Ink Smudges
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Loraen's journals, some RP snippets and notes scrawled here.
Freeing LoraenLogs of the actual event!
Muunokhoi had taken up residence in the big office. It was a quiet environment to work without any distractions. Scattered across the desk was various paperwork, books, missives.. and a few glasses of wine. Two, to be exact. Although one was already empty. The old man himself was comfortably lounging in the big chair. Long stem pipe held between his teeth, with a fragrant smoke wafting about his shoulders that smelled or cherries and spices. The office itself still had hanging 'fresheners'. Dried oranges and lemons spiked with cloves and cinnamon, though they were all likely past their prime. A comfortable.. cozy atmosphere this place way. Though one could only handle cozy comforts for so long, before restlessness set in. To cure this, the elder had sent for Loraen. A little earlier than planned, but he had free time now...
Loraen. Three consecutive knocks announced her arrival, brisk and to the point, they were delivered with the backs of her knuckles into the middle of the door. The height of the knock no doubt announced a servant. At his admission, Loraen opened the large mahogany door and slipped her fingers along the door frame, peeking that raven haired head into a space opened enough to permit her sight of the Jarl. With reluctantly sloped shoulders, the lioness slipped her person through the entry and closed the door silently behind her, clasping her hands primly beneath her chest. Wary steps brought the house slave forward, and upon being addressed, she accorded the manager a curtsy, deep and reverent of the man's station.
Muunokhoi lift his gaze to the sound of a petite knock upon the door. "Come." Pale eyes following Loraen across the threshold of the office to the place she had come to stand just before the desk. Walking his gaze from head to toe across the lioness's body. Observing, scrutinizing.. Drawing out what he assumed might be an uncomfortable silence before choosing to speak. "Have heard that silence was not something you have been able to keep, not even three days into the week. Little upset peeps to certain other slaves.." Trailing his words off, in a manner to leave the house slave guessing as to just where he'd heard the information. "So, I will be removing this restriction, to instead instate a few others." Ayep, old man was going to be having a party with this tonight.. He was also waving a hand with a light gesture, of allowing Loraen to resume words.
Loraen had in truth no elaborate history with the Jarl. She was at a disadvantage, compared to some of the other Tether officiates and house slaves, when it came to interacting with the man, finding him at times warm, and others -- unpredictable, though never outwardly cruel, or unusual. Finding the logic behind his instatement of her punishment just and sound, Loraen did not grudge the man terribly. She did, however, drop her composure and raise her hands palms facing the man as he revealed having heard of her breaking her silence. "My Lord, I can explain," she had one of the best explanations, too, as far as passable reasons went, though the privacy of a handler was put at odds against her telling Muunokhoi anything. Fear overcame the lioness' usual placid mask.
Muunokhoi's thick brows were loft with sudden curiosity as those thin hands were raised. "So you were actually being a disobedient little shit." The old man hadn't heard anything at all in regards to whispers, and had been doing little more than fishing for reactions. "Am reprimanding you for being disobedient, and here you are continuing to be so." Though his remarks were stern, there was little upset woven into his tone. A little curious to hear just what had happened, though he suppose it mattered not now. "I have given your cot away to another new house slave. Hear that there are a few comfy places on the floor though." Despite continuing to speak his new punishments, the elder was still hoping for an explanation on why she'd spoken. "Also it will be saving me a little coin to stop feeding you entirely. What meals you require, you can be begging patrons for dinners, or asking others to share their rations."
Jacob Cross had come along swiftly enough when a runner fetched him from his duties in the atrium. The lion's expression was the usual stern mask, perhaps a bit more grim than usual for reasons left unspoken - but his curiosity and potential concern were evident in a slight crease of brow. Along the way, he encountered a certain jeweled tigress and gathered her to his side as accompaniment. Whatever was going on, her experience and abilities may be useful. Once present, he'd give a single knock and announce his presence - then enter if not told otherwise or held up in some way. Directing Rose to remain quiet for the time, he'd pace in and take a position near the room's center - studying Loraen a moment before putting eyes to Muunokhoi. The question in his expression was likely apparent enough that he didn't bother asking it aloud.
Loraen: "Please, my Lord! I meant you no disrespect. Someone was injured and I had to call for a medic and guards!" she explained with little finesse, arms ram-rod straight down her sides and fists clenched just as rigidly. Loraen's attentions couldn't have been any more tuned into the Jarl, what in the way her ears faced him, affecting a doe in the torch-lights look to her. At the words 'I've given your cot away,' Loraen's ears sank and her resolve to stand dwindled along with them. "I am being stripped of my silks?" her voice was a hollow sound in the room. With no hearth to drown the underlying threat of shattering composure, every nuance of her tone was discernible to the average ear. The lioness pressed her hands to her eyes and grievously dragged her fingers down her cheeks. Assured this was no dream, she took a step toward the desk, placing her hands upon it. "Master Muunokhoi. Please, you must forgive me. I'll make this up to you. I'll beg for my food, I'll take on more responsibilities. Please just give me the chance," her fingers curled the moment the door opened, causing her to turn her pained expression upon Cross in full, exacting force. Jacob could fix this. He fixed everything for her. A pleading, desperate stare followed the man until he was standing near to her. And then in his wake Rose was spotted. Her vision having tunneled excluded the tigress momentarily.
Gypsium had little idea of what was going on. Abandoning her studies at the Handler's behest- albeit somewhat reluctantly, she'd little idea of where they were headed or why. Once at the Manager's door she brightened a tad, only to pause. It seemed strange that Jacob would ask her along and not Loraen as well, furthermore that he should think it worthwhile she accompany him to Muun's office. Never having been in the office aside from dutiful cleaning, Rose was not overly concerned for her own sake-- for once her conscience was perfectly clean. There were raised brows as she took in Loraen's posture and Muun behind his desk. Hands clasped at her back, the thrall was perfectly fine with remaining silent while she decided to observe what in the seventh Hell was going on. Loraen's horrified plea cleared things up rather well, leaving the tigress open-mouthed. Perhaps a ploy to terrify her into better submission? Rose's gaze trailed, wonderingly, toward Muun.
