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Having only been in Athenia for a day after the trip to Aetaea, Iris had found herself in the company of the Princess first and then a few other of the Athenian nobles. Just the night before, she'd sat down to dinner with Sotira of Antonis. This morning she'd met with Dione and now she was taking the bit of downtime to herself. Phillipa's tutor had come to work with her, leaving Iris the freedom to escape into the markets of Athenia.
Dressed in a chiton of soft, eggshell blue, the lady slipped among the stalls with a quiet ease she hadn't felt in quite a while. Interested in the wares, her gaze trailed one of the stalls filled with small pottery pieces and statues. Reaching out, she picked up a small vase, smiling to herself at the delicate workmanship. Carefully setting the piece back onto the stall's table, she reached for another one, observing this one as well.
A statue of a dog.
For a moment, it made her miss the hunting dogs back on her home estate and she found herself frowning. "I'd like to purchase this one," she said quietly, earning a nod and a price from the merchant. After paying for the trinket, wrapped and safely secured under her arm, Iris turned to move through the stalls once more, ducking through the throngs of people.
It was here that she spotted a familiar head of blonde hair, which only served to ruin her good mood. Despite her husband sitting at the bedside of the King, she had been making the best of the lack of contact with her new life partner. Running into Rafail or Marikas was the last thing she honestly wanted to deal with today. It made her wish for the company of Dione and her step-daughter once more.
If only to escape the haughty lord with an ego the size of Egypt.
Knowing that running into him would be unavoidable, Iris approached the lord, giving an amiable smile and a bow. "Lord Marikas," Iris greeted, keeping any malice or distaste out of her voice as she wandered past him to a stall that she was interested in surveying. "Good day to you," she hummed, hoping to leave it at that. Hoping to be left to her quiet, solitary shopping escape.
If she knew Lord Rafail as well as she thought she did, Iris was sure that the Lord wouldn't leave it at that. Their last meeting had been less than cordial, ending in Iris asking the man to leave her lands, unable to stomach his ego and lack of manners in her home.
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Having only been in Athenia for a day after the trip to Aetaea, Iris had found herself in the company of the Princess first and then a few other of the Athenian nobles. Just the night before, she'd sat down to dinner with Sotira of Antonis. This morning she'd met with Dione and now she was taking the bit of downtime to herself. Phillipa's tutor had come to work with her, leaving Iris the freedom to escape into the markets of Athenia.
Dressed in a chiton of soft, eggshell blue, the lady slipped among the stalls with a quiet ease she hadn't felt in quite a while. Interested in the wares, her gaze trailed one of the stalls filled with small pottery pieces and statues. Reaching out, she picked up a small vase, smiling to herself at the delicate workmanship. Carefully setting the piece back onto the stall's table, she reached for another one, observing this one as well.
A statue of a dog.
For a moment, it made her miss the hunting dogs back on her home estate and she found herself frowning. "I'd like to purchase this one," she said quietly, earning a nod and a price from the merchant. After paying for the trinket, wrapped and safely secured under her arm, Iris turned to move through the stalls once more, ducking through the throngs of people.
It was here that she spotted a familiar head of blonde hair, which only served to ruin her good mood. Despite her husband sitting at the bedside of the King, she had been making the best of the lack of contact with her new life partner. Running into Rafail or Marikas was the last thing she honestly wanted to deal with today. It made her wish for the company of Dione and her step-daughter once more.
If only to escape the haughty lord with an ego the size of Egypt.
Knowing that running into him would be unavoidable, Iris approached the lord, giving an amiable smile and a bow. "Lord Marikas," Iris greeted, keeping any malice or distaste out of her voice as she wandered past him to a stall that she was interested in surveying. "Good day to you," she hummed, hoping to leave it at that. Hoping to be left to her quiet, solitary shopping escape.
If she knew Lord Rafail as well as she thought she did, Iris was sure that the Lord wouldn't leave it at that. Their last meeting had been less than cordial, ending in Iris asking the man to leave her lands, unable to stomach his ego and lack of manners in her home.
Having only been in Athenia for a day after the trip to Aetaea, Iris had found herself in the company of the Princess first and then a few other of the Athenian nobles. Just the night before, she'd sat down to dinner with Sotira of Antonis. This morning she'd met with Dione and now she was taking the bit of downtime to herself. Phillipa's tutor had come to work with her, leaving Iris the freedom to escape into the markets of Athenia.
Dressed in a chiton of soft, eggshell blue, the lady slipped among the stalls with a quiet ease she hadn't felt in quite a while. Interested in the wares, her gaze trailed one of the stalls filled with small pottery pieces and statues. Reaching out, she picked up a small vase, smiling to herself at the delicate workmanship. Carefully setting the piece back onto the stall's table, she reached for another one, observing this one as well.
A statue of a dog.
For a moment, it made her miss the hunting dogs back on her home estate and she found herself frowning. "I'd like to purchase this one," she said quietly, earning a nod and a price from the merchant. After paying for the trinket, wrapped and safely secured under her arm, Iris turned to move through the stalls once more, ducking through the throngs of people.
It was here that she spotted a familiar head of blonde hair, which only served to ruin her good mood. Despite her husband sitting at the bedside of the King, she had been making the best of the lack of contact with her new life partner. Running into Rafail or Marikas was the last thing she honestly wanted to deal with today. It made her wish for the company of Dione and her step-daughter once more.
If only to escape the haughty lord with an ego the size of Egypt.
