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Keikelius focused on the sharp striking of his heels on salt-soaked planks. His focus was on one of his ships. The cargo was valuable and it needed to be funneled onto the market before it sat much longer. Unfortunately, the crew had been slow about meeting the unloading deadline, setting Keikelius on edge and putting him into even more of a sour mood than he generally was.
But he needed to make an example of them, and unfortunately, he couldn't do that until his nephew arrived to accompany him. Keikelius had taken it upon himself to invite his nephew, Rafail of Marikas, out to the docks for a small meeting. A meeting in which he would attempt to instruct the man on the ways of business. He was far too old to simply wander from province to province bedding anything that moved.
And it wasn't at all a secret that he had a tendency to bed a great many women.
It was a waste that a man of Rafail's status was wasting his time when he could have been making a... stronger name for himself. One steeped in money he had earned himself and power he had taken on his own. Not power that had simply been given to him without having put in even the slightest amount of effort. His sorry excuse for time served in the military wasn't enough to save Rafail from the tongue lashing his uncle was planning for him.
Dressed in dark riding pants and a tunic, it wasn't Keikelius' intent to impress any of the dock workers. If anything his attire was a warning. A warning that something was amiss. A sign that hell was about to rain down on them if they didn't shape up. Clutching a roll of parchment in hand, Keikelius turned slowly to glance down the docks, intent on spotting his nephew before he got too far down the docks.
Keeping a constant eye on the location of the sun, he silently started to time Rafail. If the man was late, as he had been instructed to be on time, then Keikelius would take it as a sign that maybe he was a lost cause. Maybe he didn't deserve the prospect that the man had had in mind for the last few weeks. Ever since the rumors of his nephew bedding from Aetaean lady had reached his ears. Enough was enough in his eyes.
Keikelius would make a man out of Rafail yet, and he had a mind of just how to do so. Whether it would work or not had yet to be seen, but Keikelius expected nothing but perfection and affirmation of his thoughts and Rafail's potential.
A few men from the cargo ship passed, shouldering a large crate of precious merchandise. Keikelius let his gaze follow them, the constant expression of disinterest and disgust rather prominent on sharp features. Any other ship owner would have cautioned the men against dropping the crate.
No, these men knew. They knew that any damage to the merchandise would mean heavy penalties.
And Keikelius was never kind about it.
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Keikelius focused on the sharp striking of his heels on salt-soaked planks. His focus was on one of his ships. The cargo was valuable and it needed to be funneled onto the market before it sat much longer. Unfortunately, the crew had been slow about meeting the unloading deadline, setting Keikelius on edge and putting him into even more of a sour mood than he generally was.
But he needed to make an example of them, and unfortunately, he couldn't do that until his nephew arrived to accompany him. Keikelius had taken it upon himself to invite his nephew, Rafail of Marikas, out to the docks for a small meeting. A meeting in which he would attempt to instruct the man on the ways of business. He was far too old to simply wander from province to province bedding anything that moved.
And it wasn't at all a secret that he had a tendency to bed a great many women.
It was a waste that a man of Rafail's status was wasting his time when he could have been making a... stronger name for himself. One steeped in money he had earned himself and power he had taken on his own. Not power that had simply been given to him without having put in even the slightest amount of effort. His sorry excuse for time served in the military wasn't enough to save Rafail from the tongue lashing his uncle was planning for him.
Dressed in dark riding pants and a tunic, it wasn't Keikelius' intent to impress any of the dock workers. If anything his attire was a warning. A warning that something was amiss. A sign that hell was about to rain down on them if they didn't shape up. Clutching a roll of parchment in hand, Keikelius turned slowly to glance down the docks, intent on spotting his nephew before he got too far down the docks.
Keeping a constant eye on the location of the sun, he silently started to time Rafail. If the man was late, as he had been instructed to be on time, then Keikelius would take it as a sign that maybe he was a lost cause. Maybe he didn't deserve the prospect that the man had had in mind for the last few weeks. Ever since the rumors of his nephew bedding from Aetaean lady had reached his ears. Enough was enough in his eyes.
Keikelius would make a man out of Rafail yet, and he had a mind of just how to do so. Whether it would work or not had yet to be seen, but Keikelius expected nothing but perfection and affirmation of his thoughts and Rafail's potential.
A few men from the cargo ship passed, shouldering a large crate of precious merchandise. Keikelius let his gaze follow them, the constant expression of disinterest and disgust rather prominent on sharp features. Any other ship owner would have cautioned the men against dropping the crate.
No, these men knew. They knew that any damage to the merchandise would mean heavy penalties.
And Keikelius was never kind about it.
Keikelius focused on the sharp striking of his heels on salt-soaked planks. His focus was on one of his ships. The cargo was valuable and it needed to be funneled onto the market before it sat much longer. Unfortunately, the crew had been slow about meeting the unloading deadline, setting Keikelius on edge and putting him into even more of a sour mood than he generally was.
But he needed to make an example of them, and unfortunately, he couldn't do that until his nephew arrived to accompany him. Keikelius had taken it upon himself to invite his nephew, Rafail of Marikas, out to the docks for a small meeting. A meeting in which he would attempt to instruct the man on the ways of business. He was far too old to simply wander from province to province bedding anything that moved.
