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Had he been less distracted by the disaster before him, Vangelis might have felt more sorry for the woman who owned the store. She stood, in the centre of her domain of fine silks, wools and linen, looking incredibly small against the backdrop of fabric waterfalls and towers of folded sheets. Then again, everyone looked small from Vangelis’ height.
From the second he’s walked into the store, his presence had been impossible to ignore. Not only was he a towering giant, well over six feet, but he had been attending formal events and meetings all day. As such, his personal preference for simple tunics or worker trousers had been ignored that morning in favour of a royal chiton of burgundy red. Threads of bronze and gold interwove around its edges, turning a potentially dower colour into something regal and expensive. Around his temples was more gold. This time forged in the shape of laurels and miniature barbs. He wore the diadem crown amidst his growing curls, the gold punting amidst the mahogany. He had shaved his hair close upon his last return home bug matters of state had kept him on Colchian shores long enough that the thick lengths were beginning to reach the stage of unruly. Still, a prince he appeared.
The young boy who had been sweeping the floors when Vangelis had stepped inside the store hadn’t known where to look first. At the size of his frame, his crow, or the sword that hung at his waist. The curved blade was unsheathed and now glinted streaks of reflected light over the walls of linen. Whichever element of Vangelis’ appearance had shocked the boy most, the surprise had sped the kid out into the back of the shop with hurried, frightened bows, and brought a pink-faced owner rushing to the forefront. It was she that now stood before Vangelis, some ten minutes later, with multiple choices of fabric displayed across her arms and a nearby chair. She watched him with the nervous expectation of someone awaiting an answer but not in a position to hurry they who withheld it.
Vangelis was stood immobile, assessing the yards of cloth and ignorant to the way the store owner was nervously shifting from foot to foot.
It was the emerald silk that finally convinced Vangelis’ favour to swing in its direction.
“That one,” he determined, pointing at the pretty swath of malachite. It was sheer silk but had been layered together to give the appearance of translucence over an opaque core. It would do well.
'A fine choice, Your Highness,' the woman complimented with a lowering of her head. Vangelis had no real notion of whether she was telling the truth or not but he was certain in his decision regardless.
“I need enough for a full length chiton, rouble a, and edging detail for a cloak.” Vangelis had already ascertained that Yiannis was determined to hunt whatever animals pelt would later form the body of the latter garment.
'I can have the lengths cut and sent to the palace without delay, Your Highness.'
“No.”
Vangelis didn’t shout but there was clearly something about him that turned the single syllable into a command gif for the battlefield. The poor woman was startled enough that a pelt of dark midnight blue fell to the floor in a shimmering puddle.
Vangelis felt his teeth clamp down as his jaw tightened. Hard he not been crown prince and bound by propriety not to issue apologies to commoners, he would have offered contrition to the woman. Her eyes were large as plates. He cleared his throat.
“I do not wish it to be delivered to the royal manor. I shall pay for the fabric now and send a servant to collect it later. You’ll retain it until then, unless you hear differently from me directly.”
If he needed to have the material delivered to Chaossis to avoid the prying eyes of the Kotas’ then he would do so. But, for the moment, a servant collecting the wrapped cloth would be private enough. That way, Vangelis could ensure that it was sent directly to his chambers and not accidentally sent to one of the women residing in the manor.
Whilst the store owner was momentarily puzzled by these instructions, and her lips parted as if to reassure Vangelis that she could see to its delivery, a reminding glance at his sword stilled her tongue from saying anything more.
'Of course, Your Highness. I’ll just-'
'I told you, my Lord, Miss Phaeria is seeing to another buyer and cannot be-'
The voice that spoke was that of the young joy who had jolted into action when Vangelis had first arrived. He now reappeared, chasing after a member of the Colchian nobility who seemed less than impressed with having been left in the main store whilst Vangelis had monopolised the more private back room, where the finest of cloth was stored.
JD
Vangelis
JD
Vangelis
Awards
First Impressions:Towering; Resting stoic bitch face; monstrous height; the terrifying "Blood General".
Address: Your Royal Highness
Had he been less distracted by the disaster before him, Vangelis might have felt more sorry for the woman who owned the store. She stood, in the centre of her domain of fine silks, wools and linen, looking incredibly small against the backdrop of fabric waterfalls and towers of folded sheets. Then again, everyone looked small from Vangelis’ height.
From the second he’s walked into the store, his presence had been impossible to ignore. Not only was he a towering giant, well over six feet, but he had been attending formal events and meetings all day. As such, his personal preference for simple tunics or worker trousers had been ignored that morning in favour of a royal chiton of burgundy red. Threads of bronze and gold interwove around its edges, turning a potentially dower colour into something regal and expensive. Around his temples was more gold. This time forged in the shape of laurels and miniature barbs. He wore the diadem crown amidst his growing curls, the gold punting amidst the mahogany. He had shaved his hair close upon his last return home bug matters of state had kept him on Colchian shores long enough that the thick lengths were beginning to reach the stage of unruly. Still, a prince he appeared.
The young boy who had been sweeping the floors when Vangelis had stepped inside the store hadn’t known where to look first. At the size of his frame, his crow, or the sword that hung at his waist. The curved blade was unsheathed and now glinted streaks of reflected light over the walls of linen. Whichever element of Vangelis’ appearance had shocked the boy most, the surprise had sped the kid out into the back of the shop with hurried, frightened bows, and brought a pink-faced owner rushing to the forefront. It was she that now stood before Vangelis, some ten minutes later, with multiple choices of fabric displayed across her arms and a nearby chair. She watched him with the nervous expectation of someone awaiting an answer but not in a position to hurry they who withheld it.
Vangelis was stood immobile, assessing the yards of cloth and ignorant to the way the store owner was nervously shifting from foot to foot.
It was the emerald silk that finally convinced Vangelis’ favour to swing in its direction.
“That one,” he determined, pointing at the pretty swath of malachite. It was sheer silk but had been layered together to give the appearance of translucence over an opaque core. It would do well.
'A fine choice, Your Highness,' the woman complimented with a lowering of her head. Vangelis had no real notion of whether she was telling the truth or not but he was certain in his decision regardless.
“I need enough for a full length chiton, rouble a, and edging detail for a cloak.” Vangelis had already ascertained that Yiannis was determined to hunt whatever animals pelt would later form the body of the latter garment.
'I can have the lengths cut and sent to the palace without delay, Your Highness.'
“No.”
Vangelis didn’t shout but there was clearly something about him that turned the single syllable into a command gif for the battlefield. The poor woman was startled enough that a pelt of dark midnight blue fell to the floor in a shimmering puddle.
Vangelis felt his teeth clamp down as his jaw tightened. Hard he not been crown prince and bound by propriety not to issue apologies to commoners, he would have offered contrition to the woman. Her eyes were large as plates. He cleared his throat.
“I do not wish it to be delivered to the royal manor. I shall pay for the fabric now and send a servant to collect it later. You’ll retain it until then, unless you hear differently from me directly.”
If he needed to have the material delivered to Chaossis to avoid the prying eyes of the Kotas’ then he would do so. But, for the moment, a servant collecting the wrapped cloth would be private enough. That way, Vangelis could ensure that it was sent directly to his chambers and not accidentally sent to one of the women residing in the manor.
Whilst the store owner was momentarily puzzled by these instructions, and her lips parted as if to reassure Vangelis that she could see to its delivery, a reminding glance at his sword stilled her tongue from saying anything more.
