face at him and prodded his chest with a single finger. "Are you drunk?" she asked sharply, then lifting her hand to pat at his face with an irritable weight to her movements. She might have left a stinging sensation on his cheeks. "No. This won't do. Clean up. Go on, move. Move," the princess motioned to the whole of the room, gliding across the room to the chair that was at least clean of debris. She sunk into it and seemed to relax, making herself at home. Her blue gaze remained fixed on Basilides' form, not really waiting for him to explain himself, but hoping to see an immediate result of her orders. Her fingers started to tap impatiently on the arm of the chair once more.
"I'll wait."
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The princess not used to being made to wait. Nor was she used to being ignored by those who she considered close to herself. To do so was an insult that she would not take lightly, and she didn't. Delicate fingertips tapped impatiently against the wooden frame of the doorway, and she could feel Heron at her back, tense an unsure of where the princess' temper would take them today. It was a brief glance that had Heron backing up a few steps in order to lean casually against the wall on the other side of the hall.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Her fingers were close to digging into the wood by the time Basilides opened the door of his room. Her blue gaze took him in, observed the slight wavering of his voice and his unkempt appearance. This was unacceptable for a man who was supposed to be escorting a princess, a close personal friend, an a man allowed into court by her graces alone. Narrowing her gaze at him, she allowed him to bow and to speak, but said nothing in return to him at first, her golden curls framing her face in a way that truly made her seem as ferocious as a lion.
"It would not please me," Xene finally noted when Basilides mentioned a private dining room. Glancing behind her, the princess met Heron's eye. "Watch the hall," she noted, and then slid her gaze back to her friend. Her hands met the man's shoulders and the princess shoved him back into the room with more force than was probably necessary, and that was likely unexpected of a woman as small as herself. She didn't care if he stumbled and fell and Xene followed him into the room, closing the door firmly behind her.
It was here that she took a moment to truly observe his surroundings. Filthy and unkempt, just like himself. It irked her even more. What level of self-pity had he fallen into that he had to live like the peasants? Sniffing a little bit, she curled her lip slightly. "Is this where you've been holed up, Basilides? You look a sorry mess," she snapped at him, her irritation showing very clearly in her gaze. "What in Hades have you been doing here? Ignoring my letters and my summons?" The princess took a step closer to him and sniffed.
Xene made a face at him and prodded his chest with a single finger. "Are you drunk?" she asked sharply, then lifting her hand to pat at his face with an irritable weight to her movements. She might have left a stinging sensation on his cheeks. "No. This won't do. Clean up. Go on, move. Move," the princess motioned to the whole of the room, gliding across the room to the chair that was at least clean of debris. She sunk into it and seemed to relax, making herself at home. Her blue gaze remained fixed on Basilides' form, not really waiting for him to explain himself, but hoping to see an immediate result of her orders. Her fingers started to tap impatiently on the arm of the chair once more.
"I'll wait."
The princess not used to being made to wait. Nor was she used to being ignored by those who she considered close to herself. To do so was an insult that she would not take lightly, and she didn't. Delicate fingertips tapped impatiently against the wooden frame of the doorway, and she could feel Heron at her back, tense an unsure of where the princess' temper would take them today. It was a brief glance that had Heron backing up a few steps in order to lean casually against the wall on the other side of the hall.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Her fingers were close to digging into the wood by the time Basilides opened the door of his room. Her blue gaze took him in, observed the slight wavering of his voice and his unkempt appearance. This was unacceptable for a man who was supposed to be escorting a princess, a close personal friend, an a man allowed into court by her graces alone. Narrowing her gaze at him, she allowed him to bow and to speak, but said nothing in return to him at first, her golden curls framing her face in a way that truly made her seem as ferocious as a lion.
"It would not please me," Xene finally noted when Basilides mentioned a private dining room. Glancing behind her, the princess met Heron's eye. "Watch the hall," she noted, and then slid her gaze back to her friend. Her hands met the man's shoulders and the princess shoved him back into the room with more force than was probably necessary, and that was likely unexpected of a woman as small as herself. She didn't care if he stumbled and fell and Xene followed him into the room, closing the door firmly behind her.
It was here that she took a moment to truly observe his surroundings. Filthy and unkempt, just like himself. It irked her even more. What level of self-pity had he fallen into that he had to live like the peasants? Sniffing a little bit, she curled her lip slightly. "Is this where you've been holed up, Basilides? You look a sorry mess," she snapped at him, her irritation showing very clearly in her gaze. "What in Hades have you been doing here? Ignoring my letters and my summons?" The princess took a step closer to him and sniffed.
Xene made a face at him and prodded his chest with a single finger. "Are you drunk?" she asked sharply, then lifting her hand to pat at his face with an irritable weight to her movements. She might have left a stinging sensation on his cheeks. "No. This won't do. Clean up. Go on, move. Move," the princess motioned to the whole of the room, gliding across the room to the chair that was at least clean of debris. She sunk into it and seemed to relax, making herself at home. Her blue gaze remained fixed on Basilides' form, not really waiting for him to explain himself, but hoping to see an immediate result of her orders. Her fingers started to tap impatiently on the arm of the chair once more.
"I'll wait."
This was horrible for Basilides, but in some cosmic sense, it was grand comedy. It was like the high-point of hilarity in a show, with him playing the part of the clown, set to send the audience into an uproar fit of laughter. The gods were watching now, he supposed, laughing at the comedy of errors that led here. Bless, there was even fucking foreshadowing he realized as the sight of the princess managed to remind him of his interaction with the Captain of The Kingsguard not even a week before - pointing out this very issue.
Hilarious.
At least, it would have been if he had been of the mind to make such a connection. Instead, all he could hear was the rush of blood swirling in his head, antagonizing the already vicious swirl of drink behind his eyes. It was as if his body had not registered the sobriety that came crashing down on his mind. The ring of moisture around his eyes had not been completely removed by his pathetic attempt at mopping the tears away. There was a slight sway to his stance as he saw her anger built.
His head shifted back, startled, and his brows raised as he heard the message of her words loud and clear: "It would not please me." He was nowhere quick enough to respond back with some other alternative before her order for Heron to watch the hall was given and he felt a surprising force against his shoulders, shoving him backwards. His hand clung to the handle of the door for a moment before releasing as his feet took the steady enough steps backwards into the room, his other hand catching himself on the wall, backing flat into it to watch as she sealed the door shut behind her - it was just the two of them.
Shit...
Bas did not realize how hard he was breathing as he watched the princess prowl the room, a fiery look of disgust in the scowl of her lips, the blue of her eyes seeming to darken as she took in the state of the place, made all the more apparent from his place on the wall, his hands splayed there to steady him.
"I..." he started, at least twice as she surveyed the place, embarrassment clawing at his gut as if he were hiding a fox beneath his chiton, ripping his insides to shreads. Drink never gave him the nausea it gave others, yet the dread of the consequences he made for himself laying right before him could have made him lose what little he had put into his stomach in passing days.
