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Though traditionally weary of tossing the word around as though it were easy to offer unto others, Mihail tended to trust Paris. There was a very low chance that the slave would upset him, given his dedication to his mistress, and it was easy to give him tasks that one would not usually offer the other staff in the household. It was for that reason that the youngest Thanasi did not fear demanding that he not tend to himself and sending him out of the room where he could do all manner of things without the dark-haired lord noticing. Paris may well have often been jittery and made errors that Mihail thought simplistic as a result, but he was not likely to let him down, even when faced with the humiliation of running around the house naked.
When he returned, the colour of his face and the tone of his voice were enough to know that he had followed the order even without the obvious visual cues. Had he been traditionally inclined to do so, Mihail might have smiled but, instead, only nodded an approval at the comment that his bath was prepared.
He had been looking over his collection of chiton fabrics while the slave was gone, attempting to choose one that felt pretty enough for an evening of whatever he was planning (the schedule had yet to formulate fully in his mind, though he doubted he wished to go out that night). Now, he waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the clothing, crossing the room to step past Paris and into the hall, calling out his task as if he had not just been standing beside the wardrobe. “Bring my carnelian chiton. The one with the embroidered viper and the little silver beads.” A personal favourite, though the basic description could easily have applied to half the clothing the man owned, given his penchant for displaying his house on his sleeve. “And something suitable for my hair.”
Like the rest of the home, the private baths at the Thanasi archontikó had been carved into the rock, but the room was far more attractive than the description claimed, bathed in the light glow of candlelight and structured perfectly to hold the heat or cool of the air so as not to ruin the enjoyment of one’s bath with a sudden change in temperature. To one side sat a low side-table often covered in wine jugs where the dark-haired man now paused to slip off his collection of silver rings, half-inspecting the pool out of the corner of his eye, as though he did not trust that the blonde would have managed to fill it with the appropriate amount of milk in such a short period of time and heat it to the correct temperature. A scent of roses wafted through the air, impressive only in the oddity that Paris had managed to place such attention on the details despite the doubtless stress of running around the building nude. He was working for his reward, and it was likely he would obtain it at the current rate.
Turning to glance back at the corner where he expected Paris to be lingering (he was always in some corner or another), Mihail dropped hands to his hips and looked at him thoughtfully, instinctively pouting his lips as he attempted to make a decision regarding the slave, vaguely deciding whether he wished to humiliate or make him suffer further for the purpose of amusement. He chose to do so. “I suppose since there is not anybody else here, you shall have to help me undress. There is no need calling another when you shall suffice. Do be quick, though, I do not want my bath to run cold because you dawdled as ever.”
Az
Mihail
Az
Mihail
Awards
First Impressions:Slim; Broken nose, piercing gaze, red-painted nails.
Address: Your His Lordship
Though traditionally weary of tossing the word around as though it were easy to offer unto others, Mihail tended to trust Paris. There was a very low chance that the slave would upset him, given his dedication to his mistress, and it was easy to give him tasks that one would not usually offer the other staff in the household. It was for that reason that the youngest Thanasi did not fear demanding that he not tend to himself and sending him out of the room where he could do all manner of things without the dark-haired lord noticing. Paris may well have often been jittery and made errors that Mihail thought simplistic as a result, but he was not likely to let him down, even when faced with the humiliation of running around the house naked.
When he returned, the colour of his face and the tone of his voice were enough to know that he had followed the order even without the obvious visual cues. Had he been traditionally inclined to do so, Mihail might have smiled but, instead, only nodded an approval at the comment that his bath was prepared.
He had been looking over his collection of chiton fabrics while the slave was gone, attempting to choose one that felt pretty enough for an evening of whatever he was planning (the schedule had yet to formulate fully in his mind, though he doubted he wished to go out that night). Now, he waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the clothing, crossing the room to step past Paris and into the hall, calling out his task as if he had not just been standing beside the wardrobe. “Bring my carnelian chiton. The one with the embroidered viper and the little silver beads.” A personal favourite, though the basic description could easily have applied to half the clothing the man owned, given his penchant for displaying his house on his sleeve. “And something suitable for my hair.”
Like the rest of the home, the private baths at the Thanasi archontikó had been carved into the rock, but the room was far more attractive than the description claimed, bathed in the light glow of candlelight and structured perfectly to hold the heat or cool of the air so as not to ruin the enjoyment of one’s bath with a sudden change in temperature. To one side sat a low side-table often covered in wine jugs where the dark-haired man now paused to slip off his collection of silver rings, half-inspecting the pool out of the corner of his eye, as though he did not trust that the blonde would have managed to fill it with the appropriate amount of milk in such a short period of time and heat it to the correct temperature. A scent of roses wafted through the air, impressive only in the oddity that Paris had managed to place such attention on the details despite the doubtless stress of running around the building nude. He was working for his reward, and it was likely he would obtain it at the current rate.
Turning to glance back at the corner where he expected Paris to be lingering (he was always in some corner or another), Mihail dropped hands to his hips and looked at him thoughtfully, instinctively pouting his lips as he attempted to make a decision regarding the slave, vaguely deciding whether he wished to humiliate or make him suffer further for the purpose of amusement. He chose to do so. “I suppose since there is not anybody else here, you shall have to help me undress. There is no need calling another when you shall suffice. Do be quick, though, I do not want my bath to run cold because you dawdled as ever.”
Though traditionally weary of tossing the word around as though it were easy to offer unto others, Mihail tended to trust Paris. There was a very low chance that the slave would upset him, given his dedication to his mistress, and it was easy to give him tasks that one would not usually offer the other staff in the household. It was for that reason that the youngest Thanasi did not fear demanding that he not tend to himself and sending him out of the room where he could do all manner of things without the dark-haired lord noticing. Paris may well have often been jittery and made errors that Mihail thought simplistic as a result, but he was not likely to let him down, even when faced with the humiliation of running around the house naked.
When he returned, the colour of his face and the tone of his voice were enough to know that he had followed the order even without the obvious visual cues. Had he been traditionally inclined to do so, Mihail might have smiled but, instead, only nodded an approval at the comment that his bath was prepared.
He had been looking over his collection of chiton fabrics while the slave was gone, attempting to choose one that felt pretty enough for an evening of whatever he was planning (the schedule had yet to formulate fully in his mind, though he doubted he wished to go out that night). Now, he waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the clothing, crossing the room to step past Paris and into the hall, calling out his task as if he had not just been standing beside the wardrobe. “Bring my carnelian chiton. The one with the embroidered viper and the little silver beads.” A personal favourite, though the basic description could easily have applied to half the clothing the man owned, given his penchant for displaying his house on his sleeve. “And something suitable for my hair.”
Like the rest of the home, the private baths at the Thanasi archontikó had been carved into the rock, but the room was far more attractive than the description claimed, bathed in the light glow of candlelight and structured perfectly to hold the heat or cool of the air so as not to ruin the enjoyment of one’s bath with a sudden change in temperature. To one side sat a low side-table often covered in wine jugs where the dark-haired man now paused to slip off his collection of silver rings, half-inspecting the pool out of the corner of his eye, as though he did not trust that the blonde would have managed to fill it with the appropriate amount of milk in such a short period of time and heat it to the correct temperature. A scent of roses wafted through the air, impressive only in the oddity that Paris had managed to place such attention on the details despite the doubtless stress of running around the building nude. He was working for his reward, and it was likely he would obtain it at the current rate.
Turning to glance back at the corner where he expected Paris to be lingering (he was always in some corner or another), Mihail dropped hands to his hips and looked at him thoughtfully, instinctively pouting his lips as he attempted to make a decision regarding the slave, vaguely deciding whether he wished to humiliate or make him suffer further for the purpose of amusement. He chose to do so. “I suppose since there is not anybody else here, you shall have to help me undress. There is no need calling another when you shall suffice. Do be quick, though, I do not want my bath to run cold because you dawdled as ever.”