Knowing that running into him would be unavoidable, Iris approached the lord, giving an amiable smile and a bow. "Lord Marikas," Iris greeted, keeping any malice or distaste out of her voice as she wandered past him to a stall that she was interested in surveying. "Good day to you," she hummed, hoping to leave it at that. Hoping to be left to her quiet, solitary shopping escape.
If she knew Lord Rafail as well as she thought she did, Iris was sure that the Lord wouldn't leave it at that. Their last meeting had been less than cordial, ending in Iris asking the man to leave her lands, unable to stomach his ego and lack of manners in her home.
Rafail had been hoping for an undisturbed trip to the market this day. For once, he had foregone the hulking guard which often travelled with him, feeling little need for more than his preferred and straightforward pair of well-trusted slaves. They may not have been of significant use was he to be suddenly attacked, but they served a great purpose of carrying that which he did not desire to hold, which was most anything. Besides, the Marikas Lord had always been arrogant enough that he wholeheartedly believed all knew his name from a simple gaze and would be unlikely to rush at him in any violent attack.
As he had run his gaze over a wide selection of pretty trinkets that he was quite convinced would look delightful in his chambers, he found himself interrupted, his name called out a voice which he both recognised and was not entirely pleased to hear. Rafail turned to face the Aetaean lady, a frown forming on his features as she spoke, despite her apparent politeness. Last they had met, they had not left matters in the most favourable light, though Rafail took no fault for that whatsoever. Why should he be bothered if some baron's daughter from a province he cared little for had not enjoyed his visit? Most would have been more than thankful to have such a distinguished guest in their midst.
"Lady Iris," he greeted her, neglectful to use the more formal title and acknowledge her Varónos as he bent his head into a moderately polite greeting, the action stiff enough to note his reluctance to show her such ceremony. He had always been a firm believer in the segregation of classes, and, although there was not much difference between the members of a noble and royal house, Rafail did not think it an exception to the rule. There were certain rules on the levels of etiquette to be extended to each social class. "A pleasure to see you. My congratulations on your recent marriage. Evidently, your husband made an excellent choice, although such a shame you were forced to settle."
He had never thought Iris unattractive. Instead, she was quite the sort of woman that Rafail would have been happy to take to his bed, no matter how intently she appeared to reject his advances. Her still-fresh union had no bearing on that sentiment, and if he could have convinced her as he wished, then she would have forgotten the existence of the husband in an instant. It would not have been the first time the Marikas had stolen a lady from her lord.
"You're such an attractive and noble lady," he added, as though to accentuate his point on her settlement. "I am sure there were more illustrious men who would have been willing to have you over some overly fortunate peasant."
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Rafail had been hoping for an undisturbed trip to the market this day. For once, he had foregone the hulking guard which often travelled with him, feeling little need for more than his preferred and straightforward pair of well-trusted slaves. They may not have been of significant use was he to be suddenly attacked, but they served a great purpose of carrying that which he did not desire to hold, which was most anything. Besides, the Marikas Lord had always been arrogant enough that he wholeheartedly believed all knew his name from a simple gaze and would be unlikely to rush at him in any violent attack.
As he had run his gaze over a wide selection of pretty trinkets that he was quite convinced would look delightful in his chambers, he found himself interrupted, his name called out a voice which he both recognised and was not entirely pleased to hear. Rafail turned to face the Aetaean lady, a frown forming on his features as she spoke, despite her apparent politeness. Last they had met, they had not left matters in the most favourable light, though Rafail took no fault for that whatsoever. Why should he be bothered if some baron's daughter from a province he cared little for had not enjoyed his visit? Most would have been more than thankful to have such a distinguished guest in their midst.
"Lady Iris," he greeted her, neglectful to use the more formal title and acknowledge her Varónos as he bent his head into a moderately polite greeting, the action stiff enough to note his reluctance to show her such ceremony. He had always been a firm believer in the segregation of classes, and, although there was not much difference between the members of a noble and royal house, Rafail did not think it an exception to the rule. There were certain rules on the levels of etiquette to be extended to each social class. "A pleasure to see you. My congratulations on your recent marriage. Evidently, your husband made an excellent choice, although such a shame you were forced to settle."
He had never thought Iris unattractive. Instead, she was quite the sort of woman that Rafail would have been happy to take to his bed, no matter how intently she appeared to reject his advances. Her still-fresh union had no bearing on that sentiment, and if he could have convinced her as he wished, then she would have forgotten the existence of the husband in an instant. It would not have been the first time the Marikas had stolen a lady from her lord.
"You're such an attractive and noble lady," he added, as though to accentuate his point on her settlement. "I am sure there were more illustrious men who would have been willing to have you over some overly fortunate peasant."
Rafail had been hoping for an undisturbed trip to the market this day. For once, he had foregone the hulking guard which often travelled with him, feeling little need for more than his preferred and straightforward pair of well-trusted slaves. They may not have been of significant use was he to be suddenly attacked, but they served a great purpose of carrying that which he did not desire to hold, which was most anything. Besides, the Marikas Lord had always been arrogant enough that he wholeheartedly believed all knew his name from a simple gaze and would be unlikely to rush at him in any violent attack.
