Elistro, youngest prince of the kingdom of Veil, marches out of the great hall to a chorus of laughter. Normally unperturbed by the scorn of others his cheeks flush red in anger at his family's actions. It was one thing to be teased by one or two of them, but all of them at once is more than he can bare. The slap of his feet on the wooden floors echoes through the halls as he storms through them, every servant who hears the noise vacating the path before him least the catch his attention in this temper. El is not a violent young man however he has been known to whip the flesh of a servant's back with his tongue should the mood take him and the servant not know any better.
The servants cower in their little alcoves as he passes, the flowers in their vases almost seeming to shiver at his passing. It isn't until he is in his craft room that he seems to calm, coming to a halt in the middle of the room and simply breathing hard, his eyes darting about at all of his simple works. The room is half the size of his bedroom, the walls full of paper, inks, paints, sculpting tools, and various other artistic mediums. His anger however, instead of abating, only seems to grow. With a cry he topples easel with his current work on it to the ground with a loud crash. His fit does not stop there. Over the next half an hour he moves like a typhoon through the room, ripping, cracking,shredding, crushing everything he can.
It isn't until the whole place looks quite a mess, many of his old works now splashed with new colors that ruin the picture or run full of tears from angry slashes with scissors, that he collapses in the middle of the room into a fit of sobs. El has not felt like this in a good long while, his aspiration and hopes normally quite low and without that glimmer that makes them noticeable to others. 'However today, I was a fool, a complete fool. . .I should know better by now. . .' He curls in upon himself, smearing ink and paint all over his cheeks and hair as he buries his had in his mess spattered arms. His shoulders shake as he continues to cry, trying desperately to calm himself, to remind himself that none of it really mattered to begin with.
It takes another half an hour for the anger and sorrow to fade enough for him to seek out the nearest bathing chamber. A servant who had spotted the mess he was had sprinted ahead and be the time he arrives a hot bath is already in the making. The normal wooden floors are replaced with tile and stone and at the light slapping sound of his bare feet most of the servants scatter, leaving only those who are on duty in the bathroom there to tend to the prince. There was a time where the servants held great sympathy for the youth, and tried to help him when he was in this mood far more than they are doing now, but as they years went on and it became clear that their attempts to talk to him only really made him feel worse, they took to helping him silently, and hoping that it would be enough.
Shucking off his clothing he climbs into the large wooden tub, the near scalding water feeling good on his skin. Like most royalty he is not bothered by servants seeing him in any state of undress, though for him it isn't because he sees them as less than he, the prince simply has grown use to it over the years. That and he is actually a little proud to show off his body. Of all things his siblings can claim, he is by far the most lovely of the children, mixing the grace and beauty of their mother with the firmness and strength of their father. He is not the strongest, nor the prettiest, but he is the perfect bland of both, and everyone knows it.
He simply sit there for a time, the water up to his neck once the water is done being added, the little stool keeping him from being completely under water. In town a bath this size could wash an entire family at once, but here in the palace it is standard for a simple royal bathing, or a guest or the royal family. After a time, he begins scrubbing at his skin with a clock laid across the side and a servant moves in to begin washing his hair. Unlike his brothers he's let it grow out beyond the current style for men, though it is not as robust as his sisters' and far less styled. The girl works carefully, having done this often enough to know how to deal with the prince's hair, and by the time she pours the bucket of clean water over his head to rinse out the soaps used he is done with his body.
A servant had grabbed him some fresh clothing and once he is out and dried helps him into his normal evening wear, the black poet shirt left open in the front, the white riding pants fitting snugly. Elistro does not actually wear anything to bed, but the evenings find him quite often out of his bed until the wee hours of the morning, working on one thing or another. A servant holds up a dark blue haori, brought just in case he wants it, and with a soft sigh El slips it on. He manages a nod to the servants in thanks for what they have done before leaving the clean-up to them, as all royals do. Once in the hallway, the steam rising from his body making it almost look like he's on fire, he begins walking slowly through the halls, wondering what to do with himself.