And it wasn't at all a secret that he had a tendency to bed a great many women.
It was a waste that a man of Rafail's status was wasting his time when he could have been making a... stronger name for himself. One steeped in money he had earned himself and power he had taken on his own. Not power that had simply been given to him without having put in even the slightest amount of effort. His sorry excuse for time served in the military wasn't enough to save Rafail from the tongue lashing his uncle was planning for him.
Dressed in dark riding pants and a tunic, it wasn't Keikelius' intent to impress any of the dock workers. If anything his attire was a warning. A warning that something was amiss. A sign that hell was about to rain down on them if they didn't shape up. Clutching a roll of parchment in hand, Keikelius turned slowly to glance down the docks, intent on spotting his nephew before he got too far down the docks.
Keeping a constant eye on the location of the sun, he silently started to time Rafail. If the man was late, as he had been instructed to be on time, then Keikelius would take it as a sign that maybe he was a lost cause. Maybe he didn't deserve the prospect that the man had had in mind for the last few weeks. Ever since the rumors of his nephew bedding from Aetaean lady had reached his ears. Enough was enough in his eyes.
Keikelius would make a man out of Rafail yet, and he had a mind of just how to do so. Whether it would work or not had yet to be seen, but Keikelius expected nothing but perfection and affirmation of his thoughts and Rafail's potential.
A few men from the cargo ship passed, shouldering a large crate of precious merchandise. Keikelius let his gaze follow them, the constant expression of disinterest and disgust rather prominent on sharp features. Any other ship owner would have cautioned the men against dropping the crate.
No, these men knew. They knew that any damage to the merchandise would mean heavy penalties.
And Keikelius was never kind about it.
Rafail had been surprised when he had received the missive from his uncle requesting his presence at some mysterious meeting. The pair rarely spoke, and, well, the meeting location? The harbour, of all places! Just imagine, him in a place as horrendously common as a harbour. Him, with all his dazzlingly expensive clothing and his refined features and all the clearcut signs that he'd never had the struggle of a single day's work in his life. In the back of his mind, he had a sneaking suspicion that that was exactly the reason why his uncle had called him down here. Work. There was some misconception, it appeared, that if you hadn't made your own wealth, then you weren't worth as much as others were worth. That was not the way the world worked, as far as Rafail was concerned. If you were born with money and you were born royal, that was that. You were inherently far better than all others: there was no need for work. That was, after all, what other people did.
For this horrendous meeting, he had dressed in a chiton which matched his eyes, one he usually reserved for when he was meeting women that had particularly taken his fancy. It was not only expensive but made him look excellent and, were this almost any other location, Rafail knew he would have been taking a girl home with him. He was sure he was overdressed but, well, he hardly cared so long as he knew he looked good. He was also several minutes late but, well, Rafail never cared for deadlines. He did everything in his own time and the world would simply have to accept that.
"Uncle," he greeted the older man once he had finally arrived at the designated location for their meeting, frowning as he was forced to step over what could have potentially been a very dangerous puddle. "I hope you are aware that I had to cancel my plans this evening for you. I hope this is important." As he offered his uncle a hand in greeting, he couldn't help but glance to one side, eyeing the workers wandering about the dock. Urgh. If he got anything disgusting on him as a result of this, he was not going to be happy. "Can we not move this meeting elsewhere...somewhere cleaner, by chance?"
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Rafail had been surprised when he had received the missive from his uncle requesting his presence at some mysterious meeting. The pair rarely spoke, and, well, the meeting location? The harbour, of all places! Just imagine, him in a place as horrendously common as a harbour. Him, with all his dazzlingly expensive clothing and his refined features and all the clearcut signs that he'd never had the struggle of a single day's work in his life. In the back of his mind, he had a sneaking suspicion that that was exactly the reason why his uncle had called him down here. Work. There was some misconception, it appeared, that if you hadn't made your own wealth, then you weren't worth as much as others were worth. That was not the way the world worked, as far as Rafail was concerned. If you were born with money and you were born royal, that was that. You were inherently far better than all others: there was no need for work. That was, after all, what other people did.
For this horrendous meeting, he had dressed in a chiton which matched his eyes, one he usually reserved for when he was meeting women that had particularly taken his fancy. It was not only expensive but made him look excellent and, were this almost any other location, Rafail knew he would have been taking a girl home with him. He was sure he was overdressed but, well, he hardly cared so long as he knew he looked good. He was also several minutes late but, well, Rafail never cared for deadlines. He did everything in his own time and the world would simply have to accept that.
"Uncle," he greeted the older man once he had finally arrived at the designated location for their meeting, frowning as he was forced to step over what could have potentially been a very dangerous puddle. "I hope you are aware that I had to cancel my plans this evening for you. I hope this is important." As he offered his uncle a hand in greeting, he couldn't help but glance to one side, eyeing the workers wandering about the dock. Urgh. If he got anything disgusting on him as a result of this, he was not going to be happy. "Can we not move this meeting elsewhere...somewhere cleaner, by chance?"