Muunokhoi again was lifting his gaze up to the door. Calling Jacob inside without hesitation, and offering the handler a pleasant nod of greeting. "Ah, Jacob. Glad you could be coming. Am just getting into informing Loraen abut the new rules I am imposing." Not entirely sure if he was glad to see Rose present here or not. "Evening to you as well, Rose. I.. apologize in advance." For the crime he was about to commit. For now though, old man's gaze was wandering back to Loraen. "This~" Tugging the pipe from between his teeth to wag the long stem towards the raven haired woman. "You face me like an upset, defiant child. Take your hands off my desk and keel to accept your reprimand." Even upturning a lip in a vague expression of disgust. "As you have so generously told another slave, you have been here for a decade, and have had plenty opportunity for more chances than other slaves can only dream of. And aye, you are being stripped of your silks. In fact, I have already taken the liberty to have your entire wardrobe confiscated." Another gesture to the lioness with his pipe. "Save for that outfit. Remove it."
Jacob Cross listened, of course, a growing frown taking his features as Muunokhoi greeted him and set into speaking toward Loraen. While the lion had acted as a shield for the slaves more than a couple times over his tenure, he also knew which hill was and was not his to die upon. For now, the scenario dictated that he not make much noise - and instead he directed his energies into analyzing the situation and plotting out how best to steer it. Even absent his rumbling voice, the lion's demeanor and expression would tell the tale - and not by coincidence. He knew how to use body language, and allowed a subtle stiffening to take him as the thrum of that broad chest took on a slightly louder tone. Only when Muun paused would he speak - and likely much to Loraen's chagrin, it was not a leap to her defense. "New rules for the slaves, the House Slaves alone, or this girl specifically? I should have been made aware." In the fencing match of any such conversation, it was the lightest of thrusts - designed to be parried and perhaps give him some fleeting clue as to what exactly was going on.
Loraen's gaze was averted the moment the Jarl remarked of her impertinence. She had known better than to touch the desk. Wishing she had kowtowed instead, and buried her shamed little face into the floorboards, Loraen grievously lifted her hands to untie the folds of silk around her torc. The braided gold was given a trembling tug, and too easily did the metal bend, leaving her throat absent the weight of her eternal reminder of who and what she represented. Sobered by the experience of setting it upon his desk, perhaps for the last time, Loraen steeled herself from giving into a cacophony of emotions. Anger made her cheeks burn and shame kept her quiet. Silks were tugged past those wide hips in what was perhaps Loraen's first ever disrobing in humiliation. What was worse was her rival and Handler present, mortifying the slave girl further. She doubled, kneeling in remorseful abeyante pace. "Am I to be sold, my Lord?" she asked the floor, though the question was carefully voiced. She'd only speak the moment Muunokhoi permitted a pause allowing her to. Loraen breathed in the heady mixture of his pipe smoke, the old potpourri and the scent of leather, finding nausea quickly nipping at the heels of her composure.
Gypsium chanced a glance at Jacob out of the corner of her eye, trying to appraise his reaction. Muunokhoi's order had her head turning back to weigh the situation. He didn't appear to be bluffing, but when had she bothered to read him deeper than the surface? Rose did not believe such a thing would be applied to all slaves; it seemed an odd thing to do unless a target was intended. Despite all their rivalry, there was a lowered dip to the tiger's ears as the reality seeped in. Her tail's mild sway stilled, wondering what was to become of her. Jacob had bid her be silent, leaving her wondering what Muun meant by apologizing. Did he mean Loraen's disrobing, or that he was sending her away? The lioness had voiced her question, leaving Rose arching a brow at Jacob-- who would snatch her up in an instant. No, her gaze tacked back to Muun, mouth pressed into a confused, lost line as she awaited the answer to Loraen's own bleak inquiry.
Muunokhoi tipped his attention away from the lioness, in favour of the maned fellow instead. "For Loraen specifically. And I have summoned you here to make you aware, so that you can be interacting with her more appropriately." Although not directly stated.. the old man was also including Rose in that statement as well. She was one of the few most required to be privy to all that the old man would be stating tonight. Sitting back in his seat, and putting pipe back between his lips to watch the slave disrobe. "Though I am at least hoping I am not a cruel man, and out of the goodness of my heart- have had my wife put a new outfit together for you." By the way this conversation was going.. it was likely going to be something humiliating. Leaning down to scoop up a canvas bag off the floor, and drop it with a thomp atop the desk. Whatever was in there.. was a little more than clothes. "You can be redressing at the end of our conversation. And no, not sold." Something even better. Rose's confusion unfortunately would continue to remain confusion for now at least. Old man would only be stealing a very brief glance in the shimmery wraith's direction every now and again. "I am taking these things from you, Loraen.. because a house slave is still a slave, and you have far exceeded that station in everything you do. It will no longer be tolerated. The comforts you have given will no longer something you can be taking for granted. You do not hold the lives of others in your hands." That last bit was made in reference to the recent Frank incident, of course. "Speak up. Explain to me why you have grown too bold for a slave." Though this was likely to be the last bit of punishment, before the real reason for this meeting had been called.
Jacob Cross paid Rose only a sidelong glance, ensuring she was behaving properly - and no doubt analyzing the situation just as closely as the lion was. Frowning mug kept aimed right at Muun, mouth drawn thin as tail gave an occasional snap that betrayed some of his agitation. Naturally, he'd already calculated how best to progress if Loraen was being stripped of her station - mentally counting just how much platinum he had on hand at the moment both on his person and in his ship, not to mention in his Tether accounts. The sack tossed forward was eyed suspiciously a moment, chin lowering a bit as he worked at unraveling the viking's motives - though the eventual question left the full weight of his(and that of the entire room) upon Loraen.
