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Everyone lies. The words swam around in Rafail's mind for a moment, as if he could not quite make sense of them even though he knew what either one meant. Mama had promised him that people wouldn't lie because he was a Marikas, and he was quite confident she had never done so in the few years he had known her. There was no reason for her to have done so, but now, on Uncle Keikelius's insistence that everyone lied, the boy couldn't help but wonder if she hadn't meant her words either. That much was enough to draw back the tears which had briefly vanished, though they only welled in his bright blue orbs, stinging his eyes, and he tightened his grip on his uncle's hand, as if the action would save him from an implied lack of truthfulness.
"I don't want everyone to start dying!" he announced, although Rafail wasn't wholly sure if that was the truth. He was too young still to understand death entirely, and all he had gathered as of yet was that it meant that person wasn't going to be around anymore, and if that was the case, then he could think of plenty of people he didn't want around. Pavlos, for sure. Maybe his nursemaid, she was a bit annoying at the worst of times. That one servant Papa hadn't let him fire! Everyone else, though, he thought he liked them enough, even if Sofia was still a bit of a whining baby.
But toughness couldn't be that difficult, if Papa and Uncle Keikelius and even Pavlos could all manage it. He nodded a little at the man's instructions, scrunching up his face in steadfast determination, attempting to copy that same stoic expression his uncle currently bore, sniffing away those tears which had suddenly threatened to fall. Maybe if he was making Papa suitably proud, then Mama would somehow know, and then she would be proud of him too, wherever she was, and he liked that possibility.
Rafail maintained that same look on his face their whole walk around to the extensive gardens, although his plump cheeks were starting to twitch with the discomfort of holding the firm expression for so long. "I don't care about the Taengeans," he replied, pouting at the suggestion that someone was going to be better than him, even though he knew he was going to be the best. Maybe Uncle Keikelius thought he was making that up now too, since he seemed to think everyone was prone to lying. "I am going to be the best rider in Greece, and then I'm going to join the military - like Pavlos - and I will show you just how good a soldier I am. I'm going to be a charioteer. Mama said that when I was old enough, she was going to buy me a chariot, but now she's not here, so I'm going to make her extra proud, because I promised." That seemed reasonable enough, and since Uncle Keikelius appeared to like the idea of making his parents proud, then perhaps he would be happy to see some ambition in his nephew.
Tugging the man by the arm into the equally extravagant stables of the Marikas household, where a grand collection of fine-looking horses glanced across and whinnied from their stalls in reaction to their appearance, he pointed dramatically at a small white pony, perfectly sized for its seven-year-old owner. "That's Pegasos," Rafail declared, grinning up at his uncle with noticeable satisfaction. "Isn't he pretty? He's going to lead me to victory."
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Everyone lies. The words swam around in Rafail's mind for a moment, as if he could not quite make sense of them even though he knew what either one meant. Mama had promised him that people wouldn't lie because he was a Marikas, and he was quite confident she had never done so in the few years he had known her. There was no reason for her to have done so, but now, on Uncle Keikelius's insistence that everyone lied, the boy couldn't help but wonder if she hadn't meant her words either. That much was enough to draw back the tears which had briefly vanished, though they only welled in his bright blue orbs, stinging his eyes, and he tightened his grip on his uncle's hand, as if the action would save him from an implied lack of truthfulness.
"I don't want everyone to start dying!" he announced, although Rafail wasn't wholly sure if that was the truth. He was too young still to understand death entirely, and all he had gathered as of yet was that it meant that person wasn't going to be around anymore, and if that was the case, then he could think of plenty of people he didn't want around. Pavlos, for sure. Maybe his nursemaid, she was a bit annoying at the worst of times. That one servant Papa hadn't let him fire! Everyone else, though, he thought he liked them enough, even if Sofia was still a bit of a whining baby.
But toughness couldn't be that difficult, if Papa and Uncle Keikelius and even Pavlos could all manage it. He nodded a little at the man's instructions, scrunching up his face in steadfast determination, attempting to copy that same stoic expression his uncle currently bore, sniffing away those tears which had suddenly threatened to fall. Maybe if he was making Papa suitably proud, then Mama would somehow know, and then she would be proud of him too, wherever she was, and he liked that possibility.
Rafail maintained that same look on his face their whole walk around to the extensive gardens, although his plump cheeks were starting to twitch with the discomfort of holding the firm expression for so long. "I don't care about the Taengeans," he replied, pouting at the suggestion that someone was going to be better than him, even though he knew he was going to be the best. Maybe Uncle Keikelius thought he was making that up now too, since he seemed to think everyone was prone to lying. "I am going to be the best rider in Greece, and then I'm going to join the military - like Pavlos - and I will show you just how good a soldier I am. I'm going to be a charioteer. Mama said that when I was old enough, she was going to buy me a chariot, but now she's not here, so I'm going to make her extra proud, because I promised." That seemed reasonable enough, and since Uncle Keikelius appeared to like the idea of making his parents proud, then perhaps he would be happy to see some ambition in his nephew.
