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It had taken Rafail a long time to get that idea in his head. Mama was dead and she wasn't coming back. Papa had not told Rafail how it had happened, only that it had happened, and he had told him to go and see her and bought him a new pony to make sure he was feeling alright. Maeja, his nursemaid, had taken him to look at the body and told him he needed to hold his mother's hand because it was the last time he would ever be able to. Her hand had been cold and stiff and he had not liked holding it. He didn't know why he had to hold her hand. Mama was dead.
Sofia had cried a lot. Papa had told Rafail not to cry as well but he had not wanted to cry. The seven-year-old had stood next to Papa and Pavlos and his uncle and had watched his sister and his brother's pregnant wife and his brother's infant daughters sobbing over Mama's body. Sera had brought him a new spinning top and kissed him on the top of the head. He had wondered if she thought she was going to try and act in place of Mama. He had not wanted her to. She was not his mama. His Mama was dead.
They had taken the body to be buried - Maeja had made Rafail hold her hand the whole way there even though he had told her he didn't want to and he wasn't scared. There had been a lot of people in the procession: friends and family and musicians. Someone had asked him how he was feeling and he had told them about his new pony and how it was supposed to make him feel better. They had laughed and given him a whole new set of marbles and told him everything would be alright but he knew that. Everything would be alright even though Mama was dead.
They had buried the body where all the Marikas family members were buried. Rafail had watched Papa the whole time and wondered if, one day, he would have to bury his wife. He wondered how he would feel and if he would be as stoic as Papa. He didn't think he would love his wife. He knew he didn't love Maeja and she was the only woman in his life who wasn't his sister. All he knew was Papa had not cried when he had found out Mama was dead.
When they had gone home once again for the perideipnon, Rafail had not been sat next to Papa. Pavlos had been sat next to Papa, and Uncle Keikelius on his other side, and he had been sat next to his uncle. He had cried because he hadn't wanted to sit next to the man but they had only thought he cried for his mother and, with his young age, they had let him be. Rafail had stopped his tantrum when he had seen how little they seemed to care and done as he'd been told, frowning up at his uncle and waiting for him to say something apologetic like everybody else had done instead of just talk about his stupid boat trade like he always did instead.
Mama was dead and he knew he could milk that for all it was worth.
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Mama was dead.
It had taken Rafail a long time to get that idea in his head. Mama was dead and she wasn't coming back. Papa had not told Rafail how it had happened, only that it had happened, and he had told him to go and see her and bought him a new pony to make sure he was feeling alright. Maeja, his nursemaid, had taken him to look at the body and told him he needed to hold his mother's hand because it was the last time he would ever be able to. Her hand had been cold and stiff and he had not liked holding it. He didn't know why he had to hold her hand. Mama was dead.
Sofia had cried a lot. Papa had told Rafail not to cry as well but he had not wanted to cry. The seven-year-old had stood next to Papa and Pavlos and his uncle and had watched his sister and his brother's pregnant wife and his brother's infant daughters sobbing over Mama's body. Sera had brought him a new spinning top and kissed him on the top of the head. He had wondered if she thought she was going to try and act in place of Mama. He had not wanted her to. She was not his mama. His Mama was dead.
They had taken the body to be buried - Maeja had made Rafail hold her hand the whole way there even though he had told her he didn't want to and he wasn't scared. There had been a lot of people in the procession: friends and family and musicians. Someone had asked him how he was feeling and he had told them about his new pony and how it was supposed to make him feel better. They had laughed and given him a whole new set of marbles and told him everything would be alright but he knew that. Everything would be alright even though Mama was dead.
They had buried the body where all the Marikas family members were buried. Rafail had watched Papa the whole time and wondered if, one day, he would have to bury his wife. He wondered how he would feel and if he would be as stoic as Papa. He didn't think he would love his wife. He knew he didn't love Maeja and she was the only woman in his life who wasn't his sister. All he knew was Papa had not cried when he had found out Mama was dead.
When they had gone home once again for the perideipnon, Rafail had not been sat next to Papa. Pavlos had been sat next to Papa, and Uncle Keikelius on his other side, and he had been sat next to his uncle. He had cried because he hadn't wanted to sit next to the man but they had only thought he cried for his mother and, with his young age, they had let him be. Rafail had stopped his tantrum when he had seen how little they seemed to care and done as he'd been told, frowning up at his uncle and waiting for him to say something apologetic like everybody else had done instead of just talk about his stupid boat trade like he always did instead.
Mama was dead and he knew he could milk that for all it was worth.
Mama was dead.
It had taken Rafail a long time to get that idea in his head. Mama was dead and she wasn't coming back. Papa had not told Rafail how it had happened, only that it had happened, and he had told him to go and see her and bought him a new pony to make sure he was feeling alright. Maeja, his nursemaid, had taken him to look at the body and told him he needed to hold his mother's hand because it was the last time he would ever be able to. Her hand had been cold and stiff and he had not liked holding it. He didn't know why he had to hold her hand. Mama was dead.
Sofia had cried a lot. Papa had told Rafail not to cry as well but he had not wanted to cry. The seven-year-old had stood next to Papa and Pavlos and his uncle and had watched his sister and his brother's pregnant wife and his brother's infant daughters sobbing over Mama's body. Sera had brought him a new spinning top and kissed him on the top of the head. He had wondered if she thought she was going to try and act in place of Mama. He had not wanted her to. She was not his mama. His Mama was dead.
They had taken the body to be buried - Maeja had made Rafail hold her hand the whole way there even though he had told her he didn't want to and he wasn't scared. There had been a lot of people in the procession: friends and family and musicians. Someone had asked him how he was feeling and he had told them about his new pony and how it was supposed to make him feel better. They had laughed and given him a whole new set of marbles and told him everything would be alright but he knew that. Everything would be alright even though Mama was dead.
They had buried the body where all the Marikas family members were buried. Rafail had watched Papa the whole time and wondered if, one day, he would have to bury his wife. He wondered how he would feel and if he would be as stoic as Papa. He didn't think he would love his wife. He knew he didn't love Maeja and she was the only woman in his life who wasn't his sister. All he knew was Papa had not cried when he had found out Mama was dead.
When they had gone home once again for the perideipnon, Rafail had not been sat next to Papa. Pavlos had been sat next to Papa, and Uncle Keikelius on his other side, and he had been sat next to his uncle. He had cried because he hadn't wanted to sit next to the man but they had only thought he cried for his mother and, with his young age, they had let him be. Rafail had stopped his tantrum when he had seen how little they seemed to care and done as he'd been told, frowning up at his uncle and waiting for him to say something apologetic like everybody else had done instead of just talk about his stupid boat trade like he always did instead.
Mama was dead and he knew he could milk that for all it was worth.
The news had been... not entirely shocking. Keikelius had found that he hadn't even shed a tear over his sister's death. Of course, he had loved her, but death was often the natural course of things. He would not be sad when she had lived a good life. Maybe that life wasn't as long as he'd wished it had been, but she'd made the most of her time.
Besides, Keikelius found it entirely unsuitable for people to sniffle and cry so much over one person. Especially not in the public eye. There were too many eyes about, too many whispers... and he had a reputation to uphold.
Cold and unfeeling at even the best of times, Keikelius had moved through the procession of his sister's funeral with a sort of frigid calm. He walked behind his in-laws and his sister's children, silently observing the way that the children were behaving. Little Rafail seemed intent on throwing a fit at every instance, and Keikelius couldn't deny that the constant giving of gifts to the tyke was... abhorrent.
He was old enough to be whipped for his behavior. As Keikelius had been when he had dared to throw any sort of temper tantrum at that age. His father's switch had been made to strike true. When he'd been older, it'd been a fist or two. Sometimes a knee. The fact of it all was that Keikelius had learned... and he'd learned fast. And when his frustration over his father's actions had gotten to him, he'd put that frustration into his work.
Look where he'd gotten himself now.
A wife. Two children. And an empire of ships and trade deals that was ever growing. Ever expanding. His penchant for grabbing at power had not diminished in the slightest. If he had anything to say about the future, he'd use even his own children to further his own ambitions. His family holding the crown.
Ignoring the child in front of him, Keikelius spared a single glance to his wife. She seemed as bothered as he was by the procession, her own gaze meeting his. A silent conversation seemed to pass between them in the blink of an eye before Keikelius brought his attention back to his duties.
His duties as a brother and member of Justana's family.
It was only when they had all been lead back to the Marikas home that Keikelius once again grew hyper-aware of his nephew. And the way that the boy seemed to cry for the longest time. Considering he hadn't cried at all for the purpose of mourning his mother, Keikelius was doubtful that the crocodile tears were truly in sadness for his birth giver.
Noting that the boy's attention had been turned on Keikelius himself, the man turned a shrewd and unfeeling gaze on the child. His only token of affection toward the kid was the way he lifted his hand, placing it on top of Rafail's head in a sort of half-pat.
"It is perfectly normal to not be sad, Rafail," Keikelius commented firmly, gaze fixed on Rafail's tiny features.
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The news had been... not entirely shocking. Keikelius had found that he hadn't even shed a tear over his sister's death. Of course, he had loved her, but death was often the natural course of things. He would not be sad when she had lived a good life. Maybe that life wasn't as long as he'd wished it had been, but she'd made the most of her time.
Besides, Keikelius found it entirely unsuitable for people to sniffle and cry so much over one person. Especially not in the public eye. There were too many eyes about, too many whispers... and he had a reputation to uphold.
Cold and unfeeling at even the best of times, Keikelius had moved through the procession of his sister's funeral with a sort of frigid calm. He walked behind his in-laws and his sister's children, silently observing the way that the children were behaving. Little Rafail seemed intent on throwing a fit at every instance, and Keikelius couldn't deny that the constant giving of gifts to the tyke was... abhorrent.
He was old enough to be whipped for his behavior. As Keikelius had been when he had dared to throw any sort of temper tantrum at that age. His father's switch had been made to strike true. When he'd been older, it'd been a fist or two. Sometimes a knee. The fact of it all was that Keikelius had learned... and he'd learned fast. And when his frustration over his father's actions had gotten to him, he'd put that frustration into his work.
Look where he'd gotten himself now.
A wife. Two children. And an empire of ships and trade deals that was ever growing. Ever expanding. His penchant for grabbing at power had not diminished in the slightest. If he had anything to say about the future, he'd use even his own children to further his own ambitions. His family holding the crown.
Ignoring the child in front of him, Keikelius spared a single glance to his wife. She seemed as bothered as he was by the procession, her own gaze meeting his. A silent conversation seemed to pass between them in the blink of an eye before Keikelius brought his attention back to his duties.
His duties as a brother and member of Justana's family.
It was only when they had all been lead back to the Marikas home that Keikelius once again grew hyper-aware of his nephew. And the way that the boy seemed to cry for the longest time. Considering he hadn't cried at all for the purpose of mourning his mother, Keikelius was doubtful that the crocodile tears were truly in sadness for his birth giver.
Noting that the boy's attention had been turned on Keikelius himself, the man turned a shrewd and unfeeling gaze on the child. His only token of affection toward the kid was the way he lifted his hand, placing it on top of Rafail's head in a sort of half-pat.
"It is perfectly normal to not be sad, Rafail," Keikelius commented firmly, gaze fixed on Rafail's tiny features.
The news had been... not entirely shocking. Keikelius had found that he hadn't even shed a tear over his sister's death. Of course, he had loved her, but death was often the natural course of things. He would not be sad when she had lived a good life. Maybe that life wasn't as long as he'd wished it had been, but she'd made the most of her time.
Besides, Keikelius found it entirely unsuitable for people to sniffle and cry so much over one person. Especially not in the public eye. There were too many eyes about, too many whispers... and he had a reputation to uphold.
Cold and unfeeling at even the best of times, Keikelius had moved through the procession of his sister's funeral with a sort of frigid calm. He walked behind his in-laws and his sister's children, silently observing the way that the children were behaving. Little Rafail seemed intent on throwing a fit at every instance, and Keikelius couldn't deny that the constant giving of gifts to the tyke was... abhorrent.
