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It had been one of those days that had turned into one of those nights and then somehow into one of those mornings. The sun seemed altogether too bright, the Lord squinted as he shambled his way back towards the Upper Levels. He’d headed out sometime around noon the day before, and then bumping into old acquaintances had seen him sort of forget to go home again. Which was fine, but the elixir he’d taken had long since burnt off, the false energy he’d felt wasted on drinking and whoring. It had been fun enough, at the time, but now Silanos’ head was pounding and his mouth tasted like something had crawled into and died.
Why did it have to be so fucking bright?
The sun was bouncing off the stone and dazzling him, and he was so tired now that even walking seemed a huge effort. Or a success, he could consider it that way instead. And whilst Silanos sort of understood why the finer house were in the upper levels but on days like this it was an unecessary torture. He would have summoned a carriage but Sil had lost his last coin and a nice gold cuff in a card game, and so now he was left to do the walk of shame like a peasant. It was adding insult to injury.
It would be fair to say that the young Valaoritis Lord looked a little dishevelled too, hair askew, chiton rumpled and minus at least one piece of adornment he’d gone out with. Maybe two, because he was only wearing one fibulae and he could have sworn there had been another. Most gave him a wide berth and Sil was fine with that, not feeling much in the mood for company. With any luck, Timaeus would be out doing worthy, responsible things, and Silanos could just slink in, try not to fall asleep and drown in the bath and maybe, maybe risk a couple of hours napping. He needed it, getting to that heavy limbed, empty headed stage of fatigue that meant soon he’d be seeing things, or people, and not in a poppy induced stupor but because he was just that godsdamned tired.
In fact.. Silanos furrowed his brow as his thoughts ran sluggishly together. He was pretty certain he had some poppy stowed away in is chambers, so maybe there was chance of a longer sleep. If he could drug himself insensible then nightmares didn’t matter. The thought cheered him a little, and he almost picked up his pace, only to smack into something very solid, and almost human shaped. Silanos bounced off the obstacle which he was sure had not been there a moment ago, and looked up with a scowl. What had he done to deserve being faced with morons this morning?
“Watch where you’re going will you, fool”
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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It had been one of those days that had turned into one of those nights and then somehow into one of those mornings. The sun seemed altogether too bright, the Lord squinted as he shambled his way back towards the Upper Levels. He’d headed out sometime around noon the day before, and then bumping into old acquaintances had seen him sort of forget to go home again. Which was fine, but the elixir he’d taken had long since burnt off, the false energy he’d felt wasted on drinking and whoring. It had been fun enough, at the time, but now Silanos’ head was pounding and his mouth tasted like something had crawled into and died.
Why did it have to be so fucking bright?
The sun was bouncing off the stone and dazzling him, and he was so tired now that even walking seemed a huge effort. Or a success, he could consider it that way instead. And whilst Silanos sort of understood why the finer house were in the upper levels but on days like this it was an unecessary torture. He would have summoned a carriage but Sil had lost his last coin and a nice gold cuff in a card game, and so now he was left to do the walk of shame like a peasant. It was adding insult to injury.
It would be fair to say that the young Valaoritis Lord looked a little dishevelled too, hair askew, chiton rumpled and minus at least one piece of adornment he’d gone out with. Maybe two, because he was only wearing one fibulae and he could have sworn there had been another. Most gave him a wide berth and Sil was fine with that, not feeling much in the mood for company. With any luck, Timaeus would be out doing worthy, responsible things, and Silanos could just slink in, try not to fall asleep and drown in the bath and maybe, maybe risk a couple of hours napping. He needed it, getting to that heavy limbed, empty headed stage of fatigue that meant soon he’d be seeing things, or people, and not in a poppy induced stupor but because he was just that godsdamned tired.
In fact.. Silanos furrowed his brow as his thoughts ran sluggishly together. He was pretty certain he had some poppy stowed away in is chambers, so maybe there was chance of a longer sleep. If he could drug himself insensible then nightmares didn’t matter. The thought cheered him a little, and he almost picked up his pace, only to smack into something very solid, and almost human shaped. Silanos bounced off the obstacle which he was sure had not been there a moment ago, and looked up with a scowl. What had he done to deserve being faced with morons this morning?
“Watch where you’re going will you, fool”
It had been one of those days that had turned into one of those nights and then somehow into one of those mornings. The sun seemed altogether too bright, the Lord squinted as he shambled his way back towards the Upper Levels. He’d headed out sometime around noon the day before, and then bumping into old acquaintances had seen him sort of forget to go home again. Which was fine, but the elixir he’d taken had long since burnt off, the false energy he’d felt wasted on drinking and whoring. It had been fun enough, at the time, but now Silanos’ head was pounding and his mouth tasted like something had crawled into and died.
Why did it have to be so fucking bright?
The sun was bouncing off the stone and dazzling him, and he was so tired now that even walking seemed a huge effort. Or a success, he could consider it that way instead. And whilst Silanos sort of understood why the finer house were in the upper levels but on days like this it was an unecessary torture. He would have summoned a carriage but Sil had lost his last coin and a nice gold cuff in a card game, and so now he was left to do the walk of shame like a peasant. It was adding insult to injury.
It would be fair to say that the young Valaoritis Lord looked a little dishevelled too, hair askew, chiton rumpled and minus at least one piece of adornment he’d gone out with. Maybe two, because he was only wearing one fibulae and he could have sworn there had been another. Most gave him a wide berth and Sil was fine with that, not feeling much in the mood for company. With any luck, Timaeus would be out doing worthy, responsible things, and Silanos could just slink in, try not to fall asleep and drown in the bath and maybe, maybe risk a couple of hours napping. He needed it, getting to that heavy limbed, empty headed stage of fatigue that meant soon he’d be seeing things, or people, and not in a poppy induced stupor but because he was just that godsdamned tired.