There was a slight amount of relief in being back in the presence of his mistress, if only because that meant there was only one possible set of eyes that could be disdainfully trained in his nude form. This was one of the few times Paris found he was not pained by her dismissiveness. After all, if she was paying him no mind, then he was not being humiliated nearly as much as he would be if she was looking at him. More than that, however, when she ordered him to fetch a specific chiton and something for her hair before leaving, Paris finally had a moment to focus on something other than his shame.
He was hungry.
Painfully so.
The sorrow that consumed him when he was locked away made his appetite there nonexistent. Now, however, he could truly feel the pangs of hunger in his stomach. They were no more pleasant than the humiliation he was subjected to. He knew what was expected of him, of course. Despite the vague description he was given, Paris knew well enough which chiton his mistress preferred. He loved to see her in it, but it also meant he had time. Whether she knew he was aware of her preferences or not, knowing exactly what he needed to bring gave him a chance to truly eye the bowl of fruit he knew to be in her room.
He knew it would likely be best to wait until morning to feed himself, but the discomfort in his stomach told him this evening would be miserable if he ate nothing. Paris glanced into the hall, to ensure his mistress was not nearby before he crept towards the bowl. He stared down at it for many moments. Would it be wise to sneak a small piece of fruit now? Would she even notice? How badly would he be punished if she did? As if to mock him and his deliberation, his stomach growled. He had already wasted too much time. Surely, a grape or three wouldn’t be missed? In truth, he did not consider it until after he had already shoved three into his mouth, and by then there was no turning back. He was soothed by the taste of the fruit and the feeling of something in his belly for only a moment before the anxiety set in.
What had he done?
Of course, he had no time to panic. His mistress had need of him, and so, he rushed to carefully fetch both her chiton and a diadem he’d seen her wear before he sped towards the baths. When he reached them, she didn’t seem particularly annoyed or even focused on him at all. Perhaps not nearly as much time passed as he thought. It was only when he noticed her eyes were on him that he grew shameful all over again. His embarrassment in coming there was quelled only slightly because he could conceal most of his indecency with the chiton, but he had long since placed the embroidered clothing in its proper place. He felt exposed once more and not solely because of his nudity. He wondered if she knew what he had done. He nearly shook where he stood until she gave him an order with no mention of the crime he had committed.
In spite of his anxiety, Paris responded quickly to the command. “Y-yes, Mistress.” His voice quivered with the fear that she would somehow sense what he had done in the brief moments he was meant to be fetching her things. He could hardly enjoy the process of aiding her undress because of his terror. He felt lightheaded. His legs felt weak. He so badly wanted her to command him to kneel. His hands trembled as he internally wrestled with fear, shame, and the desire of her he could not shake. He was so close and yet he was most undeserving of it all.
Perhaps if he prayed hard enough to gods, she would not notice.
Ché
Paris
Ché
Paris
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
There was a slight amount of relief in being back in the presence of his mistress, if only because that meant there was only one possible set of eyes that could be disdainfully trained in his nude form. This was one of the few times Paris found he was not pained by her dismissiveness. After all, if she was paying him no mind, then he was not being humiliated nearly as much as he would be if she was looking at him. More than that, however, when she ordered him to fetch a specific chiton and something for her hair before leaving, Paris finally had a moment to focus on something other than his shame.
He was hungry.
Painfully so.
The sorrow that consumed him when he was locked away made his appetite there nonexistent. Now, however, he could truly feel the pangs of hunger in his stomach. They were no more pleasant than the humiliation he was subjected to. He knew what was expected of him, of course. Despite the vague description he was given, Paris knew well enough which chiton his mistress preferred. He loved to see her in it, but it also meant he had time. Whether she knew he was aware of her preferences or not, knowing exactly what he needed to bring gave him a chance to truly eye the bowl of fruit he knew to be in her room.
He knew it would likely be best to wait until morning to feed himself, but the discomfort in his stomach told him this evening would be miserable if he ate nothing. Paris glanced into the hall, to ensure his mistress was not nearby before he crept towards the bowl. He stared down at it for many moments. Would it be wise to sneak a small piece of fruit now? Would she even notice? How badly would he be punished if she did? As if to mock him and his deliberation, his stomach growled. He had already wasted too much time. Surely, a grape or three wouldn’t be missed? In truth, he did not consider it until after he had already shoved three into his mouth, and by then there was no turning back. He was soothed by the taste of the fruit and the feeling of something in his belly for only a moment before the anxiety set in.
What had he done?
Of course, he had no time to panic. His mistress had need of him, and so, he rushed to carefully fetch both her chiton and a diadem he’d seen her wear before he sped towards the baths. When he reached them, she didn’t seem particularly annoyed or even focused on him at all. Perhaps not nearly as much time passed as he thought. It was only when he noticed her eyes were on him that he grew shameful all over again. His embarrassment in coming there was quelled only slightly because he could conceal most of his indecency with the chiton, but he had long since placed the embroidered clothing in its proper place. He felt exposed once more and not solely because of his nudity. He wondered if she knew what he had done. He nearly shook where he stood until she gave him an order with no mention of the crime he had committed.
In spite of his anxiety, Paris responded quickly to the command. “Y-yes, Mistress.” His voice quivered with the fear that she would somehow sense what he had done in the brief moments he was meant to be fetching her things. He could hardly enjoy the process of aiding her undress because of his terror. He felt lightheaded. His legs felt weak. He so badly wanted her to command him to kneel. His hands trembled as he internally wrestled with fear, shame, and the desire of her he could not shake. He was so close and yet he was most undeserving of it all.
Perhaps if he prayed hard enough to gods, she would not notice.
There was a slight amount of relief in being back in the presence of his mistress, if only because that meant there was only one possible set of eyes that could be disdainfully trained in his nude form. This was one of the few times Paris found he was not pained by her dismissiveness. After all, if she was paying him no mind, then he was not being humiliated nearly as much as he would be if she was looking at him. More than that, however, when she ordered him to fetch a specific chiton and something for her hair before leaving, Paris finally had a moment to focus on something other than his shame.
He was hungry.
Painfully so.
The sorrow that consumed him when he was locked away made his appetite there nonexistent. Now, however, he could truly feel the pangs of hunger in his stomach. They were no more pleasant than the humiliation he was subjected to. He knew what was expected of him, of course. Despite the vague description he was given, Paris knew well enough which chiton his mistress preferred. He loved to see her in it, but it also meant he had time. Whether she knew he was aware of her preferences or not, knowing exactly what he needed to bring gave him a chance to truly eye the bowl of fruit he knew to be in her room.
He knew it would likely be best to wait until morning to feed himself, but the discomfort in his stomach told him this evening would be miserable if he ate nothing. Paris glanced into the hall, to ensure his mistress was not nearby before he crept towards the bowl. He stared down at it for many moments. Would it be wise to sneak a small piece of fruit now? Would she even notice? How badly would he be punished if she did? As if to mock him and his deliberation, his stomach growled. He had already wasted too much time. Surely, a grape or three wouldn’t be missed? In truth, he did not consider it until after he had already shoved three into his mouth, and by then there was no turning back. He was soothed by the taste of the fruit and the feeling of something in his belly for only a moment before the anxiety set in.
What had he done?
Of course, he had no time to panic. His mistress had need of him, and so, he rushed to carefully fetch both her chiton and a diadem he’d seen her wear before he sped towards the baths. When he reached them, she didn’t seem particularly annoyed or even focused on him at all. Perhaps not nearly as much time passed as he thought. It was only when he noticed her eyes were on him that he grew shameful all over again. His embarrassment in coming there was quelled only slightly because he could conceal most of his indecency with the chiton, but he had long since placed the embroidered clothing in its proper place. He felt exposed once more and not solely because of his nudity. He wondered if she knew what he had done. He nearly shook where he stood until she gave him an order with no mention of the crime he had committed.