'That was very stupid of me. . .' he grumps, his eyes on his feet as he walks. It is now clear that the prince is not longer ready the tongue lash the first person to cross him so the servants go about their business in their normal fashion, only acknowledging him enough to bow as they pass one another. 'Both what happened in the hall, and what I did to my room. Dear spirits, I hope there's at least a few things left for me to use. . .I know I can get all new stuff, but that will take a couple days at least. The good stuff, the stuff I'm good with, most of it comes from other countries. We are not an artistic bunch here in Veil. . .What happened in the hall is more than enough to confirm that fully. . .' He does use some local suppliers, for certain items, but then again, sometimes it's the cheap stuff that makes a piece turn out right.
Coming around a corner in the middle of berating himself for trying to get his family to understand him a little better he spots something that he feels just might brighten his evening. Recently they had gotten in a new influx of servants and among them were a few beauties, and while he would never dream of demanding one to his bed, the idea of night spent with a lovely in his arms is enough to bring a smile to his face. Most of the palace staff knows of the youngest prince's preference to take servants to bed rather than going and finding a companion for the evening in town, and for the most part most he sets his eyes on do not mind joining him for a tumble. He has overheard many whispering about him being quite a gentleman in bed who gives rather than just takes.
At the end of the hall a young serving girl, likely around his age, is trying desperately to carry a load she is obviously not use to carrying and twice while he watching her she drops her baskets and has to spend several seconds scooping the clothes back into them before trying to go on. Finally as she drops in a third time he moves forward and without a word helps her. She doesn't even look up, stuttering out thanks. It isn't until she looks up that she realizes just who it is who is lending her a hand. She goes pale as a ghost and begins stuttering apologies. He waves a hand, smiling faintly. “No need to be sorry. I helped because I felt like helping out. Such a lovely flower should not be overburdened so.”
She turns brilliant colors and whispers softly, “I am honored highness to hear your words.” He smiles, taking one of her baskets and motioning for her to lead the way. Once they are unladen and the servant back in the hallway, bowing and thanking him, El makes his move. He is not forceful in his advances, however she seems a little too frightened to do much more than shake her head and look away. He is sweet and gently, using one of his oldest techniques to slowly begin wearing her down. Despite her reluctance it does not seem like she's frightened, simply uneasy and not sure what to do, unwilling to make a mistake by making a rash decision.
The servants cower in their little alcoves as he passes, the flowers in their vases almost seeming to shiver at his passing. It isn't until he is in his craft room that he seems to calm, coming to a halt in the middle of the room and simply breathing hard, his eyes darting about at all of his simple works. The room is half the size of his bedroom, the walls full of paper, inks, paints, sculpting tools, and various other artistic mediums. His anger however, instead of abating, only seems to grow. With a cry he topples easel with his current work on it to the ground with a loud crash. His fit does not stop there. Over the next half an hour he moves like a typhoon through the room, ripping, cracking,shredding, crushing everything he can.
It isn't until the whole place looks quite a mess, many of his old works now splashed with new colors that ruin the picture or run full of tears from angry slashes with scissors, that he collapses in the middle of the room into a fit of sobs. El has not felt like this in a good long while, his aspiration and hopes normally quite low and without that glimmer that makes them noticeable to others. 'However today, I was a fool, a complete fool. . .I should know better by now. . .' He curls in upon himself, smearing ink and paint all over his cheeks and hair as he buries his had in his mess spattered arms. His shoulders shake as he continues to cry, trying desperately to calm himself, to remind himself that none of it really mattered to begin with.
It takes another half an hour for the anger and sorrow to fade enough for him to seek out the nearest bathing chamber. A servant who had spotted the mess he was had sprinted ahead and be the time he arrives a hot bath is already in the making. The normal wooden floors are replaced with tile and stone and at the light slapping sound of his bare feet most of the servants scatter, leaving only those who are on duty in the bathroom there to tend to the prince. There was a time where the servants held great sympathy for the youth, and tried to help him when he was in this mood far more than they are doing now, but as they years went on and it became clear that their attempts to talk to him only really made him feel worse, they took to helping him silently, and hoping that it would be enough.