'Of course, Your Highness. I’ll just-'
'I told you, my Lord, Miss Phaeria is seeing to another buyer and cannot be-'
The voice that spoke was that of the young joy who had jolted into action when Vangelis had first arrived. He now reappeared, chasing after a member of the Colchian nobility who seemed less than impressed with having been left in the main store whilst Vangelis had monopolised the more private back room, where the finest of cloth was stored.
Had he been less distracted by the disaster before him, Vangelis might have felt more sorry for the woman who owned the store. She stood, in the centre of her domain of fine silks, wools and linen, looking incredibly small against the backdrop of fabric waterfalls and towers of folded sheets. Then again, everyone looked small from Vangelis’ height.
From the second he’s walked into the store, his presence had been impossible to ignore. Not only was he a towering giant, well over six feet, but he had been attending formal events and meetings all day. As such, his personal preference for simple tunics or worker trousers had been ignored that morning in favour of a royal chiton of burgundy red. Threads of bronze and gold interwove around its edges, turning a potentially dower colour into something regal and expensive. Around his temples was more gold. This time forged in the shape of laurels and miniature barbs. He wore the diadem crown amidst his growing curls, the gold punting amidst the mahogany. He had shaved his hair close upon his last return home bug matters of state had kept him on Colchian shores long enough that the thick lengths were beginning to reach the stage of unruly. Still, a prince he appeared.
The young boy who had been sweeping the floors when Vangelis had stepped inside the store hadn’t known where to look first. At the size of his frame, his crow, or the sword that hung at his waist. The curved blade was unsheathed and now glinted streaks of reflected light over the walls of linen. Whichever element of Vangelis’ appearance had shocked the boy most, the surprise had sped the kid out into the back of the shop with hurried, frightened bows, and brought a pink-faced owner rushing to the forefront. It was she that now stood before Vangelis, some ten minutes later, with multiple choices of fabric displayed across her arms and a nearby chair. She watched him with the nervous expectation of someone awaiting an answer but not in a position to hurry they who withheld it.
Vangelis was stood immobile, assessing the yards of cloth and ignorant to the way the store owner was nervously shifting from foot to foot.
It was the emerald silk that finally convinced Vangelis’ favour to swing in its direction.
“That one,” he determined, pointing at the pretty swath of malachite. It was sheer silk but had been layered together to give the appearance of translucence over an opaque core. It would do well.
'A fine choice, Your Highness,' the woman complimented with a lowering of her head. Vangelis had no real notion of whether she was telling the truth or not but he was certain in his decision regardless.
“I need enough for a full length chiton, rouble a, and edging detail for a cloak.” Vangelis had already ascertained that Yiannis was determined to hunt whatever animals pelt would later form the body of the latter garment.
'I can have the lengths cut and sent to the palace without delay, Your Highness.'
“No.”
Vangelis didn’t shout but there was clearly something about him that turned the single syllable into a command gif for the battlefield. The poor woman was startled enough that a pelt of dark midnight blue fell to the floor in a shimmering puddle.
Vangelis felt his teeth clamp down as his jaw tightened. Hard he not been crown prince and bound by propriety not to issue apologies to commoners, he would have offered contrition to the woman. Her eyes were large as plates. He cleared his throat.
“I do not wish it to be delivered to the royal manor. I shall pay for the fabric now and send a servant to collect it later. You’ll retain it until then, unless you hear differently from me directly.”
If he needed to have the material delivered to Chaossis to avoid the prying eyes of the Kotas’ then he would do so. But, for the moment, a servant collecting the wrapped cloth would be private enough. That way, Vangelis could ensure that it was sent directly to his chambers and not accidentally sent to one of the women residing in the manor.
Whilst the store owner was momentarily puzzled by these instructions, and her lips parted as if to reassure Vangelis that she could see to its delivery, a reminding glance at his sword stilled her tongue from saying anything more.
'Of course, Your Highness. I’ll just-'
'I told you, my Lord, Miss Phaeria is seeing to another buyer and cannot be-'
The voice that spoke was that of the young joy who had jolted into action when Vangelis had first arrived. He now reappeared, chasing after a member of the Colchian nobility who seemed less than impressed with having been left in the main store whilst Vangelis had monopolised the more private back room, where the finest of cloth was stored.
It was, for all intents and purposes, a nice day. There was nothing in particular that Mihail had to do — not that he ever really had any clear responsibilities unless Nethis explicitly gave him some task or another to complete — and he had thus designated the day as one for entertaining himself without worrying about anything else. A comfortable session of morning archery and a visit to Atalanta’s for the pleasures of wine and a bit of cruel gossip regarding the foolishness of everybody else in the world, and he found himself rather satiated outside of the one activity that always held his interest and to which he aimed to dedicate his afternoon. After all, there was no true fun in a day if one could not have a little shopping trip and, well, he had not been to the market in ages: at least since the past week. That all had to be remedied as soon as possible.
Besides, there had been some discussion about the soon-to-be rising popularity of peacock feathers, and the Thanasi had to be first on that trend.
As ever, Adonis had been dragged away from whatever dull duties he held around the house when the youngest Thanasi didn’t suddenly consider himself in need of the guard, chosen to accompany Mihail on his trip partly for his skills as a guard, partly because he remained gorgeous and all with the added bonus that he was excellent at carrying things in those lovely strong arms of his. The feathers had been obtained almost immediately from a stall of exotic goods and sent back to the Thanasi house with some added threat of the inevitable consequences if they somehow ended up bent or broke, and, with that detail out of the way, Mihail had gone on to enjoy the rest of his trip in a rather more leisurely manner, even gladly securing some stunning new bangles that had matched his collection of rings and current upper arm cuffs so perfectly that he had chosen to wear them immediately.
“Wait here,” he instructed the guard, vaguely gesturing for him to hover outside one of the stores so that nobody else irritatingly decided that they needed to shop right at that moment. He could not stand trying to look around a store and finding some other random individual — and always someone so blatantly low class — interrupting his shopping. “Oh. A moment.” Mihail slipped off the gauzy black epiblema he was wearing, wrapping it delicately around the larger man’s shoulders as though it did not inconvenience him greatly. “It is a little hot. Hold this for me, yes?”
This was not a store that he often frequented, although there was no particular reason for that absence other than a preference for the familiarity of sellers. But he had caught sight of some of the dark red fabrics on offer within the store through its open front, and it had appealed immediately. Or, at least, it had appealed in theory, but only a proper investigation would confirm the fact.
There was some boy drifting around the front room and looking veritably lost as he tried to tidy and act as small as possible, blatantly alarmed by the sudden presence of the feminine lord with the serpentine circlet in his little storefront. Mihail gave him a cursory glance, uninterested by the panic, and directed himself instead to eye one of the swaths of fabric that was similar enough to the deep scarlet of his current chiton, running painted fingertips over it in some degree of thought. It was fine in the way that regular cotton was fine if one liked that sort of thing, and he did not really like that sort of thing all that much.
He spun around in the over-dramatic way that he favoured, the blend of glass and silver beads sewn into the belt and hemline of his chiton clinking together loudly as he did. “You,” he called out to the boy, snapping his fingers at him for attention in case his curt tone was not a clear indicator. “Where is the silk?”
‘Oh, uh…Miss Phaeria keeps it in the back, my Lord.’
