[Tromperie Hall] Tea in the Morning

[Senara]

Timestamp: Second brightening of Spring Era XIV Pf

It was early morning as Senara rose from her deep slumber to the slight light entering the small bedroom. Looking around the sparsely furnished room, the half elf girl smiled in spite of herself. She still didn’t have a clue as to her whereabouts, but she did have shelter and from the looks of it, a wealthy new master. As her bare feet touched the cold floor, she stretched her arms and back and yawned like a cat. Of course, she hadn’t really seen her master for the past two brightenings since her arrival. He had better things to do than wonder about his new slave but she was still curious as to what would happen when they had their first real confrontation.

From the small bedroom she made her way to a tinier washroom across from the bed. As she turned on the tub, Senara once again marveled at the fact that she was being allowed to use the tub for herself instead of preparing it for her owner. And she had been allowed to sleep in a bed instead of on the floor. It seemed too good to be true to the half-elven maiden as she slipped into the water and quickly began to wash herself with the cold water. Despite her freedom to use the washroom she felt that she should respect her master’s kindness and utilize as little as possible. Perhaps she would see him today, but if she did, what would she say? There wasn’t really anything she could actually say and be understood.

Emerging from the tub, Senara sighed as she wrung out her dress and waved it about a bit to dry and get it to dry before putting it on. It seemed like ages ago that she had boarded the boat away from K’Terak and apparently traveled many distances to this new land. Walking back into the bedroom, the young woman stopped in front of the long mirror and critically assessed her appearance, which had changed dramatically in the two brightenings she had been at Tromperie Hall. In the dead of night had she followed her master and his accomplice back into the city, down even darker alleyways, past drunkards who hooted and cat called as they past, towards a large building that stood out from the decrepit buildings surrounding it. Inside had been lively, patrons drinking and carousing, but her master, upon entrance, had caused the entire place to go silent for a few moments until he made his move towards the back. Then talk resumed. At that moment she knew that he was someone of great power.

Meticulously she smoothed out the crinkles in her dress, shuddering at the memory of her disheveled appearance the night of her arrival. Her hair now straight hung at her shoulders, no longer tangled and forming a ball of fuzz around her head. Dirt smudges from the boat and pens no longer dotted her honey-colored skin. Instead she felt clean and pristine, something she hadn’t felt in ages…Or ever? No, there had been one time when she felt this way. That was when she and her mother and brother had run away. Best time of her life…Her vision blurred and she turned her thoughts elsewhere quickly.

Tilting her head at herself in the mirror, Senara gazed thoughtfully then turned away and began to make her bed. What would she do this brightening? She had already gone into each of the unoccupied bedrooms and cleaned all the dust away, quietly ooing and aweing at all the expensive finery that adorned each bed and wall. Closing the bedroom door behind her, the half elf tip toed down the hallway, past the doors of other bedrooms and down towards the kitchen, looking this way and that to see if anyone was awake at the early hour. To her relief, there wasn’t, but she hadn’t encountered anyone at all that was those past two days. Entering the kitchen Senara smiled as she saw the marble countertops and the fireplace in the back corner. A small red, cherry wood table with two mahogany, cushioned chairs sat in the middle of the room. Without prompting, the young woman went about the routine she had set herself too: putting on a kettle to make tea and wiping down the countertops and sweeping the cinders from the fireplace into a tray that she could use to easily dispose them.

A few minutes later the teapot whistled to her and she retrieved it, placing it on the gleaming countertop and then opening one of the cabinets that lined the wall above her. From the mahogany cabinet she reached for four mugs, one for her master, one for his accomplice, and two for whoever would also feel like some tea. Senara sighed though, sadly wishing she were able to make her master breakfast to further show her appreciation. However, she had never cooked. Her mother had been the chef of the household and she had been the maid. Instead she milled about, putting the tealeaves into a packet and placing three packets inside the teapot. Now she just had to wait for it to steep enough. So, the young woman contented herself with tending to the small fire she had lit.