He was old enough to be whipped for his behavior. As Keikelius had been when he had dared to throw any sort of temper tantrum at that age. His father's switch had been made to strike true. When he'd been older, it'd been a fist or two. Sometimes a knee. The fact of it all was that Keikelius had learned... and he'd learned fast. And when his frustration over his father's actions had gotten to him, he'd put that frustration into his work.
Look where he'd gotten himself now.
A wife. Two children. And an empire of ships and trade deals that was ever growing. Ever expanding. His penchant for grabbing at power had not diminished in the slightest. If he had anything to say about the future, he'd use even his own children to further his own ambitions. His family holding the crown.
Ignoring the child in front of him, Keikelius spared a single glance to his wife. She seemed as bothered as he was by the procession, her own gaze meeting his. A silent conversation seemed to pass between them in the blink of an eye before Keikelius brought his attention back to his duties.
His duties as a brother and member of Justana's family.
It was only when they had all been lead back to the Marikas home that Keikelius once again grew hyper-aware of his nephew. And the way that the boy seemed to cry for the longest time. Considering he hadn't cried at all for the purpose of mourning his mother, Keikelius was doubtful that the crocodile tears were truly in sadness for his birth giver.
Noting that the boy's attention had been turned on Keikelius himself, the man turned a shrewd and unfeeling gaze on the child. His only token of affection toward the kid was the way he lifted his hand, placing it on top of Rafail's head in a sort of half-pat.
"It is perfectly normal to not be sad, Rafail," Keikelius commented firmly, gaze fixed on Rafail's tiny features.
That was not the kind of response Rafail had been expecting. It was not the kind of response he was used to. He liked to be doted on and coddled and if ever there was a time he thought he should be babied, it was now. He knew that Uncle Keikelius had lost a sister - Maeja had said he should be considerate because his uncle must have been very sad and imagine if he had lost his sister, didn't he love her? - but he had lost his Mama! That was much more important, he knew that. You could have lots and lots of sisters but you could only have one Mama.
"I am sad." Rafail frowned right back at Uncle Keikelius and the way he put his stupid hand on his head and said those stupid words, lip jutting out in that ever so petulant way he had perfected over the years. He was supposed to be sad. Papa was sad. Pavlos was sad. Sofia was still a dumb baby but she was sad. So Rafail was sad too. That was the way things worked.
Except he didn't really feel anything. Mama was dead so he was supposed to be sad and cry but he only cried because he wanted to sit with Papa and not with Uncle Keikelius. Rafail did not like his uncle. He did not like the way the man was so strict and unfeeling and would not give him what he wanted. He did not like people who did not pay attention to him or who said stupid things like that it was normal not to be sad when it wasn't normal and he was sad. He told everyone he was sad and everyone told him that it would be alright and then they gave him something new. If he was sad then he got things and that was what he liked.
The feast was very big. That was important, Rafail knew. Papa wanted everyone to see that they were very rich and very important and he liked that too. People were supposed to know when you were important so that they knew they had to be nice to you, he remembered learning that. They had all the normal foods out: all the meats and fish and cheeses and everything you could think of to eat and drink. Rafail had plenty of good food in front of him as well - sometimes he thought maybe Papa tried to distract him like that with things he liked - but he also had figs and Rafail did not like figs. Figs were horrible and icky and poor and he was not going to eat them. And they made him sick.
The only grown-up who was paying him any attention was Uncle Keikelius, even though it didn't look like he wanted to be. Rafail looked at him very intently, trying to look just as imperious as he did whenever he had to yell at the people who worked in his house because he didn't like something. "I don't like figs. And...and that's not fair because Mama died and what if I eat them and then I die!" He let his bottom lip quiver as though in fear and his eyes start to brim over with tears - he was the best at crying - and looked frantically between his uncle and Papa. "And Papa is busy so you have to get rid of them and you have to get rid of whoever served them to me because they're supposed to make me feel better today and they're not doing that!"
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That was not the kind of response Rafail had been expecting. It was not the kind of response he was used to. He liked to be doted on and coddled and if ever there was a time he thought he should be babied, it was now. He knew that Uncle Keikelius had lost a sister - Maeja had said he should be considerate because his uncle must have been very sad and imagine if he had lost his sister, didn't he love her? - but he had lost his Mama! That was much more important, he knew that. You could have lots and lots of sisters but you could only have one Mama.
"I am sad." Rafail frowned right back at Uncle Keikelius and the way he put his stupid hand on his head and said those stupid words, lip jutting out in that ever so petulant way he had perfected over the years. He was supposed to be sad. Papa was sad. Pavlos was sad. Sofia was still a dumb baby but she was sad. So Rafail was sad too. That was the way things worked.
Except he didn't really feel anything. Mama was dead so he was supposed to be sad and cry but he only cried because he wanted to sit with Papa and not with Uncle Keikelius. Rafail did not like his uncle. He did not like the way the man was so strict and unfeeling and would not give him what he wanted. He did not like people who did not pay attention to him or who said stupid things like that it was normal not to be sad when it wasn't normal and he was sad. He told everyone he was sad and everyone told him that it would be alright and then they gave him something new. If he was sad then he got things and that was what he liked.
The feast was very big. That was important, Rafail knew. Papa wanted everyone to see that they were very rich and very important and he liked that too. People were supposed to know when you were important so that they knew they had to be nice to you, he remembered learning that. They had all the normal foods out: all the meats and fish and cheeses and everything you could think of to eat and drink. Rafail had plenty of good food in front of him as well - sometimes he thought maybe Papa tried to distract him like that with things he liked - but he also had figs and Rafail did not like figs. Figs were horrible and icky and poor and he was not going to eat them. And they made him sick.
The only grown-up who was paying him any attention was Uncle Keikelius, even though it didn't look like he wanted to be. Rafail looked at him very intently, trying to look just as imperious as he did whenever he had to yell at the people who worked in his house because he didn't like something. "I don't like figs. And...and that's not fair because Mama died and what if I eat them and then I die!" He let his bottom lip quiver as though in fear and his eyes start to brim over with tears - he was the best at crying - and looked frantically between his uncle and Papa. "And Papa is busy so you have to get rid of them and you have to get rid of whoever served them to me because they're supposed to make me feel better today and they're not doing that!"
That was not the kind of response Rafail had been expecting. It was not the kind of response he was used to. He liked to be doted on and coddled and if ever there was a time he thought he should be babied, it was now. He knew that Uncle Keikelius had lost a sister - Maeja had said he should be considerate because his uncle must have been very sad and imagine if he had lost his sister, didn't he love her? - but he had lost his Mama! That was much more important, he knew that. You could have lots and lots of sisters but you could only have one Mama.
"I am sad." Rafail frowned right back at Uncle Keikelius and the way he put his stupid hand on his head and said those stupid words, lip jutting out in that ever so petulant way he had perfected over the years. He was supposed to be sad. Papa was sad. Pavlos was sad. Sofia was still a dumb baby but she was sad. So Rafail was sad too. That was the way things worked.
Except he didn't really feel anything. Mama was dead so he was supposed to be sad and cry but he only cried because he wanted to sit with Papa and not with Uncle Keikelius. Rafail did not like his uncle. He did not like the way the man was so strict and unfeeling and would not give him what he wanted. He did not like people who did not pay attention to him or who said stupid things like that it was normal not to be sad when it wasn't normal and he was sad. He told everyone he was sad and everyone told him that it would be alright and then they gave him something new. If he was sad then he got things and that was what he liked.
The feast was very big. That was important, Rafail knew. Papa wanted everyone to see that they were very rich and very important and he liked that too. People were supposed to know when you were important so that they knew they had to be nice to you, he remembered learning that. They had all the normal foods out: all the meats and fish and cheeses and everything you could think of to eat and drink. Rafail had plenty of good food in front of him as well - sometimes he thought maybe Papa tried to distract him like that with things he liked - but he also had figs and Rafail did not like figs. Figs were horrible and icky and poor and he was not going to eat them. And they made him sick.
The only grown-up who was paying him any attention was Uncle Keikelius, even though it didn't look like he wanted to be. Rafail looked at him very intently, trying to look just as imperious as he did whenever he had to yell at the people who worked in his house because he didn't like something. "I don't like figs. And...and that's not fair because Mama died and what if I eat them and then I die!" He let his bottom lip quiver as though in fear and his eyes start to brim over with tears - he was the best at crying - and looked frantically between his uncle and Papa. "And Papa is busy so you have to get rid of them and you have to get rid of whoever served them to me because they're supposed to make me feel better today and they're not doing that!"
Keikelius' own children would never have been allowed to act in this manner. At least when the both of them grew to this age, the man would ensure that they remain on their best behavior. Not weeping and throwing temper tantrums as his brother-in-law had allowed of his son. Still, Keikelius refrained from curling his lip at the boy, growing so profoundly irritated that he had half a mind to drag his nephew into the hall and put him in his place.
The man had to remind himself that Rafail was still a child. A child who had lost his mother. Bringing his gaze back to the procession and feast, Keikelius placed his attention on the men beside him. He would nod sagely from time to time, opting to give his nephew a few minutes to calm down. He was not going to deal with childish requests and demands. He simply wasn't that type of man. This was not a business agreement. He had bigger things to consider than the fact that his nephew hated...
Figs.
He almost rolled his eyes.
Chara would never have been permitted to act as this boy was acting. At least his eldest could show the slightest bit of maturity.
"You will not die if you eat your figs, Little Lord," Keikelius finally allowed himself to address the boy. "Your mother did not die of eating figs," his tone implied that his infinite patience was slowly waning. When Rafail demanded that Keikelius get rid of the person who served him figs, the Lord breathed out slowly through his nose.
Dangerous. He was feeling dangerously close to snapping.
Once more fixing his gaze on his nephew, Keikelius' nostrils flared out of irritation. The boy truly had no sense at all, did he? He was not the only individual that had lost someone they loved. While Keikelius was not at all heartbroken over his sister's death, he still would miss the Athenian beauty. H would feel her loss in the fact that she was simply absent.
"I would hold your tongue, Lord Rafail," the man hummed in his direction. "Or I shall serve you more figs myself. Today is not your day. It is your mother's. So quiet down and at least pretend that you care that she's gone. You only feel bad that no one is paying attention to you, and that behavior does not suit a boy of your stature."
The words were cold but frank. Keikelius wasn't going to put up with the child's temper tantrum over absolutely nothing. He was not obligated to do anything for the boy, and he wouldn't. If the boy were allowed to act as he was, he would grow into a lord who garnered no real respect from those in his service. Behind closed doors, he would be laughed at and gossiped about. Few would take him seriously were he to pursue any sort of position of power.
It was for that reason that the Stravos lord refused to coddle him.
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Keikelius' own children would never have been allowed to act in this manner. At least when the both of them grew to this age, the man would ensure that they remain on their best behavior. Not weeping and throwing temper tantrums as his brother-in-law had allowed of his son. Still, Keikelius refrained from curling his lip at the boy, growing so profoundly irritated that he had half a mind to drag his nephew into the hall and put him in his place.
The man had to remind himself that Rafail was still a child. A child who had lost his mother. Bringing his gaze back to the procession and feast, Keikelius placed his attention on the men beside him. He would nod sagely from time to time, opting to give his nephew a few minutes to calm down. He was not going to deal with childish requests and demands. He simply wasn't that type of man. This was not a business agreement. He had bigger things to consider than the fact that his nephew hated...
Figs.
He almost rolled his eyes.
Chara would never have been permitted to act as this boy was acting. At least his eldest could show the slightest bit of maturity.
"You will not die if you eat your figs, Little Lord," Keikelius finally allowed himself to address the boy. "Your mother did not die of eating figs," his tone implied that his infinite patience was slowly waning. When Rafail demanded that Keikelius get rid of the person who served him figs, the Lord breathed out slowly through his nose.