In spite of his anxiety, Paris responded quickly to the command. “Y-yes, Mistress.” His voice quivered with the fear that she would somehow sense what he had done in the brief moments he was meant to be fetching her things. He could hardly enjoy the process of aiding her undress because of his terror. He felt lightheaded. His legs felt weak. He so badly wanted her to command him to kneel. His hands trembled as he internally wrestled with fear, shame, and the desire of her he could not shake. He was so close and yet he was most undeserving of it all.
Perhaps if he prayed hard enough to gods, she would not notice.
Paris was acting more skittish than usual.
Given all the discomforts of his current situation, Mihail was not entirely surprised, for he supposed that if (inexplicably) he were caught in the same position, he would not be at ease either, but this seemed almost strange for the boy who tried so hard to please. His voice was trembling, and his hands shook as he reached to undo the clasp of the snake-shaped fibulae, and Mihail could not help but raise an inquisitive eyebrow at the jitters. Was this caused by his desire to relieve himself, or was there something else at play that he had not revealed to the Thanasi? Had he made some foolish error in preparing the bath or fetching the chiton that he was attempting and failing to hide? Or had he made the even more reckless mistake of disobeying some command he had been given?
Deciding not to say anything just yet solely for the selfish reason that he did not wish to be suddenly pricked by the serpentine clasp as the other responded, his gaze drifted past the slave, expression blank out of a lack of amusement. He waited until the chiton had been removed, then gave the blonde another briefly inquisitive glance before gliding past him to step into the bath, refusing to give him the opportunity he would have obviously desired to stare at his naked body even for another second.
The milk was warmed to Mihail’s preferred temperature — hot enough to burn if one was not used to it — and it was easy to relax into the liquid and half-shut his eyes, leaning his head back to relish the moment fully. He could have entirely forgotten about Paris in that moment, if only the family into which he had been born did not place such significance on recalling the wrongs of others. There was nothing at fault with the bath, which only implied that something else was afoot.
“Paris,” he commented, not turning to face him or opening his eyes just yet. It was the first time he had used the slave’s name, and if he was privy to some illicit game, then it was likely that the sudden use of his name would surprise or scare him enough to reveal the truth. “You know that I do not like it when you quiver like some frightened dog, and yet there you are, shaking.” Now, he shifted his gaze slightly to face the boy properly, his gaze already naturally harsh enough to cause concern. “Is there a reason, or have you simply decided you wish to contradict my requests for your own amusement?”
Az
Mihail
Az
Mihail
Awards
First Impressions:Slim; Broken nose, piercing gaze, red-painted nails.
Address: Your His Lordship
Given all the discomforts of his current situation, Mihail was not entirely surprised, for he supposed that if (inexplicably) he were caught in the same position, he would not be at ease either, but this seemed almost strange for the boy who tried so hard to please. His voice was trembling, and his hands shook as he reached to undo the clasp of the snake-shaped fibulae, and Mihail could not help but raise an inquisitive eyebrow at the jitters. Was this caused by his desire to relieve himself, or was there something else at play that he had not revealed to the Thanasi? Had he made some foolish error in preparing the bath or fetching the chiton that he was attempting and failing to hide? Or had he made the even more reckless mistake of disobeying some command he had been given?
Deciding not to say anything just yet solely for the selfish reason that he did not wish to be suddenly pricked by the serpentine clasp as the other responded, his gaze drifted past the slave, expression blank out of a lack of amusement. He waited until the chiton had been removed, then gave the blonde another briefly inquisitive glance before gliding past him to step into the bath, refusing to give him the opportunity he would have obviously desired to stare at his naked body even for another second.
The milk was warmed to Mihail’s preferred temperature — hot enough to burn if one was not used to it — and it was easy to relax into the liquid and half-shut his eyes, leaning his head back to relish the moment fully. He could have entirely forgotten about Paris in that moment, if only the family into which he had been born did not place such significance on recalling the wrongs of others. There was nothing at fault with the bath, which only implied that something else was afoot.
“Paris,” he commented, not turning to face him or opening his eyes just yet. It was the first time he had used the slave’s name, and if he was privy to some illicit game, then it was likely that the sudden use of his name would surprise or scare him enough to reveal the truth. “You know that I do not like it when you quiver like some frightened dog, and yet there you are, shaking.” Now, he shifted his gaze slightly to face the boy properly, his gaze already naturally harsh enough to cause concern. “Is there a reason, or have you simply decided you wish to contradict my requests for your own amusement?”
Paris was acting more skittish than usual.
Given all the discomforts of his current situation, Mihail was not entirely surprised, for he supposed that if (inexplicably) he were caught in the same position, he would not be at ease either, but this seemed almost strange for the boy who tried so hard to please. His voice was trembling, and his hands shook as he reached to undo the clasp of the snake-shaped fibulae, and Mihail could not help but raise an inquisitive eyebrow at the jitters. Was this caused by his desire to relieve himself, or was there something else at play that he had not revealed to the Thanasi? Had he made some foolish error in preparing the bath or fetching the chiton that he was attempting and failing to hide? Or had he made the even more reckless mistake of disobeying some command he had been given?
Deciding not to say anything just yet solely for the selfish reason that he did not wish to be suddenly pricked by the serpentine clasp as the other responded, his gaze drifted past the slave, expression blank out of a lack of amusement. He waited until the chiton had been removed, then gave the blonde another briefly inquisitive glance before gliding past him to step into the bath, refusing to give him the opportunity he would have obviously desired to stare at his naked body even for another second.
The milk was warmed to Mihail’s preferred temperature — hot enough to burn if one was not used to it — and it was easy to relax into the liquid and half-shut his eyes, leaning his head back to relish the moment fully. He could have entirely forgotten about Paris in that moment, if only the family into which he had been born did not place such significance on recalling the wrongs of others. There was nothing at fault with the bath, which only implied that something else was afoot.
“Paris,” he commented, not turning to face him or opening his eyes just yet. It was the first time he had used the slave’s name, and if he was privy to some illicit game, then it was likely that the sudden use of his name would surprise or scare him enough to reveal the truth. “You know that I do not like it when you quiver like some frightened dog, and yet there you are, shaking.” Now, he shifted his gaze slightly to face the boy properly, his gaze already naturally harsh enough to cause concern. “Is there a reason, or have you simply decided you wish to contradict my requests for your own amusement?”
For a moment, all seemed well. A moment that only lasted as long as it took for him to see the way his mistress looked at him. She knew. He certainly used up all his prayers clearly, that, or not even the gods could conceal his blatant panic. He couldn’t even begin to think about anything else, though he would have normally tried to steal a glance in her direction. The terror that gripped his heart made everything a moot point. How had she known? Or really, how had he believed that the gods would help him lie to her? He did his best to fold the chiton in his trembling hands, but he could focus on nothing else but the words proceeding from her lips.
Damning words.
If he had any doubt about her being privy to his offense, the use of his name nearly made the boy faint. He almost dropped the chiton in his hands at the sound. In all of the ways he imagined she might use his name, this had never been one of them. The reprimand that followed made everything all the more dreadful. Not only did she know, she had caught him disobeying her again. The realization did little to quell his trembling, for now he faced the unbearable possibility she would have him dismissed entirely. Tears had already begun to sting his eyes, but there was no fighting against him once he felt the weight of her harsh gaze upon him. He hated to be looked upon in that way. The way that meant he was most certainly in trouble.
He couldn’t stop from recoiling, as if he could somehow hide from the dark eyes. He clenched the chiton in his hands as his chest tightened. Tears flowed from his eyes unbidden. He bit his inner lip so hard it bled. Chills ran out through his body as he struggled to breathe. His heart pounded so quickly he thought it might explode.
She knew.
And there was only one thing to do in such a situation.
“N-no, M-Mistress.” Trembling horribly still, Paris set the mostly folded chiton respectfully aside, falling to his knees easily. “I w-would never dis-disobey you f-for my amusement.” He struggled heavily to speak through his rapidly, panicked breathing, though he meant every word. His vision was blurred with tears and he struggled to keep his whimpering to a minimum, but even his suffocating panic didn’t stop him from bowing so deeply towards her on his knees that his head rested atop his hands on the floor.
It was then he started weeping.