Tugging the man by the arm into the equally extravagant stables of the Marikas household, where a grand collection of fine-looking horses glanced across and whinnied from their stalls in reaction to their appearance, he pointed dramatically at a small white pony, perfectly sized for its seven-year-old owner. "That's Pegasos," Rafail declared, grinning up at his uncle with noticeable satisfaction. "Isn't he pretty? He's going to lead me to victory."
Everyone lies. The words swam around in Rafail's mind for a moment, as if he could not quite make sense of them even though he knew what either one meant. Mama had promised him that people wouldn't lie because he was a Marikas, and he was quite confident she had never done so in the few years he had known her. There was no reason for her to have done so, but now, on Uncle Keikelius's insistence that everyone lied, the boy couldn't help but wonder if she hadn't meant her words either. That much was enough to draw back the tears which had briefly vanished, though they only welled in his bright blue orbs, stinging his eyes, and he tightened his grip on his uncle's hand, as if the action would save him from an implied lack of truthfulness.
"I don't want everyone to start dying!" he announced, although Rafail wasn't wholly sure if that was the truth. He was too young still to understand death entirely, and all he had gathered as of yet was that it meant that person wasn't going to be around anymore, and if that was the case, then he could think of plenty of people he didn't want around. Pavlos, for sure. Maybe his nursemaid, she was a bit annoying at the worst of times. That one servant Papa hadn't let him fire! Everyone else, though, he thought he liked them enough, even if Sofia was still a bit of a whining baby.
But toughness couldn't be that difficult, if Papa and Uncle Keikelius and even Pavlos could all manage it. He nodded a little at the man's instructions, scrunching up his face in steadfast determination, attempting to copy that same stoic expression his uncle currently bore, sniffing away those tears which had suddenly threatened to fall. Maybe if he was making Papa suitably proud, then Mama would somehow know, and then she would be proud of him too, wherever she was, and he liked that possibility.
Rafail maintained that same look on his face their whole walk around to the extensive gardens, although his plump cheeks were starting to twitch with the discomfort of holding the firm expression for so long. "I don't care about the Taengeans," he replied, pouting at the suggestion that someone was going to be better than him, even though he knew he was going to be the best. Maybe Uncle Keikelius thought he was making that up now too, since he seemed to think everyone was prone to lying. "I am going to be the best rider in Greece, and then I'm going to join the military - like Pavlos - and I will show you just how good a soldier I am. I'm going to be a charioteer. Mama said that when I was old enough, she was going to buy me a chariot, but now she's not here, so I'm going to make her extra proud, because I promised." That seemed reasonable enough, and since Uncle Keikelius appeared to like the idea of making his parents proud, then perhaps he would be happy to see some ambition in his nephew.
Tugging the man by the arm into the equally extravagant stables of the Marikas household, where a grand collection of fine-looking horses glanced across and whinnied from their stalls in reaction to their appearance, he pointed dramatically at a small white pony, perfectly sized for its seven-year-old owner. "That's Pegasos," Rafail declared, grinning up at his uncle with noticeable satisfaction. "Isn't he pretty? He's going to lead me to victory."
Staying still throughout the funeral had been difficult because she hadn’t understood what was going on. Everyone looked so sad and was quiet, so she looked sad and was quiet too. When they started crying however, she didn’t. She was supposed to be a lady and ladies didn’t cry in front of other people.
Even with her favorite doll Sibylla in her hands, Chara thought she looked like a real lady. She had on a pretty chiton and even a little make up. She wanted to look like Mama, who was a real lady. She held her head high and tried to walk the way she’d seen Mama do it. The way that let people know she was a real lady, just like Mama. One day, she would be a lady for real and not just pretending, even if her teeth were falling out.
When the feast had begun, Chara was guided by her nursemaid, Leda, to her proper place. She could see her Papa and her cousin, Rafail talking about something, but she couldn’t make out what was going on with all the chatter. Hmpf. She entertained herself by chattering on to Leda, rather than Sibylla (because Sibylla was only for when she was playing pretend) and stopped only when she noticed her Papa and cousin had walked away. Turning and pulling at tugging gently at her mother’s chiton, Chara pointed to where she’d seen them disappear. “Mama,” she said softly “I want to go see Papa.”
Upon being granted permission, the girl nearly squealed, but she held in her excited noises. Real ladies did not squeal. She excused herself from the table, though no one seemed to mind. Her nursemaid was quick to try and take her hand, though the girl refused. Real ladies didn’t hold hands. “Leda,” she said in her real lady voice, “Take me to Papa.”
She walked beside Leda into the gardens after the nursemaid had asked for her Papa’s whereabouts. When they came to the stable and she saw her Papa, Chara straightened and held her head like a lady was supposed to. She walked towards Papa and Rafail, still holding Sibylla, with as much confidence and poise as a five-year-old could muster. “Papa, Rafail,” she greeted like a lady would. That’s right. She wasn’t a baby. Elias was a baby because he was only three, but she was a lady. A real lady.