He pressed himself further against the wall recoiling from her and wincing at the way she looked at him, then a second time as her finger hammered home her disgust in him. He could not bring himself to deny it in a lie or speak it aloud in truth. It did not matter anyway. His eyes clenched shut even further, nose scrunching as if to avoid pain when her hand layered several, sobering smacks on his cheek in quick succession. While the skin smarted where she left it, the humiliation of it stung a lot more, leading to a slight hiss of an inhale as she moved again - this time away.
Only then did he let his hand raise to drag across his face, lingering on his cheek as he peeled himself off the wall and watched her enter the room. It was violating in a way, to be caught in such a mess, and then furthermore to be ordered to get himself and the room cleaned and cleared away. For a moment, he stared at her in disbelief as she sat down in one of the chairs, pinning him with a stare. It only took another breath puffing his chest for him to take a few steps further into the room, dragging a hand through his hair and down his face.
"Yes, Your Highness," he replied, his voice low and solemn as he looked around trying to figure out where the hell to begin. Swallowing, he took a quick step to the table nearest her, where a few bottles and a wine-stained goblet lingered on a table, an old himation crumpled on the floor near it. If he could at least make her immediate area cleared, he could then figure out some words to say. The bottles clattered together noisily as he gathered them by the necks in one hand, using a loose finger to then grab the goblet and clatter it into the little cluster as well while he leaned down to pick up the himation.
Then, he had a blessed moment with his back to her as he moved to set the himation at the foot of his bed and the bottles along with the others on the countertops. He had managed to hold himself pretty well together at that point, but the embarrassment of the passing moments stung in a way that sidled alongside the tears that had previously spilled. He felt his throat close again with the threat of tears, still dizzy from the unsteadiness. In his state of fading drunkenness, his head felt heavy and ached, feeling as if it were an uneven jar of water. Clearing his throat to keep himself together again, he blinked a few times and took a deep breath, but then looked down at his stained chiton, hissing at the realization of that piling onto his appearance.
Sighing heavily and shaking his head, he looked back over his shoulder towards her.
"Pardon me...let me just..." he noted, bowing his head lightly as he turned the corner past the meager privacy screen that served to separate the room. As quickly as he could, with more than a little audible fumbling around, he undressed and rifled through his trunk for something that would serve better in the presence of royalty. Though he knew it was fitting, he scowled slightly as he put on a light blue chiton with finely embroidered edging in deep navy, clasping it with a simple yet stated bronze fibulae. Crossing to the washbin, he started rather frugally with the water before all but dunking his face in it, as if to beg his body to comply with the sobriety needed in this situation.
Hair soaked, he dragged the drying cloth across his face, feeling the scratch of his beard and grimacing. That would just have to wait, wouldn't it? She said clean up, not go for a full polish, and he had already left the Princess waiting far too long.
Steadying himself, he gave himself a quick look over once more, a flash of silver at his neck catching his eye and nearly undoing him once again. Swallowing harshly and blinking away any threatening emotion, he shoved Zephyrus' pendant haphazardly into his chiton, only for the next shift of movement he made towards the next room to pull it back out of hiding, as if it were trying to prove a point.
"Princess," he acknowledged, entering the room again and noting that while it was not perfect, at least the worst of the mess was confined to the counter and the desk. Opening the window to let some air in would help, but that could wait.
"Forgive me, if you can. I...have struggled recently," he started to explain, his glance unsteady and glancing away, making uneasy expressions as he tried to make his words not south pathetic or excusatory, "I thought I managed well enough for a while, but obviously....the lapses were more significant than I thought possible."
It felt horrible, standing there before her, someone who had trusted him with sensitive things and with her wellbeing in many cases, at least in the matter of words. In fact, so many things he had been responsible for had gone by the wayside - his family's affairs, his own wellbeing......Zephyrus' life...
He tried to press his lips together to keep them from wibbling pathetically, and though the red rims of his eyes threatened to tear up again, a sharp inhale through his nose stymied them for the time being. He kept his eyes pinned to a spot on the floor as he finally forced out the words, "Someone...very close to me...has died. I found out the night after the Wedding and I..."
His hands broke from their place behind his back and gestured around the room almost helplessly, a sad, scoff of a laugh trying to break through, melting away like the expression on his face which ran like paint on a wet canvas. "This is not like me...and I hate myself for it. People die every day but...he...."
Basilides immediately bit his mouth shut, grimacing at how his words almost spilled too freely - letting someone in far too close. If they were too close, he would bleed all these feelings out and it would stain.
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This was horrible for Basilides, but in some cosmic sense, it was grand comedy. It was like the high-point of hilarity in a show, with him playing the part of the clown, set to send the audience into an uproar fit of laughter. The gods were watching now, he supposed, laughing at the comedy of errors that led here. Bless, there was even fucking foreshadowing he realized as the sight of the princess managed to remind him of his interaction with the Captain of The Kingsguard not even a week before - pointing out this very issue.
Hilarious.
At least, it would have been if he had been of the mind to make such a connection. Instead, all he could hear was the rush of blood swirling in his head, antagonizing the already vicious swirl of drink behind his eyes. It was as if his body had not registered the sobriety that came crashing down on his mind. The ring of moisture around his eyes had not been completely removed by his pathetic attempt at mopping the tears away. There was a slight sway to his stance as he saw her anger built.
His head shifted back, startled, and his brows raised as he heard the message of her words loud and clear: "It would not please me." He was nowhere quick enough to respond back with some other alternative before her order for Heron to watch the hall was given and he felt a surprising force against his shoulders, shoving him backwards. His hand clung to the handle of the door for a moment before releasing as his feet took the steady enough steps backwards into the room, his other hand catching himself on the wall, backing flat into it to watch as she sealed the door shut behind her - it was just the two of them.
Shit...
Bas did not realize how hard he was breathing as he watched the princess prowl the room, a fiery look of disgust in the scowl of her lips, the blue of her eyes seeming to darken as she took in the state of the place, made all the more apparent from his place on the wall, his hands splayed there to steady him.
"I..." he started, at least twice as she surveyed the place, embarrassment clawing at his gut as if he were hiding a fox beneath his chiton, ripping his insides to shreads. Drink never gave him the nausea it gave others, yet the dread of the consequences he made for himself laying right before him could have made him lose what little he had put into his stomach in passing days.
He pressed himself further against the wall recoiling from her and wincing at the way she looked at him, then a second time as her finger hammered home her disgust in him. He could not bring himself to deny it in a lie or speak it aloud in truth. It did not matter anyway. His eyes clenched shut even further, nose scrunching as if to avoid pain when her hand layered several, sobering smacks on his cheek in quick succession. While the skin smarted where she left it, the humiliation of it stung a lot more, leading to a slight hiss of an inhale as she moved again - this time away.
Only then did he let his hand raise to drag across his face, lingering on his cheek as he peeled himself off the wall and watched her enter the room. It was violating in a way, to be caught in such a mess, and then furthermore to be ordered to get himself and the room cleaned and cleared away. For a moment, he stared at her in disbelief as she sat down in one of the chairs, pinning him with a stare. It only took another breath puffing his chest for him to take a few steps further into the room, dragging a hand through his hair and down his face.