Dangerous. He was feeling dangerously close to snapping.
Once more fixing his gaze on his nephew, Keikelius' nostrils flared out of irritation. The boy truly had no sense at all, did he? He was not the only individual that had lost someone they loved. While Keikelius was not at all heartbroken over his sister's death, he still would miss the Athenian beauty. H would feel her loss in the fact that she was simply absent.
"I would hold your tongue, Lord Rafail," the man hummed in his direction. "Or I shall serve you more figs myself. Today is not your day. It is your mother's. So quiet down and at least pretend that you care that she's gone. You only feel bad that no one is paying attention to you, and that behavior does not suit a boy of your stature."
The words were cold but frank. Keikelius wasn't going to put up with the child's temper tantrum over absolutely nothing. He was not obligated to do anything for the boy, and he wouldn't. If the boy were allowed to act as he was, he would grow into a lord who garnered no real respect from those in his service. Behind closed doors, he would be laughed at and gossiped about. Few would take him seriously were he to pursue any sort of position of power.
It was for that reason that the Stravos lord refused to coddle him.
Keikelius' own children would never have been allowed to act in this manner. At least when the both of them grew to this age, the man would ensure that they remain on their best behavior. Not weeping and throwing temper tantrums as his brother-in-law had allowed of his son. Still, Keikelius refrained from curling his lip at the boy, growing so profoundly irritated that he had half a mind to drag his nephew into the hall and put him in his place.
The man had to remind himself that Rafail was still a child. A child who had lost his mother. Bringing his gaze back to the procession and feast, Keikelius placed his attention on the men beside him. He would nod sagely from time to time, opting to give his nephew a few minutes to calm down. He was not going to deal with childish requests and demands. He simply wasn't that type of man. This was not a business agreement. He had bigger things to consider than the fact that his nephew hated...
Figs.
He almost rolled his eyes.
Chara would never have been permitted to act as this boy was acting. At least his eldest could show the slightest bit of maturity.
"You will not die if you eat your figs, Little Lord," Keikelius finally allowed himself to address the boy. "Your mother did not die of eating figs," his tone implied that his infinite patience was slowly waning. When Rafail demanded that Keikelius get rid of the person who served him figs, the Lord breathed out slowly through his nose.
Dangerous. He was feeling dangerously close to snapping.
Once more fixing his gaze on his nephew, Keikelius' nostrils flared out of irritation. The boy truly had no sense at all, did he? He was not the only individual that had lost someone they loved. While Keikelius was not at all heartbroken over his sister's death, he still would miss the Athenian beauty. H would feel her loss in the fact that she was simply absent.
"I would hold your tongue, Lord Rafail," the man hummed in his direction. "Or I shall serve you more figs myself. Today is not your day. It is your mother's. So quiet down and at least pretend that you care that she's gone. You only feel bad that no one is paying attention to you, and that behavior does not suit a boy of your stature."
The words were cold but frank. Keikelius wasn't going to put up with the child's temper tantrum over absolutely nothing. He was not obligated to do anything for the boy, and he wouldn't. If the boy were allowed to act as he was, he would grow into a lord who garnered no real respect from those in his service. Behind closed doors, he would be laughed at and gossiped about. Few would take him seriously were he to pursue any sort of position of power.
It was for that reason that the Stravos lord refused to coddle him.
Um, Uncle Keikelius did not know if figs were going to kill Rafail or not. The last time he ate one, he had gone all red and was sick all day. He had not liked that. Except...when he was sick there was more fuss about him than the normal fuss about him and that was good too. Rafail liked it best when everyone was fussing about him. But maybe this time if he ate one he would die instead and he did not want to die. So Rafail was not going to eat any of his figs. But maybe he would pretend to be sick and see if everyone still fussed then. Maeja would definitely fuss but that was her job anyway so it didn't count. But Papa and Pavlos would have to fuss also and that was the most important fussing.
"If I die it's going to be all your fault," he announced, grabbing one of his stupid figs and squishing it in his hand as best he could. "And Papa will hate you lots and lots because I'm his favourite and you made me die." Rafail looked up at his uncle very seriously, trying to see if he was going to get upset or cry or anything like that but instead, he just looked extra annoyed with Rafail. No, that was all wrong! He was supposed to be upset about him maybe dying and upset that maybe Papa was going to hate him! Uncle Keikelius was doing everything wrong and Rafail did not like it when people did things wrong.
And now he was getting told off! It was his day! He knew that cos all the servants were being extra nice to him and Papa gave him a new pony and Sera gave him a new spinning top and Mama was dead anyway so she couldn't have a day anymore. That was how being dead worked. Rafail loved her lots and he knew he missed her but he knew it wasn't her day. But maybe Uncle Keikelius was still too upset to think properly and didn't understand that.
Looking over at his father and brother, it looked like Papa was distracted and Pavlos was too so there was no one who could tell him off just now except for his uncle and Rafail didn't really care what he said because he wasn't Papa. He sat up properly in his seat, straightening himself up tall and stern and crossing his arms like when Papa was angry. "You have to pay attention to me because Papa put you next to me. And you have to get rid of whoever did the figs because when I get to be a baron like Pav then what if they try and kill me again? And you didn't give me anything anyway so...if you don't then I'm going to cry and Papa will hate you." He looked about a minute, trying to find a servant he didn't like too much and pointing across. "That one." In case Uncle Keikelius hadn't seen, he picked up his stupid squished up fig and tossed it as hard as he could at the apparently offending attendant so it hit him right in the chest and he giggled just a little, waiting for some kind of acknowledgement from the older man.
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Um, Uncle Keikelius did not know if figs were going to kill Rafail or not. The last time he ate one, he had gone all red and was sick all day. He had not liked that. Except...when he was sick there was more fuss about him than the normal fuss about him and that was good too. Rafail liked it best when everyone was fussing about him. But maybe this time if he ate one he would die instead and he did not want to die. So Rafail was not going to eat any of his figs. But maybe he would pretend to be sick and see if everyone still fussed then. Maeja would definitely fuss but that was her job anyway so it didn't count. But Papa and Pavlos would have to fuss also and that was the most important fussing.
"If I die it's going to be all your fault," he announced, grabbing one of his stupid figs and squishing it in his hand as best he could. "And Papa will hate you lots and lots because I'm his favourite and you made me die." Rafail looked up at his uncle very seriously, trying to see if he was going to get upset or cry or anything like that but instead, he just looked extra annoyed with Rafail. No, that was all wrong! He was supposed to be upset about him maybe dying and upset that maybe Papa was going to hate him! Uncle Keikelius was doing everything wrong and Rafail did not like it when people did things wrong.
And now he was getting told off! It was his day! He knew that cos all the servants were being extra nice to him and Papa gave him a new pony and Sera gave him a new spinning top and Mama was dead anyway so she couldn't have a day anymore. That was how being dead worked. Rafail loved her lots and he knew he missed her but he knew it wasn't her day. But maybe Uncle Keikelius was still too upset to think properly and didn't understand that.
Looking over at his father and brother, it looked like Papa was distracted and Pavlos was too so there was no one who could tell him off just now except for his uncle and Rafail didn't really care what he said because he wasn't Papa. He sat up properly in his seat, straightening himself up tall and stern and crossing his arms like when Papa was angry. "You have to pay attention to me because Papa put you next to me. And you have to get rid of whoever did the figs because when I get to be a baron like Pav then what if they try and kill me again? And you didn't give me anything anyway so...if you don't then I'm going to cry and Papa will hate you." He looked about a minute, trying to find a servant he didn't like too much and pointing across. "That one." In case Uncle Keikelius hadn't seen, he picked up his stupid squished up fig and tossed it as hard as he could at the apparently offending attendant so it hit him right in the chest and he giggled just a little, waiting for some kind of acknowledgement from the older man.
Um, Uncle Keikelius did not know if figs were going to kill Rafail or not. The last time he ate one, he had gone all red and was sick all day. He had not liked that. Except...when he was sick there was more fuss about him than the normal fuss about him and that was good too. Rafail liked it best when everyone was fussing about him. But maybe this time if he ate one he would die instead and he did not want to die. So Rafail was not going to eat any of his figs. But maybe he would pretend to be sick and see if everyone still fussed then. Maeja would definitely fuss but that was her job anyway so it didn't count. But Papa and Pavlos would have to fuss also and that was the most important fussing.
"If I die it's going to be all your fault," he announced, grabbing one of his stupid figs and squishing it in his hand as best he could. "And Papa will hate you lots and lots because I'm his favourite and you made me die." Rafail looked up at his uncle very seriously, trying to see if he was going to get upset or cry or anything like that but instead, he just looked extra annoyed with Rafail. No, that was all wrong! He was supposed to be upset about him maybe dying and upset that maybe Papa was going to hate him! Uncle Keikelius was doing everything wrong and Rafail did not like it when people did things wrong.
And now he was getting told off! It was his day! He knew that cos all the servants were being extra nice to him and Papa gave him a new pony and Sera gave him a new spinning top and Mama was dead anyway so she couldn't have a day anymore. That was how being dead worked. Rafail loved her lots and he knew he missed her but he knew it wasn't her day. But maybe Uncle Keikelius was still too upset to think properly and didn't understand that.
Looking over at his father and brother, it looked like Papa was distracted and Pavlos was too so there was no one who could tell him off just now except for his uncle and Rafail didn't really care what he said because he wasn't Papa. He sat up properly in his seat, straightening himself up tall and stern and crossing his arms like when Papa was angry. "You have to pay attention to me because Papa put you next to me. And you have to get rid of whoever did the figs because when I get to be a baron like Pav then what if they try and kill me again? And you didn't give me anything anyway so...if you don't then I'm going to cry and Papa will hate you." He looked about a minute, trying to find a servant he didn't like too much and pointing across. "That one." In case Uncle Keikelius hadn't seen, he picked up his stupid squished up fig and tossed it as hard as he could at the apparently offending attendant so it hit him right in the chest and he giggled just a little, waiting for some kind of acknowledgement from the older man.
This child was grating on his last nerve. If he weren’t trying to appear calm and impressive, he would have inquired about switching seats. That wasn’t proper of him, though, so he kept his mouth shut. He would deal with Rafail as long as was necessary, even if he felt miserable doing it. The fact that Chara and Elias were both more well behaved than this brat was the only light at the end of the tunnel for Keikelius.
He opted to stop paying attention to Rafail when he started whining that if he died, it would be his fault and that his father would hate him. Honestly, Keikelius didn’t particularly care what the Marikas man thought of him now that his sister had passed. Much of the last few years had been a veil of politeness for his sister’s sake. Especially when pleaded with him to be at least the slightest bit kind toward her husband.
The children, at least this child, he cared little for. All he saw was his sister mixed with the bratty Marikas line and it annoyed him immensely. The fact that the boy kept using his father’s hatred toward him as a stepping stone to get what he want did not go unnoticed.
And Keikelius didn’t care.
Lifting his gaze, he noted his wife sitting among the other nobles that had attended the feast, their daughter and son settled quietly beside him. Her gaze met his and she gave him a warning look. Do not lose your temper on the child, it said.
He took a deep breath, imagining that Rafail was Chara and that he needed to teach her a little discipline.
Keikelius turned his head to watch Rafail, an eyebrow lifted in curiosity. “Little Lord, you realize that I have little power in this house which is not mine. If you want someone to rid you of the servant you despise, then I suggest you find someone who can make those decisions. I am not a Marikas and these are not my servants to command. You, however, do have the power, should you choose to use it,” Keikelius offered, giving the boy a slight shake of his head.
“Go on. Be a man and approach them if you’re so unhappy,” the Stravos noted, his expression deadpan, knowing full well that if Rafail did get up and fire one of his house’s staff, it could lead to the boy getting into trouble.
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This child was grating on his last nerve. If he weren’t trying to appear calm and impressive, he would have inquired about switching seats. That wasn’t proper of him, though, so he kept his mouth shut. He would deal with Rafail as long as was necessary, even if he felt miserable doing it. The fact that Chara and Elias were both more well behaved than this brat was the only light at the end of the tunnel for Keikelius.
