[attr="class","ic_year"]September, 2018
[attr="class","ic_message_border2"]
[attr="class","ic_message_border"]
[attr="class","ic_message"]
[attr="class","ic_message_scroll"]September 5th, 2018.
11:39 am.
Rafail Marikas had met this gorgeous thing on Tinder. Nothing strange there. She was nineteen, bright-haired and heavily busty with thick eyeliner and lips painted the same unnatural shade of candy apple red as her hair. Not his usual type at all (he preferred blondes) but he had been feeling adventurous and her pictures hadn't left much to the imagination which had given him a very clear idea of what she was like. She was lucky too, he'd found her buried in the midst of his pending likes - of course, he'd upgraded to Gold, he wasn't going to waste his time digging through women who were just there to waste his time - only noticed her because of that hair. Her name was India.
September 7th, 2018.
05:24 pm.
She had messaged him first. Rafail wasn't going to lie: he'd forgotten about her the moment after he'd swiped right. He had a girlfriend (or three) and despite his disregard for monogamy, they'd managed to distract him from the app for a couple of days. It was a shock, really, that he'd been so easily pulled away from finding himself some other hookup, but every so often, his current girls would figure out how to keep his attention for longer than an evening of pleasure.
The first message hadn't been all too thrilling. 'Heyy', the standard starter, followed by a single kiss. He'd followed with the typical response, the same with an added comment on just how good-looking she was. Girls liked that sort of thing. She'd asked about his bio, wanted to know if the Lamborghini Huracán in his third picture really was his. Rafail had thought it the stupidest of questions and almost considered dropping her right then and there because honestly, did he not look as though he could afford it? Daddy's bank account stretched further than just a few Prada shirts and a Rolex Datejust 31. He hadn't, however, and within the hour she'd sent him her number, he'd sent her the separate number he reserved just for these kinds of girls, and she'd sent him a picture of her body. He'd sent her exactly the part of his body she wanted to see the most.
They had agreed to meet.
September 10th, 2018.
09:32 am.
Rafail was up earlier than his usual. Savannah Mills - Girlfriend No. 2, as he so graciously referred to her once she was out of earshot - had stayed the night, still lying half-naked in the bed beside him, those dyed golden locks splayed across his own cushion. He had ignored her, slipped out of the bed and into some discarded boxer briefs from the night before, charcoal-grey silk dressing gown wrapped around him as he padded out of his bedroom and down the main stairway of the Marikas mansion into the dining room where a plentiful breakfast buffet had already been set out. He preferred to eat alone, taking a croissant from the table and flashing a smirk and a wink at the idiot that was Bunny Marikas, Daddy's stupid twenty-nine-year-old, blonde bimbo of a third wife (Gods, only six years older than he!), dressing gown sliding just the right amount to expose his Adonis belt. She was young, her husband was in his fifties, and Rafail had already screwed her at least once. "Tell Daddy I'm going out tonight."
He'd poured himself a tall glass of orange juice, mixed it with a hint of vodka for the hangover, and returned to his bedroom where Savannah was already up and half-heartedly attempting to strap on the little black dress she'd been wearing the night before. No doubt she'd noticed his absence from the bed and come to the conclusion that they wouldn't be going for another round that morning.
"Babe, I need you to fuck off," Rafail had informed her, setting his half-eaten pastry and drink atop the Dalbergia chest of drawers and striding across to his bathroom to start the shower as he finished explaining just why it was she was being dismissed so curtly that morning. "I got a date to go to."
She seemed upset. Whatever. Rafail did not have the time to deal with every single girl who seemed irritated by his other dalliances. He couldn't help that he had a much higher sex drive than most girls, nor that he got bored of them quickly. If she was still lingering around his room by the time he got out of the shower then it wasn't as though it was any struggle to have her thrown out of the house.
10:15 am.
Rafail stepped out of the shower, blinded for a few seconds by the cloud of steam that had risen as a result of the heat and fogged up the mirror glass so that all he could see was the distorted smudge of his reflection. He reached for a towel, using it to smear a clearer image of his handsome face into the reflective surface. Narcissistic as he might be, the guy wouldn't deny that he wasn't exactly looking his best at that moment, the whites of his eyes shot with a tinge of pink and rounded with dark circles, lips dried and close to cracking. There was a light sprinkling of stubble over his jaw, darker than his natural hair colour and giving him a substantially more unkempt appearance than he'd have liked. He'd seen better mornings, and he was only thankful that he had the day to get ready for this date before someone saw him looking such an awful state.