"Yes, Your Highness," he replied, his voice low and solemn as he looked around trying to figure out where the hell to begin. Swallowing, he took a quick step to the table nearest her, where a few bottles and a wine-stained goblet lingered on a table, an old himation crumpled on the floor near it. If he could at least make her immediate area cleared, he could then figure out some words to say. The bottles clattered together noisily as he gathered them by the necks in one hand, using a loose finger to then grab the goblet and clatter it into the little cluster as well while he leaned down to pick up the himation.
Then, he had a blessed moment with his back to her as he moved to set the himation at the foot of his bed and the bottles along with the others on the countertops. He had managed to hold himself pretty well together at that point, but the embarrassment of the passing moments stung in a way that sidled alongside the tears that had previously spilled. He felt his throat close again with the threat of tears, still dizzy from the unsteadiness. In his state of fading drunkenness, his head felt heavy and ached, feeling as if it were an uneven jar of water. Clearing his throat to keep himself together again, he blinked a few times and took a deep breath, but then looked down at his stained chiton, hissing at the realization of that piling onto his appearance.
Sighing heavily and shaking his head, he looked back over his shoulder towards her.
"Pardon me...let me just..." he noted, bowing his head lightly as he turned the corner past the meager privacy screen that served to separate the room. As quickly as he could, with more than a little audible fumbling around, he undressed and rifled through his trunk for something that would serve better in the presence of royalty. Though he knew it was fitting, he scowled slightly as he put on a light blue chiton with finely embroidered edging in deep navy, clasping it with a simple yet stated bronze fibulae. Crossing to the washbin, he started rather frugally with the water before all but dunking his face in it, as if to beg his body to comply with the sobriety needed in this situation.
Hair soaked, he dragged the drying cloth across his face, feeling the scratch of his beard and grimacing. That would just have to wait, wouldn't it? She said clean up, not go for a full polish, and he had already left the Princess waiting far too long.
Steadying himself, he gave himself a quick look over once more, a flash of silver at his neck catching his eye and nearly undoing him once again. Swallowing harshly and blinking away any threatening emotion, he shoved Zephyrus' pendant haphazardly into his chiton, only for the next shift of movement he made towards the next room to pull it back out of hiding, as if it were trying to prove a point.
"Princess," he acknowledged, entering the room again and noting that while it was not perfect, at least the worst of the mess was confined to the counter and the desk. Opening the window to let some air in would help, but that could wait.
"Forgive me, if you can. I...have struggled recently," he started to explain, his glance unsteady and glancing away, making uneasy expressions as he tried to make his words not south pathetic or excusatory, "I thought I managed well enough for a while, but obviously....the lapses were more significant than I thought possible."
It felt horrible, standing there before her, someone who had trusted him with sensitive things and with her wellbeing in many cases, at least in the matter of words. In fact, so many things he had been responsible for had gone by the wayside - his family's affairs, his own wellbeing......Zephyrus' life...
He tried to press his lips together to keep them from wibbling pathetically, and though the red rims of his eyes threatened to tear up again, a sharp inhale through his nose stymied them for the time being. He kept his eyes pinned to a spot on the floor as he finally forced out the words, "Someone...very close to me...has died. I found out the night after the Wedding and I..."
His hands broke from their place behind his back and gestured around the room almost helplessly, a sad, scoff of a laugh trying to break through, melting away like the expression on his face which ran like paint on a wet canvas. "This is not like me...and I hate myself for it. People die every day but...he...."
Basilides immediately bit his mouth shut, grimacing at how his words almost spilled too freely - letting someone in far too close. If they were too close, he would bleed all these feelings out and it would stain.
This was horrible for Basilides, but in some cosmic sense, it was grand comedy. It was like the high-point of hilarity in a show, with him playing the part of the clown, set to send the audience into an uproar fit of laughter. The gods were watching now, he supposed, laughing at the comedy of errors that led here. Bless, there was even fucking foreshadowing he realized as the sight of the princess managed to remind him of his interaction with the Captain of The Kingsguard not even a week before - pointing out this very issue.
Hilarious.
At least, it would have been if he had been of the mind to make such a connection. Instead, all he could hear was the rush of blood swirling in his head, antagonizing the already vicious swirl of drink behind his eyes. It was as if his body had not registered the sobriety that came crashing down on his mind. The ring of moisture around his eyes had not been completely removed by his pathetic attempt at mopping the tears away. There was a slight sway to his stance as he saw her anger built.
His head shifted back, startled, and his brows raised as he heard the message of her words loud and clear: "It would not please me." He was nowhere quick enough to respond back with some other alternative before her order for Heron to watch the hall was given and he felt a surprising force against his shoulders, shoving him backwards. His hand clung to the handle of the door for a moment before releasing as his feet took the steady enough steps backwards into the room, his other hand catching himself on the wall, backing flat into it to watch as she sealed the door shut behind her - it was just the two of them.
Shit...
Bas did not realize how hard he was breathing as he watched the princess prowl the room, a fiery look of disgust in the scowl of her lips, the blue of her eyes seeming to darken as she took in the state of the place, made all the more apparent from his place on the wall, his hands splayed there to steady him.
"I..." he started, at least twice as she surveyed the place, embarrassment clawing at his gut as if he were hiding a fox beneath his chiton, ripping his insides to shreads. Drink never gave him the nausea it gave others, yet the dread of the consequences he made for himself laying right before him could have made him lose what little he had put into his stomach in passing days.
He pressed himself further against the wall recoiling from her and wincing at the way she looked at him, then a second time as her finger hammered home her disgust in him. He could not bring himself to deny it in a lie or speak it aloud in truth. It did not matter anyway. His eyes clenched shut even further, nose scrunching as if to avoid pain when her hand layered several, sobering smacks on his cheek in quick succession. While the skin smarted where she left it, the humiliation of it stung a lot more, leading to a slight hiss of an inhale as she moved again - this time away.
Only then did he let his hand raise to drag across his face, lingering on his cheek as he peeled himself off the wall and watched her enter the room. It was violating in a way, to be caught in such a mess, and then furthermore to be ordered to get himself and the room cleaned and cleared away. For a moment, he stared at her in disbelief as she sat down in one of the chairs, pinning him with a stare. It only took another breath puffing his chest for him to take a few steps further into the room, dragging a hand through his hair and down his face.
"Yes, Your Highness," he replied, his voice low and solemn as he looked around trying to figure out where the hell to begin. Swallowing, he took a quick step to the table nearest her, where a few bottles and a wine-stained goblet lingered on a table, an old himation crumpled on the floor near it. If he could at least make her immediate area cleared, he could then figure out some words to say. The bottles clattered together noisily as he gathered them by the necks in one hand, using a loose finger to then grab the goblet and clatter it into the little cluster as well while he leaned down to pick up the himation.