[Silas Lescartes]

The past week or so had been eventful in the dirt-caked slums of Alyxandrya, and at the heart of it all, as per usual, was the burgeoning organization headed by the insufferable Silas Lescartes. Following an extremely pitiful couple of days, which marked the unfortunate departure of one of the pillars of their dystopia (the fae prince, Ankou), the ruling criminal body had a surge of positive activity, and the previously dire straits in which they'd found themselves were soon much more relaxed and light-hearted. Following the disastrous revelation of a traitor in their midst, the sometimes sadist in their half blood leader emerged, fiercely incensed by the betrayal they'd suffered. Within hours they had caught their turncoat, and the torture that ensued was absolute -- there were claims in the parlor of the Red Sky that their old comrade could still be heard screaming in agony beneath. (Silas himself knew this to be untrue, for he had cut the man's throat with his own knife, but nevertheless, he much preferred their rumor to his truth. Fear of such consequence kept the unruly mob in line, after all.)

Following the extensive abuse of their prisoner, the organization gleaned the whereabouts of a known associate of their rivals, the Five, a man by the name of Siegmond, who was said to operate near the western docks. Silas had made the decision to act on the information immediately, whether it have been out of strategic revery, or perhaps an effort to forget the loss of his lieutenant, one cannot be sure. Whatever the case may be, they mobilized very quickly. What had initially been intended as an evening of reconnaissance ended up evolving into the eradication of an entire slave ring, and consequentially, the liberation of its victims (thus branding murderers as saviors in ignorant minds). Yes, the operation had been more fruitful than originally expected, and led in fact to a second disruption in the livelihood of their rivals, for the elf and the orc were soon told of another location which was being used for the illegal smuggling and eventual sale of slaves from all about the world.

The second excursion was not nearly as easy as their first fortunate foray, and they'd had to travel the midlands, traverse horrid terrain in even more terrible weather. The dark of the cave was still vivid in the elf's mind, and as he wound his way through the tunnels beneath the Red Sky, he could not help but be reminded of them. The poor lunatic had rarely slept these past days, bearing a burden in mind requiring much deliberation. The course of events was hardly retraceable, and seemed almost as if plucked from a dream. It was unusual that fortune should smile upon those who sewed misfortune where'er they went. Yet what was done was done, and despite selfish motivations, they would, more likely than not, be hailed as heroes very shortly. They would need to adapt, and this is precisely why the overlord bid his lieutenant to breakfast with him at Tromperie, the home in which he hadn't set foot in days, spending his sleepless nights in his offices at the tavern.

The slave guide who had led them on their perilous excursion had been given the keys to the estate, so to speak, and had even been permitted the elf's bed while he was away (it was the best in the house, after all, and she deserved such comfort after the ordeal she had surely been through). He hadn't seen her since the caves, and was partly looking forward to trying to communicate with her. He hoped the poor creature would have helped herself to all his stores, and was not wallowing in the same filth in which they'd found her. Without a word the pair passed by the silent sentries, Anton and Russell, who nodded in greeting. Silas heard the kettle whistling and knew that the doped up whores (who were undoubtedly lurking elsewhere in the house) hadn't stepped foot in the kitchen in months. Sure enough, as they round the corner to the derelict room there she was.

"Good morning," the elf muttered, slightly taken aback by her new appearance. The elf glanced over his shoulder at the lumbering orc behind him.

[Senara]

The young half-elf's thoughts were preoccupied with her mother at the moment, recalling the many times she had seen the older human woman sitting next to the fire when their owners had retired to bed and was able to enjoy the few flames that flicked over the logs before they died. Closing her eyes, Senara imagined herself talking with her mother at that moment, telling her everything that happened, everything she'd seen, everything that she was feeling or had felt. The thought that her mother would be able to still talk to her, communicate with her in this foreign world, managed to keep her comforted and much more sane.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw her master enter the kitchen. A mixture of delight and fear coarsed through her veins as she quickly stood and clasped her hands in front of her, quickly wracking her brain for a proper greeting. He had murmured something to her, which for the nth time since her arrival in this strange country, she cursed her lack of knowledge. What to do? What to say? The two seconds that passed just after his greeting seemed to last forever until the young woman thought of something to do.