In fact.. Silanos furrowed his brow as his thoughts ran sluggishly together. He was pretty certain he had some poppy stowed away in is chambers, so maybe there was chance of a longer sleep. If he could drug himself insensible then nightmares didn’t matter. The thought cheered him a little, and he almost picked up his pace, only to smack into something very solid, and almost human shaped. Silanos bounced off the obstacle which he was sure had not been there a moment ago, and looked up with a scowl. What had he done to deserve being faced with morons this morning?
“Watch where you’re going will you, fool”
They had a smooth coolness to them he found strangely soothing. It was mesmerizing, in a way, and thus he indulged himself in the sensation. Much like digging under the pillow, the pearls felt like winter’s kiss upon his digits, like ice on sunburnt skin. When that coolness was drained, a finger would flick each bead down into its pouch and produce a new one, following the length of the necklace. Cost-free pleasure at one’s fingertips – the greatest invention Mikolas has ever created for himself.
Like a stain on pure white marble, Mikolas was unable to move unnoticed. The Upper city, wherein luxury and purity seemed to be the norm, his filthy chiton stood out like a turd among roses. White enough to hide his dandruff, but not white enough to blend in with his environment, add then his uncommon height and the proportion of 50/50 between man and hair, and, indeed, the moving stain was given a wide berth. Even a slave could strike a better impression.
Mikolas walked with haste, his expression sour from whatever troubles chased after him, playing with those cool, silky-smooth pearls like any soldier would when missing his trusty spear. Given the thin arms and entitled faces of those he crossed, spears must’ve been long extinct from these parts. He lowered his gaze down at his pearls and caressed them. He turned a corner here, went straight there, and then was met with a sudden stop in the form of a thud between two bodies.
Snap.
Eyes met. Like lighting on sand, there was immediate rejection between the striking blues and the fierce browns. They could’ve come to blows, at least from Mikolas’ part, were it not for that dreadful trickling sound. When he lowered his gaze, the truth was finally out in the open: the lace had snapped, and those pearls were all around, bouncing away on the stone. Even they seemed to dislike Mikolas’ touch, commencing an odyssey towards finer owners. There was a gasping exclaim from those witnessing the event, or perhaps in reaction to the words of the sleep-walker. This was what brought panic to the scarred warrior.
“Ah!” he exclaimed, jumping back, a hand going up to his head. “Ain’t n’body t’ b’ touchin’ n’thin’, y’ b’ hearin’!?”
Then he pounced. He threw himself down on the ground, reaching out to capture one, two, three pearls and place them back on the pouch, crawling on all fours down the street. He tried to get a good, quick look around to spot the flying pieces, albeit both their size and their color would help little in the sunlight and the white-washed world of the Upper levels. Among the cracks of the stone, in some hidden corner, or caught between the fingers of those greedy enough to claim a pearl for themselves, Mikolas needed all those pearls back.
“Yu’s t’ b’ touchin’ n’thin’,” he repeated loudly, his tone as crass as his appearance. “Ain’t yu’s t’ b’ stealin’ m’ p’’rls!”
This character is currently a work in progress.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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They had a smooth coolness to them he found strangely soothing. It was mesmerizing, in a way, and thus he indulged himself in the sensation. Much like digging under the pillow, the pearls felt like winter’s kiss upon his digits, like ice on sunburnt skin. When that coolness was drained, a finger would flick each bead down into its pouch and produce a new one, following the length of the necklace. Cost-free pleasure at one’s fingertips – the greatest invention Mikolas has ever created for himself.
Like a stain on pure white marble, Mikolas was unable to move unnoticed. The Upper city, wherein luxury and purity seemed to be the norm, his filthy chiton stood out like a turd among roses. White enough to hide his dandruff, but not white enough to blend in with his environment, add then his uncommon height and the proportion of 50/50 between man and hair, and, indeed, the moving stain was given a wide berth. Even a slave could strike a better impression.
Mikolas walked with haste, his expression sour from whatever troubles chased after him, playing with those cool, silky-smooth pearls like any soldier would when missing his trusty spear. Given the thin arms and entitled faces of those he crossed, spears must’ve been long extinct from these parts. He lowered his gaze down at his pearls and caressed them. He turned a corner here, went straight there, and then was met with a sudden stop in the form of a thud between two bodies.
Snap.
Eyes met. Like lighting on sand, there was immediate rejection between the striking blues and the fierce browns. They could’ve come to blows, at least from Mikolas’ part, were it not for that dreadful trickling sound. When he lowered his gaze, the truth was finally out in the open: the lace had snapped, and those pearls were all around, bouncing away on the stone. Even they seemed to dislike Mikolas’ touch, commencing an odyssey towards finer owners. There was a gasping exclaim from those witnessing the event, or perhaps in reaction to the words of the sleep-walker. This was what brought panic to the scarred warrior.
“Ah!” he exclaimed, jumping back, a hand going up to his head. “Ain’t n’body t’ b’ touchin’ n’thin’, y’ b’ hearin’!?”
Then he pounced. He threw himself down on the ground, reaching out to capture one, two, three pearls and place them back on the pouch, crawling on all fours down the street. He tried to get a good, quick look around to spot the flying pieces, albeit both their size and their color would help little in the sunlight and the white-washed world of the Upper levels. Among the cracks of the stone, in some hidden corner, or caught between the fingers of those greedy enough to claim a pearl for themselves, Mikolas needed all those pearls back.