Rafail had been surprised when he had received the missive from his uncle requesting his presence at some mysterious meeting. The pair rarely spoke, and, well, the meeting location? The harbour, of all places! Just imagine, him in a place as horrendously common as a harbour. Him, with all his dazzlingly expensive clothing and his refined features and all the clearcut signs that he'd never had the struggle of a single day's work in his life. In the back of his mind, he had a sneaking suspicion that that was exactly the reason why his uncle had called him down here. Work. There was some misconception, it appeared, that if you hadn't made your own wealth, then you weren't worth as much as others were worth. That was not the way the world worked, as far as Rafail was concerned. If you were born with money and you were born royal, that was that. You were inherently far better than all others: there was no need for work. That was, after all, what other people did.
For this horrendous meeting, he had dressed in a chiton which matched his eyes, one he usually reserved for when he was meeting women that had particularly taken his fancy. It was not only expensive but made him look excellent and, were this almost any other location, Rafail knew he would have been taking a girl home with him. He was sure he was overdressed but, well, he hardly cared so long as he knew he looked good. He was also several minutes late but, well, Rafail never cared for deadlines. He did everything in his own time and the world would simply have to accept that.
"Uncle," he greeted the older man once he had finally arrived at the designated location for their meeting, frowning as he was forced to step over what could have potentially been a very dangerous puddle. "I hope you are aware that I had to cancel my plans this evening for you. I hope this is important." As he offered his uncle a hand in greeting, he couldn't help but glance to one side, eyeing the workers wandering about the dock. Urgh. If he got anything disgusting on him as a result of this, he was not going to be happy. "Can we not move this meeting elsewhere...somewhere cleaner, by chance?"
He was late.
And that made Keikelius just the slightest bit short with his nephew. Was there any reason for him to have dressed so fancily? The man had made it clear that they would be on the docks for this meeting, which only served to irk the man further. He didn't appreciate this notion that Rafail could be late and not suffer some sort of consequences. If anything, it gave the man half a mind to make him suffer further discomfort in their surroundings.
They would be mounting a ship, and they weren't all clean and tidy. It depended on the crew.
This particular crew they would be visiting? They were sloppy. But they got the job done and that was all Keikelius cared about.
Arms crossed firmly over his chest, Keikelius looked his nephew up and down with a lifted eyebrow, showing his clear distaste for the man's attire in a place like this. At the usual caustic and flamboyant manner in which Rafail carried himself, and the words he spoke, Keikelius tilted his head just slightly.
"You seem to be under the impression that I care about whatever you considered... plans, Lord Rafail," he tacked on the man's name at the end just for good measure. A sign that he would still give respect were the young lord to properly earn it. "And on that note, yes," Keikelius hummed, turning toward the ship they would be boarding. He motioned to the hull, keeping dark eyes fixed on his nephew.
"This meeting is important, and no. We are right where we need to be," he noted, "Nearly."
Using the tilt of his head to imply that they were to start moving, Keikelius turned quickly and headed down along one of the longer docks toward his ship. The one he had pointed to. "Keep up, Lord Rafail," Keikelius threw over his shoulder. "I am a busy man and this meeting will only run longer if you continue to hold me up," he implied the idea that Rafail was already late.
Which was entirely true.
"I wish to give you a tour of one of the ships. And then a talk of business is in order."
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He was late.
And that made Keikelius just the slightest bit short with his nephew. Was there any reason for him to have dressed so fancily? The man had made it clear that they would be on the docks for this meeting, which only served to irk the man further. He didn't appreciate this notion that Rafail could be late and not suffer some sort of consequences. If anything, it gave the man half a mind to make him suffer further discomfort in their surroundings.
They would be mounting a ship, and they weren't all clean and tidy. It depended on the crew.
This particular crew they would be visiting? They were sloppy. But they got the job done and that was all Keikelius cared about.
Arms crossed firmly over his chest, Keikelius looked his nephew up and down with a lifted eyebrow, showing his clear distaste for the man's attire in a place like this. At the usual caustic and flamboyant manner in which Rafail carried himself, and the words he spoke, Keikelius tilted his head just slightly.
"You seem to be under the impression that I care about whatever you considered... plans, Lord Rafail," he tacked on the man's name at the end just for good measure. A sign that he would still give respect were the young lord to properly earn it. "And on that note, yes," Keikelius hummed, turning toward the ship they would be boarding. He motioned to the hull, keeping dark eyes fixed on his nephew.
"This meeting is important, and no. We are right where we need to be," he noted, "Nearly."
Using the tilt of his head to imply that they were to start moving, Keikelius turned quickly and headed down along one of the longer docks toward his ship. The one he had pointed to. "Keep up, Lord Rafail," Keikelius threw over his shoulder. "I am a busy man and this meeting will only run longer if you continue to hold me up," he implied the idea that Rafail was already late.
Which was entirely true.
"I wish to give you a tour of one of the ships. And then a talk of business is in order."
He was late.
And that made Keikelius just the slightest bit short with his nephew. Was there any reason for him to have dressed so fancily? The man had made it clear that they would be on the docks for this meeting, which only served to irk the man further. He didn't appreciate this notion that Rafail could be late and not suffer some sort of consequences. If anything, it gave the man half a mind to make him suffer further discomfort in their surroundings.
They would be mounting a ship, and they weren't all clean and tidy. It depended on the crew.
This particular crew they would be visiting? They were sloppy. But they got the job done and that was all Keikelius cared about.