Loraen was never the light to anyone's darkness. She was a creature of adaption, and given any situation, harried by life's consequential challenges, she tended to fade into the personas surrounding her. "I --" Loraen opened her mouth -- her brows painfully drawn. "I have been bold, my Lord," she owed him that. To deny it would seem a terrible insult to the man's sensibilities. Though old, Muunokhoi saw more through those little blue eyes than most appeared to give him credit for. "I have been the instrument of powerful men and women all my life. . . and in being that, I have become hard. But not impenetrable, Sir. I can learn still. I do learn. Sometimes my lessons are not appropriately tried, but . . .I ca--" Loraen's answer became a wandering, hasty thing. The urgency with which she had spoken did not allow her to consider the heft of the bag laid out on the desk ahead of her, though the others present appeared to have noticed it a great deal. Hyper-conscious of her own body, Loraen stilled their fingers as they began to curl into her thighs. "Master Cross has worked with me so that I might be a better asset to the establishment. Rose and I hardly ever fight now, and until provoked by that hyena, I had not a single altercation with one of the stock," she gathered tiny fragments of hope to form the foundation of an answer adequate enough for the Jarl's verdict. As if bent over scraping her own dignity off the floor, Loraen drew her hands up to the bareness of her neck, no longer grounded by the collar about it.
Gypsium bit the innermost part of her bottom lip, only enhancing the pursed look. It was different seeing her absent her torc, though at Rose's angle the lack thereof was obscured by the sylph's hair. Absurdly Rose pricked her ears a little bit at the word 'wife', taking note that a certain croc was still very much alive and well. The tiger released a low exhale of relief; not exiled to some remote piece of the isle or beyond, at least. Of the mind this was a matter of firm disciple on Muun's part, Rose relaxed her shoulders a small amount. A good, hearty dose of humility surely wouldn't kill Loraen! In fact, who could ask for more? Rose certainly couldn't. Still, it seemed too soon to be certain and there was evidently more to be said. There was a small, puzzled look at her own involvement, even if it were solely at Jacob's (she thought) behest. Carefully she guarded her expression, keen to remain safely neutral in such an unpredictable discussion. At 'bold' Rose nodded in 'supportive' confirmation. Surely being stripped of her silks was a temporary thing. Perhaps Loraen, at the very least, might get a good taste of the harem. A temporary demotion, now there was the ticket. The tiger's toes curled inward; a sign of mixed unease and pleasure. There was little surprise regarding the altercation with the hyena, though what Loraen had said to Frank had been muffled and she'd only caught the latter of the discussion. No, perhaps the untrained cage was Loraen's destination, upon that reminder. The tiger frowned, expressing genuine concern. The pen was for filthy slaves. Rose wouldn't have much desire to linger around that situation. Drat.
Muunokhoi was certainly glad to hear the lioness admit to her faults. A little relieved perhaps, for he would have indeed been upset otherwise. "Good. You will require your learning skills now." Thumbing through the papers on his desk, to 'just happen across' the well worn copy of Loraen's own papers. Pulling those from the stack, to rather meticulously place and straighten in front of Loran, words aligned for her own reading. "I am more than thankful to Jacob for that. He will be training you a bit differently now, however. And if I am hearing of you and Rose fighting again.. there will be hel to pay." Pulling pipe again from his mouth, to knock the bowl into a tray upon his desk, and set it all aside to focus better on the papers between them. Any close inspection would reveal a few lines drawn straight across the text of the pages, the manager's rather calligraphic signature, and the word 'freed' written in clear sight. "There are conditions attached here however." Though the old man would give at least a few moments for it to sink in. If she wasn't displaying the paper's alterations to both Jacob and Rose.. old man would pick them up, to hold up in display.
Jacob Cross knew Loraen's papers well, of course, and looked to them when Muunokhoi shifted those particular sheets - ears perked to Loraen's roaming but genuine explanations and apologies. A proponent of 'the long game', Cross was now working his mind fast - casting out probabilities and choosing how best to react to the multitude of scenarios that could spin from this meeting. Rose, for her part, had all but slipped from his attention - though she figured strongly into the future, to be sure. All those trains came to simultaneous screeching stops, however, as the papers were lifted(by Loraen or Muun) and the lion caught sight of the single key term. The moments when he was caught truly by surprise in his tenure could be numbered on a single hand, and this was one of them - eyes widening and a choked sort of growl leaving throat as mouth opened wordlessly. In a moment he was stepping forward, pushing toward the desk to put a hand on the papers and view them in entirety. Immediate washes of surprise, suspicion, and eventually even genuine happiness found him - stepping back and managing a small laugh. "I..." A blink, a moment of thought as hands raised before him as if trying to grasp the very fabric of time and space itself to get a grip on the unexpected matter. "...Loraen." A hand moved to set on her shoulder, eyes finding hers a moment before turning and putting attention on Muunokhoi. "What do you mean by...training her?"
Loraen. Well, this was certainly it. The end of the line. Loraen gave the floor her listless stare, as if willing her reality to change by force of will. Though the lioness' consternation had neutralized into a numb, lost sensation, she lifted her raven-curled head at the man's mention of further training. Perplexed, she merely studied the old man while he rifled through sheaves of paper she could no see from her spot on the floor. Rose's presence, though silent, was sensed powerfully in her peripherals. She chanced a look back to the tigeress, who no doubt had see the neat scrawl and indicative terms of 'punishment'. The register on her face was what initially caused the lioness to turn her head back to Muunokhoi. Jacob clearing the distance had her scanning each of their faces. Disbelief colored her expression and without hesitation, Loraen drew up and took the paper from Cross' hand once he was through with it. "I don't understand," that rich, Albion voice cracked, barely above a whisper. As if needing permission to feel something, Loraen looked back at Rose, to Muunokhoi, and finally settled on Jacob as the warmth of his hand brought her back to the present. "I-- I've been fr-freed?" a fist clutched at the hollow of her throat, as though the word physically pained her to speak. Not for lack of wanting, but spoken as if a fragile, precious thing, which -- given too much volume -- would be snatched away or shattered into a million pieces. "What is to become of me? I -- I have no gold nor dowry," listless blue eyes searched the Jarl's face for pity or a plan. Perhaps he was capable of such cruelty. No. He wouldn't do that to anyone, much less a young woman. There was too much kindness there. With no torc about her throat, clothes on her back, or papers to outline her function in the world, Loraen look misplaced and addled. She turned into the lion then, pressing her side against the handler as though he were a wall of protection.