Chara glanced at the pony that her cousin pointed at and snorted. “He can’t lead you to victory. He’s too small.” Like you, she thought smugly to herself. “He is pretty though,” she said with an approving nod, before turning to her Papa.
“Papa,” she said, “Can I- I mean may I have a pretty horse too? Only one that isn’t too small?”
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Staying still throughout the funeral had been difficult because she hadn’t understood what was going on. Everyone looked so sad and was quiet, so she looked sad and was quiet too. When they started crying however, she didn’t. She was supposed to be a lady and ladies didn’t cry in front of other people.
Even with her favorite doll Sibylla in her hands, Chara thought she looked like a real lady. She had on a pretty chiton and even a little make up. She wanted to look like Mama, who was a real lady. She held her head high and tried to walk the way she’d seen Mama do it. The way that let people know she was a real lady, just like Mama. One day, she would be a lady for real and not just pretending, even if her teeth were falling out.
When the feast had begun, Chara was guided by her nursemaid, Leda, to her proper place. She could see her Papa and her cousin, Rafail talking about something, but she couldn’t make out what was going on with all the chatter. Hmpf. She entertained herself by chattering on to Leda, rather than Sibylla (because Sibylla was only for when she was playing pretend) and stopped only when she noticed her Papa and cousin had walked away. Turning and pulling at tugging gently at her mother’s chiton, Chara pointed to where she’d seen them disappear. “Mama,” she said softly “I want to go see Papa.”
Upon being granted permission, the girl nearly squealed, but she held in her excited noises. Real ladies did not squeal. She excused herself from the table, though no one seemed to mind. Her nursemaid was quick to try and take her hand, though the girl refused. Real ladies didn’t hold hands. “Leda,” she said in her real lady voice, “Take me to Papa.”
She walked beside Leda into the gardens after the nursemaid had asked for her Papa’s whereabouts. When they came to the stable and she saw her Papa, Chara straightened and held her head like a lady was supposed to. She walked towards Papa and Rafail, still holding Sibylla, with as much confidence and poise as a five-year-old could muster. “Papa, Rafail,” she greeted like a lady would. That’s right. She wasn’t a baby. Elias was a baby because he was only three, but she was a lady. A real lady.
Chara glanced at the pony that her cousin pointed at and snorted. “He can’t lead you to victory. He’s too small.” Like you, she thought smugly to herself. “He is pretty though,” she said with an approving nod, before turning to her Papa.
“Papa,” she said, “Can I- I mean may I have a pretty horse too? Only one that isn’t too small?”
Staying still throughout the funeral had been difficult because she hadn’t understood what was going on. Everyone looked so sad and was quiet, so she looked sad and was quiet too. When they started crying however, she didn’t. She was supposed to be a lady and ladies didn’t cry in front of other people.
Even with her favorite doll Sibylla in her hands, Chara thought she looked like a real lady. She had on a pretty chiton and even a little make up. She wanted to look like Mama, who was a real lady. She held her head high and tried to walk the way she’d seen Mama do it. The way that let people know she was a real lady, just like Mama. One day, she would be a lady for real and not just pretending, even if her teeth were falling out.
When the feast had begun, Chara was guided by her nursemaid, Leda, to her proper place. She could see her Papa and her cousin, Rafail talking about something, but she couldn’t make out what was going on with all the chatter. Hmpf. She entertained herself by chattering on to Leda, rather than Sibylla (because Sibylla was only for when she was playing pretend) and stopped only when she noticed her Papa and cousin had walked away. Turning and pulling at tugging gently at her mother’s chiton, Chara pointed to where she’d seen them disappear. “Mama,” she said softly “I want to go see Papa.”
Upon being granted permission, the girl nearly squealed, but she held in her excited noises. Real ladies did not squeal. She excused herself from the table, though no one seemed to mind. Her nursemaid was quick to try and take her hand, though the girl refused. Real ladies didn’t hold hands. “Leda,” she said in her real lady voice, “Take me to Papa.”
She walked beside Leda into the gardens after the nursemaid had asked for her Papa’s whereabouts. When they came to the stable and she saw her Papa, Chara straightened and held her head like a lady was supposed to. She walked towards Papa and Rafail, still holding Sibylla, with as much confidence and poise as a five-year-old could muster. “Papa, Rafail,” she greeted like a lady would. That’s right. She wasn’t a baby. Elias was a baby because he was only three, but she was a lady. A real lady.
Chara glanced at the pony that her cousin pointed at and snorted. “He can’t lead you to victory. He’s too small.” Like you, she thought smugly to herself. “He is pretty though,” she said with an approving nod, before turning to her Papa.
“Papa,” she said, “Can I- I mean may I have a pretty horse too? Only one that isn’t too small?”