Arms crossed firmly over his chest, Keikelius looked his nephew up and down with a lifted eyebrow, showing his clear distaste for the man's attire in a place like this. At the usual caustic and flamboyant manner in which Rafail carried himself, and the words he spoke, Keikelius tilted his head just slightly.
"You seem to be under the impression that I care about whatever you considered... plans, Lord Rafail," he tacked on the man's name at the end just for good measure. A sign that he would still give respect were the young lord to properly earn it. "And on that note, yes," Keikelius hummed, turning toward the ship they would be boarding. He motioned to the hull, keeping dark eyes fixed on his nephew.
"This meeting is important, and no. We are right where we need to be," he noted, "Nearly."
Using the tilt of his head to imply that they were to start moving, Keikelius turned quickly and headed down along one of the longer docks toward his ship. The one he had pointed to. "Keep up, Lord Rafail," Keikelius threw over his shoulder. "I am a busy man and this meeting will only run longer if you continue to hold me up," he implied the idea that Rafail was already late.
Which was entirely true.
"I wish to give you a tour of one of the ships. And then a talk of business is in order."
Importance was subjective. Uncle Keikelius might have believed this meeting was vital but Rafail would beg to differ: this was nothing compared to what he had been planning for the night, and he fully thought his uncle should respect that. Reorganising his days to suit other people was not the way he chose to live his life and he believed that his uncle should be eternally thankful for the respect he was giving him by cancelling everything he would have prefered to do. At least the man called him by his title, an action Rafail could always appreciate.
Rafail followed the nod of his uncle's head, his gaze landing upon the ship the man had been gesturing at. Oh, no. He would not be getting on a ship like that and he most certainly would not be going out to sea. The salty air was horrid for his hair, amongst other things.
"I don't care for boats. I only just had these sandals made and they are in no condition to be touching sea water," he objected loudly, although still making his way along the dock and towards the ship in question, scanning his path to ensure he didn't accidentally end up stepping in anything unsavoury and ruining the shoes before he had even made it onto the boat. Unfortunately, he knew full well the man wasn't going to care about the sandals, and Uncle Keikelius wasn't the sort of person he could complain to Father about to any effect. For once in his life, it appeared that Rafail was truly going to have to suck it up, although he didn't see why he couldn't make the best of the situation. Perhaps this wouldn't be as awful as he had originally assumed.
Making his way to stand before the ship in question - and, gods, did this boat smell of fish, this was not going to fly if this was how Rafail could expect his chiton to be smelling after today - he stared up at the vessel in vague interest, the word 'business' floating past him as he placed his hands on his hips. "Are you gifting me a ship? I shall be twenty-nine within a month, though Papa says a boat would be too Stravos a present. But I do quite want my own sailor at the races."
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Importance was subjective. Uncle Keikelius might have believed this meeting was vital but Rafail would beg to differ: this was nothing compared to what he had been planning for the night, and he fully thought his uncle should respect that. Reorganising his days to suit other people was not the way he chose to live his life and he believed that his uncle should be eternally thankful for the respect he was giving him by cancelling everything he would have prefered to do. At least the man called him by his title, an action Rafail could always appreciate.
Rafail followed the nod of his uncle's head, his gaze landing upon the ship the man had been gesturing at. Oh, no. He would not be getting on a ship like that and he most certainly would not be going out to sea. The salty air was horrid for his hair, amongst other things.
"I don't care for boats. I only just had these sandals made and they are in no condition to be touching sea water," he objected loudly, although still making his way along the dock and towards the ship in question, scanning his path to ensure he didn't accidentally end up stepping in anything unsavoury and ruining the shoes before he had even made it onto the boat. Unfortunately, he knew full well the man wasn't going to care about the sandals, and Uncle Keikelius wasn't the sort of person he could complain to Father about to any effect. For once in his life, it appeared that Rafail was truly going to have to suck it up, although he didn't see why he couldn't make the best of the situation. Perhaps this wouldn't be as awful as he had originally assumed.
Making his way to stand before the ship in question - and, gods, did this boat smell of fish, this was not going to fly if this was how Rafail could expect his chiton to be smelling after today - he stared up at the vessel in vague interest, the word 'business' floating past him as he placed his hands on his hips. "Are you gifting me a ship? I shall be twenty-nine within a month, though Papa says a boat would be too Stravos a present. But I do quite want my own sailor at the races."
Importance was subjective. Uncle Keikelius might have believed this meeting was vital but Rafail would beg to differ: this was nothing compared to what he had been planning for the night, and he fully thought his uncle should respect that. Reorganising his days to suit other people was not the way he chose to live his life and he believed that his uncle should be eternally thankful for the respect he was giving him by cancelling everything he would have prefered to do. At least the man called him by his title, an action Rafail could always appreciate.
Rafail followed the nod of his uncle's head, his gaze landing upon the ship the man had been gesturing at. Oh, no. He would not be getting on a ship like that and he most certainly would not be going out to sea. The salty air was horrid for his hair, amongst other things.
"I don't care for boats. I only just had these sandals made and they are in no condition to be touching sea water," he objected loudly, although still making his way along the dock and towards the ship in question, scanning his path to ensure he didn't accidentally end up stepping in anything unsavoury and ruining the shoes before he had even made it onto the boat. Unfortunately, he knew full well the man wasn't going to care about the sandals, and Uncle Keikelius wasn't the sort of person he could complain to Father about to any effect. For once in his life, it appeared that Rafail was truly going to have to suck it up, although he didn't see why he couldn't make the best of the situation. Perhaps this wouldn't be as awful as he had originally assumed.