As he had run his gaze over a wide selection of pretty trinkets that he was quite convinced would look delightful in his chambers, he found himself interrupted, his name called out a voice which he both recognised and was not entirely pleased to hear. Rafail turned to face the Aetaean lady, a frown forming on his features as she spoke, despite her apparent politeness. Last they had met, they had not left matters in the most favourable light, though Rafail took no fault for that whatsoever. Why should he be bothered if some baron's daughter from a province he cared little for had not enjoyed his visit? Most would have been more than thankful to have such a distinguished guest in their midst.
"Lady Iris," he greeted her, neglectful to use the more formal title and acknowledge her Varónos as he bent his head into a moderately polite greeting, the action stiff enough to note his reluctance to show her such ceremony. He had always been a firm believer in the segregation of classes, and, although there was not much difference between the members of a noble and royal house, Rafail did not think it an exception to the rule. There were certain rules on the levels of etiquette to be extended to each social class. "A pleasure to see you. My congratulations on your recent marriage. Evidently, your husband made an excellent choice, although such a shame you were forced to settle."
He had never thought Iris unattractive. Instead, she was quite the sort of woman that Rafail would have been happy to take to his bed, no matter how intently she appeared to reject his advances. Her still-fresh union had no bearing on that sentiment, and if he could have convinced her as he wished, then she would have forgotten the existence of the husband in an instant. It would not have been the first time the Marikas had stolen a lady from her lord.
"You're such an attractive and noble lady," he added, as though to accentuate his point on her settlement. "I am sure there were more illustrious men who would have been willing to have you over some overly fortunate peasant."
It was as if this man, specifically, had been bred and born to annoy and infuriate the lady that stood before him. Iris very slightly let her green eyes narrow at Rafail of Marikas, the Lord of being unyieldingly irritating and uniquely immature. With him even so much as breathing in her vicinity, Lady Iris felt her patience wearing incredibly thin. When he opened his mouth to speak of topics that were truly none of his business? That was and entirely different level of rage that settled in her chest. Were she not a master at composing her features, her emotions, she may have shown just how angry the man made her.
But no. If there was a single thing that Iris did enjoy about Rafail, it was the battle of wits the two could find themselves in. Like a dance where the man continued to step on the lady's toes, and the lady proved her point by digging her heels in. It was an awkward, disjointed dance, but a dance nevertheless. True, it was nothing like the banter that she and Stelios often participated in, him stoking her inner fury toward his temperament and tendency to not think of anything before he spoke. Nor was this the same as the words she often shared with her husband, where their conversations were based on mutual understanding, a thirst for knowledge, and the constant reminder that they had one another to confide in.
Lifting a delicate eyebrow, Iris eyed her mouthy rival and lifted her chin. No longer would she afford him the same respect. His choice of words irked her enough to throw all genteel pretense, as well as the effort she made to be polite, straight into the fire. "Lord Rafail," Iris said with a cool smile, brushing one of her curls over her shoulder. "I thank you for the congratulations of my marriage, but I assure you that I did not settle. For the man I married holds just as high of a position as yourself in the Senate," she started, glancing to the merchants around them. "The only difference between him and yourself is that he has an enlightening, mature temperament. And you, my lord…"
Iris gave him a very pointed look up, down, and then back up to his face. "Clearly your governess lacked the knowledge of how to teach little boys to be polite and proper in the presence of Lords and Ladies alike," a smile tilted her lips and she pulled her purchase more closely to her chest. It was wildly immature of herself to be so scathing toward the man, but he was difficult to get along with. Iris felt the only way to make her point to him was to fight immaturity with immaturity. Like a dog one would attempt to train. Rubbing their noses in it usually reinforced that the behavior was inappropriate.
With the complement of her appearance, Iris smiled beautifully, pretending to blush and give a slight dip of acceptance despite the insult she had just made of him moments before. "Lord Aimias is more than illustrious. Nor is he a peasant," Iris hummed pointedly, "By all accounts, he may stand shoulder to shoulder as any noble would. Now. Are we done here? I would like to complete my shopping trip in peace, if you please, Lord Rafail." Another pointed comment alluding to the fact that he was both annoying and entirely poor company.
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It was as if this man, specifically, had been bred and born to annoy and infuriate the lady that stood before him. Iris very slightly let her green eyes narrow at Rafail of Marikas, the Lord of being unyieldingly irritating and uniquely immature. With him even so much as breathing in her vicinity, Lady Iris felt her patience wearing incredibly thin. When he opened his mouth to speak of topics that were truly none of his business? That was and entirely different level of rage that settled in her chest. Were she not a master at composing her features, her emotions, she may have shown just how angry the man made her.
But no. If there was a single thing that Iris did enjoy about Rafail, it was the battle of wits the two could find themselves in. Like a dance where the man continued to step on the lady's toes, and the lady proved her point by digging her heels in. It was an awkward, disjointed dance, but a dance nevertheless. True, it was nothing like the banter that she and Stelios often participated in, him stoking her inner fury toward his temperament and tendency to not think of anything before he spoke. Nor was this the same as the words she often shared with her husband, where their conversations were based on mutual understanding, a thirst for knowledge, and the constant reminder that they had one another to confide in.