Rafail was waiting for the praise he assumed would come from Uncle Keikelius, and a comment which agreed that Pegasos was a beautiful horse and would undoubtedly lead him to a win at any race. Instead, his cousin appeared out of nowhere, making fun of his pretty new pony. Rafail betted she didn't even have a pony, though he still frowned, crossing his arms and glaring at the girl as if that would make any difference in the slightest.
"He is not too small! He's a perfect size because Papa says that if he's too big, then I won't learn how to ride properly, so there." It wasn't the most persuasive argument, but it worked for Rafail, and, besides, seven-year-olds were not typically known for their expert use of logic. If he couldn't learn how to ride correctly because his horse was too big, how was he supposed to become the best rider in Greece? "Papa says that girls like it when boys are strong and good at riding. I bet if you saw how good at riding I was, then you would want to marry me right away." Even though marriage did not sound fun, and Rafail definitely didn't want to be stuck with a girl for the rest of his life. They were so boring.
At Chara's next words, however, he couldn't help but drop his hands to his hips, and tried to give the same look Papa always gave him when he said something that was apparently silly.
"That's not fair," he announced, fully prepared to throw a tantrum of sorts if the situation required it. It was his Mama's funeral, so he didn't see why his cousin should be getting anything at all. "Your Mama isn't even dead! My Mama is, so I'm supposed to get a pony so I won't cry." That was what Rafail assumed, anyhow, and it had almost worked. He still hadn't really cried about Mama like he felt he should have, even though he did keep thinking about how she wasn't ever going to be coming back and that did make him feel bad. But Papa and Pavlos weren't crying, and he didn't want them to think he was weak because he loved Mama too much.
"Uncle..." Rafail tried, pouting a little as he stared up at the man, hoping he might choose sense over Chara. "You can't give Chara a pony because Aunt Circenia is alive and it wouldn't fair. She doesn't even have anything to cry about."
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Rafail was waiting for the praise he assumed would come from Uncle Keikelius, and a comment which agreed that Pegasos was a beautiful horse and would undoubtedly lead him to a win at any race. Instead, his cousin appeared out of nowhere, making fun of his pretty new pony. Rafail betted she didn't even have a pony, though he still frowned, crossing his arms and glaring at the girl as if that would make any difference in the slightest.
"He is not too small! He's a perfect size because Papa says that if he's too big, then I won't learn how to ride properly, so there." It wasn't the most persuasive argument, but it worked for Rafail, and, besides, seven-year-olds were not typically known for their expert use of logic. If he couldn't learn how to ride correctly because his horse was too big, how was he supposed to become the best rider in Greece? "Papa says that girls like it when boys are strong and good at riding. I bet if you saw how good at riding I was, then you would want to marry me right away." Even though marriage did not sound fun, and Rafail definitely didn't want to be stuck with a girl for the rest of his life. They were so boring.
At Chara's next words, however, he couldn't help but drop his hands to his hips, and tried to give the same look Papa always gave him when he said something that was apparently silly.
"That's not fair," he announced, fully prepared to throw a tantrum of sorts if the situation required it. It was his Mama's funeral, so he didn't see why his cousin should be getting anything at all. "Your Mama isn't even dead! My Mama is, so I'm supposed to get a pony so I won't cry." That was what Rafail assumed, anyhow, and it had almost worked. He still hadn't really cried about Mama like he felt he should have, even though he did keep thinking about how she wasn't ever going to be coming back and that did make him feel bad. But Papa and Pavlos weren't crying, and he didn't want them to think he was weak because he loved Mama too much.
"Uncle..." Rafail tried, pouting a little as he stared up at the man, hoping he might choose sense over Chara. "You can't give Chara a pony because Aunt Circenia is alive and it wouldn't fair. She doesn't even have anything to cry about."
Rafail was waiting for the praise he assumed would come from Uncle Keikelius, and a comment which agreed that Pegasos was a beautiful horse and would undoubtedly lead him to a win at any race. Instead, his cousin appeared out of nowhere, making fun of his pretty new pony. Rafail betted she didn't even have a pony, though he still frowned, crossing his arms and glaring at the girl as if that would make any difference in the slightest.
"He is not too small! He's a perfect size because Papa says that if he's too big, then I won't learn how to ride properly, so there." It wasn't the most persuasive argument, but it worked for Rafail, and, besides, seven-year-olds were not typically known for their expert use of logic. If he couldn't learn how to ride correctly because his horse was too big, how was he supposed to become the best rider in Greece? "Papa says that girls like it when boys are strong and good at riding. I bet if you saw how good at riding I was, then you would want to marry me right away." Even though marriage did not sound fun, and Rafail definitely didn't want to be stuck with a girl for the rest of his life. They were so boring.
At Chara's next words, however, he couldn't help but drop his hands to his hips, and tried to give the same look Papa always gave him when he said something that was apparently silly.