Making his way to stand before the ship in question - and, gods, did this boat smell of fish, this was not going to fly if this was how Rafail could expect his chiton to be smelling after today - he stared up at the vessel in vague interest, the word 'business' floating past him as he placed his hands on his hips. "Are you gifting me a ship? I shall be twenty-nine within a month, though Papa says a boat would be too Stravos a present. But I do quite want my own sailor at the races."
Gods, was this boy absolutely daft? Keikelius reigned in his temper with ease, not deigning to give Rafail any sort of response that would give him the satisfaction of his irritation. His nephew had always known how to step on his toes but he was determined to remain calm in this situation. His nephew would not get the better of him. There was too much riding on this meeting.
The Marikas and the Stravos were business rivals, but that didn’t mean that Keikelius couldn’t use his nephew’s wit (did he even have any?) to his advantage.
For now, he was going to have to be happy with using his own wit and sharp tongue against the boy. Boy. That’s essentially what he was. Keikelius had seen little that would peg the boy for a man. Any boy could go around sticking his cock in everything that suited him. And Keikelius would never consider the little lord grown lest he started to show some shred of maturity.
“If I may be so bold, Lord Rafail,” Keikelius hummed, pausing to turn to look at his nephew. “You sound like a woman. Clothes are meant to be worn,” he quipped, lifting a bored eyebrow, no hint of irritation or frustration on his features. Just a bold and honest wit that Keikelius would remain unashamed about.
Without waiting to see if Rafail would follow him up onto the ship, Keikelius started up the plank, hands easily settled behind his back. One could see the men on board scrambling to look busier than they may have already been, determined not to receive the ire of their employer. Keikelius glanced about, sufficiently happy with the work ethic of his crew.
If Keikelius were any other man, he would have scoffed at the question of whether he was gifting Rafail a ship. Absolutely not. Rafail would have to earn one if he truly wanted it. Ships were far too expensive a gift to give a business rival. He would be honest with himself, he was sure that Rafail wouldn’t even care for the ship properly anyway. It would likely end up in the hands of Pavlos, which he was none-too-keen to appease in such a way.
“Absolutely not,” Keikelius hummed, stepping along the deck and toward the captain’s quarters. He opened the door with ease and then motioned Rafail inside with one hand, his gaze never leaving Rafail’s form. “I cannot provide either of those items to you, Lord Rafail,” he was honest about it, lifting an eyebrow. “But I will be providing you with a gift at the end of this meeting,” the man hummed, waiting patiently for Rafail to wander inside and make himself comfortable.
At the center of the room was a desk laden with paperwork. There was a long chaise against one wall and a number of other chairs and a small table scattered about. There was little else in the room beside a bed and a liquor cabinet, likely to keep the actual captain of the ship busy while on the long journeys between Kingdoms.
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Gods, was this boy absolutely daft? Keikelius reigned in his temper with ease, not deigning to give Rafail any sort of response that would give him the satisfaction of his irritation. His nephew had always known how to step on his toes but he was determined to remain calm in this situation. His nephew would not get the better of him. There was too much riding on this meeting.
The Marikas and the Stravos were business rivals, but that didn’t mean that Keikelius couldn’t use his nephew’s wit (did he even have any?) to his advantage.
For now, he was going to have to be happy with using his own wit and sharp tongue against the boy. Boy. That’s essentially what he was. Keikelius had seen little that would peg the boy for a man. Any boy could go around sticking his cock in everything that suited him. And Keikelius would never consider the little lord grown lest he started to show some shred of maturity.
“If I may be so bold, Lord Rafail,” Keikelius hummed, pausing to turn to look at his nephew. “You sound like a woman. Clothes are meant to be worn,” he quipped, lifting a bored eyebrow, no hint of irritation or frustration on his features. Just a bold and honest wit that Keikelius would remain unashamed about.
Without waiting to see if Rafail would follow him up onto the ship, Keikelius started up the plank, hands easily settled behind his back. One could see the men on board scrambling to look busier than they may have already been, determined not to receive the ire of their employer. Keikelius glanced about, sufficiently happy with the work ethic of his crew.
If Keikelius were any other man, he would have scoffed at the question of whether he was gifting Rafail a ship. Absolutely not. Rafail would have to earn one if he truly wanted it. Ships were far too expensive a gift to give a business rival. He would be honest with himself, he was sure that Rafail wouldn’t even care for the ship properly anyway. It would likely end up in the hands of Pavlos, which he was none-too-keen to appease in such a way.
“Absolutely not,” Keikelius hummed, stepping along the deck and toward the captain’s quarters. He opened the door with ease and then motioned Rafail inside with one hand, his gaze never leaving Rafail’s form. “I cannot provide either of those items to you, Lord Rafail,” he was honest about it, lifting an eyebrow. “But I will be providing you with a gift at the end of this meeting,” the man hummed, waiting patiently for Rafail to wander inside and make himself comfortable.
At the center of the room was a desk laden with paperwork. There was a long chaise against one wall and a number of other chairs and a small table scattered about. There was little else in the room beside a bed and a liquor cabinet, likely to keep the actual captain of the ship busy while on the long journeys between Kingdoms.