He opted to stop paying attention to Rafail when he started whining that if he died, it would be his fault and that his father would hate him. Honestly, Keikelius didn’t particularly care what the Marikas man thought of him now that his sister had passed. Much of the last few years had been a veil of politeness for his sister’s sake. Especially when pleaded with him to be at least the slightest bit kind toward her husband.
The children, at least this child, he cared little for. All he saw was his sister mixed with the bratty Marikas line and it annoyed him immensely. The fact that the boy kept using his father’s hatred toward him as a stepping stone to get what he want did not go unnoticed.
And Keikelius didn’t care.
Lifting his gaze, he noted his wife sitting among the other nobles that had attended the feast, their daughter and son settled quietly beside him. Her gaze met his and she gave him a warning look. Do not lose your temper on the child, it said.
He took a deep breath, imagining that Rafail was Chara and that he needed to teach her a little discipline.
Keikelius turned his head to watch Rafail, an eyebrow lifted in curiosity. “Little Lord, you realize that I have little power in this house which is not mine. If you want someone to rid you of the servant you despise, then I suggest you find someone who can make those decisions. I am not a Marikas and these are not my servants to command. You, however, do have the power, should you choose to use it,” Keikelius offered, giving the boy a slight shake of his head.
“Go on. Be a man and approach them if you’re so unhappy,” the Stravos noted, his expression deadpan, knowing full well that if Rafail did get up and fire one of his house’s staff, it could lead to the boy getting into trouble.
This child was grating on his last nerve. If he weren’t trying to appear calm and impressive, he would have inquired about switching seats. That wasn’t proper of him, though, so he kept his mouth shut. He would deal with Rafail as long as was necessary, even if he felt miserable doing it. The fact that Chara and Elias were both more well behaved than this brat was the only light at the end of the tunnel for Keikelius.
He opted to stop paying attention to Rafail when he started whining that if he died, it would be his fault and that his father would hate him. Honestly, Keikelius didn’t particularly care what the Marikas man thought of him now that his sister had passed. Much of the last few years had been a veil of politeness for his sister’s sake. Especially when pleaded with him to be at least the slightest bit kind toward her husband.
The children, at least this child, he cared little for. All he saw was his sister mixed with the bratty Marikas line and it annoyed him immensely. The fact that the boy kept using his father’s hatred toward him as a stepping stone to get what he want did not go unnoticed.
And Keikelius didn’t care.
Lifting his gaze, he noted his wife sitting among the other nobles that had attended the feast, their daughter and son settled quietly beside him. Her gaze met his and she gave him a warning look. Do not lose your temper on the child, it said.
He took a deep breath, imagining that Rafail was Chara and that he needed to teach her a little discipline.
Keikelius turned his head to watch Rafail, an eyebrow lifted in curiosity. “Little Lord, you realize that I have little power in this house which is not mine. If you want someone to rid you of the servant you despise, then I suggest you find someone who can make those decisions. I am not a Marikas and these are not my servants to command. You, however, do have the power, should you choose to use it,” Keikelius offered, giving the boy a slight shake of his head.
“Go on. Be a man and approach them if you’re so unhappy,” the Stravos noted, his expression deadpan, knowing full well that if Rafail did get up and fire one of his house’s staff, it could lead to the boy getting into trouble.
It wasn't working! It always worked! Rafail always said that if they didn't do what he wanted then Papa would hate them and it always worked! He figured that Papa was big and important and people would not want him to hate them. He figured that if the servants were all scared then everyone else would be too. He figured that Papa would not mind having to hate all the stupid people Rafail did not like because if he didn't like them then what was the point of Papa liking them?
"But it's not my job." It was never his job. That was what grown-ups were supposed to do, like Papa or Pavlos, only Pavlos never cared. Rafail told him once he did not like one of the men who worked in their house, and his brother had told him not to be silly, just like Uncle Keikelius did. He did not like people who called him silly. Papa trusted him. Papa did not think him silly. He liked Papa. "You have to do it because you're a grown-up. I don't get to be one for five whole more years." Then he was going to be a proper Lord and Pavlos would have to let him do anything he liked. "Papa said."
But Uncle Keikelius seemed intent on making Rafail do this job he did not want to do. And...and what if he got in trouble because of his uncle! That was not fair. Uncle Keikelius was the worst and Rafail hated him more than anything. Except maybe Pavlos. No, Rafail liked Pavlos a lot more than he liked Uncle Keikelius. He wanted to prove a point, though, and he wanted Uncle Keikelius to see he could be grown-up already and that he was a man. So he looked over at the servant in question, waving for them to come over. Papa was still busy talking to Pavlos: he had an opportunity.
"You gave me figs," he announced, although he had no idea whether or not he was responsible. "I don't like figs so I don't like you so you have to go. Forever. Now. Otherwise, I'm going to tell Papa that you..." Rafail pouted for a minute, trying to decide what would make his father the most irritated. "That you hit me. And you 'specially can't do that today because Mama died." That seemed right. He crossed his arms and glared at the man, just to make sure he knew that Rafail was completely serious about this. Hopefully, Uncle Keikelius would have to listen to him now.
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It wasn't working! It always worked! Rafail always said that if they didn't do what he wanted then Papa would hate them and it always worked! He figured that Papa was big and important and people would not want him to hate them. He figured that if the servants were all scared then everyone else would be too. He figured that Papa would not mind having to hate all the stupid people Rafail did not like because if he didn't like them then what was the point of Papa liking them?
"But it's not my job." It was never his job. That was what grown-ups were supposed to do, like Papa or Pavlos, only Pavlos never cared. Rafail told him once he did not like one of the men who worked in their house, and his brother had told him not to be silly, just like Uncle Keikelius did. He did not like people who called him silly. Papa trusted him. Papa did not think him silly. He liked Papa. "You have to do it because you're a grown-up. I don't get to be one for five whole more years." Then he was going to be a proper Lord and Pavlos would have to let him do anything he liked. "Papa said."
But Uncle Keikelius seemed intent on making Rafail do this job he did not want to do. And...and what if he got in trouble because of his uncle! That was not fair. Uncle Keikelius was the worst and Rafail hated him more than anything. Except maybe Pavlos. No, Rafail liked Pavlos a lot more than he liked Uncle Keikelius. He wanted to prove a point, though, and he wanted Uncle Keikelius to see he could be grown-up already and that he was a man. So he looked over at the servant in question, waving for them to come over. Papa was still busy talking to Pavlos: he had an opportunity.
"You gave me figs," he announced, although he had no idea whether or not he was responsible. "I don't like figs so I don't like you so you have to go. Forever. Now. Otherwise, I'm going to tell Papa that you..." Rafail pouted for a minute, trying to decide what would make his father the most irritated. "That you hit me. And you 'specially can't do that today because Mama died." That seemed right. He crossed his arms and glared at the man, just to make sure he knew that Rafail was completely serious about this. Hopefully, Uncle Keikelius would have to listen to him now.
It wasn't working! It always worked! Rafail always said that if they didn't do what he wanted then Papa would hate them and it always worked! He figured that Papa was big and important and people would not want him to hate them. He figured that if the servants were all scared then everyone else would be too. He figured that Papa would not mind having to hate all the stupid people Rafail did not like because if he didn't like them then what was the point of Papa liking them?
"But it's not my job." It was never his job. That was what grown-ups were supposed to do, like Papa or Pavlos, only Pavlos never cared. Rafail told him once he did not like one of the men who worked in their house, and his brother had told him not to be silly, just like Uncle Keikelius did. He did not like people who called him silly. Papa trusted him. Papa did not think him silly. He liked Papa. "You have to do it because you're a grown-up. I don't get to be one for five whole more years." Then he was going to be a proper Lord and Pavlos would have to let him do anything he liked. "Papa said."
But Uncle Keikelius seemed intent on making Rafail do this job he did not want to do. And...and what if he got in trouble because of his uncle! That was not fair. Uncle Keikelius was the worst and Rafail hated him more than anything. Except maybe Pavlos. No, Rafail liked Pavlos a lot more than he liked Uncle Keikelius. He wanted to prove a point, though, and he wanted Uncle Keikelius to see he could be grown-up already and that he was a man. So he looked over at the servant in question, waving for them to come over. Papa was still busy talking to Pavlos: he had an opportunity.
"You gave me figs," he announced, although he had no idea whether or not he was responsible. "I don't like figs so I don't like you so you have to go. Forever. Now. Otherwise, I'm going to tell Papa that you..." Rafail pouted for a minute, trying to decide what would make his father the most irritated. "That you hit me. And you 'specially can't do that today because Mama died." That seemed right. He crossed his arms and glared at the man, just to make sure he knew that Rafail was completely serious about this. Hopefully, Uncle Keikelius would have to listen to him now.
Gods, Keikelius had little patience for his young nephew. The man really didn’t care whether his nephew didn’t like figs. He did really care for the boy to begin with. But he was a child, and Keikelius silently hoped that the boy would grow into a better, less spoiled man than he was right now. If he really did only have five morey ears until he was a “grown-up”, then he had a long way to go to grow up.
Keikelius was sure that the senate wouldn’t take well to a man who acted more like a child than a baron in their midst. That type of behavior would serve to cause major challenges and frustrations for the men that that served there.
Taking a long swig of the drink in his cup, Keikelius did his best to focus on everything but the fuss that Rafail was making. “It isn’t my job either, Lord Rafail,” Keikelius noted calmly, “It is not my house to rule.” And he wasn’t going to budge on that fact. It was not his job to control the servants of this house. If Rafail’s father deigned to do nothing about the fact that his child was supposedly made ill by figs, then Keikelius’ hands were tied.
The amusing part of the entire situation was the moment that Rafail seemed to grow bold. Keikelius watched the child motion the servant over, listening silently to the words that the man spoke. At first, the effort of the child was commendable. And then Rafail’s efforts melted into a pathetic puddle of guilt and faked sadness and Keikelius could tell that the servant wasn’t convinced.
That much was written across the man’s face as he silently shook his head, picking his tray back up and moving around to continue to serve the funeral party’s guests. Once more, Keikelius took a long sip of his drink, finding it easier to drink than force himself not to smile at the poor attempt at firing the man.
Turning his attention back to Rafail, he lifted an eyebrow. “That was quite half-hearted, Lord Rafail. When you fire servants, you must use force,” he pointed out, “Idle threats do no good and they ruin your credibility. Why don’t you try again?”
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Gods, Keikelius had little patience for his young nephew. The man really didn’t care whether his nephew didn’t like figs. He did really care for the boy to begin with. But he was a child, and Keikelius silently hoped that the boy would grow into a better, less spoiled man than he was right now. If he really did only have five morey ears until he was a “grown-up”, then he had a long way to go to grow up.
Keikelius was sure that the senate wouldn’t take well to a man who acted more like a child than a baron in their midst. That type of behavior would serve to cause major challenges and frustrations for the men that that served there.
Taking a long swig of the drink in his cup, Keikelius did his best to focus on everything but the fuss that Rafail was making. “It isn’t my job either, Lord Rafail,” Keikelius noted calmly, “It is not my house to rule.” And he wasn’t going to budge on that fact. It was not his job to control the servants of this house. If Rafail’s father deigned to do nothing about the fact that his child was supposedly made ill by figs, then Keikelius’ hands were tied.
The amusing part of the entire situation was the moment that Rafail seemed to grow bold. Keikelius watched the child motion the servant over, listening silently to the words that the man spoke. At first, the effort of the child was commendable. And then Rafail’s efforts melted into a pathetic puddle of guilt and faked sadness and Keikelius could tell that the servant wasn’t convinced.
That much was written across the man’s face as he silently shook his head, picking his tray back up and moving around to continue to serve the funeral party’s guests. Once more, Keikelius took a long sip of his drink, finding it easier to drink than force himself not to smile at the poor attempt at firing the man.