"That's not fair," he announced, fully prepared to throw a tantrum of sorts if the situation required it. It was his Mama's funeral, so he didn't see why his cousin should be getting anything at all. "Your Mama isn't even dead! My Mama is, so I'm supposed to get a pony so I won't cry." That was what Rafail assumed, anyhow, and it had almost worked. He still hadn't really cried about Mama like he felt he should have, even though he did keep thinking about how she wasn't ever going to be coming back and that did make him feel bad. But Papa and Pavlos weren't crying, and he didn't want them to think he was weak because he loved Mama too much.
"Uncle..." Rafail tried, pouting a little as he stared up at the man, hoping he might choose sense over Chara. "You can't give Chara a pony because Aunt Circenia is alive and it wouldn't fair. She doesn't even have anything to cry about."
Keikelius had not expected his daughter to catch up to himself and his nephew and the exchange between the two children actually had the man pinching the bridge of his nose. Have children they said, it would be fun they said. No one ever asked people if they wanted nieces or nephews. For a moment, Keikelius wished that he'd been given a choice of whether Justana had been able to reproduce with the Marikas lord. Every word out of his nephew's mouth was... inane.
He truly didn't care for children that were not his own, but he couldn't just be an ass, as was his inclination in that moment. Watching the two with a glazed look in his eye, Keikelius dropped his hands to his sides, giving his daughter a soft smile that said he would do absolutely anything if it pleased her. If she wanted a horse, he would purchase her one. There was no question of that. It was Rafail's declaration that it would not be fair if Keikelius did such a thing that had the adult rolling his eyes to the ceiling, knowing that he really didn't have to keep a stoic temperament in front of children that wouldn't remember five minutes from now.
"Rafail," Keikelius said in the most delicate way that he could muster, "The fact that your father has to give you a pony so that you don't cry says a lot about you as a person," he cooed in a way that was vaguely sweet but altogether fake. "While you get gifts to keep you silenced, Chara obtains gifts for being a well-behaved young girl," Keikelius declared. Then he looked toward Chara, offering the girl his hand so that he could guide her in the same way that he guided his newphew.
"In fact, if you do not cry at all today, I'll buy you a horse in the morning, Chara," why he was stooping to something so petty as proving something useless to a child, he didn't know. Maybe it was the competitive spirit, the part of him that constantly chanted 'my children are better than your children' that had him playing into this little childish squabble. "Now come on, both of you. We must return to the funeral, hopefully without anymore outbursts from you, nephew."
As if Keikelius hadn't instigated every single moment of that outburst that had sent the young lord Rafail from the funeral in the first place.
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Keikelius had not expected his daughter to catch up to himself and his nephew and the exchange between the two children actually had the man pinching the bridge of his nose. Have children they said, it would be fun they said. No one ever asked people if they wanted nieces or nephews. For a moment, Keikelius wished that he'd been given a choice of whether Justana had been able to reproduce with the Marikas lord. Every word out of his nephew's mouth was... inane.
He truly didn't care for children that were not his own, but he couldn't just be an ass, as was his inclination in that moment. Watching the two with a glazed look in his eye, Keikelius dropped his hands to his sides, giving his daughter a soft smile that said he would do absolutely anything if it pleased her. If she wanted a horse, he would purchase her one. There was no question of that. It was Rafail's declaration that it would not be fair if Keikelius did such a thing that had the adult rolling his eyes to the ceiling, knowing that he really didn't have to keep a stoic temperament in front of children that wouldn't remember five minutes from now.
"Rafail," Keikelius said in the most delicate way that he could muster, "The fact that your father has to give you a pony so that you don't cry says a lot about you as a person," he cooed in a way that was vaguely sweet but altogether fake. "While you get gifts to keep you silenced, Chara obtains gifts for being a well-behaved young girl," Keikelius declared. Then he looked toward Chara, offering the girl his hand so that he could guide her in the same way that he guided his newphew.
"In fact, if you do not cry at all today, I'll buy you a horse in the morning, Chara," why he was stooping to something so petty as proving something useless to a child, he didn't know. Maybe it was the competitive spirit, the part of him that constantly chanted 'my children are better than your children' that had him playing into this little childish squabble. "Now come on, both of you. We must return to the funeral, hopefully without anymore outbursts from you, nephew."
As if Keikelius hadn't instigated every single moment of that outburst that had sent the young lord Rafail from the funeral in the first place.
Keikelius had not expected his daughter to catch up to himself and his nephew and the exchange between the two children actually had the man pinching the bridge of his nose. Have children they said, it would be fun they said. No one ever asked people if they wanted nieces or nephews. For a moment, Keikelius wished that he'd been given a choice of whether Justana had been able to reproduce with the Marikas lord. Every word out of his nephew's mouth was... inane.