Lifting a delicate eyebrow, Iris eyed her mouthy rival and lifted her chin. No longer would she afford him the same respect. His choice of words irked her enough to throw all genteel pretense, as well as the effort she made to be polite, straight into the fire. "Lord Rafail," Iris said with a cool smile, brushing one of her curls over her shoulder. "I thank you for the congratulations of my marriage, but I assure you that I did not settle. For the man I married holds just as high of a position as yourself in the Senate," she started, glancing to the merchants around them. "The only difference between him and yourself is that he has an enlightening, mature temperament. And you, my lord…"
Iris gave him a very pointed look up, down, and then back up to his face. "Clearly your governess lacked the knowledge of how to teach little boys to be polite and proper in the presence of Lords and Ladies alike," a smile tilted her lips and she pulled her purchase more closely to her chest. It was wildly immature of herself to be so scathing toward the man, but he was difficult to get along with. Iris felt the only way to make her point to him was to fight immaturity with immaturity. Like a dog one would attempt to train. Rubbing their noses in it usually reinforced that the behavior was inappropriate.
With the complement of her appearance, Iris smiled beautifully, pretending to blush and give a slight dip of acceptance despite the insult she had just made of him moments before. "Lord Aimias is more than illustrious. Nor is he a peasant," Iris hummed pointedly, "By all accounts, he may stand shoulder to shoulder as any noble would. Now. Are we done here? I would like to complete my shopping trip in peace, if you please, Lord Rafail." Another pointed comment alluding to the fact that he was both annoying and entirely poor company.
It was as if this man, specifically, had been bred and born to annoy and infuriate the lady that stood before him. Iris very slightly let her green eyes narrow at Rafail of Marikas, the Lord of being unyieldingly irritating and uniquely immature. With him even so much as breathing in her vicinity, Lady Iris felt her patience wearing incredibly thin. When he opened his mouth to speak of topics that were truly none of his business? That was and entirely different level of rage that settled in her chest. Were she not a master at composing her features, her emotions, she may have shown just how angry the man made her.
But no. If there was a single thing that Iris did enjoy about Rafail, it was the battle of wits the two could find themselves in. Like a dance where the man continued to step on the lady's toes, and the lady proved her point by digging her heels in. It was an awkward, disjointed dance, but a dance nevertheless. True, it was nothing like the banter that she and Stelios often participated in, him stoking her inner fury toward his temperament and tendency to not think of anything before he spoke. Nor was this the same as the words she often shared with her husband, where their conversations were based on mutual understanding, a thirst for knowledge, and the constant reminder that they had one another to confide in.
Lifting a delicate eyebrow, Iris eyed her mouthy rival and lifted her chin. No longer would she afford him the same respect. His choice of words irked her enough to throw all genteel pretense, as well as the effort she made to be polite, straight into the fire. "Lord Rafail," Iris said with a cool smile, brushing one of her curls over her shoulder. "I thank you for the congratulations of my marriage, but I assure you that I did not settle. For the man I married holds just as high of a position as yourself in the Senate," she started, glancing to the merchants around them. "The only difference between him and yourself is that he has an enlightening, mature temperament. And you, my lord…"
Iris gave him a very pointed look up, down, and then back up to his face. "Clearly your governess lacked the knowledge of how to teach little boys to be polite and proper in the presence of Lords and Ladies alike," a smile tilted her lips and she pulled her purchase more closely to her chest. It was wildly immature of herself to be so scathing toward the man, but he was difficult to get along with. Iris felt the only way to make her point to him was to fight immaturity with immaturity. Like a dog one would attempt to train. Rubbing their noses in it usually reinforced that the behavior was inappropriate.
With the complement of her appearance, Iris smiled beautifully, pretending to blush and give a slight dip of acceptance despite the insult she had just made of him moments before. "Lord Aimias is more than illustrious. Nor is he a peasant," Iris hummed pointedly, "By all accounts, he may stand shoulder to shoulder as any noble would. Now. Are we done here? I would like to complete my shopping trip in peace, if you please, Lord Rafail." Another pointed comment alluding to the fact that he was both annoying and entirely poor company.
Rafail did not know what joy he found in these battles. There was little appeal in discussion with women who would not bend to his will as quickly as he enjoyed, and Iris of Argyris was one of the few who, in the brief times they had made each other's acquaintance, had made no effort to attend to his personal desires. She was a challenge in all the wrong ways, yet he appeared to find himself in irritating debate with her more often than not.
"I am a royal lord of the Dynasteía Marikas. I can reassure you, I had only the finest when it came to governesses. Papa would never have allowed anything less of myself nor my brother." Nor Sophia, for that matter, although Rafail had a suspicion that Iris would already have believed such a thing of his sister, if solely because she held such backwards beliefs that women were in every apparent way superior (perhaps someone should have made her aware that they were designated the weaker sex for a good reason). "Your husband might think himself whatever he wishes in his own time, and you may well have convinced yourself that he does, indeed, hold as much eminence as you claim, but he is most certainly not of equal rank to me in the senate or otherwise."
So far as Rafail was concerned, she had done as well for herself as she could manage. No man of his standing would have taken her, of that much he was sure, especially given that - save for his cousin - he was one of the most eligible bachelors in Athenia, though he was saving himself for the princess Mama had promised so long ago. Though he was wholly unwilling to admit it, Iris had been relatively lucky when it came to her marriage.
"Are we done?" he repeated, as though entirely shocked by such a concept. The blonde lord had been minding his own business, running his gaze over the selection of wares in the store as if with genuine intentions of purchase, when the Argyris lady had approached him. It seemed almost fantastical that she would dare act as though it was he who had bothered her. "I was only enjoying a quiet day at the market when you felt the need to interrupt me, and yet you have the gall to act as though I am a hindrance on your time. If you do not wish to converse, Lady Iris, then I suggest you cease from harassing royal lords as they shop."