Turning his attention back to Rafail, he lifted an eyebrow. “That was quite half-hearted, Lord Rafail. When you fire servants, you must use force,” he pointed out, “Idle threats do no good and they ruin your credibility. Why don’t you try again?”
Gods, Keikelius had little patience for his young nephew. The man really didn’t care whether his nephew didn’t like figs. He did really care for the boy to begin with. But he was a child, and Keikelius silently hoped that the boy would grow into a better, less spoiled man than he was right now. If he really did only have five morey ears until he was a “grown-up”, then he had a long way to go to grow up.
Keikelius was sure that the senate wouldn’t take well to a man who acted more like a child than a baron in their midst. That type of behavior would serve to cause major challenges and frustrations for the men that that served there.
Taking a long swig of the drink in his cup, Keikelius did his best to focus on everything but the fuss that Rafail was making. “It isn’t my job either, Lord Rafail,” Keikelius noted calmly, “It is not my house to rule.” And he wasn’t going to budge on that fact. It was not his job to control the servants of this house. If Rafail’s father deigned to do nothing about the fact that his child was supposedly made ill by figs, then Keikelius’ hands were tied.
The amusing part of the entire situation was the moment that Rafail seemed to grow bold. Keikelius watched the child motion the servant over, listening silently to the words that the man spoke. At first, the effort of the child was commendable. And then Rafail’s efforts melted into a pathetic puddle of guilt and faked sadness and Keikelius could tell that the servant wasn’t convinced.
That much was written across the man’s face as he silently shook his head, picking his tray back up and moving around to continue to serve the funeral party’s guests. Once more, Keikelius took a long sip of his drink, finding it easier to drink than force himself not to smile at the poor attempt at firing the man.
Turning his attention back to Rafail, he lifted an eyebrow. “That was quite half-hearted, Lord Rafail. When you fire servants, you must use force,” he pointed out, “Idle threats do no good and they ruin your credibility. Why don’t you try again?”
Well, well that wasn't true! Uncle Keikelius was not the man of the house, that much was right, but he was a grownup and, as far as Rafail was concerned, that meant he should be able to handle any situation that the seven-year-old might have desired. Honestly, anyone should be able to handle whatever he wanted because that was one of the main points of other people, wasn't it?
But it seemed he was determined to ensure the young lord did the task himself, something to which Rafail was not used. Why did he have to do it? Mama would not have made him do it. Mama would have hugged him close, and she would have sent them away for serving him something he didn't like, and Papa would never have allowed the figs to be brought onto his plate in the first place, had he been paying attention. But, alas, Papa had been so distracted with the funeral and entertaining all his guests and stupid Pavlos that he had not noticed. And because Papa had not seen, Uncle Keikelius was making Rafail do the jobs of others instead.
"I don't want to," he pouted, brows furrowing together as he tried to think of something that would convince his uncle. "Mama...Mama says I don't have to do things I don't want. That's what the servants are for." No. Mama said. That was important. Mama was dead, and she wasn't saying things anymore. "Mama said."
But he could tell that Uncle Keikelius didn't seem to care about how Rafail liked things and was not going to let him do things the way he wanted.
The servant he had yelled at didn't seem to care. He had looked down at the boy with lack of amusement clear on his face and a movement of the head which made it twice as apparent that he didn't care. He had moved away as though Rafail was not one of the masters of the household, and that was not alright. Only because he was young did not mean he should not be considered in the same regard as his brother or father! Uncle Keikelius was drinking his wine in silence, not saying anything, and the seven-year-old was getting impatient as he waited for him to give him some advice. Perhaps Rafail did not want to have to do the job himself, but now he felt a need to prove himself to his uncle.
He could use force.
The first servant had disappeared elsewhere in the room. Instead of directing his attention to him, he pointed at one of the others, waving for him to come over. Force. "Figs. I can't eat figs which means you're trying to kill me." That sounded reasonable. But Uncle Keikelius had said he had sounded weak, and he was a Marikas, and that meant he wasn't weak. He knew that. Pointing out of the large dining hall, he narrowed his eyes into the angriest scowl he could muster. "You have to leave; I don't want you anymore. So...so after this feast, you're fired forever."
There. That should have been good enough to get his point across. The servant certainly seemed more put out by Rafail's words than the first had, and he could not help but smirk with genuine pride as he looked back at his uncle for approval.
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Well, well that wasn't true! Uncle Keikelius was not the man of the house, that much was right, but he was a grownup and, as far as Rafail was concerned, that meant he should be able to handle any situation that the seven-year-old might have desired. Honestly, anyone should be able to handle whatever he wanted because that was one of the main points of other people, wasn't it?
But it seemed he was determined to ensure the young lord did the task himself, something to which Rafail was not used. Why did he have to do it? Mama would not have made him do it. Mama would have hugged him close, and she would have sent them away for serving him something he didn't like, and Papa would never have allowed the figs to be brought onto his plate in the first place, had he been paying attention. But, alas, Papa had been so distracted with the funeral and entertaining all his guests and stupid Pavlos that he had not noticed. And because Papa had not seen, Uncle Keikelius was making Rafail do the jobs of others instead.
"I don't want to," he pouted, brows furrowing together as he tried to think of something that would convince his uncle. "Mama...Mama says I don't have to do things I don't want. That's what the servants are for." No. Mama said. That was important. Mama was dead, and she wasn't saying things anymore. "Mama said."
But he could tell that Uncle Keikelius didn't seem to care about how Rafail liked things and was not going to let him do things the way he wanted.
The servant he had yelled at didn't seem to care. He had looked down at the boy with lack of amusement clear on his face and a movement of the head which made it twice as apparent that he didn't care. He had moved away as though Rafail was not one of the masters of the household, and that was not alright. Only because he was young did not mean he should not be considered in the same regard as his brother or father! Uncle Keikelius was drinking his wine in silence, not saying anything, and the seven-year-old was getting impatient as he waited for him to give him some advice. Perhaps Rafail did not want to have to do the job himself, but now he felt a need to prove himself to his uncle.
He could use force.
The first servant had disappeared elsewhere in the room. Instead of directing his attention to him, he pointed at one of the others, waving for him to come over. Force. "Figs. I can't eat figs which means you're trying to kill me." That sounded reasonable. But Uncle Keikelius had said he had sounded weak, and he was a Marikas, and that meant he wasn't weak. He knew that. Pointing out of the large dining hall, he narrowed his eyes into the angriest scowl he could muster. "You have to leave; I don't want you anymore. So...so after this feast, you're fired forever."
There. That should have been good enough to get his point across. The servant certainly seemed more put out by Rafail's words than the first had, and he could not help but smirk with genuine pride as he looked back at his uncle for approval.
Well, well that wasn't true! Uncle Keikelius was not the man of the house, that much was right, but he was a grownup and, as far as Rafail was concerned, that meant he should be able to handle any situation that the seven-year-old might have desired. Honestly, anyone should be able to handle whatever he wanted because that was one of the main points of other people, wasn't it?
But it seemed he was determined to ensure the young lord did the task himself, something to which Rafail was not used. Why did he have to do it? Mama would not have made him do it. Mama would have hugged him close, and she would have sent them away for serving him something he didn't like, and Papa would never have allowed the figs to be brought onto his plate in the first place, had he been paying attention. But, alas, Papa had been so distracted with the funeral and entertaining all his guests and stupid Pavlos that he had not noticed. And because Papa had not seen, Uncle Keikelius was making Rafail do the jobs of others instead.
"I don't want to," he pouted, brows furrowing together as he tried to think of something that would convince his uncle. "Mama...Mama says I don't have to do things I don't want. That's what the servants are for." No. Mama said. That was important. Mama was dead, and she wasn't saying things anymore. "Mama said."
But he could tell that Uncle Keikelius didn't seem to care about how Rafail liked things and was not going to let him do things the way he wanted.
The servant he had yelled at didn't seem to care. He had looked down at the boy with lack of amusement clear on his face and a movement of the head which made it twice as apparent that he didn't care. He had moved away as though Rafail was not one of the masters of the household, and that was not alright. Only because he was young did not mean he should not be considered in the same regard as his brother or father! Uncle Keikelius was drinking his wine in silence, not saying anything, and the seven-year-old was getting impatient as he waited for him to give him some advice. Perhaps Rafail did not want to have to do the job himself, but now he felt a need to prove himself to his uncle.
He could use force.
The first servant had disappeared elsewhere in the room. Instead of directing his attention to him, he pointed at one of the others, waving for him to come over. Force. "Figs. I can't eat figs which means you're trying to kill me." That sounded reasonable. But Uncle Keikelius had said he had sounded weak, and he was a Marikas, and that meant he wasn't weak. He knew that. Pointing out of the large dining hall, he narrowed his eyes into the angriest scowl he could muster. "You have to leave; I don't want you anymore. So...so after this feast, you're fired forever."
There. That should have been good enough to get his point across. The servant certainly seemed more put out by Rafail's words than the first had, and he could not help but smirk with genuine pride as he looked back at his uncle for approval.
His late wife's funeral had so far been a rather boring affair.
The proceedings went as planned, Panos dutifully playing his part, as did the other members of his immediate and extended family. It was solemn, as it should have been. Sofia was the youngest, and cried alot, but Panos had a nursemaid take care of her. Rafail was throwing tantrums like stones on a pond, and Panos did all he could to deal with the situation through servants and nursemaids without having to be directly involved so as to avoid a public show.
In terms of the actual death of his wife, Panos wasn't entirely sure how he was feeling. Her death had come as no surprise. She had been sickly and weak long after the birth of Pavlos, and the births of each consecutive child only made her condition worse. There wasn't much to her beyond her sickness, and Panos regrets to admit he didn't really know his wife. Time was never afforded to them to get to know each other, between his career and her poor constitution.
So, naturally, her death was somewhat expected, and no surprise.
Panos didn't feel sorrow, however. He felt pity. He couldn't grow to love her, and whether she loved him or not was unknown to Panos. He felt pity for being married to him, a man who didn't care for her as much as she probably deserved. She loved her children, though. Rafail, in particular. In Panos' opinion, she had loved him a little too much.
He was particularly proud of Pavlos' behavior during the proceedings, however. He showed the right amount of emotion and respect for his mother, but never cried at the funeral. This was commendable, and Panos was glad that he had him sat beside him at feast following the funeral. On Panos' other side was his brother-in-law, Keikelius. A loathsome man, nothing less from a Stravos, but a member of their family none-the-less, whether either of them wanted this to be the case or not.
Panos spent much of the feast receiving condolences from guests as they approached his table, and engaging in conversation with his eldest son. He made a show of trying to include Keikelius in the discussions, but he was either disinterested or distracted and contributed little.
At some point, his personal manservant, a most trusted one, came to his hear and whispered something that made Panos' jaw clench. Just when he had hoped they could conclude this occasion with no event, he was informed that his youngest son was playing at threatening and firing servants on his father's name.
He didn't dare look in Rafail's direction. If anyone were paying attention, which he had no doubt people were, a look would make it clear something was happening with his son, and this in turn would bring further attention to it. Instead, Panos instructed his manservant to have Rafail taken from the table and into the back corridor the servants used to enter and exit. Panos would meet them there. He especially told him to tell the boy his father wanted to see him, to ensure there was little struggle, and no attempt to fire him.
Panos excused himself politely to his brother-in-law, with no doubt Keikelius knew exactly what was occurring, and slowly made his way to the back corridor.
He waited for the manservant and Rafail to arrive, his hands clasped behind his back. How he wished the boy were more like Pavlos.
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His late wife's funeral had so far been a rather boring affair.
The proceedings went as planned, Panos dutifully playing his part, as did the other members of his immediate and extended family. It was solemn, as it should have been. Sofia was the youngest, and cried alot, but Panos had a nursemaid take care of her. Rafail was throwing tantrums like stones on a pond, and Panos did all he could to deal with the situation through servants and nursemaids without having to be directly involved so as to avoid a public show.