Silence from outside in his bedroom told him that Girlfriend No. 2 had long since left, evidently bored of waiting around for him to exit the bathroom and give her one last kiss. Good. If there was one thing he hated, it was a clinger. You didn't need a clinger in your life. He could only hope that his date for the evening wouldn't be so absolutely obsessed with him that she thought the relationship would be going further than a few short hours.
Speaking of which, the phone he'd left on the black marble counter by the sink buzzed, a message from that Tinder girl. She wanted to meet at some bar he'd heard of a couple of times, JD's Joint. He'd not been before but it looked good enough, and Rafail had sent a quick text back telling her to meet him at nine and no later because, honestly, he didn't have the time to wait around. The way this worked was simple: they met up at the bar, had a couple of drinks, and then he might bring her back to his place for a bit of fun. It all depended on how the date went and whether he thought the girl worth his own home or nothing more than some cheap hotel room he could rent for the night.
Running his fingers through his hair and smoothing it back behind his ears, giving it the more tousled look that he considered his trademark, he splashed his face with some cold water, starting his morning routine of shaving and applying each of his expensive lotions and colognes until he was satisfied with his overall appearance, although he'd had his schedule cleared for the day anyway and booked himself a slew of salon treatments, just in case. It was highly unnecessary but it was just such a delightful pastime, not to mention Rafail came out of it looking even better than his usual, and he couldn't object to any activity that had that as a result.
06:53 pm.
More people really needed to start going to salons. Outside of his own bed when a woman was occupying it, Rafail's favourite place to be was the salon. He had booked himself a standing appointment every Monday between midday and five in the afternoon. It was a bit problematic (Daddy didn't exactly take well to the idea of his second son missing so many days of work when he had gone so far as to ensure the boy could have a directorial position at his firm without any hassle) but Rafail had never really cared for problems that could be solved by another. He needed his weekly facial, manicure and massage, otherwise, well, he didn't want to be the one to say it but he hardly thought he looked as good.
Dressed in sweatpants and a simple black t-shirt - gods forbid anyone see him out and about dressed like this - he'd driven home, taken his second shower of the day, added some gel to restyle his hair. A check of his texts revealed that India had yet to reply to his latest message regarding the time of their meeting but he thought nothing of it, assuming she was simply too excited. It made sense, of course. Any date with Rafail could be expected to be one of the most memorable nights of their life.
09:26 pm.
So he was late, whatever. It wasn't like he hadn't made a date wait in the past, and it wasn't like he hadn't stood up plenty of girls in the past. He could dressed and gussied up and ready for an evening out and then get distracted by something, or someone, more interesting. Truth be told, that was what had happened tonight. It had all started with an unexpected visit from Girlfriend No. 1, Althaia Corinth, twin sister to Girlfriend No. 3, not that she needed to know about that. And she had come over dressed in such an exquisite red number that had just slipped off with such little effort that Rafail couldn't help having lost track of the time. By the time he'd kicked her out, it was almost eight-thirty and Rafail barely had the time to dress and make himself look less like he'd just spent the past hour doing exactly what he'd been doing. And then it had taken him a whole twenty minutes to flounce around his closet and choose just the right bespoke suit and Hermes tie and navy blue suede Testoni loafers.
He'd had his driver, Barnabas, drive him to the bar, an instruction to the man to wait around until he left the place because there was a high chance he wasn't going to be in any state to drive after this, not to mention the shiny black Rolls had a tendency to impress girls even more than any other thing in his repertoire did. His date didn't seem present just yet, something which immediately irked him. Did strict timings mean nothing to her? Urgh, fine. Call it a sudden burst of generosity or something equally uncommon for Rafail but he would give her some time, wait for the girl to arrive, seating himself at one of the empty tables and leaning back on the cushioned seat of the booth to rest his feet on the table in order to make himself comfortable.
He'd give her half an hour.
10:00 pm.
This was fucking ridiculous.
Sure, Rafail had given the girl the benefit of the doubt and assumed that perhaps she'd had a holdup or misunderstood the time and would be there at ten instead. But this? He wasn't going to put up with this. India had had her chance and she'd lost it and that would be that. He'd block her number later if she started becoming too attached. For now, he needed a good drink and to find himself someone new to spend the night with. One or two girls. Nothing extravagant.
Standing from the corner booth he'd seated himself at, he strode over to the bar itself, taking a seat on one of the stools and drumming his fingers on the tabletop to steal the bartender's attention away from some dark-haired guy who clearly wasn't worth the thought. "Hey. Make me something good, hm?" he drawled, sliding a couple of hundred dollar bills her way in case she needed some more convincing. Maybe he'd found the night's entertainment already.
11:39 am.