Turning away from the woman for a moment, Rafail directed his attention towards the vendor, waving a hand towards some small figurines of roses delicately crafted in decorative glass. They would look delightful amongst his things. He allowed his companions to handle the intricacies of the purchase, once more swinging around to focus on Iris, though the weary way in which he moved to face her seemed to imply that giving her even the slightest amount of respect was the most laborious chore he had ever experienced. In a way, it was. "Unless you intend to purchase something from this stall, I suggest you leave me be. I, however, do not intend to leave until I have completed my purchases; therefore, it is you who is bothering me." Rafail offered her a smile which one would be hardpressed to deem as anything other than fully condescending, head tilted in almost mock cordiality. "It's been a pleasure to speak with you again, my Lady."
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Sept 1, 2019 22:26:57 GMT
Posted In Cheap Thrills on Sept 1, 2019 22:26:57 GMT
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Rafail did not know what joy he found in these battles. There was little appeal in discussion with women who would not bend to his will as quickly as he enjoyed, and Iris of Argyris was one of the few who, in the brief times they had made each other's acquaintance, had made no effort to attend to his personal desires. She was a challenge in all the wrong ways, yet he appeared to find himself in irritating debate with her more often than not.
"I am a royal lord of the Dynasteía Marikas. I can reassure you, I had only the finest when it came to governesses. Papa would never have allowed anything less of myself nor my brother." Nor Sophia, for that matter, although Rafail had a suspicion that Iris would already have believed such a thing of his sister, if solely because she held such backwards beliefs that women were in every apparent way superior (perhaps someone should have made her aware that they were designated the weaker sex for a good reason). "Your husband might think himself whatever he wishes in his own time, and you may well have convinced yourself that he does, indeed, hold as much eminence as you claim, but he is most certainly not of equal rank to me in the senate or otherwise."
So far as Rafail was concerned, she had done as well for herself as she could manage. No man of his standing would have taken her, of that much he was sure, especially given that - save for his cousin - he was one of the most eligible bachelors in Athenia, though he was saving himself for the princess Mama had promised so long ago. Though he was wholly unwilling to admit it, Iris had been relatively lucky when it came to her marriage.
"Are we done?" he repeated, as though entirely shocked by such a concept. The blonde lord had been minding his own business, running his gaze over the selection of wares in the store as if with genuine intentions of purchase, when the Argyris lady had approached him. It seemed almost fantastical that she would dare act as though it was he who had bothered her. "I was only enjoying a quiet day at the market when you felt the need to interrupt me, and yet you have the gall to act as though I am a hindrance on your time. If you do not wish to converse, Lady Iris, then I suggest you cease from harassing royal lords as they shop."
Turning away from the woman for a moment, Rafail directed his attention towards the vendor, waving a hand towards some small figurines of roses delicately crafted in decorative glass. They would look delightful amongst his things. He allowed his companions to handle the intricacies of the purchase, once more swinging around to focus on Iris, though the weary way in which he moved to face her seemed to imply that giving her even the slightest amount of respect was the most laborious chore he had ever experienced. In a way, it was. "Unless you intend to purchase something from this stall, I suggest you leave me be. I, however, do not intend to leave until I have completed my purchases; therefore, it is you who is bothering me." Rafail offered her a smile which one would be hardpressed to deem as anything other than fully condescending, head tilted in almost mock cordiality. "It's been a pleasure to speak with you again, my Lady."
Rafail did not know what joy he found in these battles. There was little appeal in discussion with women who would not bend to his will as quickly as he enjoyed, and Iris of Argyris was one of the few who, in the brief times they had made each other's acquaintance, had made no effort to attend to his personal desires. She was a challenge in all the wrong ways, yet he appeared to find himself in irritating debate with her more often than not.
"I am a royal lord of the Dynasteía Marikas. I can reassure you, I had only the finest when it came to governesses. Papa would never have allowed anything less of myself nor my brother." Nor Sophia, for that matter, although Rafail had a suspicion that Iris would already have believed such a thing of his sister, if solely because she held such backwards beliefs that women were in every apparent way superior (perhaps someone should have made her aware that they were designated the weaker sex for a good reason). "Your husband might think himself whatever he wishes in his own time, and you may well have convinced yourself that he does, indeed, hold as much eminence as you claim, but he is most certainly not of equal rank to me in the senate or otherwise."
So far as Rafail was concerned, she had done as well for herself as she could manage. No man of his standing would have taken her, of that much he was sure, especially given that - save for his cousin - he was one of the most eligible bachelors in Athenia, though he was saving himself for the princess Mama had promised so long ago. Though he was wholly unwilling to admit it, Iris had been relatively lucky when it came to her marriage.
"Are we done?" he repeated, as though entirely shocked by such a concept. The blonde lord had been minding his own business, running his gaze over the selection of wares in the store as if with genuine intentions of purchase, when the Argyris lady had approached him. It seemed almost fantastical that she would dare act as though it was he who had bothered her. "I was only enjoying a quiet day at the market when you felt the need to interrupt me, and yet you have the gall to act as though I am a hindrance on your time. If you do not wish to converse, Lady Iris, then I suggest you cease from harassing royal lords as they shop."