Gods, was this boy absolutely daft? Keikelius reigned in his temper with ease, not deigning to give Rafail any sort of response that would give him the satisfaction of his irritation. His nephew had always known how to step on his toes but he was determined to remain calm in this situation. His nephew would not get the better of him. There was too much riding on this meeting.
The Marikas and the Stravos were business rivals, but that didn’t mean that Keikelius couldn’t use his nephew’s wit (did he even have any?) to his advantage.
For now, he was going to have to be happy with using his own wit and sharp tongue against the boy. Boy. That’s essentially what he was. Keikelius had seen little that would peg the boy for a man. Any boy could go around sticking his cock in everything that suited him. And Keikelius would never consider the little lord grown lest he started to show some shred of maturity.
“If I may be so bold, Lord Rafail,” Keikelius hummed, pausing to turn to look at his nephew. “You sound like a woman. Clothes are meant to be worn,” he quipped, lifting a bored eyebrow, no hint of irritation or frustration on his features. Just a bold and honest wit that Keikelius would remain unashamed about.
Without waiting to see if Rafail would follow him up onto the ship, Keikelius started up the plank, hands easily settled behind his back. One could see the men on board scrambling to look busier than they may have already been, determined not to receive the ire of their employer. Keikelius glanced about, sufficiently happy with the work ethic of his crew.
If Keikelius were any other man, he would have scoffed at the question of whether he was gifting Rafail a ship. Absolutely not. Rafail would have to earn one if he truly wanted it. Ships were far too expensive a gift to give a business rival. He would be honest with himself, he was sure that Rafail wouldn’t even care for the ship properly anyway. It would likely end up in the hands of Pavlos, which he was none-too-keen to appease in such a way.
“Absolutely not,” Keikelius hummed, stepping along the deck and toward the captain’s quarters. He opened the door with ease and then motioned Rafail inside with one hand, his gaze never leaving Rafail’s form. “I cannot provide either of those items to you, Lord Rafail,” he was honest about it, lifting an eyebrow. “But I will be providing you with a gift at the end of this meeting,” the man hummed, waiting patiently for Rafail to wander inside and make himself comfortable.
At the center of the room was a desk laden with paperwork. There was a long chaise against one wall and a number of other chairs and a small table scattered about. There was little else in the room beside a bed and a liquor cabinet, likely to keep the actual captain of the ship busy while on the long journeys between Kingdoms.
"Clothes," Rafail objected, frowning at his uncle in a manner that implied this speech had been practised more than once, "are meant to be worn to show off wealth and prestige. I can afford to dress well and, hence, I do so and I prefer not to spoil my clothes with seawater or other less desirable...substances." And that happened to include his brand new sandals, so lavishly decorated in gold. Besides he knew for certain that Elias owned an almost identical pair, so he failed to understand exactly how his uncle could chastise him for owning such stunning sandals when his own son had the same. "It doth not make me some useless woman to care so for my outward appearance."
He hovered in place for a few moments, staring up at the ship Uncle Keikelius intended they board, an eyebrow raised in general disgust. Papa would hear about this, and then Papa would be informing his brother-in-law that none of this was acceptable. Presumably. That was the way Rafail preferred things to go, anyhow.
His uncle was already making his way onto the boat, and the man followed him, albeit a little more tentatively. He did not exactly wish to fall into the water on this day, not when he had dressed so elegantly. Honestly, he would never understand why his uncle couldn't just mould things to suit him just a bit better. Some carpeting, perhaps. Refreshments. Almost anything would have made this meeting more suitable for the two noblemen.
The ship itself was...adequate.
There were sailors - dirty, crude looking men - bustling about all over the place, more so than there had been on the dock. Rafail could barely imagine being a seaman. Aside from the obvious horrors of seawater all over his beautiful clothes, they appeared to be taking part in far too much heavy lifting for his liking: something like that would ruin his neat fingernails. It was nothing less than perfect that he had been born into his royal position and would never have to worry about such things.
Well, if Uncle Keikelius was not giving him a boat, then what was the purpose of this meeting?
Rafail strutted past his uncle and into the captain's chambers, glancing around to find somewhere agreeable to sit. Gods, was this indeed the best room on the boat? It was so sad - so pathetic! He only hoped that, if he were forced to travel by boat anytime shortly, they would provide some more luxury. Perhaps that was something that could be ensured when he did have his vessel. For now, however, he hesitantly took a seat on the chaise longue, reclining himself slightly to get entirely comfortable. "But I want a ship," he repeated, in case that might somehow change Uncle Keikelius's mind. It was the sort of whining which often worked with Papa and rarely with Pavlos, and while his uncle was closer to his brother in nature, there was always hope to be had. "But I suppose I can trust your taste in gifts." His uncle was far from poverty-stricken; Rafail had some faith in his judgement.
"Now, what is this business you so wished to discuss?" Dull, he was sure, but he was willing to give the man the benefit of the doubt.