He truly didn't care for children that were not his own, but he couldn't just be an ass, as was his inclination in that moment. Watching the two with a glazed look in his eye, Keikelius dropped his hands to his sides, giving his daughter a soft smile that said he would do absolutely anything if it pleased her. If she wanted a horse, he would purchase her one. There was no question of that. It was Rafail's declaration that it would not be fair if Keikelius did such a thing that had the adult rolling his eyes to the ceiling, knowing that he really didn't have to keep a stoic temperament in front of children that wouldn't remember five minutes from now.
"Rafail," Keikelius said in the most delicate way that he could muster, "The fact that your father has to give you a pony so that you don't cry says a lot about you as a person," he cooed in a way that was vaguely sweet but altogether fake. "While you get gifts to keep you silenced, Chara obtains gifts for being a well-behaved young girl," Keikelius declared. Then he looked toward Chara, offering the girl his hand so that he could guide her in the same way that he guided his newphew.
"In fact, if you do not cry at all today, I'll buy you a horse in the morning, Chara," why he was stooping to something so petty as proving something useless to a child, he didn't know. Maybe it was the competitive spirit, the part of him that constantly chanted 'my children are better than your children' that had him playing into this little childish squabble. "Now come on, both of you. We must return to the funeral, hopefully without anymore outbursts from you, nephew."
As if Keikelius hadn't instigated every single moment of that outburst that had sent the young lord Rafail from the funeral in the first place.
Panos had his hands clasped behind his back, and his jaw set, as he waited for the manservant and his son to arrive. When they did arrive, the boy was so happy to see him, so obviously proud of himself. For what, Panos couldn’t pretend to know. He had been nothing but a nuisance all day, and had no remorse and understanding for his actions. When Panos didn’t react or respond to the boy thanking him for his pony (an attempt to console the boy and try to get him to behave, which had clearly been ineffective), the boy tried a different tactic. He sniffed a tearless sniffle and gave him his condolences for his mother’s death. Why the boy was pretending to cry in that moment, Panos, again, could not say, and if he was being quite frank with himself, didn’t care. He wanted to get through his day with as little disruption as possible.
For that to happen, he had to get Rafail in line. He bent down to the boy’s level, taking him firmly by the shoulders. “You will not cause any more trouble, do you hear me? You will not order the servants about. You will sit down and be quiet for the remainder of the funeral. Do you understand me, Rafail?” The boy conceded to obey his father, and the matter was settled - until, Panos imagined, the boy got bored again.
It was then that a familiar, snakey voice arose, and Panos was unimpressed, though not entirely surprised, to find Keikelius standing off to the side, clearly having witnessed the entire situation with his son. He chimed in with a suggestion of taking the boy for a walk. Innocent enough on the surface, and some might have even said thoughtful. Panos didn’t trust the man to even pour him a drink, but he had to admit, to have Rafail removed from the situation, even for a small amount of time, would be of benefit. He couldn’t rightly refuse, no matter the man’s intentions. He stood and nodded to Keikelius, clenching his jaw. ”Of course.” And with that, he left Rafail alone in the room with Keikelius, and made his way back to the table.
When he did return, Pavlos addressed him the moment he settled himself again. He asked, or at least, tried to ask, if it had hurt, if Justana had died in pain. The question made Panos pause. He looked at his eldest son, and could see the hurt and pain in his eyes, as much as he tried to his credit to mask it. Panos, too, sat back in his seat, taking up his own goblet of wine and taking a sip. He didn’t know if she was in pain or not. He hadn’t been there. He had never been there. But he couldn’t say that Pavlos. He looked at his son again, a moment of sympathy breaking through his features. ”No, my son. It did not hurt.” Panos could manage no more than that.
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Panos had his hands clasped behind his back, and his jaw set, as he waited for the manservant and his son to arrive. When they did arrive, the boy was so happy to see him, so obviously proud of himself. For what, Panos couldn’t pretend to know. He had been nothing but a nuisance all day, and had no remorse and understanding for his actions. When Panos didn’t react or respond to the boy thanking him for his pony (an attempt to console the boy and try to get him to behave, which had clearly been ineffective), the boy tried a different tactic. He sniffed a tearless sniffle and gave him his condolences for his mother’s death. Why the boy was pretending to cry in that moment, Panos, again, could not say, and if he was being quite frank with himself, didn’t care. He wanted to get through his day with as little disruption as possible.
For that to happen, he had to get Rafail in line. He bent down to the boy’s level, taking him firmly by the shoulders. “You will not cause any more trouble, do you hear me? You will not order the servants about. You will sit down and be quiet for the remainder of the funeral. Do you understand me, Rafail?” The boy conceded to obey his father, and the matter was settled - until, Panos imagined, the boy got bored again.
It was then that a familiar, snakey voice arose, and Panos was unimpressed, though not entirely surprised, to find Keikelius standing off to the side, clearly having witnessed the entire situation with his son. He chimed in with a suggestion of taking the boy for a walk. Innocent enough on the surface, and some might have even said thoughtful. Panos didn’t trust the man to even pour him a drink, but he had to admit, to have Rafail removed from the situation, even for a small amount of time, would be of benefit. He couldn’t rightly refuse, no matter the man’s intentions. He stood and nodded to Keikelius, clenching his jaw. ”Of course.” And with that, he left Rafail alone in the room with Keikelius, and made his way back to the table.