“I am sorry, Mistress!” He cried. “I am so sorry! And pathetic! And stupid! And worthless!” There was no redemption in this, surely. What he had done was unforgivable. Nearly as unforgivable as attempting to plead with the gods to help conceal his crimes. Forgiveness was out of the question in his eyes, and so, Paris offered a final plea. “Please, Mistress!” he sobbed, “D-don’t be rid of me for my s-sins against you! Kill me instead! Please! I beg you! Death is far better than having to serve another! I can’t-! I don’t-!” Whatever he intended to say next was swallowed by the violent sobbing that wracked his body, quieted only because he willed himself not to disobey her further.
No one liked to hear the sobbing of pathetic slaves, least of all a goddess.
Ché
Paris
Ché
Paris
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
For a moment, all seemed well. A moment that only lasted as long as it took for him to see the way his mistress looked at him. She knew. He certainly used up all his prayers clearly, that, or not even the gods could conceal his blatant panic. He couldn’t even begin to think about anything else, though he would have normally tried to steal a glance in her direction. The terror that gripped his heart made everything a moot point. How had she known? Or really, how had he believed that the gods would help him lie to her? He did his best to fold the chiton in his trembling hands, but he could focus on nothing else but the words proceeding from her lips.
Damning words.
If he had any doubt about her being privy to his offense, the use of his name nearly made the boy faint. He almost dropped the chiton in his hands at the sound. In all of the ways he imagined she might use his name, this had never been one of them. The reprimand that followed made everything all the more dreadful. Not only did she know, she had caught him disobeying her again. The realization did little to quell his trembling, for now he faced the unbearable possibility she would have him dismissed entirely. Tears had already begun to sting his eyes, but there was no fighting against him once he felt the weight of her harsh gaze upon him. He hated to be looked upon in that way. The way that meant he was most certainly in trouble.
He couldn’t stop from recoiling, as if he could somehow hide from the dark eyes. He clenched the chiton in his hands as his chest tightened. Tears flowed from his eyes unbidden. He bit his inner lip so hard it bled. Chills ran out through his body as he struggled to breathe. His heart pounded so quickly he thought it might explode.
She knew.
And there was only one thing to do in such a situation.
“N-no, M-Mistress.” Trembling horribly still, Paris set the mostly folded chiton respectfully aside, falling to his knees easily. “I w-would never dis-disobey you f-for my amusement.” He struggled heavily to speak through his rapidly, panicked breathing, though he meant every word. His vision was blurred with tears and he struggled to keep his whimpering to a minimum, but even his suffocating panic didn’t stop him from bowing so deeply towards her on his knees that his head rested atop his hands on the floor.
It was then he started weeping.
“I am sorry, Mistress!” He cried. “I am so sorry! And pathetic! And stupid! And worthless!” There was no redemption in this, surely. What he had done was unforgivable. Nearly as unforgivable as attempting to plead with the gods to help conceal his crimes. Forgiveness was out of the question in his eyes, and so, Paris offered a final plea. “Please, Mistress!” he sobbed, “D-don’t be rid of me for my s-sins against you! Kill me instead! Please! I beg you! Death is far better than having to serve another! I can’t-! I don’t-!” Whatever he intended to say next was swallowed by the violent sobbing that wracked his body, quieted only because he willed himself not to disobey her further.
No one liked to hear the sobbing of pathetic slaves, least of all a goddess.
For a moment, all seemed well. A moment that only lasted as long as it took for him to see the way his mistress looked at him. She knew. He certainly used up all his prayers clearly, that, or not even the gods could conceal his blatant panic. He couldn’t even begin to think about anything else, though he would have normally tried to steal a glance in her direction. The terror that gripped his heart made everything a moot point. How had she known? Or really, how had he believed that the gods would help him lie to her? He did his best to fold the chiton in his trembling hands, but he could focus on nothing else but the words proceeding from her lips.
Damning words.
If he had any doubt about her being privy to his offense, the use of his name nearly made the boy faint. He almost dropped the chiton in his hands at the sound. In all of the ways he imagined she might use his name, this had never been one of them. The reprimand that followed made everything all the more dreadful. Not only did she know, she had caught him disobeying her again. The realization did little to quell his trembling, for now he faced the unbearable possibility she would have him dismissed entirely. Tears had already begun to sting his eyes, but there was no fighting against him once he felt the weight of her harsh gaze upon him. He hated to be looked upon in that way. The way that meant he was most certainly in trouble.
He couldn’t stop from recoiling, as if he could somehow hide from the dark eyes. He clenched the chiton in his hands as his chest tightened. Tears flowed from his eyes unbidden. He bit his inner lip so hard it bled. Chills ran out through his body as he struggled to breathe. His heart pounded so quickly he thought it might explode.
She knew.
And there was only one thing to do in such a situation.
“N-no, M-Mistress.” Trembling horribly still, Paris set the mostly folded chiton respectfully aside, falling to his knees easily. “I w-would never dis-disobey you f-for my amusement.” He struggled heavily to speak through his rapidly, panicked breathing, though he meant every word. His vision was blurred with tears and he struggled to keep his whimpering to a minimum, but even his suffocating panic didn’t stop him from bowing so deeply towards her on his knees that his head rested atop his hands on the floor.
It was then he started weeping.
“I am sorry, Mistress!” He cried. “I am so sorry! And pathetic! And stupid! And worthless!” There was no redemption in this, surely. What he had done was unforgivable. Nearly as unforgivable as attempting to plead with the gods to help conceal his crimes. Forgiveness was out of the question in his eyes, and so, Paris offered a final plea. “Please, Mistress!” he sobbed, “D-don’t be rid of me for my s-sins against you! Kill me instead! Please! I beg you! Death is far better than having to serve another! I can’t-! I don’t-!” Whatever he intended to say next was swallowed by the violent sobbing that wracked his body, quieted only because he willed himself not to disobey her further.
No one liked to hear the sobbing of pathetic slaves, least of all a goddess.
If Mihail had not already been convinced that Paris was acting suspiciously, then he would be now, for the moment he spoke, the boy was already stumbling over the words, and wasted no time starting his tears. The youngest Thanasi had always been somewhat prone to easy sobs himself, so often inconvenienced by something minor that he could not help but proclaim to his sisters amidst the greatest fits of tears that anybody had ever seen, but this was a display so immensely pathetic that he was almost caught by surprise at the drama of it all. It was obvious the slave had done something, though he had failed to express exactly what the trouble was.
Although thoroughly unaware that the cause of the boy’s fear was the truth that he had secretly pilfered fruit from the bowl in Mihail’s chambers, there appeared no trouble in pretending that he knew what was going on. If anything, the falsification of his knowledge would hopefully trick Paris into revealing his crimes.
“Stop this,” he demanded once more, wondering why he was forced to repeat the command for the millionth time. Was it not clear enough that excessive sobbing was nothing short of irritating? Were the many times he had demanded silence meaningless? “Stop your sobbing. I wish to enjoy my bath and I cannot if my life is to be serenaded by these pathetic noises you choose to make.” He trailed a finger through the pale-coloured liquid while he waited for the sound to stop, still having said nothing on the specific subject of the boy’s crimes, attempting to decide the best approach to have him admit his fault without directly demanding it. There would be no fun in that.
Eventually, he settled on what felt sufficiently amusing, eyes narrowing and brows knitting together as he glared, his hardened gaze fixated on the slave with all the rage he could muster. It was the kind of piercing stare that every Thanasi possessed, though it was not always as successful in Mihail’s case, so traditionally underestimated that he was, with his dark eyes that differed so from the rest of the family’s pretty and bright blue orbs. But with someone like Paris, who was so simple to manipulate and intimidate to his heart’s content, he never found himself failing. Now, it would serve him better than most.