Gypsium took sight of the word and blanched. If it brought Loraen some measure of joy, it set a jolt of displeasure through Rose. The tigress did not know what to make of it. Freed, but trained? Trained for what? To go where? The jeweled feline folded her arms, perhaps unintentionally implying that Loraen had very little chance of getting any riches from her. Rose paced for a moment, tail momentarily snapping between her heels while her face remained coolly reserved. At length she stopped short and fixed Loraen with a small nod and a forced, tentative smile. "Congratulations." No doubt the words came out rather stiff and bland, yet her head turned toward Muun as she tried to understand what precisely was transpiring. "But with all due respect, Master Muunokhoi, but why?" It was, really, a marvel that she'd managed to bite her tongue for as long as she had. A new record, at the very least.
Muunokhoi bit his lip as Jacob painted surprise across his expression. A little more extreme of a reaction than the old man had been expecting, and the elder found himself stifling a laugh of his own. "Are you going to be alright there, Master Cross ?" The lion looked barely able to contain himself. Rocking weight back in his seat to comfortably lounge and watch the reactions unfold like it were of entertainment value. "You are bold, Loraen. Too bold for a slave. Though your personality and character is also a desirable thing, and I am not wanting to stop you from being bold, while it will benefit me." A fancy way to put it.. "So~ You will instead be an employee of the Tether, and work as a handler. You will receive a wage." Although a reduced wage temporarily.. But it would at least answer the question on what was to become of the goldless lioness. "At this time next year.. we will review your service, and take things from there. Also, you may re-dress yourself." Gesturing to the canvas bag on the desk. Inside, Loraen might fight a folded pair of dark blue breeches, an off white, bloused top, simple boots, crimson sash, the most ridiculous pair of sheep and pompom undergarments, socks, belt, and a small drawstring pouch. Inside the pouch were a few essentials, like three gold pieces, a ring of keys and lion brooch. "Jacob will assist you in adjusting to your new duties, and what is to be expected of you. Training as co-workers, if you will." Rose's reaction was everything that Muun had expected it to be. Yet still, it had the old man frowning with unjustified guilt. His explanation to Jacob and Loraen ought to answer the why. "She is my first choice for the position.." And while the old man would have freed Rose over Loraen in any other circumstance.. it was also a private feeling that Rose would just leave the island entirely, if it had been her freedom. Selfish thoughts.
Jacob Cross appeared unable to grasp any sliver of humor from the situation, expression fixed upon Muunokhoi growing confused as the man chortled and questioned him. Rose's questions washed over like a wave, mirroring certain aspects of his curiosity as to the details - though the lion was far more pleased with the outcome than the tigress, to be sure. Collecting himself a moment even as Loraen pressed to him, he'd let eyes set to some point in the near distance as he worked through the expansive ramifications. As Muunokhoi bid Loraen to dress and she likely went about it, he'd remain statuesque and silent for some time before finding words. "A handler." Slowly, a nod. "I...will see to her, then. She will surpass all expectations." Spoken firmly as he wheeled around to put her in view and placed hands on her shoulders.
Loraen's feelings were tangled as she sought to pin down just one. Fleeting as they were, she'd wanted to exhibit joy, though fear cast its ominous shadow over it, allowing a guilt for her striving elation to set in. A steel resolve had her placing her hand on Cross' good arm, a gesture which intended to convey she agreed with and appreciated his reassuring his words. Slow, calculating steps took her to stand beside the lazily observing Jarl and in a feint that suggested she might extend her hand to shake it, Loraen instead wrapped her arms fully around the old man's shoulders and squeezed him tenderly. "I will never forget this," she whispered, sniffing back the moisture in her nose. "Thank you. Thank you," the lioness pressed a firm kiss into his round cheek before releasing him. Naked still, she curtsied to the Jarl and looked oddly upon the proffered new clothing. "I -- I don't think I've worn breeches before," she admitted, holding them up to her hips and peering guilelessly toward the three of them. Rose's carefully composed smile and terse congratulations was paid no small amount of attention to. They would need to speak, and soon. Though now was not the time. She couldn't manage an apologetic look for the tigeress even if she willed herself of it, too caught up in the thrum of her own pulse. The sheer elation of the strange and unknown. One leg, then the other and she'd managed to pull them up around her hips with a bit of a hop, which caused her assets to squeeze snugly into the dark fabric. Missa certainly had an interesting idea in mind for her new ensemble. Did the Jarl's lady wife dress similarly? she wondered. Bare chested and examining the contents of the pouch, Loraen clutched the rest of the clothing reverently to her chest. "In a year?" she echoed, nodding. The lioness gazed up at Cross' no doubt thoughtful figure before eliciting a similar, musing expression. "One year," she'd take it.
Gypsium dropped her hands to her sides, numb at the title of 'Handler'. A Handler. Rose, abruptly weak-kneed, sagged onto the edge of one of the seats. Not usually permissible, but perhaps under the circumstances tolerated or overlooked. The sight of the breeches drew her slightly-open mouth into a self-conscious closed snap, incredulous and round-eyed as if she'd been startled and cornered simultaneously. Not altogether far from the truth. It was a mixed bag of emotions; the tiger stared at the papers, eyes trailing all over the others as if to make sense of the senseless. Oh, certainly, in a lot of ways it made sense. Loraen had served far longer; in comparison Rose had only in the last months begun to fully fill her own position properly. Summoning back her nerve, she stood back up only to waver indecisively. Struggling to find some thread to hang onto, she settled for a strained smile despite arms folded awkwardly around her waist. "May I go tend to my kitchen duties, Master Muunokhoi?"
Muunokhoi nodded very slowly back to Jacob as he spoke up. "Thank you, Jacob. You are the best man for the mentor job." As for surpassing expectations though.. "She can certainly try. I have my expectations set very high." Lifting his one hand to take Loraen's shake- although that did not at all seem to be the case, and the elder would instead settle on returning the hug. "Thank me by ensuring this establishment is making more coin than it was with you as a slave. Do not make me at any point regret this decision, for I will look to revoke it otherwise." Holding still to allow himself to be kissed and hugged. "Aye, a year. Also- you still may not be poisoning any of the slaves here." Just in case.... It was a little heartbreaking to watch Rose's reaction, despite how good it felt to free a slave. Pale eyes would be lingering on Rose for quite some time. Regarding and observing. Her seat upon the chair entirely overlooked. "Yes, you may go Rose." Dismissing the tigress to her own thoughts. "And.. if you two are not minding.." Gesturing between Jacob and Loraen. "I am still having work to do, before I retire." Ayep, old man was kicking them out of his office.