“Yu’s t’ b’ touchin’ n’thin’,” he repeated loudly, his tone as crass as his appearance. “Ain’t yu’s t’ b’ stealin’ m’ p’’rls!”
They had a smooth coolness to them he found strangely soothing. It was mesmerizing, in a way, and thus he indulged himself in the sensation. Much like digging under the pillow, the pearls felt like winter’s kiss upon his digits, like ice on sunburnt skin. When that coolness was drained, a finger would flick each bead down into its pouch and produce a new one, following the length of the necklace. Cost-free pleasure at one’s fingertips – the greatest invention Mikolas has ever created for himself.
Like a stain on pure white marble, Mikolas was unable to move unnoticed. The Upper city, wherein luxury and purity seemed to be the norm, his filthy chiton stood out like a turd among roses. White enough to hide his dandruff, but not white enough to blend in with his environment, add then his uncommon height and the proportion of 50/50 between man and hair, and, indeed, the moving stain was given a wide berth. Even a slave could strike a better impression.
Mikolas walked with haste, his expression sour from whatever troubles chased after him, playing with those cool, silky-smooth pearls like any soldier would when missing his trusty spear. Given the thin arms and entitled faces of those he crossed, spears must’ve been long extinct from these parts. He lowered his gaze down at his pearls and caressed them. He turned a corner here, went straight there, and then was met with a sudden stop in the form of a thud between two bodies.
Snap.
Eyes met. Like lighting on sand, there was immediate rejection between the striking blues and the fierce browns. They could’ve come to blows, at least from Mikolas’ part, were it not for that dreadful trickling sound. When he lowered his gaze, the truth was finally out in the open: the lace had snapped, and those pearls were all around, bouncing away on the stone. Even they seemed to dislike Mikolas’ touch, commencing an odyssey towards finer owners. There was a gasping exclaim from those witnessing the event, or perhaps in reaction to the words of the sleep-walker. This was what brought panic to the scarred warrior.
“Ah!” he exclaimed, jumping back, a hand going up to his head. “Ain’t n’body t’ b’ touchin’ n’thin’, y’ b’ hearin’!?”
Then he pounced. He threw himself down on the ground, reaching out to capture one, two, three pearls and place them back on the pouch, crawling on all fours down the street. He tried to get a good, quick look around to spot the flying pieces, albeit both their size and their color would help little in the sunlight and the white-washed world of the Upper levels. Among the cracks of the stone, in some hidden corner, or caught between the fingers of those greedy enough to claim a pearl for themselves, Mikolas needed all those pearls back.
“Yu’s t’ b’ touchin’ n’thin’,” he repeated loudly, his tone as crass as his appearance. “Ain’t yu’s t’ b’ stealin’ m’ p’’rls!”
The young lord stared irritably at the obstacle he’d found in his way, more than a little disgusted by the body odour that surrounded the unwashed mountain of a man. Rank, it caught in the back of his throat and he had to suppress a gag. It wasn’t helping with his hangover, and he stepped back a couple of paces to try and move out of the fugue that surrounded the other man. When did people stop believing in bathing?
Through the dull ache in his head and the fact he hadn’t slept in a good couple of days, it took him a moment to realise what the great brute was yelling about, and Silanos gawped at him like he was speaking another language which, let’s be fucking honest, he practically was. Following the spectacle with his eyes, he watched as the big man fell to his knees and startled scrabbling on the floor, the lord realising belatedly that beads were rolling all over the place.
Oh, no, not beads, he observed as the man grunted out something else almost entirely unintelligible, but pearls. How the fuck did a wretch like him come by pearls?
“Alright, alright” he drawled, holding a hand to his head. “I’m not sure what neighbourhood you think you’re in but no one here gives a fuck about your pearls, so just stop yelling”
He leant for a moment against the cool stone of the neighbouring wall, screwed up his face against the sun and wondered if he could just wish himself home. It was sad and depressing that when he opened his eyes again he was in the same place, and the man was still rooting around like he’d lost his entire reason for living on the cobbled streets. Pushing himself up and away from the wall, Silanos tried to summon the will to continue on his way. He’d only taken one step and he was defeated by the pearl skittering under his sandal, and with a muttered curse, he bent to pick it up, which made his head hurt horribly. Holding it between thumb and forefinger, he peered at it a moment before calling out to the man. “Here, catch”
“Did your mother give them to you?” he asked a slightly mocking lilt to his voice. “Or are they a gift for a lover? I can commend your choice, women love jewellery but might suggest a trip to the bathhouse will get you further” His gaze skimmed over the man in a barely veiled disgust before he rolled his eyes and went to continue on his way.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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The young lord stared irritably at the obstacle he’d found in his way, more than a little disgusted by the body odour that surrounded the unwashed mountain of a man. Rank, it caught in the back of his throat and he had to suppress a gag. It wasn’t helping with his hangover, and he stepped back a couple of paces to try and move out of the fugue that surrounded the other man. When did people stop believing in bathing?
Through the dull ache in his head and the fact he hadn’t slept in a good couple of days, it took him a moment to realise what the great brute was yelling about, and Silanos gawped at him like he was speaking another language which, let’s be fucking honest, he practically was. Following the spectacle with his eyes, he watched as the big man fell to his knees and startled scrabbling on the floor, the lord realising belatedly that beads were rolling all over the place.
Oh, no, not beads, he observed as the man grunted out something else almost entirely unintelligible, but pearls. How the fuck did a wretch like him come by pearls?