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"Clothes," Rafail objected, frowning at his uncle in a manner that implied this speech had been practised more than once, "are meant to be worn to show off wealth and prestige. I can afford to dress well and, hence, I do so and I prefer not to spoil my clothes with seawater or other less desirable...substances." And that happened to include his brand new sandals, so lavishly decorated in gold. Besides he knew for certain that Elias owned an almost identical pair, so he failed to understand exactly how his uncle could chastise him for owning such stunning sandals when his own son had the same. "It doth not make me some useless woman to care so for my outward appearance."
He hovered in place for a few moments, staring up at the ship Uncle Keikelius intended they board, an eyebrow raised in general disgust. Papa would hear about this, and then Papa would be informing his brother-in-law that none of this was acceptable. Presumably. That was the way Rafail preferred things to go, anyhow.
His uncle was already making his way onto the boat, and the man followed him, albeit a little more tentatively. He did not exactly wish to fall into the water on this day, not when he had dressed so elegantly. Honestly, he would never understand why his uncle couldn't just mould things to suit him just a bit better. Some carpeting, perhaps. Refreshments. Almost anything would have made this meeting more suitable for the two noblemen.
The ship itself was...adequate.
There were sailors - dirty, crude looking men - bustling about all over the place, more so than there had been on the dock. Rafail could barely imagine being a seaman. Aside from the obvious horrors of seawater all over his beautiful clothes, they appeared to be taking part in far too much heavy lifting for his liking: something like that would ruin his neat fingernails. It was nothing less than perfect that he had been born into his royal position and would never have to worry about such things.
Well, if Uncle Keikelius was not giving him a boat, then what was the purpose of this meeting?
Rafail strutted past his uncle and into the captain's chambers, glancing around to find somewhere agreeable to sit. Gods, was this indeed the best room on the boat? It was so sad - so pathetic! He only hoped that, if he were forced to travel by boat anytime shortly, they would provide some more luxury. Perhaps that was something that could be ensured when he did have his vessel. For now, however, he hesitantly took a seat on the chaise longue, reclining himself slightly to get entirely comfortable. "But I want a ship," he repeated, in case that might somehow change Uncle Keikelius's mind. It was the sort of whining which often worked with Papa and rarely with Pavlos, and while his uncle was closer to his brother in nature, there was always hope to be had. "But I suppose I can trust your taste in gifts." His uncle was far from poverty-stricken; Rafail had some faith in his judgement.
"Now, what is this business you so wished to discuss?" Dull, he was sure, but he was willing to give the man the benefit of the doubt.
"Clothes," Rafail objected, frowning at his uncle in a manner that implied this speech had been practised more than once, "are meant to be worn to show off wealth and prestige. I can afford to dress well and, hence, I do so and I prefer not to spoil my clothes with seawater or other less desirable...substances." And that happened to include his brand new sandals, so lavishly decorated in gold. Besides he knew for certain that Elias owned an almost identical pair, so he failed to understand exactly how his uncle could chastise him for owning such stunning sandals when his own son had the same. "It doth not make me some useless woman to care so for my outward appearance."
He hovered in place for a few moments, staring up at the ship Uncle Keikelius intended they board, an eyebrow raised in general disgust. Papa would hear about this, and then Papa would be informing his brother-in-law that none of this was acceptable. Presumably. That was the way Rafail preferred things to go, anyhow.
His uncle was already making his way onto the boat, and the man followed him, albeit a little more tentatively. He did not exactly wish to fall into the water on this day, not when he had dressed so elegantly. Honestly, he would never understand why his uncle couldn't just mould things to suit him just a bit better. Some carpeting, perhaps. Refreshments. Almost anything would have made this meeting more suitable for the two noblemen.
The ship itself was...adequate.
There were sailors - dirty, crude looking men - bustling about all over the place, more so than there had been on the dock. Rafail could barely imagine being a seaman. Aside from the obvious horrors of seawater all over his beautiful clothes, they appeared to be taking part in far too much heavy lifting for his liking: something like that would ruin his neat fingernails. It was nothing less than perfect that he had been born into his royal position and would never have to worry about such things.
Well, if Uncle Keikelius was not giving him a boat, then what was the purpose of this meeting?
Rafail strutted past his uncle and into the captain's chambers, glancing around to find somewhere agreeable to sit. Gods, was this indeed the best room on the boat? It was so sad - so pathetic! He only hoped that, if he were forced to travel by boat anytime shortly, they would provide some more luxury. Perhaps that was something that could be ensured when he did have his vessel. For now, however, he hesitantly took a seat on the chaise longue, reclining himself slightly to get entirely comfortable. "But I want a ship," he repeated, in case that might somehow change Uncle Keikelius's mind. It was the sort of whining which often worked with Papa and rarely with Pavlos, and while his uncle was closer to his brother in nature, there was always hope to be had. "But I suppose I can trust your taste in gifts." His uncle was far from poverty-stricken; Rafail had some faith in his judgement.
"Now, what is this business you so wished to discuss?" Dull, he was sure, but he was willing to give the man the benefit of the doubt.
Keikelius had to refrain from rolling his eyes as he followed Rafail into the captain's chambers. It often wasn't much. The cargo was the most precious part of a ship. The captain's quarters didn't need to be anything extremely special, especially when they would spend the least amount of time in this area of the ship throughout a day at sea.