Turning away from the woman for a moment, Rafail directed his attention towards the vendor, waving a hand towards some small figurines of roses delicately crafted in decorative glass. They would look delightful amongst his things. He allowed his companions to handle the intricacies of the purchase, once more swinging around to focus on Iris, though the weary way in which he moved to face her seemed to imply that giving her even the slightest amount of respect was the most laborious chore he had ever experienced. In a way, it was. "Unless you intend to purchase something from this stall, I suggest you leave me be. I, however, do not intend to leave until I have completed my purchases; therefore, it is you who is bothering me." Rafail offered her a smile which one would be hardpressed to deem as anything other than fully condescending, head tilted in almost mock cordiality. "It's been a pleasure to speak with you again, my Lady."
Rafail of Marikas always seemed to have this inclination to get under Iris’ skin. Whether it was intentional or accidental didn’t truly matter. He was irritating in the worst of ways, especially when her own intention had been to be polite and welcoming to him. As she had never been before. Her initial thought had been to kill him with kindness, and she might have actually done so if he hadn’t decided to open his mouth and incriminate himself further in her eyes. He was vain, rude, and liked to imply that he was better than everyone around him. Royal blood he might have had, but he had the temperament of a rabid hound that should have been struck down with an arrow at the first sign of bad tendencies.
Momentarily, Iris had the thought, for the second time in her life, of Lord Rafail dead somewhere and out of her face. His words made her blood boil beneath her skin and she so desperately found herself wanting to flay him. Piece by piece. It was something that would never happen, surely, but a girl could honestly dream. To think that just a few moments before she may have even been looking forward to a pleasant conversation for once in her life.
“Clearly my husband does not see himself as equal rank to you, my lord,” the words were out of her mouth before she could truly think about them, “If only because he has some sense of humility and humbleness that you lack,” Iris said sweetly, her green gaze raking down and then back up his form. “In temperament and appearance.” She was ready to leave it at that, but he just… kept. Talking. In any normal circumstance, Iris would have rolled her eyes at him, having no patience for whatever high and mighty bullshit was about to come out of his mouth. But she played the good little lady and listened to him speak.
The notion that she had harassed him at all was yet another strike against his character that Iris was absolutely going to take personally. Especially when it had never been her intention to really give him more than a hello. His congratulations on her marriage had even been sweet and admirable until he had gotten to the end of it. “Yes, my lord. Are we finished? Because I had every intention of only saying good morning and wishing you a fortuitous time with your shopping,” Iris’ brows were furrowed, knitted together with hardly-hidden frustration at the situation they had found themselves in once more. “I waved the flag of defeat and you started a war,” she accused.
“So please, for both of our sakes, spare me the rest of this conversation. I have no need to hear, once more, that you are the greatest man to ever walk the streets of Athenia when I only wanted to say hello,” Iris said in a quick, frustrated rush, turning to face the stall. The merchant behind the counter looked severely uncomfortable with the exchange and gave both of them a sheepish smile, muttering that they were free to look through his wares. She stepped up to the other side of the stall to look at a few of the more delicate charms. There was one of a carved wolf, beautiful and polished. Immediately thinking of her step-daughter, she passed a few coins to the vendor and took her purchase silently.
She only gave Rafail another glance as she trailed off toward the next stall, choosing not to say goodbye to the lord. Because it hadn’t been a pleasure and she was not inclined to lie to him for the sake of propriety.
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Oct 13, 2019 21:29:29 GMT
Posted In Cheap Thrills on Oct 13, 2019 21:29:29 GMT
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Rafail of Marikas always seemed to have this inclination to get under Iris’ skin. Whether it was intentional or accidental didn’t truly matter. He was irritating in the worst of ways, especially when her own intention had been to be polite and welcoming to him. As she had never been before. Her initial thought had been to kill him with kindness, and she might have actually done so if he hadn’t decided to open his mouth and incriminate himself further in her eyes. He was vain, rude, and liked to imply that he was better than everyone around him. Royal blood he might have had, but he had the temperament of a rabid hound that should have been struck down with an arrow at the first sign of bad tendencies.
Momentarily, Iris had the thought, for the second time in her life, of Lord Rafail dead somewhere and out of her face. His words made her blood boil beneath her skin and she so desperately found herself wanting to flay him. Piece by piece. It was something that would never happen, surely, but a girl could honestly dream. To think that just a few moments before she may have even been looking forward to a pleasant conversation for once in her life.
“Clearly my husband does not see himself as equal rank to you, my lord,” the words were out of her mouth before she could truly think about them, “If only because he has some sense of humility and humbleness that you lack,” Iris said sweetly, her green gaze raking down and then back up his form. “In temperament and appearance.” She was ready to leave it at that, but he just… kept. Talking. In any normal circumstance, Iris would have rolled her eyes at him, having no patience for whatever high and mighty bullshit was about to come out of his mouth. But she played the good little lady and listened to him speak.
The notion that she had harassed him at all was yet another strike against his character that Iris was absolutely going to take personally. Especially when it had never been her intention to really give him more than a hello. His congratulations on her marriage had even been sweet and admirable until he had gotten to the end of it. “Yes, my lord. Are we finished? Because I had every intention of only saying good morning and wishing you a fortuitous time with your shopping,” Iris’ brows were furrowed, knitted together with hardly-hidden frustration at the situation they had found themselves in once more. “I waved the flag of defeat and you started a war,” she accused.