Mihail quirked an eyebrow upwards, a hand falling to his waist and hip jutting out. “Thus, am I to understand that not only did you feel I should not be shown the finest of your fabrics, but you assumed that I did not wish to be served by the owner and, rather, by some child left behind to sweep?” He gave a snort. “This is ridiculous. Where is she?”
‘In the back, my Lord, but she is with another customer a-and if you would be willing to wait just a moment, then I assure you that she shall be with you shortly.’ Gods, he was practically dripping with nerves (rather more vulgar than Mihail’s preference for dripping in pearls), stuttering awkwardly through the words as though they were pre-rehearsed lines and he rightfully feared them.
“No. I do not have time to wait.” The Thanasi gave the boy a suitably derisive wave off, stepping past him. It was a lie, in truth, for he had very little to do that day outside of the small entertainments he found for himself, but that was not information that needed sharing. He could have left there and then, but enough of a fuss had been made that he rather felt he had to see how excellent these materials were that they had been hidden away (he was doubtful on that front), and he had been raised exceptionally stubborn, so, instead, Mihail stepped past the boy to push aside the curtain that separated them from the back room, ignoring the way the boy was now running after him and still calling out some dull complaint that he could not do as he wished.
‘I told you, my Lord, Miss Phaeria is seeing to another buyer and cannot be—’
He was cut into silence then, possibly at the sight of Prince Vangelis, who tended to have that effect on people. Mihail did not, if partly because Thanasis were not raised to fear any member of the Kotas family, no matter how tall and stoic they chose to act. Besides, Crown Prince or not, it was Mihail’s view that the man had truly no right to monopolise the back room of a store when one of them was certainly far more well-known around the kingdom for their prettiness and fashion sense.
The hand dropped back to his cinched waist, first running his disdainful gaze over the length of the Kotas and the woman displaying her wares. The colours were atrocious, but it was blatant that they were of a far higher quality than the atrocities in the front of the store. “Prince Vangelis,” he greeted, features twisting into a thoroughly insincere smile and adding a slight nod of his head out of vague politeness. “I apologise, but I do not care to be treated as though I am not worth the finest any store has to offer.” Not that Mihail was entirely certain just yet as to whether he liked the items back here. His eyes fell to the fabric clearly intended for the prince, and he could not help a low scoff. “I did not realise you were so interested in shopping.”
But he was not here to chat up the Prince (this was not the Taengean prince that he particularly cared for, after all). What he wanted was fabric to send to his favourite seamstress and have something pretty done to it, and this seemed a perfect time to get it. Mihail cocked his head to one side as he looked back at Prince Vangelis. “If you do not mind…?” he began, although he supposed he did not entirely care and instead immediately directed his attention back to the Phaeria or whatever her name was without much attempt to wait for a response. “I want silk — crimson, if you have it, although I will settle for carmine or vermilion today, I think — and gauze. Do hurry.”
Mihail didn’t especially care if she was intending on carrying out the instruction as immediately as expected or not, opting for polite conversation with Vangelis instead, in case anybody attempted to spread this as some Thanasi shunning of the ruling family. “I have rather been in the mood for gauze recently, and I cannot resist a fine silk. This one is sea silk, you know,” he gestured over the length of his current chiton as though it were not blatantly costly, rolling ostentatiously kohl-rimmed eyes, “but Net has been a little… fussy about my expenses of late, so I am attempting to cut corners today. You understand, yes?”
Az
Mihail
Az
Mihail
Awards
First Impressions:Slim; Broken nose, piercing gaze, red-painted nails.
Address: Your His Lordship
It was, for all intents and purposes, a nice day. There was nothing in particular that Mihail had to do — not that he ever really had any clear responsibilities unless Nethis explicitly gave him some task or another to complete — and he had thus designated the day as one for entertaining himself without worrying about anything else. A comfortable session of morning archery and a visit to Atalanta’s for the pleasures of wine and a bit of cruel gossip regarding the foolishness of everybody else in the world, and he found himself rather satiated outside of the one activity that always held his interest and to which he aimed to dedicate his afternoon. After all, there was no true fun in a day if one could not have a little shopping trip and, well, he had not been to the market in ages: at least since the past week. That all had to be remedied as soon as possible.
Besides, there had been some discussion about the soon-to-be rising popularity of peacock feathers, and the Thanasi had to be first on that trend.
As ever, Adonis had been dragged away from whatever dull duties he held around the house when the youngest Thanasi didn’t suddenly consider himself in need of the guard, chosen to accompany Mihail on his trip partly for his skills as a guard, partly because he remained gorgeous and all with the added bonus that he was excellent at carrying things in those lovely strong arms of his. The feathers had been obtained almost immediately from a stall of exotic goods and sent back to the Thanasi house with some added threat of the inevitable consequences if they somehow ended up bent or broke, and, with that detail out of the way, Mihail had gone on to enjoy the rest of his trip in a rather more leisurely manner, even gladly securing some stunning new bangles that had matched his collection of rings and current upper arm cuffs so perfectly that he had chosen to wear them immediately.
“Wait here,” he instructed the guard, vaguely gesturing for him to hover outside one of the stores so that nobody else irritatingly decided that they needed to shop right at that moment. He could not stand trying to look around a store and finding some other random individual — and always someone so blatantly low class — interrupting his shopping. “Oh. A moment.” Mihail slipped off the gauzy black epiblema he was wearing, wrapping it delicately around the larger man’s shoulders as though it did not inconvenience him greatly. “It is a little hot. Hold this for me, yes?”
This was not a store that he often frequented, although there was no particular reason for that absence other than a preference for the familiarity of sellers. But he had caught sight of some of the dark red fabrics on offer within the store through its open front, and it had appealed immediately. Or, at least, it had appealed in theory, but only a proper investigation would confirm the fact.
There was some boy drifting around the front room and looking veritably lost as he tried to tidy and act as small as possible, blatantly alarmed by the sudden presence of the feminine lord with the serpentine circlet in his little storefront. Mihail gave him a cursory glance, uninterested by the panic, and directed himself instead to eye one of the swaths of fabric that was similar enough to the deep scarlet of his current chiton, running painted fingertips over it in some degree of thought. It was fine in the way that regular cotton was fine if one liked that sort of thing, and he did not really like that sort of thing all that much.
He spun around in the over-dramatic way that he favoured, the blend of glass and silver beads sewn into the belt and hemline of his chiton clinking together loudly as he did. “You,” he called out to the boy, snapping his fingers at him for attention in case his curt tone was not a clear indicator. “Where is the silk?”
‘Oh, uh…Miss Phaeria keeps it in the back, my Lord.’
Mihail quirked an eyebrow upwards, a hand falling to his waist and hip jutting out. “Thus, am I to understand that not only did you feel I should not be shown the finest of your fabrics, but you assumed that I did not wish to be served by the owner and, rather, by some child left behind to sweep?” He gave a snort. “This is ridiculous. Where is she?”
‘In the back, my Lord, but she is with another customer a-and if you would be willing to wait just a moment, then I assure you that she shall be with you shortly.’ Gods, he was practically dripping with nerves (rather more vulgar than Mihail’s preference for dripping in pearls), stuttering awkwardly through the words as though they were pre-rehearsed lines and he rightfully feared them.
