It was hard to frustrate Fotios to the point where he was actually angry. A man used to controlling, if not his emotions, then at least the reactions and symptoms that gave said emotions away, Fotios was a man renowned for his calm and collected demeanour. Or rather, he was well known for being still and eerily emotionless when in public. This night, however, he had to admit to himself that his brother Georgios was right in his summation of his attitude. Whilst his ire had not yet been prodded and poked to the level of purest anger, he could at least capitulate to the assertion that he was 'irritable'.



And why wouldn't he be?



Konstanos, the youngest of the three men, had made an error in the accounting of his barony. Not a great source of wrath in and of itself - for everyone made mistakes. And with Konstanos only fourteen years of age and having only run the barony of Acharist for two years... it was understandable that some mistakes were due to be made along the way.



Despite being a perfectionist in and of himself, and unaccepting of anything short of utter and complete accuracy in his own work, Fotios was surprisingly understanding of mistakes in others - so long as they were learnt from.



In this particular instance, there hadn't been the time in the fiscal schedule for Konstanos to learn from his errors, as Fotios had simply needed the production figures and financial statistics then and there. As such, he had spent the last two days working nonstop, his sleep schedule reduced to only an hour or two each night, in order to have the information he needed set to the deadline he required.



Again, this was a sacrifice of time and effort that Fotios had no issues with making. It was he who needed the information and he who had set his own deadline. Konstanos was entitled to make mistakes and he learnt and it was Fotios' duty, as his father's eldest son, to ensure that those mistakes did not cost the Leventi name in future trading and business.



The element of the last few days that had set his wrath-dial to an idle simmer, was the fact that, instead of offering apologies, vowing never to make the error again and leaving him to his sleep or, in fact, his own work that he had fallen several days behind on in order to correct his brother's inexperience, Konstanos had insisted on showing his gratitude by taking Fotios and their brother Georgios out for an evening of drink and womanly entertainment.



Not an excursion that Fotios fancied taking on very little sleep and with an ache starting up between his eyes.



Despite his grumbling and his assurances that Konstanos never repeated his error in the future was perfectly adequate repayment for his efforts, Fotios had been practically bullied into leaving his estate and frog-marched by bother of his brothers into the centre of Vasiliadon's seedier district.



Told over and again that it was so rare an opportunity that he and his brothers were in the capitol together, at the same time, and that this - not to mention the work that Fotios had put in the last few days - needed to be celebrated, Fotios had little way of declining the forceful invitation that wouldn't imply a lack of feeling for his brothers. As such, he was stuck.



By the time the other two Leventis had dragged Fotios around to four different taverns, determined that none were the right fit for their company or their needs, the wrath-dial in Fotios's mind had amped up to a higher heat and he finally put his foot down at one of the worst places they had been to yet.



“Here. Unless you wish to go to the next place by yourselves, we are staying here.” He determined, half-wishing that they might decide to go on without him, at which point he could turn around and return home. He had paperwork to do.



Instead, the men agreed to stay put and Fotios was shuffled into a booth seat in the corner of the common room, his brothers flanking him in a fashion that suggested they knew he might run if given half a chance. It was at this point that Fotios resigned himself to not returning home for several hours, at which point his headache would be a migraine, his clothes would smell of smoke and alcohol - cheap alcohol - and he would be even more dog tired on his feet than he was now. Which seemed fair impossible.



It was with a look of calm indifference and an internal mental state of long-term suffering, that Fotios lifted the wooden mug of ale he had had purchased for him, and saluted to an evening he had not wished for.