“So please, for both of our sakes, spare me the rest of this conversation. I have no need to hear, once more, that you are the greatest man to ever walk the streets of Athenia when I only wanted to say hello,” Iris said in a quick, frustrated rush, turning to face the stall. The merchant behind the counter looked severely uncomfortable with the exchange and gave both of them a sheepish smile, muttering that they were free to look through his wares. She stepped up to the other side of the stall to look at a few of the more delicate charms. There was one of a carved wolf, beautiful and polished. Immediately thinking of her step-daughter, she passed a few coins to the vendor and took her purchase silently.
She only gave Rafail another glance as she trailed off toward the next stall, choosing not to say goodbye to the lord. Because it hadn’t been a pleasure and she was not inclined to lie to him for the sake of propriety.
Rafail of Marikas always seemed to have this inclination to get under Iris’ skin. Whether it was intentional or accidental didn’t truly matter. He was irritating in the worst of ways, especially when her own intention had been to be polite and welcoming to him. As she had never been before. Her initial thought had been to kill him with kindness, and she might have actually done so if he hadn’t decided to open his mouth and incriminate himself further in her eyes. He was vain, rude, and liked to imply that he was better than everyone around him. Royal blood he might have had, but he had the temperament of a rabid hound that should have been struck down with an arrow at the first sign of bad tendencies.
Momentarily, Iris had the thought, for the second time in her life, of Lord Rafail dead somewhere and out of her face. His words made her blood boil beneath her skin and she so desperately found herself wanting to flay him. Piece by piece. It was something that would never happen, surely, but a girl could honestly dream. To think that just a few moments before she may have even been looking forward to a pleasant conversation for once in her life.
“Clearly my husband does not see himself as equal rank to you, my lord,” the words were out of her mouth before she could truly think about them, “If only because he has some sense of humility and humbleness that you lack,” Iris said sweetly, her green gaze raking down and then back up his form. “In temperament and appearance.” She was ready to leave it at that, but he just… kept. Talking. In any normal circumstance, Iris would have rolled her eyes at him, having no patience for whatever high and mighty bullshit was about to come out of his mouth. But she played the good little lady and listened to him speak.
The notion that she had harassed him at all was yet another strike against his character that Iris was absolutely going to take personally. Especially when it had never been her intention to really give him more than a hello. His congratulations on her marriage had even been sweet and admirable until he had gotten to the end of it. “Yes, my lord. Are we finished? Because I had every intention of only saying good morning and wishing you a fortuitous time with your shopping,” Iris’ brows were furrowed, knitted together with hardly-hidden frustration at the situation they had found themselves in once more. “I waved the flag of defeat and you started a war,” she accused.
“So please, for both of our sakes, spare me the rest of this conversation. I have no need to hear, once more, that you are the greatest man to ever walk the streets of Athenia when I only wanted to say hello,” Iris said in a quick, frustrated rush, turning to face the stall. The merchant behind the counter looked severely uncomfortable with the exchange and gave both of them a sheepish smile, muttering that they were free to look through his wares. She stepped up to the other side of the stall to look at a few of the more delicate charms. There was one of a carved wolf, beautiful and polished. Immediately thinking of her step-daughter, she passed a few coins to the vendor and took her purchase silently.
She only gave Rafail another glance as she trailed off toward the next stall, choosing not to say goodbye to the lord. Because it hadn’t been a pleasure and she was not inclined to lie to him for the sake of propriety.
Rafail did not understand Lady Iris. She seemed to make an excessive effort to come across him in public areas and cause trouble, and yet when they did speak, all she wished to do was argue and throw some undeserved insult in his direction. It was not a relationship he had ever held with another woman: even when it came to those few failed partnerships, they tended to prefer limited interactions rather than pointlessly fighting with one another. Iris, on the other hand, seemed to relish the arguments.
He cared not for her petty comments about his humility. He had no reason to act like a simple man when he knew he was the opposite. He did not wish to dress like a peasant, nor behave like he was not inherently superior to most others. Mama had not raised him for the first few years of his life to believe himself a poor man, and all those nannies Papa had continued to hire after her passing had not treated him with such reverence because he was but some regular man. The Marikas did not need some random woman who was worth something only due to the privilege of her high birth to inform him of her beliefs. They had met only once, after all, and he did not care for her insults. He was out of patience for the woman.
"I did nothing. As I explained to you, I was enjoying a calming stroll through the market, and it was you who initiated contact." He shifted an eyebrow upwards, his lip twitching to follow it, as if amused by the idea that he was at fault. Rafail had been raised to believe that it was indeed impossible for him to be in the wrong in nearly any situation, and he was glad for the opportunity to escape this tedium. He ignored her further comments, as they were only an unnecessary repetition of the way she did not seem to agree with what he had to say, his gaze running over the trinkets on the stand before them, wholly disregarding the vendor's evident discomfort at having been caught in the middle of this quarrel.
Once Iris had finished with her purchases, and seemed ready to move away from the stall, she caught his gaze again. In any normal situation, Rafail would have known what the look meant. It would have been one of remorse on the woman's behalf, and an unspoken request that he let bygones be bygones and take her back to the Marikas home so that she could prove just how apologetic she was in their shared bed. Here, however, he could not place her expression, and the dark-haired woman did not say a word before she turned to leave. Although he may not have liked her, there still felt a requirement to express some courtesy, as if it might give her the moral high ground, and he called after her once more: "As I said, it has been a pleasure, Lady Iris."