Shucking off his clothing he climbs into the large wooden tub, the near scalding water feeling good on his skin. Like most royalty he is not bothered by servants seeing him in any state of undress, though for him it isn't because he sees them as less than he, the prince simply has grown use to it over the years. That and he is actually a little proud to show off his body. Of all things his siblings can claim, he is by far the most lovely of the children, mixing the grace and beauty of their mother with the firmness and strength of their father. He is not the strongest, nor the prettiest, but he is the perfect bland of both, and everyone knows it.
He simply sit there for a time, the water up to his neck once the water is done being added, the little stool keeping him from being completely under water. In town a bath this size could wash an entire family at once, but here in the palace it is standard for a simple royal bathing, or a guest or the royal family. After a time, he begins scrubbing at his skin with a clock laid across the side and a servant moves in to begin washing his hair. Unlike his brothers he's let it grow out beyond the current style for men, though it is not as robust as his sisters' and far less styled. The girl works carefully, having done this often enough to know how to deal with the prince's hair, and by the time she pours the bucket of clean water over his head to rinse out the soaps used he is done with his body.
A servant had grabbed him some fresh clothing and once he is out and dried helps him into his normal evening wear, the black poet shirt left open in the front, the white riding pants fitting snugly. Elistro does not actually wear anything to bed, but the evenings find him quite often out of his bed until the wee hours of the morning, working on one thing or another. A servant holds up a dark blue haori, brought just in case he wants it, and with a soft sigh El slips it on. He manages a nod to the servants in thanks for what they have done before leaving the clean-up to them, as all royals do. Once in the hallway, the steam rising from his body making it almost look like he's on fire, he begins walking slowly through the halls, wondering what to do with himself.
'That was very stupid of me. . .' he grumps, his eyes on his feet as he walks. It is now clear that the prince is not longer ready the tongue lash the first person to cross him so the servants go about their business in their normal fashion, only acknowledging him enough to bow as they pass one another. 'Both what happened in the hall, and what I did to my room. Dear spirits, I hope there's at least a few things left for me to use. . .I know I can get all new stuff, but that will take a couple days at least. The good stuff, the stuff I'm good with, most of it comes from other countries. We are not an artistic bunch here in Veil. . .What happened in the hall is more than enough to confirm that fully. . .' He does use some local suppliers, for certain items, but then again, sometimes it's the cheap stuff that makes a piece turn out right.
Coming around a corner in the middle of berating himself for trying to get his family to understand him a little better he spots something that he feels just might brighten his evening. Recently they had gotten in a new influx of servants and among them were a few beauties, and while he would never dream of demanding one to his bed, the idea of night spent with a lovely in his arms is enough to bring a smile to his face. Most of the palace staff knows of the youngest prince's preference to take servants to bed rather than going and finding a companion for the evening in town, and for the most part most he sets his eyes on do not mind joining him for a tumble. He has overheard many whispering about him being quite a gentleman in bed who gives rather than just takes.
At the end of the hall a young serving girl, likely around his age, is trying desperately to carry a load she is obviously not use to carrying and twice while he watching her she drops her baskets and has to spend several seconds scooping the clothes back into them before trying to go on. Finally as she drops in a third time he moves forward and without a word helps her. She doesn't even look up, stuttering out thanks. It isn't until she looks up that she realizes just who it is who is lending her a hand. She goes pale as a ghost and begins stuttering apologies. He waves a hand, smiling faintly. “No need to be sorry. I helped because I felt like helping out. Such a lovely flower should not be overburdened so.”
She turns brilliant colors and whispers softly, “I am honored highness to hear your words.” He smiles, taking one of her baskets and motioning for her to lead the way. Once they are unladen and the servant back in the hallway, bowing and thanking him, El makes his move. He is not forceful in his advances, however she seems a little too frightened to do much more than shake her head and look away. He is sweet and gently, using one of his oldest techniques to slowly begin wearing her down. Despite her reluctance it does not seem like she's frightened, simply uneasy and not sure what to do, unwilling to make a mistake by making a rash decision.