Then, he had a blessed moment with his back to her as he moved to set the himation at the foot of his bed and the bottles along with the others on the countertops. He had managed to hold himself pretty well together at that point, but the embarrassment of the passing moments stung in a way that sidled alongside the tears that had previously spilled. He felt his throat close again with the threat of tears, still dizzy from the unsteadiness. In his state of fading drunkenness, his head felt heavy and ached, feeling as if it were an uneven jar of water. Clearing his throat to keep himself together again, he blinked a few times and took a deep breath, but then looked down at his stained chiton, hissing at the realization of that piling onto his appearance.
Sighing heavily and shaking his head, he looked back over his shoulder towards her.
"Pardon me...let me just..." he noted, bowing his head lightly as he turned the corner past the meager privacy screen that served to separate the room. As quickly as he could, with more than a little audible fumbling around, he undressed and rifled through his trunk for something that would serve better in the presence of royalty. Though he knew it was fitting, he scowled slightly as he put on a light blue chiton with finely embroidered edging in deep navy, clasping it with a simple yet stated bronze fibulae. Crossing to the washbin, he started rather frugally with the water before all but dunking his face in it, as if to beg his body to comply with the sobriety needed in this situation.
Hair soaked, he dragged the drying cloth across his face, feeling the scratch of his beard and grimacing. That would just have to wait, wouldn't it? She said clean up, not go for a full polish, and he had already left the Princess waiting far too long.
Steadying himself, he gave himself a quick look over once more, a flash of silver at his neck catching his eye and nearly undoing him once again. Swallowing harshly and blinking away any threatening emotion, he shoved Zephyrus' pendant haphazardly into his chiton, only for the next shift of movement he made towards the next room to pull it back out of hiding, as if it were trying to prove a point.
"Princess," he acknowledged, entering the room again and noting that while it was not perfect, at least the worst of the mess was confined to the counter and the desk. Opening the window to let some air in would help, but that could wait.
"Forgive me, if you can. I...have struggled recently," he started to explain, his glance unsteady and glancing away, making uneasy expressions as he tried to make his words not south pathetic or excusatory, "I thought I managed well enough for a while, but obviously....the lapses were more significant than I thought possible."
It felt horrible, standing there before her, someone who had trusted him with sensitive things and with her wellbeing in many cases, at least in the matter of words. In fact, so many things he had been responsible for had gone by the wayside - his family's affairs, his own wellbeing......Zephyrus' life...
He tried to press his lips together to keep them from wibbling pathetically, and though the red rims of his eyes threatened to tear up again, a sharp inhale through his nose stymied them for the time being. He kept his eyes pinned to a spot on the floor as he finally forced out the words, "Someone...very close to me...has died. I found out the night after the Wedding and I..."
His hands broke from their place behind his back and gestured around the room almost helplessly, a sad, scoff of a laugh trying to break through, melting away like the expression on his face which ran like paint on a wet canvas. "This is not like me...and I hate myself for it. People die every day but...he...."
Basilides immediately bit his mouth shut, grimacing at how his words almost spilled too freely - letting someone in far too close. If they were too close, he would bleed all these feelings out and it would stain.
Xene was content to settle into the seat that she had claimed for herself. Without the gaze of guard or servant, nor the prying eyes of courtiers, she felt as if she could relax just the slightest bit. Enough to allow her to watch Basilides and the room in which she was forcing him to clean up and care for. The man had made such a mess, and as he bent down to clean up bottle after bottle, the princess found herself starkly surprised that he had drank so much since the last time that she had seen him. All the more reason for her to be sitting there, she supposed, because she would not have one of her closest confidants drowning slowly in a mess of his own making with no way up to the surface.
The princess waited patiently as Basilides disappeared behind the privacy screen and Xene rose from her chair, moving about the less private parts of his quarters in order to observe some of his things. She picked up one of the bottles he had placed on a table, and brought it to her nose, sniffing it. Making a face, she set it back down with the silent observation that the bottle had been sitting there long enough for the residue of wine to turn to vinegar. Far too long to be appropriate, even for someone who was grieving. Her opinion was that he had crossed the line from grief to self-pity, and that would not do.
Across the room when Basilides joined her once more, this time dressed as properly as he could manage with her in his room. Keen eyes trailed his appearance and she decided right then that, had his beard been better kept, she would like it. As it was, it was not, and she found that, once she left, his first course of action would be to shave. Her title fell of his lips and Xene simply watched his face and only his face, expecting answers without having to ask for them. And she needn't wait long, because they all spilled out at once.
Never had she ever imagined that she would witness her friend cry, but she could tell he almost did. He had had the strength to stop himself and Xene was silently glad. She didn't always know how to deal with her own feelings let alone the emotions of someone she had never witnessed overcome with them. To her, Basilides was always cool, calm, and collected. That was how he was, and selfishly, that is what she would need him to be again.
Xene waited until Basilides was entirely done speaking, biting his own mouth shut so that he could not let out the remaining emotions that threatened him. Turning very slightly, the finery of her gown hissing across the wood floor, the princess dropped her hands slowly to her sides and lifted her chin. Blue eyes were calculating and her mouth twisted into an expression of deep thought. Internally, the princess was attempting to piece together what it was she would say to her friend. That was what he was to her, her friend. But she was also a princess and he also worked for her. There was a certain level of composure and grace that she expected from both her friends and her help.
"I'm sure that many people think that royals and nobles are coldblooded and without feeling. In truth, we can seem that way, but in our world, emotion can be seen as weakness. We are taught from birth to hold our heads high, to speak softly but strongly, to keep our shoulders back, and to never cry in public. Locking ourselves away as you have done would be cause for gossip. The expectation of any nobility at all is to stand as if you are strong and united in the face of grief and sadness," the princess said slowly, bringing her hands up to lace together in front of her. They rest at her abdomen and she lifted her chind very slightly.
She had more to say, and she was quickly putting her words together in a proper manner, "We keep our grief private, or we do not allow ourselves to feel it at all. We have little choice in those matters because we are expected to be seen and heard regardless of what is going on. The world keeps moving, and as such, so do we. Please, do not think me cruel or heartless or even numb to the pain that you are feeling, Basilides," Xene said very slowly, breathing in and out once. She seemed as if she were quelling a single flash of anger that she couldn't hold down in this moment. "You have fallen entirely apart about one person. I do not know who he was to you, and I respect that he was important, but this," the princess motioned to the room around them, "This stops here and now."
"If you knew nothing about me and you had never met me, Basilides, would you be able to look at me and know that I have lost my father, my eldest brother to regicide, my other brother to exile, and now my uncle to a weakness of the heart?" she asked very simply, lifting one delicate eyebrow to observe him closely to see if he noted her words and took them to heart. "Would you look at me and know that I feel a profound loss every second of my life, but I am not allowed to cow to it and fall to this unacceptable level of hopelessness?"
There was a long beat of a pause where Xene had taken to just observing him, hoping that he got the points that she was trying to make without him rising against her and frustration and anger.