Rafail Marikas had met this gorgeous thing on Tinder. Nothing strange there. She was nineteen, bright-haired and heavily busty with thick eyeliner and lips painted the same unnatural shade of candy apple red as her hair. Not his usual type at all (he preferred blondes) but he had been feeling adventurous and her pictures hadn't left much to the imagination which had given him a very clear idea of what she was like. She was lucky too, he'd found her buried in the midst of his pending likes - of course, he'd upgraded to Gold, he wasn't going to waste his time digging through women who were just there to waste his time - only noticed her because of that hair. Her name was India.
September 7th, 2018.
05:24 pm.
She had messaged him first. Rafail wasn't going to lie: he'd forgotten about her the moment after he'd swiped right. He had a girlfriend (or three) and despite his disregard for monogamy, they'd managed to distract him from the app for a couple of days. It was a shock, really, that he'd been so easily pulled away from finding himself some other hookup, but every so often, his current girls would figure out how to keep his attention for longer than an evening of pleasure.
The first message hadn't been all too thrilling. 'Heyy', the standard starter, followed by a single kiss. He'd followed with the typical response, the same with an added comment on just how good-looking she was. Girls liked that sort of thing. She'd asked about his bio, wanted to know if the Lamborghini Huracán in his third picture really was his. Rafail had thought it the stupidest of questions and almost considered dropping her right then and there because honestly, did he not look as though he could afford it? Daddy's bank account stretched further than just a few Prada shirts and a Rolex Datejust 31. He hadn't, however, and within the hour she'd sent him her number, he'd sent her the separate number he reserved just for these kinds of girls, and she'd sent him a picture of her body. He'd sent her exactly the part of his body she wanted to see the most.
They had agreed to meet.
September 10th, 2018.
09:32 am.
Rafail was up earlier than his usual. Savannah Mills - Girlfriend No. 2, as he so graciously referred to her once she was out of earshot - had stayed the night, still lying half-naked in the bed beside him, those dyed golden locks splayed across his own cushion. He had ignored her, slipped out of the bed and into some discarded boxer briefs from the night before, charcoal-grey silk dressing gown wrapped around him as he padded out of his bedroom and down the main stairway of the Marikas mansion into the dining room where a plentiful breakfast buffet had already been set out. He preferred to eat alone, taking a croissant from the table and flashing a smirk and a wink at the idiot that was Bunny Marikas, Daddy's stupid twenty-nine-year-old, blonde bimbo of a third wife (Gods, only six years older than he!), dressing gown sliding just the right amount to expose his Adonis belt. She was young, her husband was in his fifties, and Rafail had already screwed her at least once. "Tell Daddy I'm going out tonight."
He'd poured himself a tall glass of orange juice, mixed it with a hint of vodka for the hangover, and returned to his bedroom where Savannah was already up and half-heartedly attempting to strap on the little black dress she'd been wearing the night before. No doubt she'd noticed his absence from the bed and come to the conclusion that they wouldn't be going for another round that morning.
"Babe, I need you to fuck off," Rafail had informed her, setting his half-eaten pastry and drink atop the Dalbergia chest of drawers and striding across to his bathroom to start the shower as he finished explaining just why it was she was being dismissed so curtly that morning. "I got a date to go to."
She seemed upset. Whatever. Rafail did not have the time to deal with every single girl who seemed irritated by his other dalliances. He couldn't help that he had a much higher sex drive than most girls, nor that he got bored of them quickly. If she was still lingering around his room by the time he got out of the shower then it wasn't as though it was any struggle to have her thrown out of the house.
10:15 am.
Rafail stepped out of the shower, blinded for a few seconds by the cloud of steam that had risen as a result of the heat and fogged up the mirror glass so that all he could see was the distorted smudge of his reflection. He reached for a towel, using it to smear a clearer image of his handsome face into the reflective surface. Narcissistic as he might be, the guy wouldn't deny that he wasn't exactly looking his best at that moment, the whites of his eyes shot with a tinge of pink and rounded with dark circles, lips dried and close to cracking. There was a light sprinkling of stubble over his jaw, darker than his natural hair colour and giving him a substantially more unkempt appearance than he'd have liked. He'd seen better mornings, and he was only thankful that he had the day to get ready for this date before someone saw him looking such an awful state.
Silence from outside in his bedroom told him that Girlfriend No. 2 had long since left, evidently bored of waiting around for him to exit the bathroom and give her one last kiss. Good. If there was one thing he hated, it was a clinger. You didn't need a clinger in your life. He could only hope that his date for the evening wouldn't be so absolutely obsessed with him that she thought the relationship would be going further than a few short hours.