In terms of the actual death of his wife, Panos wasn't entirely sure how he was feeling. Her death had come as no surprise. She had been sickly and weak long after the birth of Pavlos, and the births of each consecutive child only made her condition worse. There wasn't much to her beyond her sickness, and Panos regrets to admit he didn't really know his wife. Time was never afforded to them to get to know each other, between his career and her poor constitution.
So, naturally, her death was somewhat expected, and no surprise.
Panos didn't feel sorrow, however. He felt pity. He couldn't grow to love her, and whether she loved him or not was unknown to Panos. He felt pity for being married to him, a man who didn't care for her as much as she probably deserved. She loved her children, though. Rafail, in particular. In Panos' opinion, she had loved him a little too much.
He was particularly proud of Pavlos' behavior during the proceedings, however. He showed the right amount of emotion and respect for his mother, but never cried at the funeral. This was commendable, and Panos was glad that he had him sat beside him at feast following the funeral. On Panos' other side was his brother-in-law, Keikelius. A loathsome man, nothing less from a Stravos, but a member of their family none-the-less, whether either of them wanted this to be the case or not.
Panos spent much of the feast receiving condolences from guests as they approached his table, and engaging in conversation with his eldest son. He made a show of trying to include Keikelius in the discussions, but he was either disinterested or distracted and contributed little.
At some point, his personal manservant, a most trusted one, came to his hear and whispered something that made Panos' jaw clench. Just when he had hoped they could conclude this occasion with no event, he was informed that his youngest son was playing at threatening and firing servants on his father's name.
He didn't dare look in Rafail's direction. If anyone were paying attention, which he had no doubt people were, a look would make it clear something was happening with his son, and this in turn would bring further attention to it. Instead, Panos instructed his manservant to have Rafail taken from the table and into the back corridor the servants used to enter and exit. Panos would meet them there. He especially told him to tell the boy his father wanted to see him, to ensure there was little struggle, and no attempt to fire him.
Panos excused himself politely to his brother-in-law, with no doubt Keikelius knew exactly what was occurring, and slowly made his way to the back corridor.
He waited for the manservant and Rafail to arrive, his hands clasped behind his back. How he wished the boy were more like Pavlos.
His late wife's funeral had so far been a rather boring affair.
The proceedings went as planned, Panos dutifully playing his part, as did the other members of his immediate and extended family. It was solemn, as it should have been. Sofia was the youngest, and cried alot, but Panos had a nursemaid take care of her. Rafail was throwing tantrums like stones on a pond, and Panos did all he could to deal with the situation through servants and nursemaids without having to be directly involved so as to avoid a public show.
In terms of the actual death of his wife, Panos wasn't entirely sure how he was feeling. Her death had come as no surprise. She had been sickly and weak long after the birth of Pavlos, and the births of each consecutive child only made her condition worse. There wasn't much to her beyond her sickness, and Panos regrets to admit he didn't really know his wife. Time was never afforded to them to get to know each other, between his career and her poor constitution.
So, naturally, her death was somewhat expected, and no surprise.
Panos didn't feel sorrow, however. He felt pity. He couldn't grow to love her, and whether she loved him or not was unknown to Panos. He felt pity for being married to him, a man who didn't care for her as much as she probably deserved. She loved her children, though. Rafail, in particular. In Panos' opinion, she had loved him a little too much.
He was particularly proud of Pavlos' behavior during the proceedings, however. He showed the right amount of emotion and respect for his mother, but never cried at the funeral. This was commendable, and Panos was glad that he had him sat beside him at feast following the funeral. On Panos' other side was his brother-in-law, Keikelius. A loathsome man, nothing less from a Stravos, but a member of their family none-the-less, whether either of them wanted this to be the case or not.
Panos spent much of the feast receiving condolences from guests as they approached his table, and engaging in conversation with his eldest son. He made a show of trying to include Keikelius in the discussions, but he was either disinterested or distracted and contributed little.
At some point, his personal manservant, a most trusted one, came to his hear and whispered something that made Panos' jaw clench. Just when he had hoped they could conclude this occasion with no event, he was informed that his youngest son was playing at threatening and firing servants on his father's name.
He didn't dare look in Rafail's direction. If anyone were paying attention, which he had no doubt people were, a look would make it clear something was happening with his son, and this in turn would bring further attention to it. Instead, Panos instructed his manservant to have Rafail taken from the table and into the back corridor the servants used to enter and exit. Panos would meet them there. He especially told him to tell the boy his father wanted to see him, to ensure there was little struggle, and no attempt to fire him.
Panos excused himself politely to his brother-in-law, with no doubt Keikelius knew exactly what was occurring, and slowly made his way to the back corridor.
He waited for the manservant and Rafail to arrive, his hands clasped behind his back. How he wished the boy were more like Pavlos.
Rafail was most certainly pleased with himself. The servant he had just attempted to fire seemed to have taken his words with some degree of seriousness and Uncle Keikelius didn't seem to think he was weak or rather, he had not made any comment on the matter. With his expression now changed to a brighter sort of smile, he reached over to take some of the grapes that had sat on the opposite end of his plate to the offending figs, munching happily on them. For a brief moment on this less than joyful occasion, he was feeling - not happy, he couldn't quite be happy at that moment - but content.
The servant had approached with more confidence than Rafail had seen from any of the staff during this event, likely because he could feel assured that he would not suffer any threats at the hands of the child. "Your father wishes to speak with you, Lord Rafail, if you would come with me..." He offered the child a hand to take, nodding his head in the direction of the back corridor. It was accepted, Rafail pulling himself from his seat and holding the man's hand as he was led out of the room to see his father.
Papa was waiting for him with his hands behind his back which, from what Rafail knew, meant that he was not happy about something. The seven-year-old thought nothing of it, only assuming that he must have been so upset because Mama was dead. So, loosening his grip on the manservant's hand, he rushed forwards to hug Papa around the waist in the same way he had often wrapped his arms around Mama. He was away more often than not - Mama had said it was important that Papa was so busy because he loved all three of his children very much, though that didn't make much sense to Rafail - but when the man was around, their interactions were rarely so close. Today had seemed an appropriate occasion.
"Thank you for my pony, Papa!" he announced, grinning up at him, half-hoping that his father would show the boy just how proud he was not only of how well-behaved he had been in terms of not crying and in his newfound skill at disciplining the staff. That said, Rafail knew full well that Papa was obviously distracted by the rest of the funeral, even though he was fully deserving of the praise, and gave him a look of sympathy, sniffing as though to imitate the tears that would somehow not come. "I'm sorry about Mama."
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Rafail was most certainly pleased with himself. The servant he had just attempted to fire seemed to have taken his words with some degree of seriousness and Uncle Keikelius didn't seem to think he was weak or rather, he had not made any comment on the matter. With his expression now changed to a brighter sort of smile, he reached over to take some of the grapes that had sat on the opposite end of his plate to the offending figs, munching happily on them. For a brief moment on this less than joyful occasion, he was feeling - not happy, he couldn't quite be happy at that moment - but content.
The servant had approached with more confidence than Rafail had seen from any of the staff during this event, likely because he could feel assured that he would not suffer any threats at the hands of the child. "Your father wishes to speak with you, Lord Rafail, if you would come with me..." He offered the child a hand to take, nodding his head in the direction of the back corridor. It was accepted, Rafail pulling himself from his seat and holding the man's hand as he was led out of the room to see his father.
Papa was waiting for him with his hands behind his back which, from what Rafail knew, meant that he was not happy about something. The seven-year-old thought nothing of it, only assuming that he must have been so upset because Mama was dead. So, loosening his grip on the manservant's hand, he rushed forwards to hug Papa around the waist in the same way he had often wrapped his arms around Mama. He was away more often than not - Mama had said it was important that Papa was so busy because he loved all three of his children very much, though that didn't make much sense to Rafail - but when the man was around, their interactions were rarely so close. Today had seemed an appropriate occasion.
"Thank you for my pony, Papa!" he announced, grinning up at him, half-hoping that his father would show the boy just how proud he was not only of how well-behaved he had been in terms of not crying and in his newfound skill at disciplining the staff. That said, Rafail knew full well that Papa was obviously distracted by the rest of the funeral, even though he was fully deserving of the praise, and gave him a look of sympathy, sniffing as though to imitate the tears that would somehow not come. "I'm sorry about Mama."
Rafail was most certainly pleased with himself. The servant he had just attempted to fire seemed to have taken his words with some degree of seriousness and Uncle Keikelius didn't seem to think he was weak or rather, he had not made any comment on the matter. With his expression now changed to a brighter sort of smile, he reached over to take some of the grapes that had sat on the opposite end of his plate to the offending figs, munching happily on them. For a brief moment on this less than joyful occasion, he was feeling - not happy, he couldn't quite be happy at that moment - but content.
The servant had approached with more confidence than Rafail had seen from any of the staff during this event, likely because he could feel assured that he would not suffer any threats at the hands of the child. "Your father wishes to speak with you, Lord Rafail, if you would come with me..." He offered the child a hand to take, nodding his head in the direction of the back corridor. It was accepted, Rafail pulling himself from his seat and holding the man's hand as he was led out of the room to see his father.
Papa was waiting for him with his hands behind his back which, from what Rafail knew, meant that he was not happy about something. The seven-year-old thought nothing of it, only assuming that he must have been so upset because Mama was dead. So, loosening his grip on the manservant's hand, he rushed forwards to hug Papa around the waist in the same way he had often wrapped his arms around Mama. He was away more often than not - Mama had said it was important that Papa was so busy because he loved all three of his children very much, though that didn't make much sense to Rafail - but when the man was around, their interactions were rarely so close. Today had seemed an appropriate occasion.
"Thank you for my pony, Papa!" he announced, grinning up at him, half-hoping that his father would show the boy just how proud he was not only of how well-behaved he had been in terms of not crying and in his newfound skill at disciplining the staff. That said, Rafail knew full well that Papa was obviously distracted by the rest of the funeral, even though he was fully deserving of the praise, and gave him a look of sympathy, sniffing as though to imitate the tears that would somehow not come. "I'm sorry about Mama."
Keikelius was not a nice man. He couldn't help but smirk in silent delight when the boy found himself in trouble with his father for pulling such a stunt at the behest and encouragement of his own uncle. The young man's gaze seemed to follow the child as he was lead away from the table. Keikelius sipped his wine with ease, not at all concerned with his nephew and whatever it was that Panos was to scold him for.
Perhaps baiting the supposedly grieving child instead of grieving over his own sister was a childish thing to do. Then again, it was the most entertaining thing to do at the time. Keikelius had had little further interest in conversation with Panos and the men around him, but also had little interest in mourning his sister in such a public place. He would mourn on his own time. Behind closed doors. His relationship with his sister had been personal, quiet, and he was not inclined to show his grief in front of other people.
Grief was meant to be handled in a solitary situation.
But without the presence of the little boy complaining and ordering people around, Keikelius found himself increasingly bored. In fact, he ended up following Panos with a goblet of wine in his hand, leaning slightly against the archway out in the hallway that the servant had lead Rafail out into. He observed for a few moments as Panos put his son at arm's length to him and crouched to look him in the face. "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."
Keikelius, still amused, took a careful sip of his wine. Maybe it was time to speak up, and though he really had no interest, he couldn't stop himself. "Perhaps I can take the boy on a walk, Lord Marikas," he noted casually, "Keep him entertained and from threatening the staff," Keikelius shrugged.
There was a moment where Panos seemed inclined to reject Keikelius' offer, but ultimately nodded, seemingly happy to be free of his son for at least a few minutes. "Of course," came the response before Panos strode out of the room, leaving Keikelius and Rafail alone together.
"I have to say. I didn't expect you to fall for that," Keikelius taunted his nephew, taking another slow sip of his wine. "Come on. Let's go find your pony, hm?" At least that would be... somewhat interesting. And he wouldn't have to talk any more about his sister. Hopefully.