"If you wish to be part of this world and this court, then you must act the part no matter what it is that weighs you down. I expect my staff to operate much as I do, and if you do not think you can do that, Basilides, then I shall relieve you of your duties at this very moment."
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Xene was content to settle into the seat that she had claimed for herself. Without the gaze of guard or servant, nor the prying eyes of courtiers, she felt as if she could relax just the slightest bit. Enough to allow her to watch Basilides and the room in which she was forcing him to clean up and care for. The man had made such a mess, and as he bent down to clean up bottle after bottle, the princess found herself starkly surprised that he had drank so much since the last time that she had seen him. All the more reason for her to be sitting there, she supposed, because she would not have one of her closest confidants drowning slowly in a mess of his own making with no way up to the surface.
The princess waited patiently as Basilides disappeared behind the privacy screen and Xene rose from her chair, moving about the less private parts of his quarters in order to observe some of his things. She picked up one of the bottles he had placed on a table, and brought it to her nose, sniffing it. Making a face, she set it back down with the silent observation that the bottle had been sitting there long enough for the residue of wine to turn to vinegar. Far too long to be appropriate, even for someone who was grieving. Her opinion was that he had crossed the line from grief to self-pity, and that would not do.
Across the room when Basilides joined her once more, this time dressed as properly as he could manage with her in his room. Keen eyes trailed his appearance and she decided right then that, had his beard been better kept, she would like it. As it was, it was not, and she found that, once she left, his first course of action would be to shave. Her title fell of his lips and Xene simply watched his face and only his face, expecting answers without having to ask for them. And she needn't wait long, because they all spilled out at once.
Never had she ever imagined that she would witness her friend cry, but she could tell he almost did. He had had the strength to stop himself and Xene was silently glad. She didn't always know how to deal with her own feelings let alone the emotions of someone she had never witnessed overcome with them. To her, Basilides was always cool, calm, and collected. That was how he was, and selfishly, that is what she would need him to be again.
Xene waited until Basilides was entirely done speaking, biting his own mouth shut so that he could not let out the remaining emotions that threatened him. Turning very slightly, the finery of her gown hissing across the wood floor, the princess dropped her hands slowly to her sides and lifted her chin. Blue eyes were calculating and her mouth twisted into an expression of deep thought. Internally, the princess was attempting to piece together what it was she would say to her friend. That was what he was to her, her friend. But she was also a princess and he also worked for her. There was a certain level of composure and grace that she expected from both her friends and her help.
"I'm sure that many people think that royals and nobles are coldblooded and without feeling. In truth, we can seem that way, but in our world, emotion can be seen as weakness. We are taught from birth to hold our heads high, to speak softly but strongly, to keep our shoulders back, and to never cry in public. Locking ourselves away as you have done would be cause for gossip. The expectation of any nobility at all is to stand as if you are strong and united in the face of grief and sadness," the princess said slowly, bringing her hands up to lace together in front of her. They rest at her abdomen and she lifted her chind very slightly.
She had more to say, and she was quickly putting her words together in a proper manner, "We keep our grief private, or we do not allow ourselves to feel it at all. We have little choice in those matters because we are expected to be seen and heard regardless of what is going on. The world keeps moving, and as such, so do we. Please, do not think me cruel or heartless or even numb to the pain that you are feeling, Basilides," Xene said very slowly, breathing in and out once. She seemed as if she were quelling a single flash of anger that she couldn't hold down in this moment. "You have fallen entirely apart about one person. I do not know who he was to you, and I respect that he was important, but this," the princess motioned to the room around them, "This stops here and now."
"If you knew nothing about me and you had never met me, Basilides, would you be able to look at me and know that I have lost my father, my eldest brother to regicide, my other brother to exile, and now my uncle to a weakness of the heart?" she asked very simply, lifting one delicate eyebrow to observe him closely to see if he noted her words and took them to heart. "Would you look at me and know that I feel a profound loss every second of my life, but I am not allowed to cow to it and fall to this unacceptable level of hopelessness?"
There was a long beat of a pause where Xene had taken to just observing him, hoping that he got the points that she was trying to make without him rising against her and frustration and anger.
"If you wish to be part of this world and this court, then you must act the part no matter what it is that weighs you down. I expect my staff to operate much as I do, and if you do not think you can do that, Basilides, then I shall relieve you of your duties at this very moment."
Xene was content to settle into the seat that she had claimed for herself. Without the gaze of guard or servant, nor the prying eyes of courtiers, she felt as if she could relax just the slightest bit. Enough to allow her to watch Basilides and the room in which she was forcing him to clean up and care for. The man had made such a mess, and as he bent down to clean up bottle after bottle, the princess found herself starkly surprised that he had drank so much since the last time that she had seen him. All the more reason for her to be sitting there, she supposed, because she would not have one of her closest confidants drowning slowly in a mess of his own making with no way up to the surface.
The princess waited patiently as Basilides disappeared behind the privacy screen and Xene rose from her chair, moving about the less private parts of his quarters in order to observe some of his things. She picked up one of the bottles he had placed on a table, and brought it to her nose, sniffing it. Making a face, she set it back down with the silent observation that the bottle had been sitting there long enough for the residue of wine to turn to vinegar. Far too long to be appropriate, even for someone who was grieving. Her opinion was that he had crossed the line from grief to self-pity, and that would not do.
Across the room when Basilides joined her once more, this time dressed as properly as he could manage with her in his room. Keen eyes trailed his appearance and she decided right then that, had his beard been better kept, she would like it. As it was, it was not, and she found that, once she left, his first course of action would be to shave. Her title fell of his lips and Xene simply watched his face and only his face, expecting answers without having to ask for them. And she needn't wait long, because they all spilled out at once.
Never had she ever imagined that she would witness her friend cry, but she could tell he almost did. He had had the strength to stop himself and Xene was silently glad. She didn't always know how to deal with her own feelings let alone the emotions of someone she had never witnessed overcome with them. To her, Basilides was always cool, calm, and collected. That was how he was, and selfishly, that is what she would need him to be again.
Xene waited until Basilides was entirely done speaking, biting his own mouth shut so that he could not let out the remaining emotions that threatened him. Turning very slightly, the finery of her gown hissing across the wood floor, the princess dropped her hands slowly to her sides and lifted her chin. Blue eyes were calculating and her mouth twisted into an expression of deep thought. Internally, the princess was attempting to piece together what it was she would say to her friend. That was what he was to her, her friend. But she was also a princess and he also worked for her. There was a certain level of composure and grace that she expected from both her friends and her help.
"I'm sure that many people think that royals and nobles are coldblooded and without feeling. In truth, we can seem that way, but in our world, emotion can be seen as weakness. We are taught from birth to hold our heads high, to speak softly but strongly, to keep our shoulders back, and to never cry in public. Locking ourselves away as you have done would be cause for gossip. The expectation of any nobility at all is to stand as if you are strong and united in the face of grief and sadness," the princess said slowly, bringing her hands up to lace together in front of her. They rest at her abdomen and she lifted her chind very slightly.