“Alright, alright” he drawled, holding a hand to his head. “I’m not sure what neighbourhood you think you’re in but no one here gives a fuck about your pearls, so just stop yelling”
He leant for a moment against the cool stone of the neighbouring wall, screwed up his face against the sun and wondered if he could just wish himself home. It was sad and depressing that when he opened his eyes again he was in the same place, and the man was still rooting around like he’d lost his entire reason for living on the cobbled streets. Pushing himself up and away from the wall, Silanos tried to summon the will to continue on his way. He’d only taken one step and he was defeated by the pearl skittering under his sandal, and with a muttered curse, he bent to pick it up, which made his head hurt horribly. Holding it between thumb and forefinger, he peered at it a moment before calling out to the man. “Here, catch”
“Did your mother give them to you?” he asked a slightly mocking lilt to his voice. “Or are they a gift for a lover? I can commend your choice, women love jewellery but might suggest a trip to the bathhouse will get you further” His gaze skimmed over the man in a barely veiled disgust before he rolled his eyes and went to continue on his way.
The young lord stared irritably at the obstacle he’d found in his way, more than a little disgusted by the body odour that surrounded the unwashed mountain of a man. Rank, it caught in the back of his throat and he had to suppress a gag. It wasn’t helping with his hangover, and he stepped back a couple of paces to try and move out of the fugue that surrounded the other man. When did people stop believing in bathing?
Through the dull ache in his head and the fact he hadn’t slept in a good couple of days, it took him a moment to realise what the great brute was yelling about, and Silanos gawped at him like he was speaking another language which, let’s be fucking honest, he practically was. Following the spectacle with his eyes, he watched as the big man fell to his knees and startled scrabbling on the floor, the lord realising belatedly that beads were rolling all over the place.
Oh, no, not beads, he observed as the man grunted out something else almost entirely unintelligible, but pearls. How the fuck did a wretch like him come by pearls?
“Alright, alright” he drawled, holding a hand to his head. “I’m not sure what neighbourhood you think you’re in but no one here gives a fuck about your pearls, so just stop yelling”
He leant for a moment against the cool stone of the neighbouring wall, screwed up his face against the sun and wondered if he could just wish himself home. It was sad and depressing that when he opened his eyes again he was in the same place, and the man was still rooting around like he’d lost his entire reason for living on the cobbled streets. Pushing himself up and away from the wall, Silanos tried to summon the will to continue on his way. He’d only taken one step and he was defeated by the pearl skittering under his sandal, and with a muttered curse, he bent to pick it up, which made his head hurt horribly. Holding it between thumb and forefinger, he peered at it a moment before calling out to the man. “Here, catch”
“Did your mother give them to you?” he asked a slightly mocking lilt to his voice. “Or are they a gift for a lover? I can commend your choice, women love jewellery but might suggest a trip to the bathhouse will get you further” His gaze skimmed over the man in a barely veiled disgust before he rolled his eyes and went to continue on his way.
Mikolas seemed quite sure of what neighborhood he was. Were he somewhere wherein slaves were as filthy as he was, he’d not bother to mop the stone with his knees. Down there, should someone touch a single pearl, they’d lose either a finger or a hand. Up here, a pearl would grant either a ring or a fibulae. The savage moved with impressive haste, as if crawling on all fours was second nature to him, his digits picking pearls like an ape picked fleas. His pride hurt, even if his pockets were filling up. “B’st yu’s b’ keepin’ s’lent ‘fore I’s t’ b’ breakin’ yu’s back f’r th’s, y’ twat,” he muttered, resentful.
None of those caught in witnessing the scene either bent down to snatch a pearl or aid him in their recovery, moment after, the Lieutenant was unsure of his progress. The pouch seemed heavy enough. He rose, squinting as he looked here and there, scanning the stone as he paced gingerly in the vicinity. Upon the prompt, he captured the flying pearl with ease, and placed it back into the pouch. It was now that he laid eyes on the knave. He was tall, slim, and had a look on his face more proper of a slave than a free man. His attire was nothing otherworldly, and were it not for the air of entitlement poisoning both mug and words, he would’ve been an optimal victim for some slapping around.
Much akin to his own, Mikolas’ expression also turned sour and antagonistic. He approached slowly, like a bull about to lock horns with a contender. “Nay,” he announced, properly now. “I’s ripp’d th’m ‘rom th’ neck’o ‘ne cunt-lookin’ wom’n in Egypt ‘fore I’s b’ slapp’d ‘er ‘round, aye. Str’nge, yu’s b’ r’mindin’ me’o ‘er.”
To carry his point across further, Mikolas turned his head and spat down on the stone. The stranger, keen on making his exit, was to be interrupted by a hand flying out to grab the back of his chiton. “Yu’s ain’t gon’ b’ leavin’,” announced the soldier, “’fore I’s b’ makin’ sure yu’s ain’t hidin’ m’re p’’rls ‘n yu’s, boy.”
Whatever those pearls were for, or whatever their value, they were important enough to justify however the scene was to evolve.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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Mikolas seemed quite sure of what neighborhood he was. Were he somewhere wherein slaves were as filthy as he was, he’d not bother to mop the stone with his knees. Down there, should someone touch a single pearl, they’d lose either a finger or a hand. Up here, a pearl would grant either a ring or a fibulae. The savage moved with impressive haste, as if crawling on all fours was second nature to him, his digits picking pearls like an ape picked fleas. His pride hurt, even if his pockets were filling up. “B’st yu’s b’ keepin’ s’lent ‘fore I’s t’ b’ breakin’ yu’s back f’r th’s, y’ twat,” he muttered, resentful.