“No. I do not have time to wait.” The Thanasi gave the boy a suitably derisive wave off, stepping past him. It was a lie, in truth, for he had very little to do that day outside of the small entertainments he found for himself, but that was not information that needed sharing. He could have left there and then, but enough of a fuss had been made that he rather felt he had to see how excellent these materials were that they had been hidden away (he was doubtful on that front), and he had been raised exceptionally stubborn, so, instead, Mihail stepped past the boy to push aside the curtain that separated them from the back room, ignoring the way the boy was now running after him and still calling out some dull complaint that he could not do as he wished.
‘I told you, my Lord, Miss Phaeria is seeing to another buyer and cannot be—’
He was cut into silence then, possibly at the sight of Prince Vangelis, who tended to have that effect on people. Mihail did not, if partly because Thanasis were not raised to fear any member of the Kotas family, no matter how tall and stoic they chose to act. Besides, Crown Prince or not, it was Mihail’s view that the man had truly no right to monopolise the back room of a store when one of them was certainly far more well-known around the kingdom for their prettiness and fashion sense.
The hand dropped back to his cinched waist, first running his disdainful gaze over the length of the Kotas and the woman displaying her wares. The colours were atrocious, but it was blatant that they were of a far higher quality than the atrocities in the front of the store. “Prince Vangelis,” he greeted, features twisting into a thoroughly insincere smile and adding a slight nod of his head out of vague politeness. “I apologise, but I do not care to be treated as though I am not worth the finest any store has to offer.” Not that Mihail was entirely certain just yet as to whether he liked the items back here. His eyes fell to the fabric clearly intended for the prince, and he could not help a low scoff. “I did not realise you were so interested in shopping.”
But he was not here to chat up the Prince (this was not the Taengean prince that he particularly cared for, after all). What he wanted was fabric to send to his favourite seamstress and have something pretty done to it, and this seemed a perfect time to get it. Mihail cocked his head to one side as he looked back at Prince Vangelis. “If you do not mind…?” he began, although he supposed he did not entirely care and instead immediately directed his attention back to the Phaeria or whatever her name was without much attempt to wait for a response. “I want silk — crimson, if you have it, although I will settle for carmine or vermilion today, I think — and gauze. Do hurry.”
Mihail didn’t especially care if she was intending on carrying out the instruction as immediately as expected or not, opting for polite conversation with Vangelis instead, in case anybody attempted to spread this as some Thanasi shunning of the ruling family. “I have rather been in the mood for gauze recently, and I cannot resist a fine silk. This one is sea silk, you know,” he gestured over the length of his current chiton as though it were not blatantly costly, rolling ostentatiously kohl-rimmed eyes, “but Net has been a little… fussy about my expenses of late, so I am attempting to cut corners today. You understand, yes?”
It was, for all intents and purposes, a nice day. There was nothing in particular that Mihail had to do — not that he ever really had any clear responsibilities unless Nethis explicitly gave him some task or another to complete — and he had thus designated the day as one for entertaining himself without worrying about anything else. A comfortable session of morning archery and a visit to Atalanta’s for the pleasures of wine and a bit of cruel gossip regarding the foolishness of everybody else in the world, and he found himself rather satiated outside of the one activity that always held his interest and to which he aimed to dedicate his afternoon. After all, there was no true fun in a day if one could not have a little shopping trip and, well, he had not been to the market in ages: at least since the past week. That all had to be remedied as soon as possible.
Besides, there had been some discussion about the soon-to-be rising popularity of peacock feathers, and the Thanasi had to be first on that trend.
As ever, Adonis had been dragged away from whatever dull duties he held around the house when the youngest Thanasi didn’t suddenly consider himself in need of the guard, chosen to accompany Mihail on his trip partly for his skills as a guard, partly because he remained gorgeous and all with the added bonus that he was excellent at carrying things in those lovely strong arms of his. The feathers had been obtained almost immediately from a stall of exotic goods and sent back to the Thanasi house with some added threat of the inevitable consequences if they somehow ended up bent or broke, and, with that detail out of the way, Mihail had gone on to enjoy the rest of his trip in a rather more leisurely manner, even gladly securing some stunning new bangles that had matched his collection of rings and current upper arm cuffs so perfectly that he had chosen to wear them immediately.
“Wait here,” he instructed the guard, vaguely gesturing for him to hover outside one of the stores so that nobody else irritatingly decided that they needed to shop right at that moment. He could not stand trying to look around a store and finding some other random individual — and always someone so blatantly low class — interrupting his shopping. “Oh. A moment.” Mihail slipped off the gauzy black epiblema he was wearing, wrapping it delicately around the larger man’s shoulders as though it did not inconvenience him greatly. “It is a little hot. Hold this for me, yes?”
This was not a store that he often frequented, although there was no particular reason for that absence other than a preference for the familiarity of sellers. But he had caught sight of some of the dark red fabrics on offer within the store through its open front, and it had appealed immediately. Or, at least, it had appealed in theory, but only a proper investigation would confirm the fact.
There was some boy drifting around the front room and looking veritably lost as he tried to tidy and act as small as possible, blatantly alarmed by the sudden presence of the feminine lord with the serpentine circlet in his little storefront. Mihail gave him a cursory glance, uninterested by the panic, and directed himself instead to eye one of the swaths of fabric that was similar enough to the deep scarlet of his current chiton, running painted fingertips over it in some degree of thought. It was fine in the way that regular cotton was fine if one liked that sort of thing, and he did not really like that sort of thing all that much.
He spun around in the over-dramatic way that he favoured, the blend of glass and silver beads sewn into the belt and hemline of his chiton clinking together loudly as he did. “You,” he called out to the boy, snapping his fingers at him for attention in case his curt tone was not a clear indicator. “Where is the silk?”
‘Oh, uh…Miss Phaeria keeps it in the back, my Lord.’
Mihail quirked an eyebrow upwards, a hand falling to his waist and hip jutting out. “Thus, am I to understand that not only did you feel I should not be shown the finest of your fabrics, but you assumed that I did not wish to be served by the owner and, rather, by some child left behind to sweep?” He gave a snort. “This is ridiculous. Where is she?”
‘In the back, my Lord, but she is with another customer a-and if you would be willing to wait just a moment, then I assure you that she shall be with you shortly.’ Gods, he was practically dripping with nerves (rather more vulgar than Mihail’s preference for dripping in pearls), stuttering awkwardly through the words as though they were pre-rehearsed lines and he rightfully feared them.
“No. I do not have time to wait.” The Thanasi gave the boy a suitably derisive wave off, stepping past him. It was a lie, in truth, for he had very little to do that day outside of the small entertainments he found for himself, but that was not information that needed sharing. He could have left there and then, but enough of a fuss had been made that he rather felt he had to see how excellent these materials were that they had been hidden away (he was doubtful on that front), and he had been raised exceptionally stubborn, so, instead, Mihail stepped past the boy to push aside the curtain that separated them from the back room, ignoring the way the boy was now running after him and still calling out some dull complaint that he could not do as he wished.
‘I told you, my Lord, Miss Phaeria is seeing to another buyer and cannot be—’
He was cut into silence then, possibly at the sight of Prince Vangelis, who tended to have that effect on people. Mihail did not, if partly because Thanasis were not raised to fear any member of the Kotas family, no matter how tall and stoic they chose to act. Besides, Crown Prince or not, it was Mihail’s view that the man had truly no right to monopolise the back room of a store when one of them was certainly far more well-known around the kingdom for their prettiness and fashion sense.