When he did return, Pavlos addressed him the moment he settled himself again. He asked, or at least, tried to ask, if it had hurt, if Justana had died in pain. The question made Panos pause. He looked at his eldest son, and could see the hurt and pain in his eyes, as much as he tried to his credit to mask it. Panos, too, sat back in his seat, taking up his own goblet of wine and taking a sip. He didn’t know if she was in pain or not. He hadn’t been there. He had never been there. But he couldn’t say that Pavlos. He looked at his son again, a moment of sympathy breaking through his features. ”No, my son. It did not hurt.” Panos could manage no more than that.
Panos had his hands clasped behind his back, and his jaw set, as he waited for the manservant and his son to arrive. When they did arrive, the boy was so happy to see him, so obviously proud of himself. For what, Panos couldn’t pretend to know. He had been nothing but a nuisance all day, and had no remorse and understanding for his actions. When Panos didn’t react or respond to the boy thanking him for his pony (an attempt to console the boy and try to get him to behave, which had clearly been ineffective), the boy tried a different tactic. He sniffed a tearless sniffle and gave him his condolences for his mother’s death. Why the boy was pretending to cry in that moment, Panos, again, could not say, and if he was being quite frank with himself, didn’t care. He wanted to get through his day with as little disruption as possible.
For that to happen, he had to get Rafail in line. He bent down to the boy’s level, taking him firmly by the shoulders. “You will not cause any more trouble, do you hear me? You will not order the servants about. You will sit down and be quiet for the remainder of the funeral. Do you understand me, Rafail?” The boy conceded to obey his father, and the matter was settled - until, Panos imagined, the boy got bored again.
It was then that a familiar, snakey voice arose, and Panos was unimpressed, though not entirely surprised, to find Keikelius standing off to the side, clearly having witnessed the entire situation with his son. He chimed in with a suggestion of taking the boy for a walk. Innocent enough on the surface, and some might have even said thoughtful. Panos didn’t trust the man to even pour him a drink, but he had to admit, to have Rafail removed from the situation, even for a small amount of time, would be of benefit. He couldn’t rightly refuse, no matter the man’s intentions. He stood and nodded to Keikelius, clenching his jaw. ”Of course.” And with that, he left Rafail alone in the room with Keikelius, and made his way back to the table.
When he did return, Pavlos addressed him the moment he settled himself again. He asked, or at least, tried to ask, if it had hurt, if Justana had died in pain. The question made Panos pause. He looked at his eldest son, and could see the hurt and pain in his eyes, as much as he tried to his credit to mask it. Panos, too, sat back in his seat, taking up his own goblet of wine and taking a sip. He didn’t know if she was in pain or not. He hadn’t been there. He had never been there. But he couldn’t say that Pavlos. He looked at his son again, a moment of sympathy breaking through his features. ”No, my son. It did not hurt.” Panos could manage no more than that.
Well, that wasn't true. Rafail was pretty sure he was getting the pony because Papa was proud of him for not crying and wanted him to stay that way. That made sense, anyway. But Uncle Keikelius had always seemed to like telling him off and being mean for no reason, and didn't seem to understand a lot that Rafail thought was very simple. But not everyone could be smart and special like Mama had always said he was, so he decided not to correct the man any more, instead turning his attention back to his cousin and glaring at her. When Aunt Circenia died, he was going to buy his own horse just to spite her, and he would see who was laughing then. At least Chara thought the pony was pretty. Shame she was just a baby herself, so no one cared what she had to say.
Chara was getting a horse for the exact same reason as him, which didn't make any sense now anyway, so Rafail made a point of letting go of his uncle's hand and crossing his arms over each other, pouting in frustration. Everything was going wrong, and that wasn't fair. They were supposed to be nice to him because of Mama, not horrible like this. He was going to ignore them and be nice to Papa instead, and then they would see who was a well-behaved boy, so there.
"I'm going to sit with Papa," he announced proudly, pausing for a second to turn back to the Stravos duo with his hands on his hips. "And then you can see how good I am. You're just jealous because Mama loved me best of all, even though you're her brother and she's supposed to love you too. And her niece or something." That argument was getting away from him, but it had sounded strong enough, so he made a sort of proud flourish with the hem of his chiton, then strode off in the direction of his father, only to be intersected by his stupid nursemaid.
"I want to see Papa," he demanded, trying to push past her, though she was still stronger and wouldn't let him. Instead, her hand came swooping down to take his firmly, and she began to walk back towards the house, mumbling something about how it was time for him to start getting ready for bed because it was late and people would be leaving soon, but she would make him a hot goblet of milk if he was good. Rafail supposed that was alright, but only because he didn't want to have to think about the whole funeral or Mama's death anymore.