None of those caught in witnessing the scene either bent down to snatch a pearl or aid him in their recovery, moment after, the Lieutenant was unsure of his progress. The pouch seemed heavy enough. He rose, squinting as he looked here and there, scanning the stone as he paced gingerly in the vicinity. Upon the prompt, he captured the flying pearl with ease, and placed it back into the pouch. It was now that he laid eyes on the knave. He was tall, slim, and had a look on his face more proper of a slave than a free man. His attire was nothing otherworldly, and were it not for the air of entitlement poisoning both mug and words, he would’ve been an optimal victim for some slapping around.
Much akin to his own, Mikolas’ expression also turned sour and antagonistic. He approached slowly, like a bull about to lock horns with a contender. “Nay,” he announced, properly now. “I’s ripp’d th’m ‘rom th’ neck’o ‘ne cunt-lookin’ wom’n in Egypt ‘fore I’s b’ slapp’d ‘er ‘round, aye. Str’nge, yu’s b’ r’mindin’ me’o ‘er.”
To carry his point across further, Mikolas turned his head and spat down on the stone. The stranger, keen on making his exit, was to be interrupted by a hand flying out to grab the back of his chiton. “Yu’s ain’t gon’ b’ leavin’,” announced the soldier, “’fore I’s b’ makin’ sure yu’s ain’t hidin’ m’re p’’rls ‘n yu’s, boy.”
Whatever those pearls were for, or whatever their value, they were important enough to justify however the scene was to evolve.
Mikolas seemed quite sure of what neighborhood he was. Were he somewhere wherein slaves were as filthy as he was, he’d not bother to mop the stone with his knees. Down there, should someone touch a single pearl, they’d lose either a finger or a hand. Up here, a pearl would grant either a ring or a fibulae. The savage moved with impressive haste, as if crawling on all fours was second nature to him, his digits picking pearls like an ape picked fleas. His pride hurt, even if his pockets were filling up. “B’st yu’s b’ keepin’ s’lent ‘fore I’s t’ b’ breakin’ yu’s back f’r th’s, y’ twat,” he muttered, resentful.
None of those caught in witnessing the scene either bent down to snatch a pearl or aid him in their recovery, moment after, the Lieutenant was unsure of his progress. The pouch seemed heavy enough. He rose, squinting as he looked here and there, scanning the stone as he paced gingerly in the vicinity. Upon the prompt, he captured the flying pearl with ease, and placed it back into the pouch. It was now that he laid eyes on the knave. He was tall, slim, and had a look on his face more proper of a slave than a free man. His attire was nothing otherworldly, and were it not for the air of entitlement poisoning both mug and words, he would’ve been an optimal victim for some slapping around.
Much akin to his own, Mikolas’ expression also turned sour and antagonistic. He approached slowly, like a bull about to lock horns with a contender. “Nay,” he announced, properly now. “I’s ripp’d th’m ‘rom th’ neck’o ‘ne cunt-lookin’ wom’n in Egypt ‘fore I’s b’ slapp’d ‘er ‘round, aye. Str’nge, yu’s b’ r’mindin’ me’o ‘er.”
To carry his point across further, Mikolas turned his head and spat down on the stone. The stranger, keen on making his exit, was to be interrupted by a hand flying out to grab the back of his chiton. “Yu’s ain’t gon’ b’ leavin’,” announced the soldier, “’fore I’s b’ makin’ sure yu’s ain’t hidin’ m’re p’’rls ‘n yu’s, boy.”
Whatever those pearls were for, or whatever their value, they were important enough to justify however the scene was to evolve.
Sil eyed the man dubiously as he approached, frowning a little as he tried to decipher the strange rambling sounds that the other seemed to think counted as speaking. Was it even greek? Did he only have half a tongue? Either way, he was pretty sure whatever the man said wasn’t complimentary. He held up a staying hand.
“Look, I really have no fucking idea what you’re saying, so save us both the hassle and don’t bother” Honestly, his head already hurt without having to try and figure out what meaningless drivel the unwashed fool was trying to impart. He didn’t care. If he’d looked where he was going they could have been spared all this.
Fucking imbecile. Curling his lip in distaste at the man’s spitting, he rolled his eyes and went to move off, not having any desire to further their momentary acquaintance. It would all have been forgotten no doubt, hardly worth his notice had it not been for the sudden arrest to his motion, his chiton pulling tight across his shoulders as it was grabbed from behind.
This time, when the young lord turned, it was with outrage burned across his features. Even though his fatigue and hangover, Silanos could muster indignation at the sheer nerve of the man. “Take your hand off me” he sniped, with a disbelieving look at the other. “And that would be Lord to you, you ingrate. What the fuck would I want your stupid beads for?!” He pulled free rather viciously, took a better look at the man to ascertain who would be so idiotic to apprehend a Lord, to lay his hands upon him.
Perhaps Silanos relied too heavily on the protection of his station, but he didn’t reach for the knife at his belt. There was no need- only a true idiot would seek to harm a nobleman in the streets of the upper levels. Never mind the fact that the young lord was not really a fighter at the best of times, more given to talking his way out of trouble than using force. It was just a pity that his smart mouth talked him into trouble almost as often. Paired with a recklessness born of too little sleep and Sil didn’t appear to give much of a fuck that the man he was cursing at looked as though he ate small children for dinner.
He gave dismissive snort and went to walk away again before his irritation got the better of him. “What’s your name? So I might better know who to complain to about you.”