“I cannot express to you the pain you have caused me by choosing to commit such a heinous crime. I have done so much for you and, despite it all, you choose to disobey me again and again and again. So often you leave me with no choice but to find appropriate punishment, and yet you do it again. You have done it again.” He heaved one of his classically over-dramatic sighs, absentmindedly flicking aside a stray rose petal that must have fallen from the jug of water for scenting baths, as though considering what he wished to do to have Paris atone for all his sins. “I believe the best course of action is for you to admit to all you have done wrong, no? Admitting your crimes to a goddess might earn you some favour, and perhaps the forgiveness that you so desire. Otherwise, I do not think that I shall be able to find it in my heart to offer you mercy for any of your transgressions.”
Mihail dropped his arms behind him to lean more comfortably on the edge of the bath, switching his gaze to the ceiling in the guise of giving Paris more privacy to make his decision. “Of course, if you would rather find another method of earning forgiveness, then do be my guest, but I can guarantee that it is no easy matter.”
Az
Mihail
Az
Mihail
Awards
First Impressions:Slim; Broken nose, piercing gaze, red-painted nails.
Address: Your His Lordship
If Mihail had not already been convinced that Paris was acting suspiciously, then he would be now, for the moment he spoke, the boy was already stumbling over the words, and wasted no time starting his tears. The youngest Thanasi had always been somewhat prone to easy sobs himself, so often inconvenienced by something minor that he could not help but proclaim to his sisters amidst the greatest fits of tears that anybody had ever seen, but this was a display so immensely pathetic that he was almost caught by surprise at the drama of it all. It was obvious the slave had done something, though he had failed to express exactly what the trouble was.
Although thoroughly unaware that the cause of the boy’s fear was the truth that he had secretly pilfered fruit from the bowl in Mihail’s chambers, there appeared no trouble in pretending that he knew what was going on. If anything, the falsification of his knowledge would hopefully trick Paris into revealing his crimes.
“Stop this,” he demanded once more, wondering why he was forced to repeat the command for the millionth time. Was it not clear enough that excessive sobbing was nothing short of irritating? Were the many times he had demanded silence meaningless? “Stop your sobbing. I wish to enjoy my bath and I cannot if my life is to be serenaded by these pathetic noises you choose to make.” He trailed a finger through the pale-coloured liquid while he waited for the sound to stop, still having said nothing on the specific subject of the boy’s crimes, attempting to decide the best approach to have him admit his fault without directly demanding it. There would be no fun in that.
Eventually, he settled on what felt sufficiently amusing, eyes narrowing and brows knitting together as he glared, his hardened gaze fixated on the slave with all the rage he could muster. It was the kind of piercing stare that every Thanasi possessed, though it was not always as successful in Mihail’s case, so traditionally underestimated that he was, with his dark eyes that differed so from the rest of the family’s pretty and bright blue orbs. But with someone like Paris, who was so simple to manipulate and intimidate to his heart’s content, he never found himself failing. Now, it would serve him better than most.
“I cannot express to you the pain you have caused me by choosing to commit such a heinous crime. I have done so much for you and, despite it all, you choose to disobey me again and again and again. So often you leave me with no choice but to find appropriate punishment, and yet you do it again. You have done it again.” He heaved one of his classically over-dramatic sighs, absentmindedly flicking aside a stray rose petal that must have fallen from the jug of water for scenting baths, as though considering what he wished to do to have Paris atone for all his sins. “I believe the best course of action is for you to admit to all you have done wrong, no? Admitting your crimes to a goddess might earn you some favour, and perhaps the forgiveness that you so desire. Otherwise, I do not think that I shall be able to find it in my heart to offer you mercy for any of your transgressions.”
Mihail dropped his arms behind him to lean more comfortably on the edge of the bath, switching his gaze to the ceiling in the guise of giving Paris more privacy to make his decision. “Of course, if you would rather find another method of earning forgiveness, then do be my guest, but I can guarantee that it is no easy matter.”
If Mihail had not already been convinced that Paris was acting suspiciously, then he would be now, for the moment he spoke, the boy was already stumbling over the words, and wasted no time starting his tears. The youngest Thanasi had always been somewhat prone to easy sobs himself, so often inconvenienced by something minor that he could not help but proclaim to his sisters amidst the greatest fits of tears that anybody had ever seen, but this was a display so immensely pathetic that he was almost caught by surprise at the drama of it all. It was obvious the slave had done something, though he had failed to express exactly what the trouble was.
Although thoroughly unaware that the cause of the boy’s fear was the truth that he had secretly pilfered fruit from the bowl in Mihail’s chambers, there appeared no trouble in pretending that he knew what was going on. If anything, the falsification of his knowledge would hopefully trick Paris into revealing his crimes.
“Stop this,” he demanded once more, wondering why he was forced to repeat the command for the millionth time. Was it not clear enough that excessive sobbing was nothing short of irritating? Were the many times he had demanded silence meaningless? “Stop your sobbing. I wish to enjoy my bath and I cannot if my life is to be serenaded by these pathetic noises you choose to make.” He trailed a finger through the pale-coloured liquid while he waited for the sound to stop, still having said nothing on the specific subject of the boy’s crimes, attempting to decide the best approach to have him admit his fault without directly demanding it. There would be no fun in that.
Eventually, he settled on what felt sufficiently amusing, eyes narrowing and brows knitting together as he glared, his hardened gaze fixated on the slave with all the rage he could muster. It was the kind of piercing stare that every Thanasi possessed, though it was not always as successful in Mihail’s case, so traditionally underestimated that he was, with his dark eyes that differed so from the rest of the family’s pretty and bright blue orbs. But with someone like Paris, who was so simple to manipulate and intimidate to his heart’s content, he never found himself failing. Now, it would serve him better than most.
“I cannot express to you the pain you have caused me by choosing to commit such a heinous crime. I have done so much for you and, despite it all, you choose to disobey me again and again and again. So often you leave me with no choice but to find appropriate punishment, and yet you do it again. You have done it again.” He heaved one of his classically over-dramatic sighs, absentmindedly flicking aside a stray rose petal that must have fallen from the jug of water for scenting baths, as though considering what he wished to do to have Paris atone for all his sins. “I believe the best course of action is for you to admit to all you have done wrong, no? Admitting your crimes to a goddess might earn you some favour, and perhaps the forgiveness that you so desire. Otherwise, I do not think that I shall be able to find it in my heart to offer you mercy for any of your transgressions.”
Mihail dropped his arms behind him to lean more comfortably on the edge of the bath, switching his gaze to the ceiling in the guise of giving Paris more privacy to make his decision. “Of course, if you would rather find another method of earning forgiveness, then do be my guest, but I can guarantee that it is no easy matter.”
The guilt that consumed him burned his stomach, making his trembling all the more severe. He couldn’t stop himself and that was utterly horrifying. She knew he had stolen from her. Somehow, she knew and the weight of the sentence that carried was crushing. Even more crushing than the fact that he could not force himself to obey her admonishment. She wanted him to stop sobbing but he couldn’t breathe, nor could he make the tears cease. He bit his lip, painfully trying to suffocate the sobbing gripping his throat. Stop. But it felt like his efforts only made his weeping worse. His panic increased with each passing moment until he clamped a shaking hand tightly over his mouth.
Stop.
The weight of his crimes was painful. It burned his skin and consumed him with dread so awful he wanted to vomit. And when he looked up and saw the way she looked at him, his heart fell through the floor. He whimpered into his hand, shaking his head as he shrank back into the nearest corner, surely bumping something as he blindly backed into a place to utmost shame. Paris shook his head frantically, clutching his chest with his free hand to try and force himself to breathe. He hurt her. Again. His heart felt like it had been torn in two. No. He dragged his knees to his chest, desperately trying to calm himself as she spoke of the punishment he deserved.
Confess.
“M-my goddess, please,” he whimpered through his spread fingers. “I-I never meant to c-cause you pain. I- I shouldn’t have- I knew better. I’m sorry. I couldn’t control myself- I was- I was just so hungry I couldn’t wait and-” His words were rushed and panicked as he struggled to even get a small breath of air into his lungs. Shame burned through his stomach, so much more than it had when he had been ordered to undress. “and- and I s-stole from you.” The very words felt utterly damning. “Please, I beg for your mercy. I let my f-foolishness get the better of me. I- I thought I could- I thought I could get away with it and I was wrong. But I beg you. Kill me before you throw me back into the darkness. I can’t- I won’t survive it. I’ve never- I’ve never served a goddess before- My old master- I- But-” He sucked in a deep, shaky breath at last.