Jacob Cross managed to mitigate his frowning slightly upon the receipt of a small compliment, though the enormity of the matter clearly rested heavily on him all the same. Blue stare turned to Rose as she made a rather expected play to distance herself from all of it. That would become a delicate matter to address in days and weeks to come...but for now, he'd not stop her from escape. Holding his silence as hands went to hips and he stared at the floor a moment, he'd wait until Rose had departed before looking to Lore and letting out a heavy breath. "We should go," and so they would - and once outside? She'd be swept into a tremendous hug, the pain of his left arm ignored in this as he squeezed her, then dropped her to her feet - a hand shot for her hair in a gesture born of pure instinct, gripping for only a moment before releasing and falling to her shoulder. "I'll put you up for the night; tomorrow we can decide where you'll stay and all the other details. Everything I have is at your disposal." A pause, he stepped in close as if meaning to yank her for a kiss - then paused as if banging into the wall of freedom now erected around her; the hand on her shoulder lifting to brush back through his mane. "I...ah, well. Yes."
Loraen fought against the voice inside her head that told her to follow after Rose. To grab her and pin her against the wall of the corridor and kiss her mercilessly on the mouth and tell her this changed nothing, and yet it changed everything. When stripped of all of your things and given a new slate, you've nothing to lose. Loraen faced her tabula rasa with stolid resolve, watching as the door closed behind Rose and the shimmer-striped love of her slave-life slipped through the cracks. Perhaps there was redemption yet sought, but tonight was not the night to pursue it. Leaving the Jarl's office at Cross' side, Loraen paused to find herself gathered by the lion's insurmountable strength. She'd not have known he suffered a bad arm by that embrace, had she not seen and tended to the wound personally. With happy tears standing still in her eyes, Loraen shrugged them into her forearm and brushed them away. "Don't," her voice was urgent when his hand faltered and left its initial mark of her hair in favor of her shoulder. Those delicate looking white hands moved his palm from her shoulder and set those fingers into her hair again. "Please don't," she framed the plea carefully, looking to him for comprehension. It would be taking too much from her at once -- to be expected to endure such a change. He would feel the need to adjust to her new station, but that, she thought, he could take his time in doing. For now, the lioness needed reality. -
Journal
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Office Hours March 5th 1717, 9:32 pm
Patrons are encouraged to knock on the Taneesta's door to discuss any matters pertaining to the establishment.
From private slave contracts to a desire to apply for one of the many jobs available in Guildereim,
any and all conversations are welcome. Perhaps you'd simply like to just introduce yourself to her,
or maybe you've got a bone to pick! Loraen will be in her office, prepared to field your questions and comments.
Maybe you're looking to advertise on our bulletins?
You have something to report?
Heard something in the walls and need your suite to be changed?
Whatever the reason, Loraen is available to speak with you.
This is just a little bulletin I'm going to put up on the RPR and on my character's journal as a standing invitation to generate more of an impromptu townhall feel. I'm going to begin discussing handing out jobs (the list I compiled a bit ago) and this invitation for RP will hopefully give people a 'reason' to pop their head in and meet and greet on a very regular basis. Since many people I've spoken to are shy about public RP, I thought Loraen's office would be best. This is just a little RPing device for me, not really an 'event' per se. -
Dear Rose August 19th 1716, 6:54 pm
Dear Rose,
I write this to you, not knowing if you'll ever read it, but with the solace that having written it, I might only drop this letter in a bottle, cast it to the waves, or attach it to a sea bird's leg. . .
It's been eight months since last I saw your face and so much has happened that I've wanted to share with you. I dream of you, stroking my hair in my sleep, looking over me disapprovingly. I laugh to think of what you might have said when I acquired a boy of rich crimson hair, a cunning whit, and a penchant for illicit dealings. . . I think you'd like him. His name is Cordello. Another lion. And too, how your eyes would roll upon meeting Hugo, another of my retainers. He's sweet in the way that Beau was, simple-minded as anything, and yet, his strength and goodness brings warmth into our hearts. He is gentle and kind, ever inquisitive and brave. Cordello is, too. You'd like them both, or at least I would hope you would. They share quarters away from ours.
So much has changed since you left, and yet, if you were to step ashore of Guildereim tomorrow, I think you would believe me a liar. I wouldn't be there. Not today. Today I pen this letter from a tavern room within the city walls of Eileadora. Today is my sixth day as Loraen Cross. The wedding was beautiful - I took your advice and made it my own. We held it in the garden with forget-me-nots and white roses. The merry yellows, brave blues and pure whites were a good choice, I think, and my gown remarked of similar colors. There's no place for black in a wedding.
I thought of you much that day, and every day since the day you left. I wonder where you are, if you're healthy - if you're happy. Primes, I pray you are. The bed I left for you by the hearth has since been cleared away. I sit in it sometimes, trying to imagine why I ever thought you could be content here.
The island's undergone catastrophe - yet its not met its demise. From bitter, devastating winters, to an explosion of flora and fauna, Guildereim is in unrest. I left her in one piece and what I pray is peace, wondering if this island truly will be my legacy.
Our journey to the northern provinces of Kasuria were eventful enough. I'll spare you the details of our honeymoon - suffice to say, it's been lovely so far. I don't write to boast. Primes below, I don't know why I even write at all, for the chance your eyes will grace these pages is far behind the world's plans. I needed to tell you, even in my happiest moments, I think of you. I miss you. I miss your council and the warning in your looks. I miss your voice of reason and the cleverness of your rose quartz gaze. It's selfish of me to miss, when I had you for so long, always beside me, always challenging me. My rival and only match. Gods, I didn't know how much I depended on that.
I thrive in my position of Taneesta, and I believe the people think me a fair and honest second to our Rah. He speaks little on my performance, but instead seems content to allow me to make decisions on my own. I've not burnt the establishment to the ground, so I suppose that speaks for something.