She had more to say, and she was quickly putting her words together in a proper manner, "We keep our grief private, or we do not allow ourselves to feel it at all. We have little choice in those matters because we are expected to be seen and heard regardless of what is going on. The world keeps moving, and as such, so do we. Please, do not think me cruel or heartless or even numb to the pain that you are feeling, Basilides," Xene said very slowly, breathing in and out once. She seemed as if she were quelling a single flash of anger that she couldn't hold down in this moment. "You have fallen entirely apart about one person. I do not know who he was to you, and I respect that he was important, but this," the princess motioned to the room around them, "This stops here and now."
"If you knew nothing about me and you had never met me, Basilides, would you be able to look at me and know that I have lost my father, my eldest brother to regicide, my other brother to exile, and now my uncle to a weakness of the heart?" she asked very simply, lifting one delicate eyebrow to observe him closely to see if he noted her words and took them to heart. "Would you look at me and know that I feel a profound loss every second of my life, but I am not allowed to cow to it and fall to this unacceptable level of hopelessness?"
There was a long beat of a pause where Xene had taken to just observing him, hoping that he got the points that she was trying to make without him rising against her and frustration and anger.
"If you wish to be part of this world and this court, then you must act the part no matter what it is that weighs you down. I expect my staff to operate much as I do, and if you do not think you can do that, Basilides, then I shall relieve you of your duties at this very moment."
Embarrassed was too mild of a word for how Basilides felt in that moment, as he tried to pull himself together before the Princess. At some point in this downward spiral, he realized and had accepted the fact that his inaction would affect so many others. Beneath the waves of it all, he felt as if the world falling apart around him was entirely deserved...retribution for not being there for Zeph...
It was when the Princess spoke that Basilides could almost recoil back into a feeling of emptiness instead. He heard her, and knew just like every other citizen of Taengea, that she was no foreigner to loss. Even in their long hours of companionship and conversation, he noted the glints of pain that would flash across her face from time to time - fleeting like a cloud slipping in front of the sun - and gone in an instant. In many ways, they were very similar in their reservedness, many of their public 'conversations' being just a series of glances and smirks and tilts of the head towards the gossip hotbeds.
Yet, as he realized that it was not just set in her nature to be that way, but that it was ingrained in her because of her status, his thoughts shifted to feeling pity for her. The scales must have been balanced in some ways - it seemed the exchange for the blessed life of royals came with a sacrifice that he never would have considered. Especially knowing the losses that she listed out before him again, he could not imagine being put in such a position.
Her reprimand was clear, and he sought the words to attest to having taken it to heart, but everything he felt that he could say turned to ash in his mouth before it could even be uttered.
Instead, he took a few breaths, his eyes tracing the lines in the floorboards for a few brief moments, as if seeking the answers to be written along those lines. Of course, they were not, but closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he answered not with words but with an extended, outstretched hand towards her, beckoning for hers.
He guided them both towards the kline against the wall, his face shifting as if he were trying to relearn how to speak again, shifting from grimace to pained to empty until they were both seated beside one another - as they had been for hours on end before. It was far more rigid than it had been, and with him leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his fingers laced before him, he sought the words.
It took a moment for him to find his voice, and there was a ghost of something that could have been a laugh as he began.
"The differences between us have not been lost on me, not once for a moment in all the time we have spent in each others company in these passing days. In all regards, you should not have come...but you did. It is a testament to your strength of will and kindness...even when so few have shown the same to you." He glanced up to her as he quietly added, "Myself included, in the past days. If you will have me...I would stay with you to rectify this."
Just as she had refused to leave his side, he resolved to not leave hers.
Taking in a deep breath, praying to whatever god would listen that his foggy mind and throbbing temples would not keep him from the course, while also trying to take to heart her words. He sat up though his hands remained in his lap for a moment before
Princess Xene's presence here was entirely unexpected, but proved to him that the scales were now officially out of balance. Basilides was never one to bear debts, in any way or form.
As now he was laid bare in his weakness of emotion before the Princess, Basilides felt this oddly hardened resolve to somehow prove that it was not a wasted effort. Perhaps, even, speaking of the pain would serve to bleed the wound before it festered.
He was afraid for a moment, as he took in a deep breath and slowly began to speak, trying to keep himself level.
"His name was Zephyrus...and I loved him."
Slowly, his hand slipped to where the pendant hung around his neck, the pad of this thumb smoothing over the symbol of Zeus embossed there. He remembered gifting that very charm to Zephyrus as if it had happened only hours before. Twice he tried to continue before his voice cooperated again.
"He was absolutely maddening and there was hardly a day that went by without an argument. Truly about anything." Bas scoffed slightly, as if remembering every stuipd thing they argued over, before feeling that prickle of irritation at the base of his throat swiftly turned to a sharp pang of guilt, "I...do not know what happened, but...he was killed and buried outside of the city. The last time I saw him...we argued..."
There it was.
The truth of the pain here was not only the fact that he lost his lover, but that it was his fault that he was gone. If only that had not argued...if only Bas had found him sooner instead of thinking 'oh, he will be back'...would Zeph still be alive?
Glancing to the Princess for the first time in quite some time, he swallowed hard. "So, though it may be that I never held the blade, his blood is on my hands."
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Embarrassed was too mild of a word for how Basilides felt in that moment, as he tried to pull himself together before the Princess. At some point in this downward spiral, he realized and had accepted the fact that his inaction would affect so many others. Beneath the waves of it all, he felt as if the world falling apart around him was entirely deserved...retribution for not being there for Zeph...
It was when the Princess spoke that Basilides could almost recoil back into a feeling of emptiness instead. He heard her, and knew just like every other citizen of Taengea, that she was no foreigner to loss. Even in their long hours of companionship and conversation, he noted the glints of pain that would flash across her face from time to time - fleeting like a cloud slipping in front of the sun - and gone in an instant. In many ways, they were very similar in their reservedness, many of their public 'conversations' being just a series of glances and smirks and tilts of the head towards the gossip hotbeds.
Yet, as he realized that it was not just set in her nature to be that way, but that it was ingrained in her because of her status, his thoughts shifted to feeling pity for her. The scales must have been balanced in some ways - it seemed the exchange for the blessed life of royals came with a sacrifice that he never would have considered. Especially knowing the losses that she listed out before him again, he could not imagine being put in such a position.
Her reprimand was clear, and he sought the words to attest to having taken it to heart, but everything he felt that he could say turned to ash in his mouth before it could even be uttered.
Instead, he took a few breaths, his eyes tracing the lines in the floorboards for a few brief moments, as if seeking the answers to be written along those lines. Of course, they were not, but closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he answered not with words but with an extended, outstretched hand towards her, beckoning for hers.
He guided them both towards the kline against the wall, his face shifting as if he were trying to relearn how to speak again, shifting from grimace to pained to empty until they were both seated beside one another - as they had been for hours on end before. It was far more rigid than it had been, and with him leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his fingers laced before him, he sought the words.