“E-even in the face of my sins against you- I don’t- I don’t want to serve another. I can’t-” He pressed his forehead firmly against his knees, whimpering all the while. “Please. Have me killed instead. I beg of you to consider that mercy.” Oh, how he meant every word. To die now would be far better than being sold again and relegated to serving a lesser being or being worked to death in the mines. How could he possibly live without her? She gave him his purpose and he had failed miserably and even dared to hope to deceive her. But of course she knew. There was no hiding from a goddess. He was certain she would be done with him, and so he hoped she might think to offer him the mercy of having his last failure with her, rather than another most unworthy.
He could never go back after having been so close to divinity.
Nor did he plan to.
Ché
Paris
Ché
Paris
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
The guilt that consumed him burned his stomach, making his trembling all the more severe. He couldn’t stop himself and that was utterly horrifying. She knew he had stolen from her. Somehow, she knew and the weight of the sentence that carried was crushing. Even more crushing than the fact that he could not force himself to obey her admonishment. She wanted him to stop sobbing but he couldn’t breathe, nor could he make the tears cease. He bit his lip, painfully trying to suffocate the sobbing gripping his throat. Stop. But it felt like his efforts only made his weeping worse. His panic increased with each passing moment until he clamped a shaking hand tightly over his mouth.
Stop.
The weight of his crimes was painful. It burned his skin and consumed him with dread so awful he wanted to vomit. And when he looked up and saw the way she looked at him, his heart fell through the floor. He whimpered into his hand, shaking his head as he shrank back into the nearest corner, surely bumping something as he blindly backed into a place to utmost shame. Paris shook his head frantically, clutching his chest with his free hand to try and force himself to breathe. He hurt her. Again. His heart felt like it had been torn in two. No. He dragged his knees to his chest, desperately trying to calm himself as she spoke of the punishment he deserved.
Confess.
“M-my goddess, please,” he whimpered through his spread fingers. “I-I never meant to c-cause you pain. I- I shouldn’t have- I knew better. I’m sorry. I couldn’t control myself- I was- I was just so hungry I couldn’t wait and-” His words were rushed and panicked as he struggled to even get a small breath of air into his lungs. Shame burned through his stomach, so much more than it had when he had been ordered to undress. “and- and I s-stole from you.” The very words felt utterly damning. “Please, I beg for your mercy. I let my f-foolishness get the better of me. I- I thought I could- I thought I could get away with it and I was wrong. But I beg you. Kill me before you throw me back into the darkness. I can’t- I won’t survive it. I’ve never- I’ve never served a goddess before- My old master- I- But-” He sucked in a deep, shaky breath at last.
“E-even in the face of my sins against you- I don’t- I don’t want to serve another. I can’t-” He pressed his forehead firmly against his knees, whimpering all the while. “Please. Have me killed instead. I beg of you to consider that mercy.” Oh, how he meant every word. To die now would be far better than being sold again and relegated to serving a lesser being or being worked to death in the mines. How could he possibly live without her? She gave him his purpose and he had failed miserably and even dared to hope to deceive her. But of course she knew. There was no hiding from a goddess. He was certain she would be done with him, and so he hoped she might think to offer him the mercy of having his last failure with her, rather than another most unworthy.
He could never go back after having been so close to divinity.
Nor did he plan to.
The guilt that consumed him burned his stomach, making his trembling all the more severe. He couldn’t stop himself and that was utterly horrifying. She knew he had stolen from her. Somehow, she knew and the weight of the sentence that carried was crushing. Even more crushing than the fact that he could not force himself to obey her admonishment. She wanted him to stop sobbing but he couldn’t breathe, nor could he make the tears cease. He bit his lip, painfully trying to suffocate the sobbing gripping his throat. Stop. But it felt like his efforts only made his weeping worse. His panic increased with each passing moment until he clamped a shaking hand tightly over his mouth.
Stop.
The weight of his crimes was painful. It burned his skin and consumed him with dread so awful he wanted to vomit. And when he looked up and saw the way she looked at him, his heart fell through the floor. He whimpered into his hand, shaking his head as he shrank back into the nearest corner, surely bumping something as he blindly backed into a place to utmost shame. Paris shook his head frantically, clutching his chest with his free hand to try and force himself to breathe. He hurt her. Again. His heart felt like it had been torn in two. No. He dragged his knees to his chest, desperately trying to calm himself as she spoke of the punishment he deserved.
Confess.
“M-my goddess, please,” he whimpered through his spread fingers. “I-I never meant to c-cause you pain. I- I shouldn’t have- I knew better. I’m sorry. I couldn’t control myself- I was- I was just so hungry I couldn’t wait and-” His words were rushed and panicked as he struggled to even get a small breath of air into his lungs. Shame burned through his stomach, so much more than it had when he had been ordered to undress. “and- and I s-stole from you.” The very words felt utterly damning. “Please, I beg for your mercy. I let my f-foolishness get the better of me. I- I thought I could- I thought I could get away with it and I was wrong. But I beg you. Kill me before you throw me back into the darkness. I can’t- I won’t survive it. I’ve never- I’ve never served a goddess before- My old master- I- But-” He sucked in a deep, shaky breath at last.
“E-even in the face of my sins against you- I don’t- I don’t want to serve another. I can’t-” He pressed his forehead firmly against his knees, whimpering all the while. “Please. Have me killed instead. I beg of you to consider that mercy.” Oh, how he meant every word. To die now would be far better than being sold again and relegated to serving a lesser being or being worked to death in the mines. How could he possibly live without her? She gave him his purpose and he had failed miserably and even dared to hope to deceive her. But of course she knew. There was no hiding from a goddess. He was certain she would be done with him, and so he hoped she might think to offer him the mercy of having his last failure with her, rather than another most unworthy.
He could never go back after having been so close to divinity.
Nor did he plan to.
Ah.
Likely, Mihail might never have noticed the disappearance of some fruit from the bowl in his room. Without specifics, there was no chance he would know exactly what had been taken once he returned unless Paris had done something so idiotically obvious as taken multiple large pieces. But the boy was predictable enough that he would start to sob the moment he did something wrong, and it was due to such a flaw in the slave’s nature that it was so easy to have him admit exactly what he had done wrong. It was rather refreshing to know that there would always be that weakness to fall back on. Now he knew that the over-dramatized crime was a theft, there was something he could do about it.
Thanasis were not known for their kindness. There were few offences that they let go easily (truly, almost none of them were dismissed without issue), for it was in their nature to be cruel, and the youngest of the lot was no exception to the rule. In Mihail’s eyes, theft had always been one of the worst of those crimes, for he valued all his possessions rather highly, and he did not care to allow such things past him, despite the fact that he had not known of the crime before the man had admitted it, and likely never would have.
“I thought I told you to stop sobbing,” he replied, choosing, as ever, to keep his thoughts private and not reveal any of his opinions to Paris, falling back on the comfortable option of chastising him instead of saying anything else. He continued to trail a finger through the milk, making odd patterns of ripples in the liquid as he considered his response to all this. Evidently, Paris had his own opinions on what the appropriate response for the crime was, and it was exceedingly dramatic.
Deciding not to say anything just yet, he waved half-heartedly towards the small table holding his rings. “Fetch some wine from the kitchens while I come to a decision. Try not to spill it.” He paused a second, then added: “You may dress before you do so. And...you may take a moment to eat or drink something and regain your composure. I cannot continue speaking to you in such an unnecessarily irritable state.” That would, at least, help the Thanasi concentrate.
While he waited for Paris to return, Mihail took the time to fall deeper into the bath, only stopping so that his hair was not wetted. His eyes drifted shut once more, and for a few seconds, there was nothing on his mind to distract him from the relaxation he had craved. It was that brief moment of silence that allowed him to collect his thoughts, so that he might properly determine what had to be done about the slave.