The hand dropped back to his cinched waist, first running his disdainful gaze over the length of the Kotas and the woman displaying her wares. The colours were atrocious, but it was blatant that they were of a far higher quality than the atrocities in the front of the store. “Prince Vangelis,” he greeted, features twisting into a thoroughly insincere smile and adding a slight nod of his head out of vague politeness. “I apologise, but I do not care to be treated as though I am not worth the finest any store has to offer.” Not that Mihail was entirely certain just yet as to whether he liked the items back here. His eyes fell to the fabric clearly intended for the prince, and he could not help a low scoff. “I did not realise you were so interested in shopping.”
But he was not here to chat up the Prince (this was not the Taengean prince that he particularly cared for, after all). What he wanted was fabric to send to his favourite seamstress and have something pretty done to it, and this seemed a perfect time to get it. Mihail cocked his head to one side as he looked back at Prince Vangelis. “If you do not mind…?” he began, although he supposed he did not entirely care and instead immediately directed his attention back to the Phaeria or whatever her name was without much attempt to wait for a response. “I want silk — crimson, if you have it, although I will settle for carmine or vermilion today, I think — and gauze. Do hurry.”
Mihail didn’t especially care if she was intending on carrying out the instruction as immediately as expected or not, opting for polite conversation with Vangelis instead, in case anybody attempted to spread this as some Thanasi shunning of the ruling family. “I have rather been in the mood for gauze recently, and I cannot resist a fine silk. This one is sea silk, you know,” he gestured over the length of his current chiton as though it were not blatantly costly, rolling ostentatiously kohl-rimmed eyes, “but Net has been a little… fussy about my expenses of late, so I am attempting to cut corners today. You understand, yes?”
Vangelis stiffened when the second customer made their presence and their identity along with it, fully known. The youngest Thanasi.
Whilst the entire family usually left a sour taste in Vangelis' mouth upon too long an association, it was probably Lord Mihail who irritated him the most on a personal level. The patriarch of the household was a man of cunning evil and Vangelis detested him greatly for his efforts in undermining the Kotas family. Such an opinion naturally spilled to his eldest daughter. The others held their own levels of odd or selfishly-motivated habits, but each possessed something at least admirable in their character. As much as Vangelis would never forgive the obvious attempts of usurpation by Dionysus or Nethis, they were at least intelligent. There was a political cunning there that, whilst hatefully thrown at his own family, were qualities worthy of note.
Inert uselessness was of far more offense to Vangelis than cruelty. A man of action, decision, and progression, the general lethargy with which some nobles carried out their lives was a constant source of perplexity and annoyance.
Combine a laissez-faire uselessness with the hated Thanasi bloodline and it was easy to understand why Vangelis' temperament was less inclined to like Mihail more than any of his siblings. The lord was an adult and yet behaved like a child. He was a man and yet comported himself with all the simpering delicacies of a woman. Attractive in the female of the species, such habits were just... teeth-grating on a male. A male who could have been contributing to his nation via either academia or warfare and who had blatantly chosen to do neither.
Mihail was a waste of space. And now yet here was, taking it up all the same.
None of this opinion, of course, showed on Vangelis' features besides a distinct coldness to his gaze. He was known as the Stone Prince for more than one reason and his ability to keep his stronger emotions, be they love or hate driven, was one of them. When Mihail entered the back room of the fabric store, Vangelis stiffened only momentarily and then, generally, considered the man with the level of interest one might take in their usual non-sentient surroundings. A table, a chair... an irritating royal dressed in too much raiment...
And far too much chatter.
The man was wittering away from the moment he walked into the room, outraged at having been kept from a chamber that might have protected him, no doubt, from the common-born. Mihail's distaste for the lower classes was well documented and another point in his disfavor as far as Vangelis was concerned.
'I did not realize you were so interested in shopping.' The words, adjoined to a low scoff beneath the boy's breath, was dealt with the same arrogance an expert swordsman might use on a peasant boy who had picked up his first blade. The Thanasi clearly thought the Blood General out of his depth in the realm of silks and furs.
Vangelis was, for once, in hearty agreement with him, believing mastery of such a realm to be a pathetic substitute for skills of worth. So, he didn't reply to the nobleman. Not that Lord Mihail felt the need for a response. He continued all the same. Similarly after asking if Vangelis did not mind the interruption. He simply turned to the store owner with a demanding tone of expectation, assuming that she would favor his business over the Crown Prince's or risk his wrath otherwise.
Vangelis might not be the most observant socialite but he could tell the woman was highly uncomfortable over this demanded change of her attention. She glanced between the two finely-dressed men, ready to yield under Lord Mihail's determined attitude, but fearing disrespect to the prince of the realm.
Vangelis took pity on her and merely nodded his assent in Lod Mihail's direction. The message was clear: that she was permitted to serve this new appearance without fear of princely retribution. Phaeria gave a shaky smile and then set herself about Mihail's instructions with a muttering of assent.
Unfortunately, this put Vangelis into the direct line of amusement for Mihail's boredom. Now that the woman was on task, it would take a few moments for her to produce the silks he was interested in and Vangelis was present enough to be served up as a sacrificial lamb to pass his lingering time until then.
'I have rather been in the mood for gauze recently...' he began, prattling on about color and fabric.
He gestured to his own chiton at one point which Vangelis could recognize as particularly fluid and expensive-looking but was ignorant of beyond that. Sea silk? Vangelis had no idea what it was and said nothing on the matter.
His only source of amusement in the offered discussion was when Lord Mihail mentioned his sister's discontent with his expenses. Again, Vangelis was reminded that, distasteful as Nethis was to him, for very good reason, she did at least possess a few redeeming characteristics. Such as fiscal practicalities. Something Mihail had no idea about if he thought purchasing from the back rooms of high-class stores counted as 'cutting corners'.
'You understand, yes?'
This last presented Vangelis with the necessity to reply. Everything until then, Lord Mihail had taken his reaction as gospel or simply continued his chatter without pausing for his reaction. Now, he wasn't so lucky and actually required an answer...
His face a mask of stoic disinterest, Vangelis simply tilted his head as if to consider whether his family, or he, had ever been forced to 'cut corners'. Given none of his siblings were spend-thrifts like Lord Mihail and their closest relatives, the Drakos, were the richest House in the land, finances had never been a point of suffrage for the Kotas. Ever. They were trained and challenged in other ways. But never in the economics of their family expenses. Heedless of whether it would offend the Thanasi lord, highlighting this difference, Vangelis simply answered the lord's chatty question with his usual, blunt honesty. Did he understand ever having to cut financial corners?
"Not particularly."
JD
Vangelis
JD
Vangelis
Awards
First Impressions:Towering; Resting stoic bitch face; monstrous height; the terrifying "Blood General".
Address: Your Royal Highness
Vangelis stiffened when the second customer made their presence and their identity along with it, fully known. The youngest Thanasi.
Whilst the entire family usually left a sour taste in Vangelis' mouth upon too long an association, it was probably Lord Mihail who irritated him the most on a personal level. The patriarch of the household was a man of cunning evil and Vangelis detested him greatly for his efforts in undermining the Kotas family. Such an opinion naturally spilled to his eldest daughter. The others held their own levels of odd or selfishly-motivated habits, but each possessed something at least admirable in their character. As much as Vangelis would never forgive the obvious attempts of usurpation by Dionysus or Nethis, they were at least intelligent. There was a political cunning there that, whilst hatefully thrown at his own family, were qualities worthy of note.