Speaking of which, the phone he'd left on the black marble counter by the sink buzzed, a message from that Tinder girl. She wanted to meet at some bar he'd heard of a couple of times, JD's Joint. He'd not been before but it looked good enough, and Rafail had sent a quick text back telling her to meet him at nine and no later because, honestly, he didn't have the time to wait around. The way this worked was simple: they met up at the bar, had a couple of drinks, and then he might bring her back to his place for a bit of fun. It all depended on how the date went and whether he thought the girl worth his own home or nothing more than some cheap hotel room he could rent for the night.
Running his fingers through his hair and smoothing it back behind his ears, giving it the more tousled look that he considered his trademark, he splashed his face with some cold water, starting his morning routine of shaving and applying each of his expensive lotions and colognes until he was satisfied with his overall appearance, although he'd had his schedule cleared for the day anyway and booked himself a slew of salon treatments, just in case. It was highly unnecessary but it was just such a delightful pastime, not to mention Rafail came out of it looking even better than his usual, and he couldn't object to any activity that had that as a result.
06:53 pm.
More people really needed to start going to salons. Outside of his own bed when a woman was occupying it, Rafail's favourite place to be was the salon. He had booked himself a standing appointment every Monday between midday and five in the afternoon. It was a bit problematic (Daddy didn't exactly take well to the idea of his second son missing so many days of work when he had gone so far as to ensure the boy could have a directorial position at his firm without any hassle) but Rafail had never really cared for problems that could be solved by another. He needed his weekly facial, manicure and massage, otherwise, well, he didn't want to be the one to say it but he hardly thought he looked as good.
Dressed in sweatpants and a simple black t-shirt - gods forbid anyone see him out and about dressed like this - he'd driven home, taken his second shower of the day, added some gel to restyle his hair. A check of his texts revealed that India had yet to reply to his latest message regarding the time of their meeting but he thought nothing of it, assuming she was simply too excited. It made sense, of course. Any date with Rafail could be expected to be one of the most memorable nights of their life.
09:26 pm.
So he was late, whatever. It wasn't like he hadn't made a date wait in the past, and it wasn't like he hadn't stood up plenty of girls in the past. He could dressed and gussied up and ready for an evening out and then get distracted by something, or someone, more interesting. Truth be told, that was what had happened tonight. It had all started with an unexpected visit from Girlfriend No. 1, Althaia Corinth, twin sister to Girlfriend No. 3, not that she needed to know about that. And she had come over dressed in such an exquisite red number that had just slipped off with such little effort that Rafail couldn't help having lost track of the time. By the time he'd kicked her out, it was almost eight-thirty and Rafail barely had the time to dress and make himself look less like he'd just spent the past hour doing exactly what he'd been doing. And then it had taken him a whole twenty minutes to flounce around his closet and choose just the right bespoke suit and Hermes tie and navy blue suede Testoni loafers.
He'd had his driver, Barnabas, drive him to the bar, an instruction to the man to wait around until he left the place because there was a high chance he wasn't going to be in any state to drive after this, not to mention the shiny black Rolls had a tendency to impress girls even more than any other thing in his repertoire did. His date didn't seem present just yet, something which immediately irked him. Did strict timings mean nothing to her? Urgh, fine. Call it a sudden burst of generosity or something equally uncommon for Rafail but he would give her some time, wait for the girl to arrive, seating himself at one of the empty tables and leaning back on the cushioned seat of the booth to rest his feet on the table in order to make himself comfortable.
He'd give her half an hour.
10:00 pm.
This was fucking ridiculous.
Sure, Rafail had given the girl the benefit of the doubt and assumed that perhaps she'd had a holdup or misunderstood the time and would be there at ten instead. But this? He wasn't going to put up with this. India had had her chance and she'd lost it and that would be that. He'd block her number later if she started becoming too attached. For now, he needed a good drink and to find himself someone new to spend the night with. One or two girls. Nothing extravagant.
Standing from the corner booth he'd seated himself at, he strode over to the bar itself, taking a seat on one of the stools and drumming his fingers on the tabletop to steal the bartender's attention away from some dark-haired guy who clearly wasn't worth the thought. "Hey. Make me something good, hm?" he drawled, sliding a couple of hundred dollar bills her way in case she needed some more convincing. Maybe he'd found the night's entertainment already.
[attr="class","ic_maintag"]Iris of Argyris
[attr="class","ic_threadtype"]Private
[attr="class","ic_othertags"]
[attr="class","ic_ooc"]Um. My hand slipped and this ended up absurdly long? And, ngl, I honestly think this is the best post I've ever written so, uh, yay for you for getting that one. XD