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Keikelius was not a nice man. He couldn't help but smirk in silent delight when the boy found himself in trouble with his father for pulling such a stunt at the behest and encouragement of his own uncle. The young man's gaze seemed to follow the child as he was lead away from the table. Keikelius sipped his wine with ease, not at all concerned with his nephew and whatever it was that Panos was to scold him for.
Perhaps baiting the supposedly grieving child instead of grieving over his own sister was a childish thing to do. Then again, it was the most entertaining thing to do at the time. Keikelius had had little further interest in conversation with Panos and the men around him, but also had little interest in mourning his sister in such a public place. He would mourn on his own time. Behind closed doors. His relationship with his sister had been personal, quiet, and he was not inclined to show his grief in front of other people.
Grief was meant to be handled in a solitary situation.
But without the presence of the little boy complaining and ordering people around, Keikelius found himself increasingly bored. In fact, he ended up following Panos with a goblet of wine in his hand, leaning slightly against the archway out in the hallway that the servant had lead Rafail out into. He observed for a few moments as Panos put his son at arm's length to him and crouched to look him in the face. "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."
Keikelius, still amused, took a careful sip of his wine. Maybe it was time to speak up, and though he really had no interest, he couldn't stop himself. "Perhaps I can take the boy on a walk, Lord Marikas," he noted casually, "Keep him entertained and from threatening the staff," Keikelius shrugged.
There was a moment where Panos seemed inclined to reject Keikelius' offer, but ultimately nodded, seemingly happy to be free of his son for at least a few minutes. "Of course," came the response before Panos strode out of the room, leaving Keikelius and Rafail alone together.
"I have to say. I didn't expect you to fall for that," Keikelius taunted his nephew, taking another slow sip of his wine. "Come on. Let's go find your pony, hm?" At least that would be... somewhat interesting. And he wouldn't have to talk any more about his sister. Hopefully.
Keikelius was not a nice man. He couldn't help but smirk in silent delight when the boy found himself in trouble with his father for pulling such a stunt at the behest and encouragement of his own uncle. The young man's gaze seemed to follow the child as he was lead away from the table. Keikelius sipped his wine with ease, not at all concerned with his nephew and whatever it was that Panos was to scold him for.
Perhaps baiting the supposedly grieving child instead of grieving over his own sister was a childish thing to do. Then again, it was the most entertaining thing to do at the time. Keikelius had had little further interest in conversation with Panos and the men around him, but also had little interest in mourning his sister in such a public place. He would mourn on his own time. Behind closed doors. His relationship with his sister had been personal, quiet, and he was not inclined to show his grief in front of other people.
Grief was meant to be handled in a solitary situation.
But without the presence of the little boy complaining and ordering people around, Keikelius found himself increasingly bored. In fact, he ended up following Panos with a goblet of wine in his hand, leaning slightly against the archway out in the hallway that the servant had lead Rafail out into. He observed for a few moments as Panos put his son at arm's length to him and crouched to look him in the face. "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."
Keikelius, still amused, took a careful sip of his wine. Maybe it was time to speak up, and though he really had no interest, he couldn't stop himself. "Perhaps I can take the boy on a walk, Lord Marikas," he noted casually, "Keep him entertained and from threatening the staff," Keikelius shrugged.
There was a moment where Panos seemed inclined to reject Keikelius' offer, but ultimately nodded, seemingly happy to be free of his son for at least a few minutes. "Of course," came the response before Panos strode out of the room, leaving Keikelius and Rafail alone together.
"I have to say. I didn't expect you to fall for that," Keikelius taunted his nephew, taking another slow sip of his wine. "Come on. Let's go find your pony, hm?" At least that would be... somewhat interesting. And he wouldn't have to talk any more about his sister. Hopefully.
His mother was dead. The word of her dying hit hard on him, but not as hard as it would hit his brother. They were closer together than he was with her. Maybe perhaps it would have been different if his sister and brother were not around - but alas that was not the situation. Pavlos was about to head into the room when his servant called him about viewing her body. He nods and quickly makes himself ready to view her. He was much older by now and he had seen death before, but it's different when its your own family. Pavlos enters the hallway when he hears his brother stammering on to someone in the room. He lays his back against the wall and lowered his head as he listens. 'why does he have to be so dumb for..' came the thoughts rushing to his mind. Keikelius was having a hard time it seemed to deal with the younger Marikas. Breathing in - he was about to move into the room and correct the odd conversation, but before he could the words 'papa' was hitting his ears. So father was here? He peaks around the corner of the room and lands his eyes upon his mother. A sharp inward gasp draws on the young man before he casts his eyes away. She was beautiful even in death. He wanted to rush to her side, wanted to ask her to play with his hair like she did when he was but a small child. Smaller than Rafail was now. But he couldn't he was going to be someone when he grew up, and he didn't need a lasting image of him being a child weeping to his death mothers hand. While his brother, Keikelius and his father were talking, Pavlos made his silently to his mother's side and fixed a loose piece of hair that clung to her dry lips.
His mother was gone. Without so much as any emotion showing on his face, he turns his hand back to his side, just standing beside her as his features become more stoic in nature. His uncle would rise and attended his brother and father in the hallway. Instead Pavlos would head back for the table and reach for a small sip of his drink. When his father returned he quietly asked "did it hurt...does it hurt...I mean....poppa..." he asked him in regards to their mother dying. Did she die in pain? Or was it like something to the tune and song of falling asleep and just never waking up? He eye'd the table a moment and watched as His brother and uncle would leave to gods know where. The young man would sit back in his seat but still showing proper pose as he sighed. For this first time his brows defeated his appearance in showing just a tiny hint of pain and sadness regarding his mothers passing.
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His mother was dead. The word of her dying hit hard on him, but not as hard as it would hit his brother. They were closer together than he was with her. Maybe perhaps it would have been different if his sister and brother were not around - but alas that was not the situation. Pavlos was about to head into the room when his servant called him about viewing her body. He nods and quickly makes himself ready to view her. He was much older by now and he had seen death before, but it's different when its your own family. Pavlos enters the hallway when he hears his brother stammering on to someone in the room. He lays his back against the wall and lowered his head as he listens. 'why does he have to be so dumb for..' came the thoughts rushing to his mind. Keikelius was having a hard time it seemed to deal with the younger Marikas. Breathing in - he was about to move into the room and correct the odd conversation, but before he could the words 'papa' was hitting his ears. So father was here? He peaks around the corner of the room and lands his eyes upon his mother. A sharp inward gasp draws on the young man before he casts his eyes away. She was beautiful even in death. He wanted to rush to her side, wanted to ask her to play with his hair like she did when he was but a small child. Smaller than Rafail was now. But he couldn't he was going to be someone when he grew up, and he didn't need a lasting image of him being a child weeping to his death mothers hand. While his brother, Keikelius and his father were talking, Pavlos made his silently to his mother's side and fixed a loose piece of hair that clung to her dry lips.
His mother was gone. Without so much as any emotion showing on his face, he turns his hand back to his side, just standing beside her as his features become more stoic in nature. His uncle would rise and attended his brother and father in the hallway. Instead Pavlos would head back for the table and reach for a small sip of his drink. When his father returned he quietly asked "did it hurt...does it hurt...I mean....poppa..." he asked him in regards to their mother dying. Did she die in pain? Or was it like something to the tune and song of falling asleep and just never waking up? He eye'd the table a moment and watched as His brother and uncle would leave to gods know where. The young man would sit back in his seat but still showing proper pose as he sighed. For this first time his brows defeated his appearance in showing just a tiny hint of pain and sadness regarding his mothers passing.
His mother was dead. The word of her dying hit hard on him, but not as hard as it would hit his brother. They were closer together than he was with her. Maybe perhaps it would have been different if his sister and brother were not around - but alas that was not the situation. Pavlos was about to head into the room when his servant called him about viewing her body. He nods and quickly makes himself ready to view her. He was much older by now and he had seen death before, but it's different when its your own family. Pavlos enters the hallway when he hears his brother stammering on to someone in the room. He lays his back against the wall and lowered his head as he listens. 'why does he have to be so dumb for..' came the thoughts rushing to his mind. Keikelius was having a hard time it seemed to deal with the younger Marikas. Breathing in - he was about to move into the room and correct the odd conversation, but before he could the words 'papa' was hitting his ears. So father was here? He peaks around the corner of the room and lands his eyes upon his mother. A sharp inward gasp draws on the young man before he casts his eyes away. She was beautiful even in death. He wanted to rush to her side, wanted to ask her to play with his hair like she did when he was but a small child. Smaller than Rafail was now. But he couldn't he was going to be someone when he grew up, and he didn't need a lasting image of him being a child weeping to his death mothers hand. While his brother, Keikelius and his father were talking, Pavlos made his silently to his mother's side and fixed a loose piece of hair that clung to her dry lips.
His mother was gone. Without so much as any emotion showing on his face, he turns his hand back to his side, just standing beside her as his features become more stoic in nature. His uncle would rise and attended his brother and father in the hallway. Instead Pavlos would head back for the table and reach for a small sip of his drink. When his father returned he quietly asked "did it hurt...does it hurt...I mean....poppa..." he asked him in regards to their mother dying. Did she die in pain? Or was it like something to the tune and song of falling asleep and just never waking up? He eye'd the table a moment and watched as His brother and uncle would leave to gods know where. The young man would sit back in his seat but still showing proper pose as he sighed. For this first time his brows defeated his appearance in showing just a tiny hint of pain and sadness regarding his mothers passing.
Sometimes, Rafail didn't think Papa liked him very much. He liked Pavlos. Papa never got angry at Pavlos, and yet it seemed he always had reason to shout at Rafail. Mama had once said the only reason Rafail acted out against his father so often was because he just wanted the man to pay him the same attention he paid his brother, and that it wasn't fair he liked the older Marikas son more. She had said that to Papa once, but the man had only scoffed and told her to stop being ridiculous. He had been happy with her for trying. Rafail supposed she wasn't going to be able to try any longer.
Papa was upset now. He could tell from the way he rested a hand on the boy's shoulder and held him at arm's length. He could tell from the way his eyebrows seemed to blend together into a single brow, and the way he crouched before him, speaking in that calm tone of voice he used when he didn't want others to know just how angry he was. The man didn't seem to care for what he had to say, and he certainly didn't seem proud of his youngest son for how good he had been with the staff.
"I'm sorry, Papa," he answered, bottom lip quivering with the sadness which had always brought Mama around to his side. There really was something worse about apologizing to the man without having the comfort of rushing back to the woman afterward and wrapping his arms around her. Her soft scent of roses. There were those tears he'd been looking for, suddenly spilling out without sound. He couldn't make the sound, and that joy he'd shown only a moment before melted into defeat. "I...I'll be quiet."
Rafail would have shuffled in disappointment back to the seat he'd been occupying, but Uncle Keikelius appeared to have become his unlikely rescuer. A walk was perhaps not what he wanted, not to mention he didn't like the way the man implied he was threatening the staff of his own accord, but it saved him from the awkwardness of sitting quietly at a table thinking about Mama, and it stopped Papa from telling him off.
As soon as Papa left, he reached a hand out for Uncle Keikelius to take, the same way he used to do with Mama, though his face scrunched up into a frown of confusion. "You lied!" he announced, hands on his hips in that falsely imperious manner only a child could muster. "I am a Marikas, you're not supposed to do that." As if that mattered to the man. At least he seemed interested in the pony. Rafail wasn't sure if it was genuine interest or something faked, but he was happy to talk about the horse regardless.
"Papa says it's supposed to make me feel better. He thinks if I don't think about Mama dying, then I won't be aware, but I'm not stupid." He knew Papa sometimes tried to distract him with presents, and he knew that it worked, to a certain extent. Rafail liked presents. Glancing up at Uncle Keikelius with a certain pride as he led him down the hallway and toward the estate's stables, he added: "I'm going to be the best rider in all of Athenia, maybe Greece. Mama said that I'm an amazing rider already, and I'm only seven. I want to name my new horse Pegasos, because he's all white."