Inert uselessness was of far more offense to Vangelis than cruelty. A man of action, decision, and progression, the general lethargy with which some nobles carried out their lives was a constant source of perplexity and annoyance.
Combine a laissez-faire uselessness with the hated Thanasi bloodline and it was easy to understand why Vangelis' temperament was less inclined to like Mihail more than any of his siblings. The lord was an adult and yet behaved like a child. He was a man and yet comported himself with all the simpering delicacies of a woman. Attractive in the female of the species, such habits were just... teeth-grating on a male. A male who could have been contributing to his nation via either academia or warfare and who had blatantly chosen to do neither.
Mihail was a waste of space. And now yet here was, taking it up all the same.
None of this opinion, of course, showed on Vangelis' features besides a distinct coldness to his gaze. He was known as the Stone Prince for more than one reason and his ability to keep his stronger emotions, be they love or hate driven, was one of them. When Mihail entered the back room of the fabric store, Vangelis stiffened only momentarily and then, generally, considered the man with the level of interest one might take in their usual non-sentient surroundings. A table, a chair... an irritating royal dressed in too much raiment...
And far too much chatter.
The man was wittering away from the moment he walked into the room, outraged at having been kept from a chamber that might have protected him, no doubt, from the common-born. Mihail's distaste for the lower classes was well documented and another point in his disfavor as far as Vangelis was concerned.
'I did not realize you were so interested in shopping.' The words, adjoined to a low scoff beneath the boy's breath, was dealt with the same arrogance an expert swordsman might use on a peasant boy who had picked up his first blade. The Thanasi clearly thought the Blood General out of his depth in the realm of silks and furs.
Vangelis was, for once, in hearty agreement with him, believing mastery of such a realm to be a pathetic substitute for skills of worth. So, he didn't reply to the nobleman. Not that Lord Mihail felt the need for a response. He continued all the same. Similarly after asking if Vangelis did not mind the interruption. He simply turned to the store owner with a demanding tone of expectation, assuming that she would favor his business over the Crown Prince's or risk his wrath otherwise.
Vangelis might not be the most observant socialite but he could tell the woman was highly uncomfortable over this demanded change of her attention. She glanced between the two finely-dressed men, ready to yield under Lord Mihail's determined attitude, but fearing disrespect to the prince of the realm.
Vangelis took pity on her and merely nodded his assent in Lod Mihail's direction. The message was clear: that she was permitted to serve this new appearance without fear of princely retribution. Phaeria gave a shaky smile and then set herself about Mihail's instructions with a muttering of assent.
Unfortunately, this put Vangelis into the direct line of amusement for Mihail's boredom. Now that the woman was on task, it would take a few moments for her to produce the silks he was interested in and Vangelis was present enough to be served up as a sacrificial lamb to pass his lingering time until then.
'I have rather been in the mood for gauze recently...' he began, prattling on about color and fabric.
He gestured to his own chiton at one point which Vangelis could recognize as particularly fluid and expensive-looking but was ignorant of beyond that. Sea silk? Vangelis had no idea what it was and said nothing on the matter.
His only source of amusement in the offered discussion was when Lord Mihail mentioned his sister's discontent with his expenses. Again, Vangelis was reminded that, distasteful as Nethis was to him, for very good reason, she did at least possess a few redeeming characteristics. Such as fiscal practicalities. Something Mihail had no idea about if he thought purchasing from the back rooms of high-class stores counted as 'cutting corners'.
'You understand, yes?'
This last presented Vangelis with the necessity to reply. Everything until then, Lord Mihail had taken his reaction as gospel or simply continued his chatter without pausing for his reaction. Now, he wasn't so lucky and actually required an answer...
His face a mask of stoic disinterest, Vangelis simply tilted his head as if to consider whether his family, or he, had ever been forced to 'cut corners'. Given none of his siblings were spend-thrifts like Lord Mihail and their closest relatives, the Drakos, were the richest House in the land, finances had never been a point of suffrage for the Kotas. Ever. They were trained and challenged in other ways. But never in the economics of their family expenses. Heedless of whether it would offend the Thanasi lord, highlighting this difference, Vangelis simply answered the lord's chatty question with his usual, blunt honesty. Did he understand ever having to cut financial corners?
"Not particularly."
Vangelis stiffened when the second customer made their presence and their identity along with it, fully known. The youngest Thanasi.
Whilst the entire family usually left a sour taste in Vangelis' mouth upon too long an association, it was probably Lord Mihail who irritated him the most on a personal level. The patriarch of the household was a man of cunning evil and Vangelis detested him greatly for his efforts in undermining the Kotas family. Such an opinion naturally spilled to his eldest daughter. The others held their own levels of odd or selfishly-motivated habits, but each possessed something at least admirable in their character. As much as Vangelis would never forgive the obvious attempts of usurpation by Dionysus or Nethis, they were at least intelligent. There was a political cunning there that, whilst hatefully thrown at his own family, were qualities worthy of note.
Inert uselessness was of far more offense to Vangelis than cruelty. A man of action, decision, and progression, the general lethargy with which some nobles carried out their lives was a constant source of perplexity and annoyance.
Combine a laissez-faire uselessness with the hated Thanasi bloodline and it was easy to understand why Vangelis' temperament was less inclined to like Mihail more than any of his siblings. The lord was an adult and yet behaved like a child. He was a man and yet comported himself with all the simpering delicacies of a woman. Attractive in the female of the species, such habits were just... teeth-grating on a male. A male who could have been contributing to his nation via either academia or warfare and who had blatantly chosen to do neither.
Mihail was a waste of space. And now yet here was, taking it up all the same.
None of this opinion, of course, showed on Vangelis' features besides a distinct coldness to his gaze. He was known as the Stone Prince for more than one reason and his ability to keep his stronger emotions, be they love or hate driven, was one of them. When Mihail entered the back room of the fabric store, Vangelis stiffened only momentarily and then, generally, considered the man with the level of interest one might take in their usual non-sentient surroundings. A table, a chair... an irritating royal dressed in too much raiment...
And far too much chatter.
The man was wittering away from the moment he walked into the room, outraged at having been kept from a chamber that might have protected him, no doubt, from the common-born. Mihail's distaste for the lower classes was well documented and another point in his disfavor as far as Vangelis was concerned.
'I did not realize you were so interested in shopping.' The words, adjoined to a low scoff beneath the boy's breath, was dealt with the same arrogance an expert swordsman might use on a peasant boy who had picked up his first blade. The Thanasi clearly thought the Blood General out of his depth in the realm of silks and furs.
Vangelis was, for once, in hearty agreement with him, believing mastery of such a realm to be a pathetic substitute for skills of worth. So, he didn't reply to the nobleman. Not that Lord Mihail felt the need for a response. He continued all the same. Similarly after asking if Vangelis did not mind the interruption. He simply turned to the store owner with a demanding tone of expectation, assuming that she would favor his business over the Crown Prince's or risk his wrath otherwise.
Vangelis might not be the most observant socialite but he could tell the woman was highly uncomfortable over this demanded change of her attention. She glanced between the two finely-dressed men, ready to yield under Lord Mihail's determined attitude, but fearing disrespect to the prince of the realm.
Vangelis took pity on her and merely nodded his assent in Lod Mihail's direction. The message was clear: that she was permitted to serve this new appearance without fear of princely retribution. Phaeria gave a shaky smile and then set herself about Mihail's instructions with a muttering of assent.