It took a moment for him to find his voice, and there was a ghost of something that could have been a laugh as he began.
"The differences between us have not been lost on me, not once for a moment in all the time we have spent in each others company in these passing days. In all regards, you should not have come...but you did. It is a testament to your strength of will and kindness...even when so few have shown the same to you." He glanced up to her as he quietly added, "Myself included, in the past days. If you will have me...I would stay with you to rectify this."
Just as she had refused to leave his side, he resolved to not leave hers.
Taking in a deep breath, praying to whatever god would listen that his foggy mind and throbbing temples would not keep him from the course, while also trying to take to heart her words. He sat up though his hands remained in his lap for a moment before
Princess Xene's presence here was entirely unexpected, but proved to him that the scales were now officially out of balance. Basilides was never one to bear debts, in any way or form.
As now he was laid bare in his weakness of emotion before the Princess, Basilides felt this oddly hardened resolve to somehow prove that it was not a wasted effort. Perhaps, even, speaking of the pain would serve to bleed the wound before it festered.
He was afraid for a moment, as he took in a deep breath and slowly began to speak, trying to keep himself level.
"His name was Zephyrus...and I loved him."
Slowly, his hand slipped to where the pendant hung around his neck, the pad of this thumb smoothing over the symbol of Zeus embossed there. He remembered gifting that very charm to Zephyrus as if it had happened only hours before. Twice he tried to continue before his voice cooperated again.
"He was absolutely maddening and there was hardly a day that went by without an argument. Truly about anything." Bas scoffed slightly, as if remembering every stuipd thing they argued over, before feeling that prickle of irritation at the base of his throat swiftly turned to a sharp pang of guilt, "I...do not know what happened, but...he was killed and buried outside of the city. The last time I saw him...we argued..."
There it was.
The truth of the pain here was not only the fact that he lost his lover, but that it was his fault that he was gone. If only that had not argued...if only Bas had found him sooner instead of thinking 'oh, he will be back'...would Zeph still be alive?
Glancing to the Princess for the first time in quite some time, he swallowed hard. "So, though it may be that I never held the blade, his blood is on my hands."
Embarrassed was too mild of a word for how Basilides felt in that moment, as he tried to pull himself together before the Princess. At some point in this downward spiral, he realized and had accepted the fact that his inaction would affect so many others. Beneath the waves of it all, he felt as if the world falling apart around him was entirely deserved...retribution for not being there for Zeph...
It was when the Princess spoke that Basilides could almost recoil back into a feeling of emptiness instead. He heard her, and knew just like every other citizen of Taengea, that she was no foreigner to loss. Even in their long hours of companionship and conversation, he noted the glints of pain that would flash across her face from time to time - fleeting like a cloud slipping in front of the sun - and gone in an instant. In many ways, they were very similar in their reservedness, many of their public 'conversations' being just a series of glances and smirks and tilts of the head towards the gossip hotbeds.
Yet, as he realized that it was not just set in her nature to be that way, but that it was ingrained in her because of her status, his thoughts shifted to feeling pity for her. The scales must have been balanced in some ways - it seemed the exchange for the blessed life of royals came with a sacrifice that he never would have considered. Especially knowing the losses that she listed out before him again, he could not imagine being put in such a position.
Her reprimand was clear, and he sought the words to attest to having taken it to heart, but everything he felt that he could say turned to ash in his mouth before it could even be uttered.
Instead, he took a few breaths, his eyes tracing the lines in the floorboards for a few brief moments, as if seeking the answers to be written along those lines. Of course, they were not, but closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he answered not with words but with an extended, outstretched hand towards her, beckoning for hers.
He guided them both towards the kline against the wall, his face shifting as if he were trying to relearn how to speak again, shifting from grimace to pained to empty until they were both seated beside one another - as they had been for hours on end before. It was far more rigid than it had been, and with him leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his fingers laced before him, he sought the words.
It took a moment for him to find his voice, and there was a ghost of something that could have been a laugh as he began.
"The differences between us have not been lost on me, not once for a moment in all the time we have spent in each others company in these passing days. In all regards, you should not have come...but you did. It is a testament to your strength of will and kindness...even when so few have shown the same to you." He glanced up to her as he quietly added, "Myself included, in the past days. If you will have me...I would stay with you to rectify this."
Just as she had refused to leave his side, he resolved to not leave hers.
Taking in a deep breath, praying to whatever god would listen that his foggy mind and throbbing temples would not keep him from the course, while also trying to take to heart her words. He sat up though his hands remained in his lap for a moment before
Princess Xene's presence here was entirely unexpected, but proved to him that the scales were now officially out of balance. Basilides was never one to bear debts, in any way or form.
As now he was laid bare in his weakness of emotion before the Princess, Basilides felt this oddly hardened resolve to somehow prove that it was not a wasted effort. Perhaps, even, speaking of the pain would serve to bleed the wound before it festered.
He was afraid for a moment, as he took in a deep breath and slowly began to speak, trying to keep himself level.
"His name was Zephyrus...and I loved him."
Slowly, his hand slipped to where the pendant hung around his neck, the pad of this thumb smoothing over the symbol of Zeus embossed there. He remembered gifting that very charm to Zephyrus as if it had happened only hours before. Twice he tried to continue before his voice cooperated again.
"He was absolutely maddening and there was hardly a day that went by without an argument. Truly about anything." Bas scoffed slightly, as if remembering every stuipd thing they argued over, before feeling that prickle of irritation at the base of his throat swiftly turned to a sharp pang of guilt, "I...do not know what happened, but...he was killed and buried outside of the city. The last time I saw him...we argued..."
There it was.
The truth of the pain here was not only the fact that he lost his lover, but that it was his fault that he was gone. If only that had not argued...if only Bas had found him sooner instead of thinking 'oh, he will be back'...would Zeph still be alive?
Glancing to the Princess for the first time in quite some time, he swallowed hard. "So, though it may be that I never held the blade, his blood is on my hands."
Xene watched her friend with a keen and contemplative eye that she seemed to watch everyone with as of late. It was the easiest way to watch a person. To make it known that they had her attention whether they wanted it or not. She did not expect him to take her words well, but she did expect them to hit some chord within him so that the two of them could move on. Together. Because she needed him and she wouldn't say she needed him, but she did. They had spent too many hours cultivating their friendship for her to lose him to this now. Not after all of that work, that effort, that special consideration that they had given one another.
She allowed herself to be lead to the kline against the other wall, settling beside him as the knife seemed to twist in her gut. Was this going to be the end of a friendship? Because she had spoken words that were both true and overly intense? She prayed to the gods that that wouldn't be the case and carefully set her hands in her lap, choosing not to look at him as he seemed to be considering his words very carefully.
People always softened the blows before they happened and Xene had to remind herself to breathe and that looking at him would only break her resolve when she would be forced to walk from this room. But the words that he spoke weren't the ending of a friendship. Instead they were the opening of a floodgate that Xene didn't even know that Basilides was hiding behind. His first statement had her looking up at him and then waiting until he was able to speak again. He spoke in soft tones, as if he were afraid to say any of this outloud.