Moving to the desk where someone had set up a jug of wine and a few goblets, Keikelius poured his nephew a cup and moved to hand it to him before pouring himself on and taking a ship. He watched the man with a lifted eyebrow, "If you wanted a ship, Rafail, you would not have made such a large deal over the safety of your clothing. Ships are filled with salt water and brine, fish, and numerous other substances," he said very calmly, taking another swig of wine from his cup, "And so far, you've proven that it would not be wise to entrust one of my ships to you."
Setting his cup on the table behind him, Keikelius leaned into the wood and kept his gaze firmly on his nephew. "What I had intended when you met me was to talk business. I wanted to make you an offer. A chance to prove yourself... mature and prepared to your father," he hummed, glancing toward the wall of the cabin. "A partnership of sorts," he said finally, watching Rafail once more.
It was honestly quite simple. He would work with Rafail on a deal that may or may not benefit Stravos and allow Rafail to spearhead the operation, learning about business in the process. While Keikelius was keen on the idea that Panos or Pavlos' deaths might mean the end of the Marikas business, when it came to the economic prosperity of Athenia, Marikas was just as vital as Stravos. As Master of Trade, the man felt a duty to ensure that the Kingdom would keep its economic stability should something unplanned and unfortunate happen to the family.
Keikelius was in no way fond of Panos of Marikas nor his nephew, but the olive branch had been offered... if only for a short while. There was no promise of any of this working or of Rafail taking well to the proposal that Keikelius was to lay out. Part of Keikelius almost expected the man to refuse and then that would be that.
Rafail would be removed from the ship and Keikelius would leave Marikas and Athenia to potential fates.
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Keikelius had to refrain from rolling his eyes as he followed Rafail into the captain's chambers. It often wasn't much. The cargo was the most precious part of a ship. The captain's quarters didn't need to be anything extremely special, especially when they would spend the least amount of time in this area of the ship throughout a day at sea.
Moving to the desk where someone had set up a jug of wine and a few goblets, Keikelius poured his nephew a cup and moved to hand it to him before pouring himself on and taking a ship. He watched the man with a lifted eyebrow, "If you wanted a ship, Rafail, you would not have made such a large deal over the safety of your clothing. Ships are filled with salt water and brine, fish, and numerous other substances," he said very calmly, taking another swig of wine from his cup, "And so far, you've proven that it would not be wise to entrust one of my ships to you."
Setting his cup on the table behind him, Keikelius leaned into the wood and kept his gaze firmly on his nephew. "What I had intended when you met me was to talk business. I wanted to make you an offer. A chance to prove yourself... mature and prepared to your father," he hummed, glancing toward the wall of the cabin. "A partnership of sorts," he said finally, watching Rafail once more.
It was honestly quite simple. He would work with Rafail on a deal that may or may not benefit Stravos and allow Rafail to spearhead the operation, learning about business in the process. While Keikelius was keen on the idea that Panos or Pavlos' deaths might mean the end of the Marikas business, when it came to the economic prosperity of Athenia, Marikas was just as vital as Stravos. As Master of Trade, the man felt a duty to ensure that the Kingdom would keep its economic stability should something unplanned and unfortunate happen to the family.
Keikelius was in no way fond of Panos of Marikas nor his nephew, but the olive branch had been offered... if only for a short while. There was no promise of any of this working or of Rafail taking well to the proposal that Keikelius was to lay out. Part of Keikelius almost expected the man to refuse and then that would be that.
Rafail would be removed from the ship and Keikelius would leave Marikas and Athenia to potential fates.
Keikelius had to refrain from rolling his eyes as he followed Rafail into the captain's chambers. It often wasn't much. The cargo was the most precious part of a ship. The captain's quarters didn't need to be anything extremely special, especially when they would spend the least amount of time in this area of the ship throughout a day at sea.
Moving to the desk where someone had set up a jug of wine and a few goblets, Keikelius poured his nephew a cup and moved to hand it to him before pouring himself on and taking a ship. He watched the man with a lifted eyebrow, "If you wanted a ship, Rafail, you would not have made such a large deal over the safety of your clothing. Ships are filled with salt water and brine, fish, and numerous other substances," he said very calmly, taking another swig of wine from his cup, "And so far, you've proven that it would not be wise to entrust one of my ships to you."
Setting his cup on the table behind him, Keikelius leaned into the wood and kept his gaze firmly on his nephew. "What I had intended when you met me was to talk business. I wanted to make you an offer. A chance to prove yourself... mature and prepared to your father," he hummed, glancing toward the wall of the cabin. "A partnership of sorts," he said finally, watching Rafail once more.
It was honestly quite simple. He would work with Rafail on a deal that may or may not benefit Stravos and allow Rafail to spearhead the operation, learning about business in the process. While Keikelius was keen on the idea that Panos or Pavlos' deaths might mean the end of the Marikas business, when it came to the economic prosperity of Athenia, Marikas was just as vital as Stravos. As Master of Trade, the man felt a duty to ensure that the Kingdom would keep its economic stability should something unplanned and unfortunate happen to the family.
Keikelius was in no way fond of Panos of Marikas nor his nephew, but the olive branch had been offered... if only for a short while. There was no promise of any of this working or of Rafail taking well to the proposal that Keikelius was to lay out. Part of Keikelius almost expected the man to refuse and then that would be that.
Rafail would be removed from the ship and Keikelius would leave Marikas and Athenia to potential fates.