The likelihood of him actually being bothered was slim to none but the in the moment the desire was there to remind the man of his level in life.
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Sil eyed the man dubiously as he approached, frowning a little as he tried to decipher the strange rambling sounds that the other seemed to think counted as speaking. Was it even greek? Did he only have half a tongue? Either way, he was pretty sure whatever the man said wasn’t complimentary. He held up a staying hand.
“Look, I really have no fucking idea what you’re saying, so save us both the hassle and don’t bother” Honestly, his head already hurt without having to try and figure out what meaningless drivel the unwashed fool was trying to impart. He didn’t care. If he’d looked where he was going they could have been spared all this.
Fucking imbecile. Curling his lip in distaste at the man’s spitting, he rolled his eyes and went to move off, not having any desire to further their momentary acquaintance. It would all have been forgotten no doubt, hardly worth his notice had it not been for the sudden arrest to his motion, his chiton pulling tight across his shoulders as it was grabbed from behind.
This time, when the young lord turned, it was with outrage burned across his features. Even though his fatigue and hangover, Silanos could muster indignation at the sheer nerve of the man. “Take your hand off me” he sniped, with a disbelieving look at the other. “And that would be Lord to you, you ingrate. What the fuck would I want your stupid beads for?!” He pulled free rather viciously, took a better look at the man to ascertain who would be so idiotic to apprehend a Lord, to lay his hands upon him.
Perhaps Silanos relied too heavily on the protection of his station, but he didn’t reach for the knife at his belt. There was no need- only a true idiot would seek to harm a nobleman in the streets of the upper levels. Never mind the fact that the young lord was not really a fighter at the best of times, more given to talking his way out of trouble than using force. It was just a pity that his smart mouth talked him into trouble almost as often. Paired with a recklessness born of too little sleep and Sil didn’t appear to give much of a fuck that the man he was cursing at looked as though he ate small children for dinner.
He gave dismissive snort and went to walk away again before his irritation got the better of him. “What’s your name? So I might better know who to complain to about you.”
The likelihood of him actually being bothered was slim to none but the in the moment the desire was there to remind the man of his level in life.
Sil eyed the man dubiously as he approached, frowning a little as he tried to decipher the strange rambling sounds that the other seemed to think counted as speaking. Was it even greek? Did he only have half a tongue? Either way, he was pretty sure whatever the man said wasn’t complimentary. He held up a staying hand.
“Look, I really have no fucking idea what you’re saying, so save us both the hassle and don’t bother” Honestly, his head already hurt without having to try and figure out what meaningless drivel the unwashed fool was trying to impart. He didn’t care. If he’d looked where he was going they could have been spared all this.
Fucking imbecile. Curling his lip in distaste at the man’s spitting, he rolled his eyes and went to move off, not having any desire to further their momentary acquaintance. It would all have been forgotten no doubt, hardly worth his notice had it not been for the sudden arrest to his motion, his chiton pulling tight across his shoulders as it was grabbed from behind.
This time, when the young lord turned, it was with outrage burned across his features. Even though his fatigue and hangover, Silanos could muster indignation at the sheer nerve of the man. “Take your hand off me” he sniped, with a disbelieving look at the other. “And that would be Lord to you, you ingrate. What the fuck would I want your stupid beads for?!” He pulled free rather viciously, took a better look at the man to ascertain who would be so idiotic to apprehend a Lord, to lay his hands upon him.
Perhaps Silanos relied too heavily on the protection of his station, but he didn’t reach for the knife at his belt. There was no need- only a true idiot would seek to harm a nobleman in the streets of the upper levels. Never mind the fact that the young lord was not really a fighter at the best of times, more given to talking his way out of trouble than using force. It was just a pity that his smart mouth talked him into trouble almost as often. Paired with a recklessness born of too little sleep and Sil didn’t appear to give much of a fuck that the man he was cursing at looked as though he ate small children for dinner.
He gave dismissive snort and went to walk away again before his irritation got the better of him. “What’s your name? So I might better know who to complain to about you.”
The likelihood of him actually being bothered was slim to none but the in the moment the desire was there to remind the man of his level in life.
A sadistic satisfaction invaded his hairy features, a smile threatening to pose for the Lordling. Whatever his reasoning, Mikolas seemed to find a strange joy in the unnerved stranger – all done with a simple pinch to fabric. He let go, raised his hand up, and kept himself composed – more composed than moments before. His talent to annoy had yet to let him down. Pearls were not cheap, especially to a soldier like himself. However, these small pleasures were priceless. “B’ calmin’ yu’s’elf----“ He cut his words, then scoffed loudly, as if to make a point. “Lord? Yu’s? Yu’s ‘ave j’st walk’d past on’ ‘nce ‘t best. If yu’s b’ a Lord I’s b’ bein’ Ares’ fav’rit’ pimpl’.”
An idiot he was at times, yes, albeit he knew well not to pick losing battles. The street was not his for the taking. Sandals marched up and down the stone, albeit there was a growing silence of those that stopped to witness the scene. Indeed, people slowly abandoned their routes and directed their attention to the duo. Like worms summoned by rain, the well-off and prosperous vicariously enjoyed the conflict. Under their gaze, Mikolas slowly buckled, and his classist hatred was drained like coin in a brothel. Eyes set on the Lordling, Mikolas finally stepped back and rose his arms, admitting defeat.