Was he feeling the same what that she had been just moments before? Lost and wondering if Xene was going to walk out on him instead of understand the words that he spoke? Xene could not level with the idea of loving a lover. He had only had one, and he was still very much in her life, albeit secretly. But it was the blame that Basilides laid upon his own soul that had Xene shifting and then reaching to take his hands in her own.
"You do not get to say that it was your fault," Xene said very slowly. "Because it was not your fault. The actions of others never lead to your blame. You do not know what happened to Zephyrus, and thus it is not your responsibility to claim blame for his death. You were not there, Basilides, but that does not mean that you should have been. Who knows what could have happened if you had been. Would you be here, sitting with me right now? Or would you be buried in the same spot outside that city?" the princess asked him and then breathed deeply through her nose.
She thought about Zach and then Heron... and then glanced toward the closed door. Swallowing, the princess shook her head. "My brother loved someone. Zacharias did," she said slowly, her gaze moving from the door to Basilides and then back to the door in a very pointed but silent signal of what she was trying to say. In love with Heron. "I cannot begin to imagine what it is that you feel, Basilides... but there are people who do."
"I am... sorry for being so forthright and intense," she murmured, "But my words do stand to reason. "Our grief, no matter how intense, remains close to our hearts. Taengeans are warm, but as humans showing such a moment of weakness is a death sentence. I ask you, as your friend, to stand up straight and to breathe. You are my friend and confidant, but in reverse, I am the same to you," she murmured carefully. "You are not alone and you don't have to sit here alone hoping the world will begin to spin around you once more."
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Xene watched her friend with a keen and contemplative eye that she seemed to watch everyone with as of late. It was the easiest way to watch a person. To make it known that they had her attention whether they wanted it or not. She did not expect him to take her words well, but she did expect them to hit some chord within him so that the two of them could move on. Together. Because she needed him and she wouldn't say she needed him, but she did. They had spent too many hours cultivating their friendship for her to lose him to this now. Not after all of that work, that effort, that special consideration that they had given one another.
She allowed herself to be lead to the kline against the other wall, settling beside him as the knife seemed to twist in her gut. Was this going to be the end of a friendship? Because she had spoken words that were both true and overly intense? She prayed to the gods that that wouldn't be the case and carefully set her hands in her lap, choosing not to look at him as he seemed to be considering his words very carefully.
People always softened the blows before they happened and Xene had to remind herself to breathe and that looking at him would only break her resolve when she would be forced to walk from this room. But the words that he spoke weren't the ending of a friendship. Instead they were the opening of a floodgate that Xene didn't even know that Basilides was hiding behind. His first statement had her looking up at him and then waiting until he was able to speak again. He spoke in soft tones, as if he were afraid to say any of this outloud.
Was he feeling the same what that she had been just moments before? Lost and wondering if Xene was going to walk out on him instead of understand the words that he spoke? Xene could not level with the idea of loving a lover. He had only had one, and he was still very much in her life, albeit secretly. But it was the blame that Basilides laid upon his own soul that had Xene shifting and then reaching to take his hands in her own.
"You do not get to say that it was your fault," Xene said very slowly. "Because it was not your fault. The actions of others never lead to your blame. You do not know what happened to Zephyrus, and thus it is not your responsibility to claim blame for his death. You were not there, Basilides, but that does not mean that you should have been. Who knows what could have happened if you had been. Would you be here, sitting with me right now? Or would you be buried in the same spot outside that city?" the princess asked him and then breathed deeply through her nose.
She thought about Zach and then Heron... and then glanced toward the closed door. Swallowing, the princess shook her head. "My brother loved someone. Zacharias did," she said slowly, her gaze moving from the door to Basilides and then back to the door in a very pointed but silent signal of what she was trying to say. In love with Heron. "I cannot begin to imagine what it is that you feel, Basilides... but there are people who do."
"I am... sorry for being so forthright and intense," she murmured, "But my words do stand to reason. "Our grief, no matter how intense, remains close to our hearts. Taengeans are warm, but as humans showing such a moment of weakness is a death sentence. I ask you, as your friend, to stand up straight and to breathe. You are my friend and confidant, but in reverse, I am the same to you," she murmured carefully. "You are not alone and you don't have to sit here alone hoping the world will begin to spin around you once more."
Xene watched her friend with a keen and contemplative eye that she seemed to watch everyone with as of late. It was the easiest way to watch a person. To make it known that they had her attention whether they wanted it or not. She did not expect him to take her words well, but she did expect them to hit some chord within him so that the two of them could move on. Together. Because she needed him and she wouldn't say she needed him, but she did. They had spent too many hours cultivating their friendship for her to lose him to this now. Not after all of that work, that effort, that special consideration that they had given one another.
She allowed herself to be lead to the kline against the other wall, settling beside him as the knife seemed to twist in her gut. Was this going to be the end of a friendship? Because she had spoken words that were both true and overly intense? She prayed to the gods that that wouldn't be the case and carefully set her hands in her lap, choosing not to look at him as he seemed to be considering his words very carefully.
People always softened the blows before they happened and Xene had to remind herself to breathe and that looking at him would only break her resolve when she would be forced to walk from this room. But the words that he spoke weren't the ending of a friendship. Instead they were the opening of a floodgate that Xene didn't even know that Basilides was hiding behind. His first statement had her looking up at him and then waiting until he was able to speak again. He spoke in soft tones, as if he were afraid to say any of this outloud.
Was he feeling the same what that she had been just moments before? Lost and wondering if Xene was going to walk out on him instead of understand the words that he spoke? Xene could not level with the idea of loving a lover. He had only had one, and he was still very much in her life, albeit secretly. But it was the blame that Basilides laid upon his own soul that had Xene shifting and then reaching to take his hands in her own.
"You do not get to say that it was your fault," Xene said very slowly. "Because it was not your fault. The actions of others never lead to your blame. You do not know what happened to Zephyrus, and thus it is not your responsibility to claim blame for his death. You were not there, Basilides, but that does not mean that you should have been. Who knows what could have happened if you had been. Would you be here, sitting with me right now? Or would you be buried in the same spot outside that city?" the princess asked him and then breathed deeply through her nose.
She thought about Zach and then Heron... and then glanced toward the closed door. Swallowing, the princess shook her head. "My brother loved someone. Zacharias did," she said slowly, her gaze moving from the door to Basilides and then back to the door in a very pointed but silent signal of what she was trying to say. In love with Heron. "I cannot begin to imagine what it is that you feel, Basilides... but there are people who do."
"I am... sorry for being so forthright and intense," she murmured, "But my words do stand to reason. "Our grief, no matter how intense, remains close to our hearts. Taengeans are warm, but as humans showing such a moment of weakness is a death sentence. I ask you, as your friend, to stand up straight and to breathe. You are my friend and confidant, but in reverse, I am the same to you," she murmured carefully. "You are not alone and you don't have to sit here alone hoping the world will begin to spin around you once more."