Outside my window, the air is cool. It's clean and crisp, with no humidity. The unfamiliar birdsong is a comfort and the trees -- their piney scent is bright and heady. It's a comfort here. I've no one to impress, no business to mention.
There are elves all over. I don't think I've seen so many in my life. Not even in Malgrave or Raideth. Etla Isle is truly a port city. Their open air bazaar is a wonder. Merchants from all walks of life collect in the mornings there to set up stalls and tented carts, peddling their wares and making custom orders. You'd like the potter I've seen twice now, I think.
Last night we arrived, taking a ferry in from the Cutlass to the harbor. It's certainly not a sleepy city, though there are cut-purses lurking in every alley. Our first meal was in the tavern I'm staying in. It reminded me much of the time we went to Peddler's Hollow. They have cider and sausages, good baked potato wedges, sharp cheese from the local dairy, and lamb. Somehow the food tastes amazing. I think it's the land. We drank cider and ale enough for four, and met a strange fellow wearing a mask. It was queersome. . .betimes he spoke with an eloquent prose, and having removed the mask, his mouth turned to mush and it was almost as if he were inflicted by a curse of the tongue. He called himself Tillius and claimed he was the High Cleric. I've no reason to disbelieve him, but an elf with a rattlesnake tongue wonders me.
The people are kind here. Slavery, as I have come to understand, has been entirely abolished - a punishable felony, though they still recognize indentured servitude. There are children running in the streets. One whisked by me this morning through the market, rustling my skirts by the speed of her stride. She looked like you. I suppose, in many ways, she's the reason I felt prompted to write this. A full head of pink hair, white fur and a familiar set to her eyes.
I think . . . it was a sign from the Primes, that I needed to clear my head and heart before I could move on into the next chapter of my life.
May we meet again.
-Loraen
Loraen had no journal to keep this loose leaf parchment safe, and so she left it on a table in the tavern, well within the walls of the Isle of Eileadora. -
Journal Entry July 25th 1715, 5:46 pm
The fairies have come again and for the first time in years, I'm not so terribly upset by the mischief they've wrought of me. Oh, don't mistake me - I was suitably aghast when I first felt the crunch and squish of one beneath my foot, only to see it disappear into a disgusting, shimmery mess between my toes. Something amazing happened after, though. I stand approximately seven feet tall. I tower over most of the heads in the Tether, and for once I can what a shoddy job the house slaves are doing of their dusting duties.
The look on Jacob's face though . . . confused, excited, anxious. He wanted to get me out of the atrium as quickly as possible. I had thought I'd embarrassed him, only to discover that he too had run into complications with the fae. Two beautiful, golden wings emerged from his back after Rose and I managed to pry him as quickly as we were able out of his armor. It was as if the Prime of Warfare, Scarlong, or some distant kin, stood before me.
Aravi is . . .well, he's pink. I think it's humbling, actually, and I rather appreciate the fae's creativity this year. With any luck, he and his cousin will come to terms with their differences and egos by the end of summer. Rose on the other hand is an entirely different matter. I can't tell as to whether or not she's happier with how she is now . . . it's as if her will's been broken. She responds to commands obediently and unquestioning. I worry she takes all that I say literally, however, and have asked Faline to keep an eye on her when I am unable to. She spent hours the first night we were all affected. Tiny fingers sewing an entirely new dress to fit me. Up until it was left folded on our bed, I had taken to wearing Jacob's shirts and trousers, if not a sheet of silk around my waist to act as a sarong. My couturiere would have been disgusted.
I'll write more on the events of this summer as they unfold, but for now, I have a lion to collect. Tonight, we hunt the Guildereim jungles like proper predators. Life, it seems, cannot get much better than this. -
Lion hearts July 24th 1715, 6:17 pm
Dear journal,
I am love sick. I want to make more of a commitment toward writing to you. It would be better for me, I believe, to reflect on my thoughts and daily musings, but also to assist in decompressing under all of this ridiculous, school-girl adoration I feel every morning when I awake beside the three-hundred pounds of golden muscle beside me. He's a frightfully light sleeper, and as of yet, I've been unable to stroke him in his sleep successfully without rousing him -- something I feel terribly for, given how little and infrequently he does actually lay his handsome head down to rest. I watch him nonetheless, comforted in the thought that when those striking blue eyes open, perceiving the world through what I can imagine is doubtlessly a film of worry and ridicule, he smiles at me. With his entire bodily expression, he smiles.
It's a rare thing to feel so assured in one's place in the world. Rare for me, I should say. I am finally where I am meant to be, and for once after three years, I no longer feel the anger and regret that drove me to numb myself from the world. I don't crave wine, nor opium, nor nepeta. I find strength and purpose. I have a home in the Cutlass, the beginning of a family -- and more importantly, a Pride of which I am Queen. Rose, while she may not know it, along with her cousin, have formed the beginnings of an integral foundation. I depend on her for companionship, and after all of these years, I've come to realize I need her by my side just as I need Jacob. During the siege, she was a remarkable huntress, even wounded, her aim with a bow and arrow was second to none, as I saw her send an arrow straight through a wyrmme's eye astride my mount. She is as stealthy and clever as they come, and as a friend, she is indispensable. There is a part of me that knows beyond any shadow of doubt that she and I are destined to remain in each others lives for years to come.
It pains me to think that had I been sitting beside her during that bleak time in her life, this could have happened all the sooner, without the House dictating who I spent my time with. Jacob saw the promise in Rose I simply couldn't grasp in her small beginnings of Guildereim life. He was one of her first patrons, if not her first, and even then he recognized her brilliance, when I was blinded by her courtly impatience and prude inclinations. To think, the three of us were drawn together even then. She has no love for him, this I know, and accept unfettered. It's just as well, the thoughts that arise in my mind at the very idea of another woman vying for his affections would make even Lokira blush. Primes save the unfortunate girl who tries.