The Marikas child allowed her to lead him past the crowd still finishing in the dining hall so that he could give them a cute farewell wave and they would see that he was just as precious as ever, then let her take him all the way upstairs and sit him down on his bed. And when Maeja was finally gone, he fell back on the cushions and stared up at the ceiling and cried every tear that had not come before, because Mama was dead, and there was nothing he could do about it anymore.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Well, that wasn't true. Rafail was pretty sure he was getting the pony because Papa was proud of him for not crying and wanted him to stay that way. That made sense, anyway. But Uncle Keikelius had always seemed to like telling him off and being mean for no reason, and didn't seem to understand a lot that Rafail thought was very simple. But not everyone could be smart and special like Mama had always said he was, so he decided not to correct the man any more, instead turning his attention back to his cousin and glaring at her. When Aunt Circenia died, he was going to buy his own horse just to spite her, and he would see who was laughing then. At least Chara thought the pony was pretty. Shame she was just a baby herself, so no one cared what she had to say.
Chara was getting a horse for the exact same reason as him, which didn't make any sense now anyway, so Rafail made a point of letting go of his uncle's hand and crossing his arms over each other, pouting in frustration. Everything was going wrong, and that wasn't fair. They were supposed to be nice to him because of Mama, not horrible like this. He was going to ignore them and be nice to Papa instead, and then they would see who was a well-behaved boy, so there.
"I'm going to sit with Papa," he announced proudly, pausing for a second to turn back to the Stravos duo with his hands on his hips. "And then you can see how good I am. You're just jealous because Mama loved me best of all, even though you're her brother and she's supposed to love you too. And her niece or something." That argument was getting away from him, but it had sounded strong enough, so he made a sort of proud flourish with the hem of his chiton, then strode off in the direction of his father, only to be intersected by his stupid nursemaid.
"I want to see Papa," he demanded, trying to push past her, though she was still stronger and wouldn't let him. Instead, her hand came swooping down to take his firmly, and she began to walk back towards the house, mumbling something about how it was time for him to start getting ready for bed because it was late and people would be leaving soon, but she would make him a hot goblet of milk if he was good. Rafail supposed that was alright, but only because he didn't want to have to think about the whole funeral or Mama's death anymore.
The Marikas child allowed her to lead him past the crowd still finishing in the dining hall so that he could give them a cute farewell wave and they would see that he was just as precious as ever, then let her take him all the way upstairs and sit him down on his bed. And when Maeja was finally gone, he fell back on the cushions and stared up at the ceiling and cried every tear that had not come before, because Mama was dead, and there was nothing he could do about it anymore.
Well, that wasn't true. Rafail was pretty sure he was getting the pony because Papa was proud of him for not crying and wanted him to stay that way. That made sense, anyway. But Uncle Keikelius had always seemed to like telling him off and being mean for no reason, and didn't seem to understand a lot that Rafail thought was very simple. But not everyone could be smart and special like Mama had always said he was, so he decided not to correct the man any more, instead turning his attention back to his cousin and glaring at her. When Aunt Circenia died, he was going to buy his own horse just to spite her, and he would see who was laughing then. At least Chara thought the pony was pretty. Shame she was just a baby herself, so no one cared what she had to say.
Chara was getting a horse for the exact same reason as him, which didn't make any sense now anyway, so Rafail made a point of letting go of his uncle's hand and crossing his arms over each other, pouting in frustration. Everything was going wrong, and that wasn't fair. They were supposed to be nice to him because of Mama, not horrible like this. He was going to ignore them and be nice to Papa instead, and then they would see who was a well-behaved boy, so there.
"I'm going to sit with Papa," he announced proudly, pausing for a second to turn back to the Stravos duo with his hands on his hips. "And then you can see how good I am. You're just jealous because Mama loved me best of all, even though you're her brother and she's supposed to love you too. And her niece or something." That argument was getting away from him, but it had sounded strong enough, so he made a sort of proud flourish with the hem of his chiton, then strode off in the direction of his father, only to be intersected by his stupid nursemaid.
"I want to see Papa," he demanded, trying to push past her, though she was still stronger and wouldn't let him. Instead, her hand came swooping down to take his firmly, and she began to walk back towards the house, mumbling something about how it was time for him to start getting ready for bed because it was late and people would be leaving soon, but she would make him a hot goblet of milk if he was good. Rafail supposed that was alright, but only because he didn't want to have to think about the whole funeral or Mama's death anymore.
The Marikas child allowed her to lead him past the crowd still finishing in the dining hall so that he could give them a cute farewell wave and they would see that he was just as precious as ever, then let her take him all the way upstairs and sit him down on his bed. And when Maeja was finally gone, he fell back on the cushions and stared up at the ceiling and cried every tear that had not come before, because Mama was dead, and there was nothing he could do about it anymore.