“B’ lookin’, th’se ‘ere p’’rls b’ real imp’rtant t’ me. I’s ‘ust b’ makin’ sur’ yu’s ain’ b’ stealin’ non’ f’rm m’, aye? I’s ain’t b’ us’d t’ b’ dealin’ w’th hon’st peopl’.” He said, albeit clearly directed more towards earning the crowds apology than the Lordling’s. The volume of his words and the announcement-like delivery made it obvious. He then bowed. “I’s, Mikolas o’ Magnemea b’ ap’lgizin’ t’ yu’s, S’r.”
It could’ve been a strange ending to a strange encounter were it not for Mikolas’ expression when he rose back up. There was something in his face, something broad and obvious and yet not easily deciphered. The tiny smirk complimented it, and gave it meaning: a need for revenge.
What? Would this sleep-walking, silver-spooned, ill-combed boy just walk away after breaking his necklace? Maybe after making him lose a pearl or two or three or four? He hadn’t stolen any pearls, Mikolas knew that. Even if he looked like a con-man he hadn’t the soul of one. And yet life had still been more unfair than it often was, and the best medicine was to make it unfair for someone else.
Mikolas waited, an eye flying sideways towards the pesky crowd. A bit more standing around and this would become Athens.
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A sadistic satisfaction invaded his hairy features, a smile threatening to pose for the Lordling. Whatever his reasoning, Mikolas seemed to find a strange joy in the unnerved stranger – all done with a simple pinch to fabric. He let go, raised his hand up, and kept himself composed – more composed than moments before. His talent to annoy had yet to let him down. Pearls were not cheap, especially to a soldier like himself. However, these small pleasures were priceless. “B’ calmin’ yu’s’elf----“ He cut his words, then scoffed loudly, as if to make a point. “Lord? Yu’s? Yu’s ‘ave j’st walk’d past on’ ‘nce ‘t best. If yu’s b’ a Lord I’s b’ bein’ Ares’ fav’rit’ pimpl’.”
An idiot he was at times, yes, albeit he knew well not to pick losing battles. The street was not his for the taking. Sandals marched up and down the stone, albeit there was a growing silence of those that stopped to witness the scene. Indeed, people slowly abandoned their routes and directed their attention to the duo. Like worms summoned by rain, the well-off and prosperous vicariously enjoyed the conflict. Under their gaze, Mikolas slowly buckled, and his classist hatred was drained like coin in a brothel. Eyes set on the Lordling, Mikolas finally stepped back and rose his arms, admitting defeat.
“B’ lookin’, th’se ‘ere p’’rls b’ real imp’rtant t’ me. I’s ‘ust b’ makin’ sur’ yu’s ain’ b’ stealin’ non’ f’rm m’, aye? I’s ain’t b’ us’d t’ b’ dealin’ w’th hon’st peopl’.” He said, albeit clearly directed more towards earning the crowds apology than the Lordling’s. The volume of his words and the announcement-like delivery made it obvious. He then bowed. “I’s, Mikolas o’ Magnemea b’ ap’lgizin’ t’ yu’s, S’r.”
It could’ve been a strange ending to a strange encounter were it not for Mikolas’ expression when he rose back up. There was something in his face, something broad and obvious and yet not easily deciphered. The tiny smirk complimented it, and gave it meaning: a need for revenge.
What? Would this sleep-walking, silver-spooned, ill-combed boy just walk away after breaking his necklace? Maybe after making him lose a pearl or two or three or four? He hadn’t stolen any pearls, Mikolas knew that. Even if he looked like a con-man he hadn’t the soul of one. And yet life had still been more unfair than it often was, and the best medicine was to make it unfair for someone else.
Mikolas waited, an eye flying sideways towards the pesky crowd. A bit more standing around and this would become Athens.
A sadistic satisfaction invaded his hairy features, a smile threatening to pose for the Lordling. Whatever his reasoning, Mikolas seemed to find a strange joy in the unnerved stranger – all done with a simple pinch to fabric. He let go, raised his hand up, and kept himself composed – more composed than moments before. His talent to annoy had yet to let him down. Pearls were not cheap, especially to a soldier like himself. However, these small pleasures were priceless. “B’ calmin’ yu’s’elf----“ He cut his words, then scoffed loudly, as if to make a point. “Lord? Yu’s? Yu’s ‘ave j’st walk’d past on’ ‘nce ‘t best. If yu’s b’ a Lord I’s b’ bein’ Ares’ fav’rit’ pimpl’.”
An idiot he was at times, yes, albeit he knew well not to pick losing battles. The street was not his for the taking. Sandals marched up and down the stone, albeit there was a growing silence of those that stopped to witness the scene. Indeed, people slowly abandoned their routes and directed their attention to the duo. Like worms summoned by rain, the well-off and prosperous vicariously enjoyed the conflict. Under their gaze, Mikolas slowly buckled, and his classist hatred was drained like coin in a brothel. Eyes set on the Lordling, Mikolas finally stepped back and rose his arms, admitting defeat.
“B’ lookin’, th’se ‘ere p’’rls b’ real imp’rtant t’ me. I’s ‘ust b’ makin’ sur’ yu’s ain’ b’ stealin’ non’ f’rm m’, aye? I’s ain’t b’ us’d t’ b’ dealin’ w’th hon’st peopl’.” He said, albeit clearly directed more towards earning the crowds apology than the Lordling’s. The volume of his words and the announcement-like delivery made it obvious. He then bowed. “I’s, Mikolas o’ Magnemea b’ ap’lgizin’ t’ yu’s, S’r.”
It could’ve been a strange ending to a strange encounter were it not for Mikolas’ expression when he rose back up. There was something in his face, something broad and obvious and yet not easily deciphered. The tiny smirk complimented it, and gave it meaning: a need for revenge.