Neither death nor gifting away were truly valid options, for the man did not wish to remain without a reliable slave who swore loyalty nowhere else. Unfortunately, Mihail was angered enough by the audacity of the boy stealing his food that he was not willing to let him off with another light punishment in the form of basic humiliation, and something would have to be done to express clearly that this was not going to be a repeated act. Theft would not be tolerated in Mihail’s service, and he intended to teach Paris a lesson, and show him exactly who he belonged to. He would have Paris suffer, and it would be delicious.
Once he heard the sound of the boy returning, he held out a hand for his goblet, not yet opening his eyes as he took a long sip that implied he did not care for the other. “I have come to a decision regarding the consequences for your crime.” Mihail set the goblet to his side, holding a dainty hand out to the slave with still no word regarding his punishment. “You may help me out.”
Az
Mihail
Az
Mihail
Awards
First Impressions:Slim; Broken nose, piercing gaze, red-painted nails.
Address: Your His Lordship
Likely, Mihail might never have noticed the disappearance of some fruit from the bowl in his room. Without specifics, there was no chance he would know exactly what had been taken once he returned unless Paris had done something so idiotically obvious as taken multiple large pieces. But the boy was predictable enough that he would start to sob the moment he did something wrong, and it was due to such a flaw in the slave’s nature that it was so easy to have him admit exactly what he had done wrong. It was rather refreshing to know that there would always be that weakness to fall back on. Now he knew that the over-dramatized crime was a theft, there was something he could do about it.
Thanasis were not known for their kindness. There were few offences that they let go easily (truly, almost none of them were dismissed without issue), for it was in their nature to be cruel, and the youngest of the lot was no exception to the rule. In Mihail’s eyes, theft had always been one of the worst of those crimes, for he valued all his possessions rather highly, and he did not care to allow such things past him, despite the fact that he had not known of the crime before the man had admitted it, and likely never would have.
“I thought I told you to stop sobbing,” he replied, choosing, as ever, to keep his thoughts private and not reveal any of his opinions to Paris, falling back on the comfortable option of chastising him instead of saying anything else. He continued to trail a finger through the milk, making odd patterns of ripples in the liquid as he considered his response to all this. Evidently, Paris had his own opinions on what the appropriate response for the crime was, and it was exceedingly dramatic.
Deciding not to say anything just yet, he waved half-heartedly towards the small table holding his rings. “Fetch some wine from the kitchens while I come to a decision. Try not to spill it.” He paused a second, then added: “You may dress before you do so. And...you may take a moment to eat or drink something and regain your composure. I cannot continue speaking to you in such an unnecessarily irritable state.” That would, at least, help the Thanasi concentrate.
While he waited for Paris to return, Mihail took the time to fall deeper into the bath, only stopping so that his hair was not wetted. His eyes drifted shut once more, and for a few seconds, there was nothing on his mind to distract him from the relaxation he had craved. It was that brief moment of silence that allowed him to collect his thoughts, so that he might properly determine what had to be done about the slave.
Neither death nor gifting away were truly valid options, for the man did not wish to remain without a reliable slave who swore loyalty nowhere else. Unfortunately, Mihail was angered enough by the audacity of the boy stealing his food that he was not willing to let him off with another light punishment in the form of basic humiliation, and something would have to be done to express clearly that this was not going to be a repeated act. Theft would not be tolerated in Mihail’s service, and he intended to teach Paris a lesson, and show him exactly who he belonged to. He would have Paris suffer, and it would be delicious.
Once he heard the sound of the boy returning, he held out a hand for his goblet, not yet opening his eyes as he took a long sip that implied he did not care for the other. “I have come to a decision regarding the consequences for your crime.” Mihail set the goblet to his side, holding a dainty hand out to the slave with still no word regarding his punishment. “You may help me out.”
Ah.
Likely, Mihail might never have noticed the disappearance of some fruit from the bowl in his room. Without specifics, there was no chance he would know exactly what had been taken once he returned unless Paris had done something so idiotically obvious as taken multiple large pieces. But the boy was predictable enough that he would start to sob the moment he did something wrong, and it was due to such a flaw in the slave’s nature that it was so easy to have him admit exactly what he had done wrong. It was rather refreshing to know that there would always be that weakness to fall back on. Now he knew that the over-dramatized crime was a theft, there was something he could do about it.
Thanasis were not known for their kindness. There were few offences that they let go easily (truly, almost none of them were dismissed without issue), for it was in their nature to be cruel, and the youngest of the lot was no exception to the rule. In Mihail’s eyes, theft had always been one of the worst of those crimes, for he valued all his possessions rather highly, and he did not care to allow such things past him, despite the fact that he had not known of the crime before the man had admitted it, and likely never would have.
“I thought I told you to stop sobbing,” he replied, choosing, as ever, to keep his thoughts private and not reveal any of his opinions to Paris, falling back on the comfortable option of chastising him instead of saying anything else. He continued to trail a finger through the milk, making odd patterns of ripples in the liquid as he considered his response to all this. Evidently, Paris had his own opinions on what the appropriate response for the crime was, and it was exceedingly dramatic.
Deciding not to say anything just yet, he waved half-heartedly towards the small table holding his rings. “Fetch some wine from the kitchens while I come to a decision. Try not to spill it.” He paused a second, then added: “You may dress before you do so. And...you may take a moment to eat or drink something and regain your composure. I cannot continue speaking to you in such an unnecessarily irritable state.” That would, at least, help the Thanasi concentrate.
While he waited for Paris to return, Mihail took the time to fall deeper into the bath, only stopping so that his hair was not wetted. His eyes drifted shut once more, and for a few seconds, there was nothing on his mind to distract him from the relaxation he had craved. It was that brief moment of silence that allowed him to collect his thoughts, so that he might properly determine what had to be done about the slave.
Neither death nor gifting away were truly valid options, for the man did not wish to remain without a reliable slave who swore loyalty nowhere else. Unfortunately, Mihail was angered enough by the audacity of the boy stealing his food that he was not willing to let him off with another light punishment in the form of basic humiliation, and something would have to be done to express clearly that this was not going to be a repeated act. Theft would not be tolerated in Mihail’s service, and he intended to teach Paris a lesson, and show him exactly who he belonged to. He would have Paris suffer, and it would be delicious.
Once he heard the sound of the boy returning, he held out a hand for his goblet, not yet opening his eyes as he took a long sip that implied he did not care for the other. “I have come to a decision regarding the consequences for your crime.” Mihail set the goblet to his side, holding a dainty hand out to the slave with still no word regarding his punishment. “You may help me out.”
If it were possible for him to melt into the wall and disappear entirely, Paris would have taken the chance in a heartbeat. Between the blinding tears and the tightness in his chest, there was nothing more he wanted than to vanish from thin air. He felt beyond sick. He was hungry, ashamed of himself, and utterly terrified. A different slave might have had no qualms about having their distance from such a mistress, but Paris did not hold such notions. He knew of his own weakness, of his inability to quiet himself, and of the undeniable fact that he had never been happier than serving her. A truth that made his transgressions all the more offensive to him. For he knew better, and he knew of the things she despised and yet, he continued to fail.
But in spite of all of that, his mistress was still kind to him.
Admittedly, once he had wiped the tears from his eyes, Paris had to peer through the gap between his knees, as if he did not believe what he had heard. Because he didn’t. The command itself was not unusual. He had fetched wine hundreds of times in his service to the Thanasi but the rest was unexpected and thus, utterly bewildering. He was being permitted to dress… and satiate the thirst and hunger that drove him to his foolishness in the first place. He knew well enough that he deserved no such mercy, but there was no notion in his head as to question whether or not his mistress was being serious with him. He knew better than to question her in anything. As such, Paris quickly scrambled to his feet and ran off to do as he was bid.
