[i]How had it come to this?[/i]

Weary were the mint-pigmented eyes that slide across to his right-hand side, orbs that had seen more than the human mind could ever think of baring, and survived the trials that such a tediously long life-span tested the Dragons with. Yao Long was Emperor, everyone who took interest in a world knew this. The middle aged man that sat with one leg crossed upon his throne, fingers braced to his chin and with long, brunette hair pulled back into a lax, darping style, a picture of elegence when he was depicted in the emerald and spring stitchings of his Han-Fu, idly fanning himself with the spread, wooden etchings of a coiling beast, one he, like his son beside him, could relate to. In the silence of the golden pillars and marbelled flooring, a multitude of jade and precious colours, the two thrones sat in eager waiting.

"Promise me you will behave, Jin-Wei. Assure me there will be none of your childish frivolities whilst our guest remains in the palace." A voice of command, and respect, but not to the young man who stared ahead, towards the double-doors of their throne-room. Jin-Wei had grown mildly handsome in his youth, with hair akin to his fathers pigments that reached his neck and broadening shoulders. Stoic and astute was the expression worn at all times... but it was all in the eyes. Saffron golds with a spike for a pupil, alive and very much animal. These royal facades that sat, awaiting their guests, were nothing more than animals at the end of the day. Civilized reptiles. 

"I don't make promises I can't keep, Baba."

A voice befitting a sleek reptilian, the words were soft and almost whispered, but the words spoke volumes themselves. Baba, the more informal choice of a Father-suffix, and the disregard for his elders fears did not sit well with the old Emperor. Five thousand years, and this was how his son treated him?

[b]SMACK.[/b]

The searing sensation of a palm across his cheek, the scorn behind it palpable in the air, Jin-Wei sucked air through his teeth and naturally recoiled further right from his Father's hastened scolding, his own, honey-toned finger tips resting softly on a reddening mark across his face. Yao had not seemed to have even moved, let alone glance in his son's direction, eyes intent on the door-way, awaiting the gaurds that would escort their guest. "Then you will learn to ensure to keep the promises you make. Sit up straight, your posture is disgraceful."