That my mate fosters any affections for my possessive jealousy is a wonder. He tolerates it, however, and I dare say at times even nurtures it. I've never once felt discouraged by him for demonstrating the extent of my adoration. Perhaps it keeps order in the midst of an already chaotic social hierarchy. Perhaps it is the flattery that accompanies it, nourishing his ego. It doesn't matter. We fit together, and perfectly so. -
Power is the ultimate aphrodesiac July 23rd 1715, 12:58 pm
It's been too long since I've set quill to paper. So much as happened since I last penned that defining, world-altering word. Free. I am, and I continue to be. Gainfully employed by the House, which I still reside in when I'm not occupying the cabin of the Cutlass.
There's something I'm failing to mention. When all of Guildereim knows one's business, it seems a moot point to put it down on parchment, but for the sake of my unquenchable need to collect, record, organize and retain information, well, it seems only right that I should say something here. Jacob Cross and I are engaged to be married. By the end of this year, with Chim on my side and Jujinka's blessings, I will be Loraen Cross, and I have never in my whole life been happier than I am now. He sleeps beside me as I write, even now, beautiful and dangerous and wholly mine in his sleep. Mine. It's a strange word we're taught not to take for granted, as slaves. Like a new language, the idea of anything being mine was foreign and hard to grasp. I do grasp it though - ravenous and greedy and completely unremitting.
I had trouble reconciling that this was ever a possibility for me. I am no longer a slave girl, begging for the approval of my betters. Beside him, I am reborn. I am the Lioness of Guildereim and a force to be reckoned with. I love him, all of him, for how I watched him crawl beneath my skin and into my soul, infecting and replenishing and rebuilding every fiber of my being, my confidence, my elegance of composure. He elevates me and every day I am more aware of my potential and worth. I was desired as a servant; as a free woman my opportunities are endless.
Some months ago Guildereim was taken under siege by a band of Drakorian warships. For nearly a month we were forced out of our homes and made to seek refuge in the Naga-infested jungles. Jacob saw the ships arrive before they descended upon our shores. He was prepared, and were it not for him, his foresight and - I'll say it - his sometimes overbearingly accurate paranoia perceptiveness, we would all be dead. Most of Guildereim won't remember it this way. They'll remember the famine, the fighting, the infections and want for surrender. Some did, and they remain shamed for it. He and I, however, during that time, we rose up. We were beacons. Two pale golden lions in the midst of hopelessness. I dare say we saved ourselves and others more than physically during those times. We remain bonded, after being rubbed raw and revealed in desperation. My heart's truest desires laid bare in the face of our demises.
We fought side by side. He was glorious in battle. I watched him fell Drakorian and Naga alike with single strikes of his saber. I think I knew it before then, but any doubts dissipated when I saw the blood of our enemies coating his armor, his face. He wasn't only fighting for his home, he was fighting for me.
Now, we stand side by side, pledged to one another. Together, we'll take Guildereim's raw potential and forge a new Goddess Land. -
Journal Entry December 5th 1714, 1:41 pm
Free. -
Journal Entry September 19th 1714, 5:16 pm
-
The Goddess Land April 27th 1714, 8:06 pm
(An excerpt from an RP I really enjoyed. I only posted my parts, as I do not have permission from the other player. However, if you're curious on my take of what's going on in the world of The Dragon Lands, please read on.)
Loraen's behavior was deeply ingrained and rather specific to her training, though it was not uncommon for slaves to have small variations in how they served. She did not once balk, nor fidget as the man inquired further, instead leaning toward the other to offer him some conversational tea. It would go to waste, awfully over-steeped if she did not extend the courtesy to someone. Wild tendrils of deliciously aromatic steam curled up from the spout of the low barreled teapot while Loraen carefully set upright an overturned tea cup. An eastern, handle-less vessel whose rim appeared to have been painted gold. "It is not every day that I am privileged into the company of someone so unknown to Guildereim and her ways," Loraen preserved the set of her brow. It would not do to furrow at someone's lack of exposure. The tea was unerringly fragrant, filling the air with the scent of lavendar and bergamot. With practiced reverence, Loraen lowered her head before offering it to him. Provided he'd taken it, the sylph would continue. "We are among the few remaining provinces yet affected by the Northern Kasurian war, my Lord. Guildereim remains the central largest port of flesh commerce outside of the capitol, Malgrave, in Southern Kasuria. Patrons far and wide sail to her shores to continue their lives, their businesses and their family lives unhindered by the assault of the North. The establishment you sit in is called The Golden Tether, and we are under a longstanding Matriarchy under the rule of Domina Siena, the Red Queen," the slave girl continued, equally stating the woman's name with a respectful dip of her ears.
Loraen's mouth adopted the set of something bearing resemblance to satisfaction. "Yes, I imagine if you've a thirst for knowledge yet quenched, the library is the best place to sate it. Just up those stairs and to the left, you'll find the library. The gardens are just beyond if you continue North East. To the South West you'll find only the ports, so unless you seek to throw dice with the sailors and dockhands, I would not recommended it - or else leave Guildereim's shores empty handed," the lioness issued a charmed, assuring smile. "The establishment is safe for wandering, but I would avoid the underhall if you are squeemish in the slightest to violence. There are too often slaves still under processing down there. Do not heed their cries, Sir, they are all mostly overreacting and hungry," the fine little feline woman made light of those stolen from their families to settle debts a very easily digestable idea. Pay no mind to the blood. It's cherry juice. "Oh. . ." she paused, remembering. You would do well to stay on the beaten paths. The jungles are full of natives. The Naga are not to be trifled with, nor the lizardfolk or Caprid. If you see a Caprid, please be weary of your coinpurse, Sir. If you've any futher questions or need of me, please do not hesitate to call. Lodgings can be found in the House of the Golden Moon and I would be pleased to find you suitable quarters if you'd afford me care of their levied fees," Loraen offered helpfully.