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Sometimes, Rafail didn't think Papa liked him very much. He liked Pavlos. Papa never got angry at Pavlos, and yet it seemed he always had reason to shout at Rafail. Mama had once said the only reason Rafail acted out against his father so often was because he just wanted the man to pay him the same attention he paid his brother, and that it wasn't fair he liked the older Marikas son more. She had said that to Papa once, but the man had only scoffed and told her to stop being ridiculous. He had been happy with her for trying. Rafail supposed she wasn't going to be able to try any longer.
Papa was upset now. He could tell from the way he rested a hand on the boy's shoulder and held him at arm's length. He could tell from the way his eyebrows seemed to blend together into a single brow, and the way he crouched before him, speaking in that calm tone of voice he used when he didn't want others to know just how angry he was. The man didn't seem to care for what he had to say, and he certainly didn't seem proud of his youngest son for how good he had been with the staff.
"I'm sorry, Papa," he answered, bottom lip quivering with the sadness which had always brought Mama around to his side. There really was something worse about apologizing to the man without having the comfort of rushing back to the woman afterward and wrapping his arms around her. Her soft scent of roses. There were those tears he'd been looking for, suddenly spilling out without sound. He couldn't make the sound, and that joy he'd shown only a moment before melted into defeat. "I...I'll be quiet."
Rafail would have shuffled in disappointment back to the seat he'd been occupying, but Uncle Keikelius appeared to have become his unlikely rescuer. A walk was perhaps not what he wanted, not to mention he didn't like the way the man implied he was threatening the staff of his own accord, but it saved him from the awkwardness of sitting quietly at a table thinking about Mama, and it stopped Papa from telling him off.
As soon as Papa left, he reached a hand out for Uncle Keikelius to take, the same way he used to do with Mama, though his face scrunched up into a frown of confusion. "You lied!" he announced, hands on his hips in that falsely imperious manner only a child could muster. "I am a Marikas, you're not supposed to do that." As if that mattered to the man. At least he seemed interested in the pony. Rafail wasn't sure if it was genuine interest or something faked, but he was happy to talk about the horse regardless.
"Papa says it's supposed to make me feel better. He thinks if I don't think about Mama dying, then I won't be aware, but I'm not stupid." He knew Papa sometimes tried to distract him with presents, and he knew that it worked, to a certain extent. Rafail liked presents. Glancing up at Uncle Keikelius with a certain pride as he led him down the hallway and toward the estate's stables, he added: "I'm going to be the best rider in all of Athenia, maybe Greece. Mama said that I'm an amazing rider already, and I'm only seven. I want to name my new horse Pegasos, because he's all white."
Sometimes, Rafail didn't think Papa liked him very much. He liked Pavlos. Papa never got angry at Pavlos, and yet it seemed he always had reason to shout at Rafail. Mama had once said the only reason Rafail acted out against his father so often was because he just wanted the man to pay him the same attention he paid his brother, and that it wasn't fair he liked the older Marikas son more. She had said that to Papa once, but the man had only scoffed and told her to stop being ridiculous. He had been happy with her for trying. Rafail supposed she wasn't going to be able to try any longer.
Papa was upset now. He could tell from the way he rested a hand on the boy's shoulder and held him at arm's length. He could tell from the way his eyebrows seemed to blend together into a single brow, and the way he crouched before him, speaking in that calm tone of voice he used when he didn't want others to know just how angry he was. The man didn't seem to care for what he had to say, and he certainly didn't seem proud of his youngest son for how good he had been with the staff.
"I'm sorry, Papa," he answered, bottom lip quivering with the sadness which had always brought Mama around to his side. There really was something worse about apologizing to the man without having the comfort of rushing back to the woman afterward and wrapping his arms around her. Her soft scent of roses. There were those tears he'd been looking for, suddenly spilling out without sound. He couldn't make the sound, and that joy he'd shown only a moment before melted into defeat. "I...I'll be quiet."
Rafail would have shuffled in disappointment back to the seat he'd been occupying, but Uncle Keikelius appeared to have become his unlikely rescuer. A walk was perhaps not what he wanted, not to mention he didn't like the way the man implied he was threatening the staff of his own accord, but it saved him from the awkwardness of sitting quietly at a table thinking about Mama, and it stopped Papa from telling him off.
As soon as Papa left, he reached a hand out for Uncle Keikelius to take, the same way he used to do with Mama, though his face scrunched up into a frown of confusion. "You lied!" he announced, hands on his hips in that falsely imperious manner only a child could muster. "I am a Marikas, you're not supposed to do that." As if that mattered to the man. At least he seemed interested in the pony. Rafail wasn't sure if it was genuine interest or something faked, but he was happy to talk about the horse regardless.
"Papa says it's supposed to make me feel better. He thinks if I don't think about Mama dying, then I won't be aware, but I'm not stupid." He knew Papa sometimes tried to distract him with presents, and he knew that it worked, to a certain extent. Rafail liked presents. Glancing up at Uncle Keikelius with a certain pride as he led him down the hallway and toward the estate's stables, he added: "I'm going to be the best rider in all of Athenia, maybe Greece. Mama said that I'm an amazing rider already, and I'm only seven. I want to name my new horse Pegasos, because he's all white."
Keikelius did feel the slightest twinge of guilt for having gotten his nephew into trouble. However, he also knew his sister, and she would not want him to rely on her forever. Now that she was gone, Rafail would have no choice but to carve his own path. Panos would not hold his son's hand in the same way that Justana had. Panos would not wipe away his tears of allow the young boy to be sad for too long. His means of attempting to force the sadness away from his son's mind was to give him gifts. Keikelius silently wondered if this was how the man showed affection and want of healing.
He doubted it, but he could not be sure. His sister had always seemed to love Panos even despite his mannerisms. But then again, Justana had grown up along side Keikelius, and their father had been a man of few assertions of love and more assertions of dominance than anything. Justana had escaped such brutalities from their father, though their mother was just as stern with her children. Perhaps Justana's love for Panos of Marikas had been more of an idendification with an attitude that was familiar rather than actual love. Not that he would know. The young man decidedly did not often think well on the people around him, even those of similar rank and station.
The assertion that Keikelius had lied had him glancing down at his nephew once more. Holding his hand out for Rafail, he took it delicately in his own, much unlike the true roughness of the man, and started to lead him toward the back of the Marikas home. "If there is one thing you should learn quickly, Lord Rafail," Keikelius started, his tone low and casual, "is that people lie. Everyone lies. You have to be smart enough to discern what is true and what is untruth throughout your life."
"Your father cares," he then noetd about the pony, "As a man of station, he does not want to see the death of his wife break his children. He cares, but he is tough. I think you should be tough, too, Lord Rafail. It would please your father to have to worry so little with your mother gone," the man instructed carefully, once more staring down into the little face of his nephew. "His reaction is strikingly appropriate for the situation. The sooner you learn to deal with death, the better off you will be those around you start dropping like flies."
They walked a while longer until they were stepping out into the gardens behind the manor. Keikelius had fallen back into thought about his own sister, entirely displeased at her death at such a young age. They hadn't been extremely close, but he was quickly finding himself truly saddened at the loss of the woman. He hadn't even known that she was sick, which only added to the guilt and sadness he felt. "Maybe if you stay as good as your mother said, you could become a calvary soldier when you grow up. There is honor in military service. Though, it takes extreme dedication to truly be the best rider in Athenia. You might be pushing your luck with all of Greece. Taengeans are known for their ability to ride as well."
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Keikelius did feel the slightest twinge of guilt for having gotten his nephew into trouble. However, he also knew his sister, and she would not want him to rely on her forever. Now that she was gone, Rafail would have no choice but to carve his own path. Panos would not hold his son's hand in the same way that Justana had. Panos would not wipe away his tears of allow the young boy to be sad for too long. His means of attempting to force the sadness away from his son's mind was to give him gifts. Keikelius silently wondered if this was how the man showed affection and want of healing.
He doubted it, but he could not be sure. His sister had always seemed to love Panos even despite his mannerisms. But then again, Justana had grown up along side Keikelius, and their father had been a man of few assertions of love and more assertions of dominance than anything. Justana had escaped such brutalities from their father, though their mother was just as stern with her children. Perhaps Justana's love for Panos of Marikas had been more of an idendification with an attitude that was familiar rather than actual love. Not that he would know. The young man decidedly did not often think well on the people around him, even those of similar rank and station.
The assertion that Keikelius had lied had him glancing down at his nephew once more. Holding his hand out for Rafail, he took it delicately in his own, much unlike the true roughness of the man, and started to lead him toward the back of the Marikas home. "If there is one thing you should learn quickly, Lord Rafail," Keikelius started, his tone low and casual, "is that people lie. Everyone lies. You have to be smart enough to discern what is true and what is untruth throughout your life."
"Your father cares," he then noetd about the pony, "As a man of station, he does not want to see the death of his wife break his children. He cares, but he is tough. I think you should be tough, too, Lord Rafail. It would please your father to have to worry so little with your mother gone," the man instructed carefully, once more staring down into the little face of his nephew. "His reaction is strikingly appropriate for the situation. The sooner you learn to deal with death, the better off you will be those around you start dropping like flies."
They walked a while longer until they were stepping out into the gardens behind the manor. Keikelius had fallen back into thought about his own sister, entirely displeased at her death at such a young age. They hadn't been extremely close, but he was quickly finding himself truly saddened at the loss of the woman. He hadn't even known that she was sick, which only added to the guilt and sadness he felt. "Maybe if you stay as good as your mother said, you could become a calvary soldier when you grow up. There is honor in military service. Though, it takes extreme dedication to truly be the best rider in Athenia. You might be pushing your luck with all of Greece. Taengeans are known for their ability to ride as well."
Keikelius did feel the slightest twinge of guilt for having gotten his nephew into trouble. However, he also knew his sister, and she would not want him to rely on her forever. Now that she was gone, Rafail would have no choice but to carve his own path. Panos would not hold his son's hand in the same way that Justana had. Panos would not wipe away his tears of allow the young boy to be sad for too long. His means of attempting to force the sadness away from his son's mind was to give him gifts. Keikelius silently wondered if this was how the man showed affection and want of healing.
He doubted it, but he could not be sure. His sister had always seemed to love Panos even despite his mannerisms. But then again, Justana had grown up along side Keikelius, and their father had been a man of few assertions of love and more assertions of dominance than anything. Justana had escaped such brutalities from their father, though their mother was just as stern with her children. Perhaps Justana's love for Panos of Marikas had been more of an idendification with an attitude that was familiar rather than actual love. Not that he would know. The young man decidedly did not often think well on the people around him, even those of similar rank and station.
The assertion that Keikelius had lied had him glancing down at his nephew once more. Holding his hand out for Rafail, he took it delicately in his own, much unlike the true roughness of the man, and started to lead him toward the back of the Marikas home. "If there is one thing you should learn quickly, Lord Rafail," Keikelius started, his tone low and casual, "is that people lie. Everyone lies. You have to be smart enough to discern what is true and what is untruth throughout your life."
"Your father cares," he then noetd about the pony, "As a man of station, he does not want to see the death of his wife break his children. He cares, but he is tough. I think you should be tough, too, Lord Rafail. It would please your father to have to worry so little with your mother gone," the man instructed carefully, once more staring down into the little face of his nephew. "His reaction is strikingly appropriate for the situation. The sooner you learn to deal with death, the better off you will be those around you start dropping like flies."
They walked a while longer until they were stepping out into the gardens behind the manor. Keikelius had fallen back into thought about his own sister, entirely displeased at her death at such a young age. They hadn't been extremely close, but he was quickly finding himself truly saddened at the loss of the woman. He hadn't even known that she was sick, which only added to the guilt and sadness he felt. "Maybe if you stay as good as your mother said, you could become a calvary soldier when you grow up. There is honor in military service. Though, it takes extreme dedication to truly be the best rider in Athenia. You might be pushing your luck with all of Greece. Taengeans are known for their ability to ride as well."