What? Would this sleep-walking, silver-spooned, ill-combed boy just walk away after breaking his necklace? Maybe after making him lose a pearl or two or three or four? He hadn’t stolen any pearls, Mikolas knew that. Even if he looked like a con-man he hadn’t the soul of one. And yet life had still been more unfair than it often was, and the best medicine was to make it unfair for someone else.
Mikolas waited, an eye flying sideways towards the pesky crowd. A bit more standing around and this would become Athens.
Silanos gawked at the man. He wasn’t the one who needed to calm down. He wasn’t the one making a scene in the streets of Midas. He was just trying to get home so he could fall face first into bed after smoking himself into oblivion. It wasn’t too much to fucking ask, was it? And then the idiot was mangling more words and he had to really concentrate to follow, only to find himself being insulted again. The Valaoritis looked the man over and scowled.
“Well you’re certainly a blemish on society” he retorted dismissively. He didn’t care if people had stopped and were observing their disagreement, he was in the right and he just wanted this moron to be out of his way. Now the goliath seemed to be making some sort of appeal for sympathy from the onlookers and Silanos was just done with the whole spectacle.
He had a splitting headache, his throat was parched and his limbs felt leaden. The sun was too fucking bright, and it was hot and bouncing off the stones in the most unsympathetic manner. The sooner he could just crawl into the sanctity of his own room the better. Already not looking forward to running the gauntlet of having to slip past his brother without receiving some lecture or disapproving look, he was not alright with being insulted and manhandled by some loutish peasant on the street.
The expression on his face as Mikolas went on spoke to his impatience and when the brute bowed Silanos waved a hand to silence him, dismissing the apology. Rolling his eyes to heaven, he slowed down his speech and enunciated each word very clearly.
“I don't.need.your.pearls. I don't know how many times I need to point this out to you. I don’t want them, I’m not stealing them, I am just trying to go home and if you learnt to stay out of the way of your betters we wouldn't be having this conversation, would we? Now fuck off Mikolas of Magnemea”
He didn’t much care for the insolent smirk that twisted at the man’s mouth, and Silanos was of the mind that the sloven had wasted far too much of his time already. With a shake of his head, he turned once again to be on his way
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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Silanos gawked at the man. He wasn’t the one who needed to calm down. He wasn’t the one making a scene in the streets of Midas. He was just trying to get home so he could fall face first into bed after smoking himself into oblivion. It wasn’t too much to fucking ask, was it? And then the idiot was mangling more words and he had to really concentrate to follow, only to find himself being insulted again. The Valaoritis looked the man over and scowled.
“Well you’re certainly a blemish on society” he retorted dismissively. He didn’t care if people had stopped and were observing their disagreement, he was in the right and he just wanted this moron to be out of his way. Now the goliath seemed to be making some sort of appeal for sympathy from the onlookers and Silanos was just done with the whole spectacle.
He had a splitting headache, his throat was parched and his limbs felt leaden. The sun was too fucking bright, and it was hot and bouncing off the stones in the most unsympathetic manner. The sooner he could just crawl into the sanctity of his own room the better. Already not looking forward to running the gauntlet of having to slip past his brother without receiving some lecture or disapproving look, he was not alright with being insulted and manhandled by some loutish peasant on the street.
The expression on his face as Mikolas went on spoke to his impatience and when the brute bowed Silanos waved a hand to silence him, dismissing the apology. Rolling his eyes to heaven, he slowed down his speech and enunciated each word very clearly.
“I don't.need.your.pearls. I don't know how many times I need to point this out to you. I don’t want them, I’m not stealing them, I am just trying to go home and if you learnt to stay out of the way of your betters we wouldn't be having this conversation, would we? Now fuck off Mikolas of Magnemea”
He didn’t much care for the insolent smirk that twisted at the man’s mouth, and Silanos was of the mind that the sloven had wasted far too much of his time already. With a shake of his head, he turned once again to be on his way
Silanos gawked at the man. He wasn’t the one who needed to calm down. He wasn’t the one making a scene in the streets of Midas. He was just trying to get home so he could fall face first into bed after smoking himself into oblivion. It wasn’t too much to fucking ask, was it? And then the idiot was mangling more words and he had to really concentrate to follow, only to find himself being insulted again. The Valaoritis looked the man over and scowled.
“Well you’re certainly a blemish on society” he retorted dismissively. He didn’t care if people had stopped and were observing their disagreement, he was in the right and he just wanted this moron to be out of his way. Now the goliath seemed to be making some sort of appeal for sympathy from the onlookers and Silanos was just done with the whole spectacle.
He had a splitting headache, his throat was parched and his limbs felt leaden. The sun was too fucking bright, and it was hot and bouncing off the stones in the most unsympathetic manner. The sooner he could just crawl into the sanctity of his own room the better. Already not looking forward to running the gauntlet of having to slip past his brother without receiving some lecture or disapproving look, he was not alright with being insulted and manhandled by some loutish peasant on the street.
The expression on his face as Mikolas went on spoke to his impatience and when the brute bowed Silanos waved a hand to silence him, dismissing the apology. Rolling his eyes to heaven, he slowed down his speech and enunciated each word very clearly.
“I don't.need.your.pearls. I don't know how many times I need to point this out to you. I don’t want them, I’m not stealing them, I am just trying to go home and if you learnt to stay out of the way of your betters we wouldn't be having this conversation, would we? Now fuck off Mikolas of Magnemea”
He didn’t much care for the insolent smirk that twisted at the man’s mouth, and Silanos was of the mind that the sloven had wasted far too much of his time already. With a shake of his head, he turned once again to be on his way