#char:markos

Markos is 6'6". He makes it is personality.

Unlike a lot of high government officials, he prefers to drive himself to things because he has trust issues so high he doesn't even trust his security half of the time. He can do a j-turn... kind of. Might hit a post while he's at it.

Actually prefers to be around Alexander. He and Hypatia are too alike and constantly butt heads, while Suha and him just have a constant back and forth of jabs that can get tiring. Alexander has always been the baby of the family and Markos definitely gives him 'favourite sibling' treatment

He isn't a judge, so he doesn't deal with the criminal cases for the most part, but on the occasions in which he does make a decision he's always fast to choose punishment over rehabilitation. Take that as you will.

He was the one who actually persuaded Hypatia to take Suha into the Crowe family when Suha's mother was killed.

Has a prior military career (is it obvious) which he uses in full for his present government career.

Since he took over the Crowes Court, the Court has focused a lot on philanthropic actions. Most people think it's to wipe away Markos' very violent ascension into power under the guise of glamour and charitable events.

He has a tense relationship with Hypnos Industries. He usually has the Generals deal with any of Hypnos' concerns, and it's known that he levies higher taxes against the organization.

... Once upon a time, in the heart of the deep, dark forest, there lived a boy whom many were afraid of. This boy was as quiet as a mouse and as small as one too—but even though he could hide all he would like in those deep, dark woods, the boy's golden eyes would always give him away. Villagers who ventured into the woods would be frightened by the sight of two golden lights watching them in the bushes and would always run away before the boy got to speak with them. So, instead of trying to reach out, the boy came to settle into his life alone and soon grew quite content in his solitude.

One day, when the boy was collecting berries from a bush, a great stag stepped onto the path before him. It had a crown of antlers that any hunter would desire, and it held its head high with a nobility that made the boy paused in his steps. When he did so, the great stag spoke in a low, rumbling voice that sounded as though the earth itself was speaking.

“Little sun, a cruel young prince intends to come into the woods today to kill me for my antlers. If you keep him away, I will reward you.”

“How may I help?” The boy replied, fear present in his quivering voice.

“The young prince will come with his brother and his sister on three great white steeds with three hunting dogs. Once he kills me, he will kill his steeds and his dogs and he will lie to his father about my death. He will ruin his brother and his sister so they cannot compete for the throne. Stop this, and your reward will be even greater.”

The boy's curiosity outweighed his freight over the great stag's appearance, and so he agreed to the beast's request. Upon this, the stag bowed deep to the boy before vanishing back to the woods, leaving the young boy to hide in wait for the cruel young prince.

Within little time, the prince appeared upon a great white steed. He wore expensive hunting dressage, carried a roster of sharp arrows on his back, and had three hunting dogs by his side. Accompanying him were his sister and his brother, who were dress fine and equipped for the hunt as well.

“Today we will find the stag,” the young prince declared, “and I shall kill it with my arrow to hang its head on my mantle.”

The boy watched on as the young prince and his siblings dismounted their horses and tied them to a nearby tree. When the three of them and the dogs left to a nearby stream to collect water, the boy crept out from his hiding place in the bushes and approached the horses.

“Fine steeds,” he whispered, resting one hand on the horse's back, “do you intend to let the prince kill the stag?”

“Why should we not?” One steed replied. “It is of no concern to us.”

“What will the prince do once he has killed the stag? He will no longer have use of you—he will take you back to the palace and hang your heads on his mantle just like he has promised of the stags. Will you let him do that?” The boy tugged on the rope holding the horses to the tree. “Will you let his arrow pierce your hearts too?”

Well, the steeds were not very fond of that idea, and when the boy untied them from the tree they took off running into the woods with all of the young prince's supplies on their backs. Once they were gone, the boy crept back into the bushes to watch on. When the young prince returned, he was enraged for a moment before unsheathing an arrow and shaking his head.

“We did not need them anyway,” he declared. “We shall carry the stag ourselves.”

The boy was disheartened until he saw one of the hunting dogs looking his way. When the young prince was not looking, the boy gestured for the dog to approach, which it did.

“Fine hound,” he whispered, leaning down so the dog could hear, “do you intend to let the prince kill the stag?”

“Why should we not?” The hound replied. “It is of no concern to us.”

“What will the prince do once he has killed the stag? When you have bit through its legs and rendered it unable to run, he will no longer have use of you. He will take you back to the palace and shoot you with arrows until you are dead, just like he has promised of the stag. Will you let him do that?” The boy pointed towards the arrows on the prince's back. “Will you let his arrow pierce your hearts too?”

Well, the hound was not very fond of that idea, and he told the other hounds of this as well. When the young prince and his siblings set the arrows down on the ground to load them easier, the three hounds snatched up the supplies in their mouths and ran into the woods. Once they were gone, the boy crouched lower to watch on. The young prince yelled, and shouted, and swore, but still, the hounds did not return, and he was left with only the arrow in his hand.

“We do not need them anyway,” he declared. “I shall kill the stag in a single blow.”