Loraen's body language conveyed nothing short of devotion to their conversation. From the manner of her posture, inclined toward the griffin, to the way she punctuated her words with tender smiles and abashed tail flicks, Loraen had a disarming quality to her. "I would see your desires fulfilled here in Guildereim, my Lord," the leonine woman paused, considering his demeanor for a modest moment. "For hunger of knowledge or otherwise," she offered with ritualistic discretion. There were customs and other such patterns of behavior specific to the servants of the house. Loraen glanced momentarily over her shoulder before rising to admit him a courteous bid of fare well. One did not simply sit while her company was seen off. "Kalinychta," she bid him. "May Aristraya keep you," the thrall offered her tiding before returning to the kitchen. Evelyn would want her tray returned. -
Being is, and Notbeing is not April 11th 1714, 4:18 pm
She'll deserve every second she spends in there. How dare she? She knew nothing of what we shared. Nothing of how it feels to be loved and loathed at once for what you are. I could never win them both. They were not mine to win. The idea itself is wrong and petty. When someone goes so far as to care for you, and teach you, and better you, it is impossible not to love them. At least in some sense of the word. If I am wrong for doing so, then Jujinka, send me a sign, for a servant girl knows not the rules of love. They are not hers to know. Chim knows I faltered, and smiling down his whiskers at me, I am sure he chitters with laughter, or he would have helped me find my way. For her to confront me on it is enough to make me want to bury that awful little girl's face in the sand. It will be a while before they find the broom lodged in that store room's door handle. I pray each night to the Lady Lokira that her cruelties find Rose and envelop her in misery.
My brand burns me still as I look at it under the light of these strange new quarters. Though it has been more than a year, I feel him still, tracing the freshly seared flesh with tip of his claw, digging his fingers into me. If deserting Jumeaux makes me a traitor to my bond, then why was I left alone for so long? The Domina's doors are tight shut. Even she who would prefer Sola, or Frileux, or even Siran tend her quarters. I dared not ask a key of her. That she would speak to me again alone was a blessing. I was little more than a helpful shadow, leaving baskets of glad tidings - stone fruits and bread loaves, mostly - turning over her linens and tending to her laundry. My limitations were constricting, and I must needs maintain my distance for fear that too much familiarity drive her away again. After he returned, one parent less and with renewed vigor, still nothing changed. She had him back, and I returned to Jumeaux. When she would visit, I would leave. Long walks and plenty of work in the poppy fields, troweling out the deep roots of weeds that grew in between the oozing bulbs. Their love, to me, was like one of those beautiful painted eggs that the children in Challis would decorate every year to honor Jeltana, the Prime of childbirth and fertility. So delicate and beautiful. A tribute to power and balance. I would not be the force that crushed such hope.
The problem of returning to Guildereim un-escorted left me at a loss for shelter and sustenance. Even Rose, who had sent letters of inquiry to the Domina, went unanswered, leaving me to believe her abroad on business with the Dominus, or her Hound. It was my own fault. I was not abandoned, nor forgotten. I had had clear instructions given to me to remain on the plantation and accompany where I was needed. Unneeded, I wandered. I could not simply stay on the tiny isle, when Tock and the others traveled and Rose reigned supreme over Guildereim's House. I could not stand idle, playing mistress to the estate. A full compliment of house staff hadn't even batted an eyelash when I boarded the ferry, with but a suitcase of personal affects in tow. I would find them - or find me.
As it would turn out, one custom dress approximately the same size as a mouse barmaid will feed you for a month. Hissing and showing one's teeth to other female slaves will earn you a cot in the dryer areas of the servant's quarters, but only earns you a slap in the mouth when performed against a male servant. Even the finer, feminine boy slaves put up a fight for their small, straw laden territories. The hierarchy of the Underhall is a strange and dangerous game. -
The Lion's Share April 10th 1714, 9:57 pm
Tapestries and doorknobs, bureau fixtures and rugs. Plate-ware and silver, clothes and bedding. Oh, it was all very nice, very well kept, indeed. But there was no denying a veil of dust had collected on everything. Clean and polish I would. Though where to start was the difficult part. Men of his demeanor - caliber even - did not take well to things being rearranged.
I started by beating the rugs outside of his dwelling, far enough away that the dust and debris would not be carried back in by the wind. It was so unlike the stagnant huts I and the soldiers shared along our journey to Malgrave. I learned more about the man who bestowed his key upon me during my time in his home than I had in his company.
He was meticulous and forthright. His decorations are stationary and practical, lending his dwelling a bachelor's essence. Though the smells - they were marvelous, the way the wafted up through his work space below and permeated the textiles. I saw that the linens were washed, regardless. Crisp white with the creases drawn against his mattress, tucked and folded in neat, nurse-quarter edges so that nothing hung. This lion did not strike me as a loose ends kind of man.
In the span of twelve hours I elected to sweep and mop his entire house. The drapes and anything that could stand water and soap were taken to the blind ones in the Underhall. The poor things could do little more than repeat the same stew-stirring motions over their vats of warm water and lye. I pray to never find myself in their positions, Primes bless them. While I admit I spent most of my afternoon with them, squinting and with a pinched nose, I left with everything spotless. It was just warm enough to hang them on a line outside, though this island weather with its humidity afforded me no favors in the quickness of their drying.
He did not tell me his name, - not officially, - though I must admit I did spy a letter addressed to him on his desk and could not help but notice it in my efforts to tidy his stationary and ink pots. A Master Jacob Cross deemed me worthy of saving yesterday for an indeterminable frame of time. While disinclined to tell me much about himself, as I am assured is his right to, I could not help but discover as I scrubbed every inch of his home. A woman's nose does not lie to her. I could smell the practice throughout his quarters. Freshly salted meat and hides that were yet tanned hung in what I imagined to be the gentleman's kitchen, though a woman's touch existed no where in there. It was more of a laboratory than any proper place to make food. And downstairs no, less.
Tallow and suet sat in jars or in slabs in counters. A cauldron or six placed on various levels and tables. I thought to reorganize the jars of essence and oils he kept on a row of shelving against his wall, but they appeared to be in a well-known order already. These were only tended to by carefully polishing each and facing their labels.
Implements of his trade hung upon hooks, comprising what little I could determine of his trade. A leather-worker, undoubtedly, judging by the tightly woven crops and harnesses that sat on display - some of which harboring a more personal design - not the sort of instrument you'd sell pre-made to your clientele.
What an unusual man. Chim smiled upon me yesterday. Tonight I offer him a and M'rill a prayer in thanks.
-