With the stupid girl gone, he waved a hand to the merchant as though to indicate a lack of interest in anything he had to offer, already starting to walk away, though not without a final, carefully-considered word. It might as well do to spread a little rumor. "The plights of the noble classes are not yours on which to eavesdrop. Solely because I sleep with a woman, and we later have a disagreement does not mean it is yours to spread." That should have been enough to ensure some words got out about the alleged affair. He offered the man a bright and yet half-menacing smile, then gestured to his pair of companions as he turned on his heel and made to leave the market.
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Rafail did not understand Lady Iris. She seemed to make an excessive effort to come across him in public areas and cause trouble, and yet when they did speak, all she wished to do was argue and throw some undeserved insult in his direction. It was not a relationship he had ever held with another woman: even when it came to those few failed partnerships, they tended to prefer limited interactions rather than pointlessly fighting with one another. Iris, on the other hand, seemed to relish the arguments.
He cared not for her petty comments about his humility. He had no reason to act like a simple man when he knew he was the opposite. He did not wish to dress like a peasant, nor behave like he was not inherently superior to most others. Mama had not raised him for the first few years of his life to believe himself a poor man, and all those nannies Papa had continued to hire after her passing had not treated him with such reverence because he was but some regular man. The Marikas did not need some random woman who was worth something only due to the privilege of her high birth to inform him of her beliefs. They had met only once, after all, and he did not care for her insults. He was out of patience for the woman.
"I did nothing. As I explained to you, I was enjoying a calming stroll through the market, and it was you who initiated contact." He shifted an eyebrow upwards, his lip twitching to follow it, as if amused by the idea that he was at fault. Rafail had been raised to believe that it was indeed impossible for him to be in the wrong in nearly any situation, and he was glad for the opportunity to escape this tedium. He ignored her further comments, as they were only an unnecessary repetition of the way she did not seem to agree with what he had to say, his gaze running over the trinkets on the stand before them, wholly disregarding the vendor's evident discomfort at having been caught in the middle of this quarrel.
Once Iris had finished with her purchases, and seemed ready to move away from the stall, she caught his gaze again. In any normal situation, Rafail would have known what the look meant. It would have been one of remorse on the woman's behalf, and an unspoken request that he let bygones be bygones and take her back to the Marikas home so that she could prove just how apologetic she was in their shared bed. Here, however, he could not place her expression, and the dark-haired woman did not say a word before she turned to leave. Although he may not have liked her, there still felt a requirement to express some courtesy, as if it might give her the moral high ground, and he called after her once more: "As I said, it has been a pleasure, Lady Iris."
With the stupid girl gone, he waved a hand to the merchant as though to indicate a lack of interest in anything he had to offer, already starting to walk away, though not without a final, carefully-considered word. It might as well do to spread a little rumor. "The plights of the noble classes are not yours on which to eavesdrop. Solely because I sleep with a woman, and we later have a disagreement does not mean it is yours to spread." That should have been enough to ensure some words got out about the alleged affair. He offered the man a bright and yet half-menacing smile, then gestured to his pair of companions as he turned on his heel and made to leave the market.
Rafail did not understand Lady Iris. She seemed to make an excessive effort to come across him in public areas and cause trouble, and yet when they did speak, all she wished to do was argue and throw some undeserved insult in his direction. It was not a relationship he had ever held with another woman: even when it came to those few failed partnerships, they tended to prefer limited interactions rather than pointlessly fighting with one another. Iris, on the other hand, seemed to relish the arguments.
He cared not for her petty comments about his humility. He had no reason to act like a simple man when he knew he was the opposite. He did not wish to dress like a peasant, nor behave like he was not inherently superior to most others. Mama had not raised him for the first few years of his life to believe himself a poor man, and all those nannies Papa had continued to hire after her passing had not treated him with such reverence because he was but some regular man. The Marikas did not need some random woman who was worth something only due to the privilege of her high birth to inform him of her beliefs. They had met only once, after all, and he did not care for her insults. He was out of patience for the woman.
"I did nothing. As I explained to you, I was enjoying a calming stroll through the market, and it was you who initiated contact." He shifted an eyebrow upwards, his lip twitching to follow it, as if amused by the idea that he was at fault. Rafail had been raised to believe that it was indeed impossible for him to be in the wrong in nearly any situation, and he was glad for the opportunity to escape this tedium. He ignored her further comments, as they were only an unnecessary repetition of the way she did not seem to agree with what he had to say, his gaze running over the trinkets on the stand before them, wholly disregarding the vendor's evident discomfort at having been caught in the middle of this quarrel.
Once Iris had finished with her purchases, and seemed ready to move away from the stall, she caught his gaze again. In any normal situation, Rafail would have known what the look meant. It would have been one of remorse on the woman's behalf, and an unspoken request that he let bygones be bygones and take her back to the Marikas home so that she could prove just how apologetic she was in their shared bed. Here, however, he could not place her expression, and the dark-haired woman did not say a word before she turned to leave. Although he may not have liked her, there still felt a requirement to express some courtesy, as if it might give her the moral high ground, and he called after her once more: "As I said, it has been a pleasure, Lady Iris."
With the stupid girl gone, he waved a hand to the merchant as though to indicate a lack of interest in anything he had to offer, already starting to walk away, though not without a final, carefully-considered word. It might as well do to spread a little rumor. "The plights of the noble classes are not yours on which to eavesdrop. Solely because I sleep with a woman, and we later have a disagreement does not mean it is yours to spread." That should have been enough to ensure some words got out about the alleged affair. He offered the man a bright and yet half-menacing smile, then gestured to his pair of companions as he turned on his heel and made to leave the market.