Once more, the boy was disheartened, until he saw the young prince's brother looking his way. The boy thought the brother would run away like so many others before him—but he did not. While the young prince and his sister tried to map where the great stag was, the brother approached the boy with curiosity in his gaze.

“Did you frighten the horses and the hounds?” The brother asked. The boy, unsure of how to answer, simply stared up at the brother in silence. The brother smiled at this and crouched down to see the boy better. “Why did you do that?”

“Fine sir,” the boy whispered, “do you intend to let the prince kill the stag?”

“Why should I not?” The brother replied. “It is of no concern to my sister and I.”

“What will the prince do once he has killed the stag? When he stands over its body in victory and declares himself to be the one to end it? Will he share in the spoils, or will he keep them all to himself? Fine sir, I do believe he will no longer have use of you once it is done. He will lie to your father about what has happened and ruin you both. Will you let him do that?” The boy pointed to the young prince. “Will you let him hunt you like the very stag he seeks?”

For a moment, the brother did not reply. He looked at the boy with an unreadable expression before a smile appeared on his face.

“I like your eyes,” is all he whispered back before rising to his feet. The boy watched as the brother approached the young prince and their sister. The brother whispered something into his sister's ear.

“Dear brother,” the sister declared, “pray to tell, what do you intend to do once the stag has been killed?”

“I will hang its head on my mantle and tell father of what I have done,” the young prince proudly declared.

“And what will you say of us, who have ventured into these woods with you to hunt this great beast?”

The young prince did not reply. A silence fell between the three, and the boy watched as the brother carefully removed something from his back pocket.

“I believe,” the brother finally said, “I saw the great stag in those woods over there.”

The brother pointed to an area that was dark, and gloomy, and soon the three vanished out of sight. The boy remained hidden until he saw only the brother and the sister emerge from those woods. The two of them soon walked onto the path and vanished into the forest. The boy stayed in his spot until he heard another sound, and the great stag stepped back onto the path before him.

“Little sun, you have not only kept me safe, but you have kept the others safe as well. For this, you shall be rewarded. Leave these woods and head to the palace, for no longer will you need to live in the shadows.”

Following the great stag's advice, the boy left the woods and approached the palace in the nearby village. Rather than have people run away from him, he was confused to find people welcoming him instead, as if he had always belonged among them. When he reached the palace, he was greeted by the brother, who wore the same mysterious smile the boy saw in the woods.

“I had a dream,” the brother confided, “of a boy with eyes like the sun who told me of a great tragedy that would befall my sister and I. I did not believe it to be true—until I saw you in those bushes.”

The boy was taken aback, and yet the brother continued.

“For your services, you shall be rewarded an Estate to call your own. No longer shall you be treated like a pariah—from now on, you are as welcome as any villager here, little sun.”

And so the boy was given his Estate, and he grew to become a fair and benevolent lord to his people. 

Halloween Night—a night of costumes, of mischief, and of a disregard for what your true identity is. It's one of the rare few nights in Attollo where people aren't trying to kill one another (intentionally) or ruin another individual's life (intentionally...somewhat).

It's also a night that Sylvester happens to absolutely thrive in. His tongue sticks out slightly as he pulls the final thread tight on the prince costume that he adorns. When he glances in the mirror, he notes Imogen watching him with a deadpan expression, arms crossed over her chest and devil horns tilted slightly to the right.

"What?" He turns to face her, earning him a reproachful look in turn.

"You said you'd be ready an hour ago, Sylv. At this rate, the parties are all going to be over by the time that we arrive." As she says this, she tugs open her fanny pack and pulls out a lollipop. At least, it appears to be a lollypop—Sylvester's been to enough parties with Imogen to know that it isn't, though.

"Who else is going anyway? I think Voltaic mentioned having to babysit Preston again—"

"—yeah, Liv is going to her mother's or some shit." Imogen unwraps the lollipop and shoves it in her mouth, her expression instantly turning into one of relief. She rifles through the fannypack and holds one out of Sylvester to take, but he waves off the offer with a frown.

"Malachi would rather be dead than attend a party, Dreamwalker...well, you know. Desdemona has her own event, Sylvia is MIA again," He huffs and sinks down onto the bed beside Imogen. "Are any of the Crowes going?"

"Rembrandt, Ofelia, Azizi, uhhhh, Thais, I think." Imogen pauses and then snaps her fingers. "I asked Sysba if they were coming."

Sylvester jerks upright at this and sends Imogen what may be the most incredulous look to cross his face. "Fuck right off, you did not."

"Uh, fuck right off, I did to. Have you ever gone to a rave with an eldritch? If you haven't, you can call yourself an Attolloan." Imogen clicks her tongue before pushing herself off of her bed and adjusting her shorts. "Anyway, c'mon perfume boy. There are shots calling my name and I won't be finding them in your store."

At her insistence, Sylvester reluctantly rises from the bed with a low groan.

Just peachy.