Unfortunately, this put Vangelis into the direct line of amusement for Mihail's boredom. Now that the woman was on task, it would take a few moments for her to produce the silks he was interested in and Vangelis was present enough to be served up as a sacrificial lamb to pass his lingering time until then.
'I have rather been in the mood for gauze recently...' he began, prattling on about color and fabric.
He gestured to his own chiton at one point which Vangelis could recognize as particularly fluid and expensive-looking but was ignorant of beyond that. Sea silk? Vangelis had no idea what it was and said nothing on the matter.
His only source of amusement in the offered discussion was when Lord Mihail mentioned his sister's discontent with his expenses. Again, Vangelis was reminded that, distasteful as Nethis was to him, for very good reason, she did at least possess a few redeeming characteristics. Such as fiscal practicalities. Something Mihail had no idea about if he thought purchasing from the back rooms of high-class stores counted as 'cutting corners'.
'You understand, yes?'
This last presented Vangelis with the necessity to reply. Everything until then, Lord Mihail had taken his reaction as gospel or simply continued his chatter without pausing for his reaction. Now, he wasn't so lucky and actually required an answer...
His face a mask of stoic disinterest, Vangelis simply tilted his head as if to consider whether his family, or he, had ever been forced to 'cut corners'. Given none of his siblings were spend-thrifts like Lord Mihail and their closest relatives, the Drakos, were the richest House in the land, finances had never been a point of suffrage for the Kotas. Ever. They were trained and challenged in other ways. But never in the economics of their family expenses. Heedless of whether it would offend the Thanasi lord, highlighting this difference, Vangelis simply answered the lord's chatty question with his usual, blunt honesty. Did he understand ever having to cut financial corners?
"Not particularly."
Prince Vangelis was not a man of many words.
Mihail was of the mind that he had given the Colchian prince plenty of conversation to work with, even against his better judgment. He was not traditionally suited to niceness toward members of his sister’s married family, so the choice to speak to the man had seemed one kinder than was necessary, and yet it had been utterly rejected. Well, perhaps not in its entirety, but certainly, the quality of the response had not matched the attempt to converse. He tended to find such behaviour to be rather rude, but given there was a difference in hierarchical status that was the inverse to the usual in which he found himself, he could hardly comment on such a thing.
Still, the Thanasi made an effort to rearrange his features into an expression of surprise, as though he did not entirely understand the fact that Prince Vangelis did not know much about budgeting. He had always been under the assumption that members of the royal family, in particular, were prone to doing so, if solely because half of them did not seem anywhere near as fashionable as he. After all, there was no shortage of wealth there, but it seemed as though they chose to dress in rather a dull manner: even the prince’s current outfit seemed severely lacking when one compared it to the substantial effort that Mihail put into making sure he looked absolutely stunning on every occasion. Not that the taller man did not look handsome, but it could have been… better. Still, if he did not understand the need for cutting corners, then he did not, and Mihail was certainly in no position to explain it to him.
“No, neither do I, in truth,” he answered with a sigh more dramatic than was likely necessary. He lived for a little drama in all things he did. “I find that cutting corners truly does not suit my complexion in the slightest. It is a coping mechanism for the poor, you know, and I do not quite care to live my life as somebody less fortunate.” There seemed no purpose in it. “I would think it rather cruel to the gods not to live the life they have selected for me.” And, besides, he was rather attached to all those material things he possessed and being without them did not suit him in the slightest.
He might have said something else on the matter had the shop attendant not returned with a selection of red fabrics for his viewing. For a moment, Mihail paused in his conversation, switching his attention to the silks and running his hands over them in thought. They were fine. Not the best silks he had ever felt, but they were far from the worst, and once they had been taken care of by his seamstress and converted into a fine chiton or whatever he deemed appropriate, they would have escalated in quality. And if he did not care for the result, then it would end up in the depths of his wardrobe to be long forgotten, where many an old chiton had found itself over the years.
Mihail made a general indication to the woman, waving his hand dismissively toward the silks. “These will do. I will need enough for perhaps two chitons from either.” It was always better to have surplus material, he believed, lest there be errors in the design. Besides, he was fond of extravagance. “Now.” He gave the prince another look as though to confirm that he was still permitted to take command of the store, then added without much wait for a response: “Though I am certain my penchant for warmer colours precedes me, I would be rather amiss if I did not request something colder. Cerulean, something bright.” He waved a hand toward her dismissively for the second time, then turned his attention to Prince Vangelis once more. Perhaps there was not much in the way of conversation with him, but it was better than nothing.
“I am having something special made, you see, and I feel that blue might suit it finer than my preferred red. A change, perhaps, but everybody has those moments when they feel they must branch out from their personal traditions.” Not that Mihail was aware of any of the prince’s ‘personal traditions’, so to call them, but perhaps he might gain some rare insight into the man through the topic of discussion. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? Him, a Thanasi of all people, conquering the secrets of a Kotas. He did, after all, thrive on the twin pleasures of gossip and rumour, and there was nothing so juicy as that pertaining to the royals themselves. But it was a silly little fantasy — they didn’t call Vangelis the Stone Prince for nothing. Still, it didn’t stop Mihail from trying to gain some amount of insight, his tone turning naturally inquisitive as it always did when he found himself trying to gather information by means other than his natural charisma.
“Have you had anything made of late that truly inspired, your Highness? I do not know much of your personal style, but even a military man such as yourself enjoys a finer outfit on occasion.” His gaze ran carefully over the Prince’s current outfit, taking in every detail with the kind of expertise that could only come from somebody who immersed themself in such interests, taking in every detail of the red chiton and the golden attempts at accesorisation. It was certainly fine, and undoubtedly costly, but it verged on slight simplicity for Mihail’s taste when even his plainer outfits tended towards excessive. It was, however, enough that the Thanasi rather liked it for another. “Your current choice is perfect, of course. I find that wearing the colours of one’s Dynasteía adds a certain level of elegance to one’s outfit on any occasion, and you wear your burgundy well. It can be such a difficult shade for those of us who do not know how to contrast it.”
A compliment to a Kotas. Whatever next?
Az
Mihail
Az
Mihail
Awards
First Impressions:Slim; Broken nose, piercing gaze, red-painted nails.
Address: Your His Lordship
Mihail was of the mind that he had given the Colchian prince plenty of conversation to work with, even against his better judgment. He was not traditionally suited to niceness toward members of his sister’s married family, so the choice to speak to the man had seemed one kinder than was necessary, and yet it had been utterly rejected. Well, perhaps not in its entirety, but certainly, the quality of the response had not matched the attempt to converse. He tended to find such behaviour to be rather rude, but given there was a difference in hierarchical status that was the inverse to the usual in which he found himself, he could hardly comment on such a thing.
Still, the Thanasi made an effort to rearrange his features into an expression of surprise, as though he did not entirely understand the fact that Prince Vangelis did not know much about budgeting. He had always been under the assumption that members of the royal family, in particular, were prone to doing so, if solely because half of them did not seem anywhere near as fashionable as he. After all, there was no shortage of wealth there, but it seemed as though they chose to dress in rather a dull manner: even the prince’s current outfit seemed severely lacking when one compared it to the substantial effort that Mihail put into making sure he looked absolutely stunning on every occasion. Not that the taller man did not look handsome, but it could have been… better. Still, if he did not understand the need for cutting corners, then he did not, and Mihail was certainly in no position to explain it to him.