Dressing again felt odd, if only because he had grown slightly acclimated to his nudity. In truth, his panic in the baths had been so severe he’s forgotten about his state of undress and the desires that caused it in the first place. All the same, it was relieving to move down the halls towards the kitchens covered. With the burn of embarrassment no longer plaguing him, and the tightness in his chest dissipating, Paris’ focus soon toward easing the pangs of hunger wracking his stomach. Locating the wine had been easy, for he always knew where it was. Finally eating something more than three grapes (though just bread) and drinking water, however, were the best parts of fulfilling the order to retrieve wine. There were other things in the kitchens he could have hurriedly stuffed in his mouth, but they were far too expensive in his eyes for him to even dream of touching, so he did not.
The thought would be gone from his head long before he returned to the baths anyway. Those moments of peace where he did not feel the burning bite of dread and guilt vanished the moment he stepped outside the kitchens. He had the wine, of course, but he also had the reminders of what he was returning to. He had committed a crime. A horrendous one. A slave who stole from his mistress was a poor slave indeed. And that was when the anxiety returned. His hands trembled as he turned to the baths. Carefully, he passed the goblet over to her waiting hand to ensure he did not spill anything. The last thing he needed was to add more on top of his already egregious offense.
His breath caught in his throat when she told him she’d come to a decision about his offense and yet spoke nothing of what it would be. The uncertainty drove him to chew on his bitten, bloody inner lip. He was lost between trying to push back against the pressure of tears he felt behind his eyes, and trying to understand why she would grant him the privilege of helping her out of the bath. He did so, of course, with little hesitation and was gentle enough so as not to crush her hand in his grip. His gaze was directed towards the floor after that, for his bemusement and anxiousness made the idea of stealing a glance towards his mistress nonexistent.
He had stolen enough today as it was.
Confused, but never one to openly question his owner, Paris lingered on the side, waiting for whatever might come next.
Ché
Paris
Ché
Paris
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If it were possible for him to melt into the wall and disappear entirely, Paris would have taken the chance in a heartbeat. Between the blinding tears and the tightness in his chest, there was nothing more he wanted than to vanish from thin air. He felt beyond sick. He was hungry, ashamed of himself, and utterly terrified. A different slave might have had no qualms about having their distance from such a mistress, but Paris did not hold such notions. He knew of his own weakness, of his inability to quiet himself, and of the undeniable fact that he had never been happier than serving her. A truth that made his transgressions all the more offensive to him. For he knew better, and he knew of the things she despised and yet, he continued to fail.
But in spite of all of that, his mistress was still kind to him.
Admittedly, once he had wiped the tears from his eyes, Paris had to peer through the gap between his knees, as if he did not believe what he had heard. Because he didn’t. The command itself was not unusual. He had fetched wine hundreds of times in his service to the Thanasi but the rest was unexpected and thus, utterly bewildering. He was being permitted to dress… and satiate the thirst and hunger that drove him to his foolishness in the first place. He knew well enough that he deserved no such mercy, but there was no notion in his head as to question whether or not his mistress was being serious with him. He knew better than to question her in anything. As such, Paris quickly scrambled to his feet and ran off to do as he was bid.
Dressing again felt odd, if only because he had grown slightly acclimated to his nudity. In truth, his panic in the baths had been so severe he’s forgotten about his state of undress and the desires that caused it in the first place. All the same, it was relieving to move down the halls towards the kitchens covered. With the burn of embarrassment no longer plaguing him, and the tightness in his chest dissipating, Paris’ focus soon toward easing the pangs of hunger wracking his stomach. Locating the wine had been easy, for he always knew where it was. Finally eating something more than three grapes (though just bread) and drinking water, however, were the best parts of fulfilling the order to retrieve wine. There were other things in the kitchens he could have hurriedly stuffed in his mouth, but they were far too expensive in his eyes for him to even dream of touching, so he did not.
The thought would be gone from his head long before he returned to the baths anyway. Those moments of peace where he did not feel the burning bite of dread and guilt vanished the moment he stepped outside the kitchens. He had the wine, of course, but he also had the reminders of what he was returning to. He had committed a crime. A horrendous one. A slave who stole from his mistress was a poor slave indeed. And that was when the anxiety returned. His hands trembled as he turned to the baths. Carefully, he passed the goblet over to her waiting hand to ensure he did not spill anything. The last thing he needed was to add more on top of his already egregious offense.
His breath caught in his throat when she told him she’d come to a decision about his offense and yet spoke nothing of what it would be. The uncertainty drove him to chew on his bitten, bloody inner lip. He was lost between trying to push back against the pressure of tears he felt behind his eyes, and trying to understand why she would grant him the privilege of helping her out of the bath. He did so, of course, with little hesitation and was gentle enough so as not to crush her hand in his grip. His gaze was directed towards the floor after that, for his bemusement and anxiousness made the idea of stealing a glance towards his mistress nonexistent.
He had stolen enough today as it was.
Confused, but never one to openly question his owner, Paris lingered on the side, waiting for whatever might come next.
If it were possible for him to melt into the wall and disappear entirely, Paris would have taken the chance in a heartbeat. Between the blinding tears and the tightness in his chest, there was nothing more he wanted than to vanish from thin air. He felt beyond sick. He was hungry, ashamed of himself, and utterly terrified. A different slave might have had no qualms about having their distance from such a mistress, but Paris did not hold such notions. He knew of his own weakness, of his inability to quiet himself, and of the undeniable fact that he had never been happier than serving her. A truth that made his transgressions all the more offensive to him. For he knew better, and he knew of the things she despised and yet, he continued to fail.
But in spite of all of that, his mistress was still kind to him.
Admittedly, once he had wiped the tears from his eyes, Paris had to peer through the gap between his knees, as if he did not believe what he had heard. Because he didn’t. The command itself was not unusual. He had fetched wine hundreds of times in his service to the Thanasi but the rest was unexpected and thus, utterly bewildering. He was being permitted to dress… and satiate the thirst and hunger that drove him to his foolishness in the first place. He knew well enough that he deserved no such mercy, but there was no notion in his head as to question whether or not his mistress was being serious with him. He knew better than to question her in anything. As such, Paris quickly scrambled to his feet and ran off to do as he was bid.
Dressing again felt odd, if only because he had grown slightly acclimated to his nudity. In truth, his panic in the baths had been so severe he’s forgotten about his state of undress and the desires that caused it in the first place. All the same, it was relieving to move down the halls towards the kitchens covered. With the burn of embarrassment no longer plaguing him, and the tightness in his chest dissipating, Paris’ focus soon toward easing the pangs of hunger wracking his stomach. Locating the wine had been easy, for he always knew where it was. Finally eating something more than three grapes (though just bread) and drinking water, however, were the best parts of fulfilling the order to retrieve wine. There were other things in the kitchens he could have hurriedly stuffed in his mouth, but they were far too expensive in his eyes for him to even dream of touching, so he did not.
The thought would be gone from his head long before he returned to the baths anyway. Those moments of peace where he did not feel the burning bite of dread and guilt vanished the moment he stepped outside the kitchens. He had the wine, of course, but he also had the reminders of what he was returning to. He had committed a crime. A horrendous one. A slave who stole from his mistress was a poor slave indeed. And that was when the anxiety returned. His hands trembled as he turned to the baths. Carefully, he passed the goblet over to her waiting hand to ensure he did not spill anything. The last thing he needed was to add more on top of his already egregious offense.
His breath caught in his throat when she told him she’d come to a decision about his offense and yet spoke nothing of what it would be. The uncertainty drove him to chew on his bitten, bloody inner lip. He was lost between trying to push back against the pressure of tears he felt behind his eyes, and trying to understand why she would grant him the privilege of helping her out of the bath. He did so, of course, with little hesitation and was gentle enough so as not to crush her hand in his grip. His gaze was directed towards the floor after that, for his bemusement and anxiousness made the idea of stealing a glance towards his mistress nonexistent.
He had stolen enough today as it was.
Confused, but never one to openly question his owner, Paris lingered on the side, waiting for whatever might come next.