----

It takes less than twenty minutes for the two of them to locate the area where the party was being held. The deafening thumping of an over-amped bass accompanied by strobe lights cutting through the heavy smog above is telling enough for everyone present. The flurry of people in costumes—well, mostly in costumes—also indicates to everyone that this is the Halloween Rave of Attollo.

Imogen quickly grasps Sylvester's hand and yanks him into the crowd, a delighted smile on her face. She's holding her phone in her free hand and scrolling through various messages—Sylvester spots Sysba's emoticon and quickly realizes that she's trying to figure out where the elusive eldritch is posted.

"Imogen, I really don't want to deal with them tonight." Sylvester's forced to yell in her ear in order to ensure that she can hear him over the heavy remix of some obscure horror movies theme song. Imogen glances back with a furrowed brow before yanking Sylvester closer.

"I made sure that they'll behave tonight, Sylv. Besides, this is literally the only night we can all hang out in public like this—try not to stress too much about it!" She pulls away with a wink. "I'll watch over you! And I'm also grabbing you a drink to help you relax."

Before he can protest, she resumes pulling him into the crowd. They pass a group of what appear to be zombies huddled over a blue bottle, a few ghosts who look absolutely lost in their own worlds, and a devil who's angrily talking into a phone. Sylvester thinks he spots one of the aforementioned Court Generals—Rembrandt?—speaking with someone, but Imogen pulls him along before he can get a good look.

Then, he feels someone wrap their arms around his waist.

He jerks Imogen's hand back in a panic, causing his friend to stumble in her steps and shoot him a confused look, which quickly morphs into one of delight when she realizes what's going on.

"My my, it seems like my little prince has found his dragon." A familiar voice comes as a purr in his ear, causing a shiver to race up his spine. The strong smell of copper floods his senses and he doesn't have to look at the figure whose chin is propped on his shoulder to know who it is.

"Bro, please tell me that's fake blood." Imogen's nose wrinkles in disgust as she jabs her finger against Sysba's forehead, causing him to jerk Sylvester back and closer towards them. When Sylvester finally does look at Sysba, he realizes the god wasn't exaggerating.

Sysba wears a set of real horns on their head—fucking shapeshifters—and their eyes glow a brilliant gold with the pupils set as mere slits. Their tongue flicks out to trace along their lower lip—lapping up some of the scarlet spatter on their face while they're at it. Then, they laugh, leaning forward to rest their chin on Sylvester's shoulder again.

"Of course it is, Momo! It's just pigs blood. You think I'd risk fucking up tonight by having a meal? I ate two nights ago just to be sure. It would be in poor taste if I got testy and ended up gobbling a ghoul, or chewing up a clown. Snacking on Satan, if one might." They nuzzle their cheek against Sylvester's affectionately and he resists the urge to vomit right here and now. "Besides, I think Markos is lurking around. Would rather not be forced to have chats with him on why he's getting reports of bodies in the dumpsters again."

Again? Sylvester grimaces at the thought. Sysba isn't the cleanest of carnivours out there.

"Why the fuck is he out here? Parties aren't his thing in the first place." Imogen shakes her head and steps closer, prying Sysba's grip off of Sylvester and finally freeing him from his atrocious confines. "Whatever. We can just avoid him. But first—are we just going to stand here, or are you going to go boot that DJ out so we can have an actual Halloween party?"

Sysba eyes the two of them up with a glimmer of delight in their eye, which is then emphasized with a wink.

It's a heat that sticks to your skin like another layer of flesh, taking on a sheen that reflects the air around and makes you wish you could rip your clothing off without it being scandalous. Most people have crawled into their homes with the air conditioning on at full blast, enjoying the voices of the news anchors informing them how it'll be a hot one today.

Alexander, however, is not one of those people. He sits on the edge of a fake dock on a fake lake, splashing his feet in water that was siphoned from the actual river that cuts through Attollo like a blade. Since he isn't permitted to leave to that river, he enjoys this lake as compensation. He isn't alone, either—sitting begrudgingly under a sun umbrella with his sleeves pushed up to his elbows and his tie long discarded to the side sits Markos, still resiliently tapping away on a laptop after rigging a nearby shack with wireless.

"You could take a break, you know." Alexander doesn't look back as he calls out his suggestion, but he does hear his brothers grunt in response. He tilts his chin towards the sky and admires the few birds brave enough to circle lazily above in hopes of finding something to eat. "It won't kill you."

"It won't kill me, but it might kill Pat." He hears the sound of the laptop clicking shut before Markos' towering form comes to stand beside him. Alexander splashes the water with his feet a few more times before looking at him, and then away again.

He looks troubled. It troubles Alexander, too.

"This place is meant to allow you to breathe. That's why it was designed. It's our own fantasy world." He gestures out at the lake, at the clear blue water that doesn't even ripple in the breeze. "It's why you made it, right?"

"These days fantasies flourish and die like summer flies. I can't afford to sit idle and dream anymore, Alex." He feels his brothers hand ruffle his curls affectionately—like he used to do all the time when Alexander was younger—before he withdraws and lets out a sigh.