“No, neither do I, in truth,” he answered with a sigh more dramatic than was likely necessary. He lived for a little drama in all things he did. “I find that cutting corners truly does not suit my complexion in the slightest. It is a coping mechanism for the poor, you know, and I do not quite care to live my life as somebody less fortunate.” There seemed no purpose in it. “I would think it rather cruel to the gods not to live the life they have selected for me.” And, besides, he was rather attached to all those material things he possessed and being without them did not suit him in the slightest.
He might have said something else on the matter had the shop attendant not returned with a selection of red fabrics for his viewing. For a moment, Mihail paused in his conversation, switching his attention to the silks and running his hands over them in thought. They were fine. Not the best silks he had ever felt, but they were far from the worst, and once they had been taken care of by his seamstress and converted into a fine chiton or whatever he deemed appropriate, they would have escalated in quality. And if he did not care for the result, then it would end up in the depths of his wardrobe to be long forgotten, where many an old chiton had found itself over the years.
Mihail made a general indication to the woman, waving his hand dismissively toward the silks. “These will do. I will need enough for perhaps two chitons from either.” It was always better to have surplus material, he believed, lest there be errors in the design. Besides, he was fond of extravagance. “Now.” He gave the prince another look as though to confirm that he was still permitted to take command of the store, then added without much wait for a response: “Though I am certain my penchant for warmer colours precedes me, I would be rather amiss if I did not request something colder. Cerulean, something bright.” He waved a hand toward her dismissively for the second time, then turned his attention to Prince Vangelis once more. Perhaps there was not much in the way of conversation with him, but it was better than nothing.
“I am having something special made, you see, and I feel that blue might suit it finer than my preferred red. A change, perhaps, but everybody has those moments when they feel they must branch out from their personal traditions.” Not that Mihail was aware of any of the prince’s ‘personal traditions’, so to call them, but perhaps he might gain some rare insight into the man through the topic of discussion. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? Him, a Thanasi of all people, conquering the secrets of a Kotas. He did, after all, thrive on the twin pleasures of gossip and rumour, and there was nothing so juicy as that pertaining to the royals themselves. But it was a silly little fantasy — they didn’t call Vangelis the Stone Prince for nothing. Still, it didn’t stop Mihail from trying to gain some amount of insight, his tone turning naturally inquisitive as it always did when he found himself trying to gather information by means other than his natural charisma.
“Have you had anything made of late that truly inspired, your Highness? I do not know much of your personal style, but even a military man such as yourself enjoys a finer outfit on occasion.” His gaze ran carefully over the Prince’s current outfit, taking in every detail with the kind of expertise that could only come from somebody who immersed themself in such interests, taking in every detail of the red chiton and the golden attempts at accesorisation. It was certainly fine, and undoubtedly costly, but it verged on slight simplicity for Mihail’s taste when even his plainer outfits tended towards excessive. It was, however, enough that the Thanasi rather liked it for another. “Your current choice is perfect, of course. I find that wearing the colours of one’s Dynasteía adds a certain level of elegance to one’s outfit on any occasion, and you wear your burgundy well. It can be such a difficult shade for those of us who do not know how to contrast it.”
A compliment to a Kotas. Whatever next?
Prince Vangelis was not a man of many words.
Mihail was of the mind that he had given the Colchian prince plenty of conversation to work with, even against his better judgment. He was not traditionally suited to niceness toward members of his sister’s married family, so the choice to speak to the man had seemed one kinder than was necessary, and yet it had been utterly rejected. Well, perhaps not in its entirety, but certainly, the quality of the response had not matched the attempt to converse. He tended to find such behaviour to be rather rude, but given there was a difference in hierarchical status that was the inverse to the usual in which he found himself, he could hardly comment on such a thing.
Still, the Thanasi made an effort to rearrange his features into an expression of surprise, as though he did not entirely understand the fact that Prince Vangelis did not know much about budgeting. He had always been under the assumption that members of the royal family, in particular, were prone to doing so, if solely because half of them did not seem anywhere near as fashionable as he. After all, there was no shortage of wealth there, but it seemed as though they chose to dress in rather a dull manner: even the prince’s current outfit seemed severely lacking when one compared it to the substantial effort that Mihail put into making sure he looked absolutely stunning on every occasion. Not that the taller man did not look handsome, but it could have been… better. Still, if he did not understand the need for cutting corners, then he did not, and Mihail was certainly in no position to explain it to him.
“No, neither do I, in truth,” he answered with a sigh more dramatic than was likely necessary. He lived for a little drama in all things he did. “I find that cutting corners truly does not suit my complexion in the slightest. It is a coping mechanism for the poor, you know, and I do not quite care to live my life as somebody less fortunate.” There seemed no purpose in it. “I would think it rather cruel to the gods not to live the life they have selected for me.” And, besides, he was rather attached to all those material things he possessed and being without them did not suit him in the slightest.
He might have said something else on the matter had the shop attendant not returned with a selection of red fabrics for his viewing. For a moment, Mihail paused in his conversation, switching his attention to the silks and running his hands over them in thought. They were fine. Not the best silks he had ever felt, but they were far from the worst, and once they had been taken care of by his seamstress and converted into a fine chiton or whatever he deemed appropriate, they would have escalated in quality. And if he did not care for the result, then it would end up in the depths of his wardrobe to be long forgotten, where many an old chiton had found itself over the years.
Mihail made a general indication to the woman, waving his hand dismissively toward the silks. “These will do. I will need enough for perhaps two chitons from either.” It was always better to have surplus material, he believed, lest there be errors in the design. Besides, he was fond of extravagance. “Now.” He gave the prince another look as though to confirm that he was still permitted to take command of the store, then added without much wait for a response: “Though I am certain my penchant for warmer colours precedes me, I would be rather amiss if I did not request something colder. Cerulean, something bright.” He waved a hand toward her dismissively for the second time, then turned his attention to Prince Vangelis once more. Perhaps there was not much in the way of conversation with him, but it was better than nothing.
“I am having something special made, you see, and I feel that blue might suit it finer than my preferred red. A change, perhaps, but everybody has those moments when they feel they must branch out from their personal traditions.” Not that Mihail was aware of any of the prince’s ‘personal traditions’, so to call them, but perhaps he might gain some rare insight into the man through the topic of discussion. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? Him, a Thanasi of all people, conquering the secrets of a Kotas. He did, after all, thrive on the twin pleasures of gossip and rumour, and there was nothing so juicy as that pertaining to the royals themselves. But it was a silly little fantasy — they didn’t call Vangelis the Stone Prince for nothing. Still, it didn’t stop Mihail from trying to gain some amount of insight, his tone turning naturally inquisitive as it always did when he found himself trying to gather information by means other than his natural charisma.
“Have you had anything made of late that truly inspired, your Highness? I do not know much of your personal style, but even a military man such as yourself enjoys a finer outfit on occasion.” His gaze ran carefully over the Prince’s current outfit, taking in every detail with the kind of expertise that could only come from somebody who immersed themself in such interests, taking in every detail of the red chiton and the golden attempts at accesorisation. It was certainly fine, and undoubtedly costly, but it verged on slight simplicity for Mihail’s taste when even his plainer outfits tended towards excessive. It was, however, enough that the Thanasi rather liked it for another. “Your current choice is perfect, of course. I find that wearing the colours of one’s Dynasteía adds a certain level of elegance to one’s outfit on any occasion, and you wear your burgundy well. It can be such a difficult shade for those of us who do not know how to contrast it.”