Senara was sure that the tea had steeped enough, she was sure. Quickly she moved over to the counter and expertly poured tea into two mugs, taking time to make sure they were filled with a generous amount. Gracefully she placed the teapot back onto the counter, taking expert care since she was trembling horribly. Whenever anxiety invaded her system, the elven woman's nerves seemed to fly all over, a sad result of the intense abuse she had endured for all the years of her life with a Vysstichi mistress. The slightest tinge of tension could set butterflies off in her stomach.

But the usual sense of dread seemed to not be present as the half elf crossed the room and handed both Silas and Hazudar each a mug for their contentment. Now what? She asked herself as she moved back towards the counter and turned around to look at her rescuerers, fiddling with her hands. What would they decide to do with her? She had after all led them to the hideout of the slavers the brightening before but...what did that matter now? Presumably they had no use for her now, so what would become of her? Senara was willing to devote her life to the service of these two but she doubted that would be possible in her condition, not being able to actually even communicate with them.

Whoever said language was a universal means of expression and communication clearly forgot the burdens of language barriers.

[Silas Lescartes]

Silas graciously accepted the steaming mug handed him by the newest addition to the Tromperie Estate. The warmth was greatly appreciated, and spread quickly from his skeletal fingers throughout the length of his arms. Whether or not she knew that he was chilled from the still-frigid mornings was debatable. Had she seen him shiver in the midlands? In all likelihood, she was stuck in the ruts of routine, and had simply prepared for him a courtesy she'd probably been forced to make previously. Reflexive servitude, he reasoned, as he motioned for the orc to take a seat. "How very thoughtful," he commented absent-mindedly to the beast, in reference of course to the tea that he would likely not drink, and that Silas himself sipped presently. The elf moved to a storage closet of some sort and retrieved from it a third chair, which he set down at the table across from the orc and himself.

He motioned for Senara to sit, and raised his mug as though a gesture of thanks, but he didn't make any attempt to speak to her just yet. Instead he turned to Hazudar, with whom he wanted to discuss a number of things presently. "By the looks of it, she cannot understand us," he started, with a nod of the head indicating the girl, as though ensuring that they needn't worry about speaking in front of her. "...or else she is mute," he stared at her curiously for a moment, as though trying to glean whether or not she had a tongue in that mouth of hers. Between the swordsman sentries (who had had their tongues removed), and the drug addicts, Tromperie was often a quiet place. Silas wasn't sure whether he could stand another silent entity; although it wasn't often he desired to speak to them, when he attempted to engage, he found quickly they were terrible conversationalists.

"Listen," he continued, turning towards the orc, "we find ourselves in a rather fortuitous position here, my friend. As you know, rumor has it that one of those whores that we set loose in the caves was none other than our former thane, the Kaldres woman. You remember? I daresay she will make a bid for the vacant seat, and who, when all is said and done, does she have to thank for the fresh air in her lungs but you and I? If we play our cards right, we secure for ourselves the whole of this city, Hazudar." He took another sip of the warm tea, and glanced appreciatively at the girl across the table, but soon he turned back to his lieutenant. "The fae's departure was some rather unfortunate business, I will not deny this, yet we cannot lose our heads over it. I must have your assurance that you are fully focused on wrenching the reins of this city from the hands of the empire. We are very near this goal."

It was a depressing scene. Although he would not admit this to himself, and especially not to others, Silas was, for lack of better word, heartbroken at the departure of his lieutenant. The winged fool was the closest thing he'd had to a friend in the whole of his life, with Hazudar trailing behind at a close second. With one so forcibly removed, he had only the latter with which to converse and scheme and plot the deaths of others, and he seemed to compensate the loss of one by doubling his skewed affection for the other.

"I think it is time we select men to infiltrate the city's various institutions, do you agree? A handful in the navy, perhaps a handful in the constabulary or castle guard. We need to know what they are up to at all times. Yet tell me," he reclined his chair, "what are your thoughts on the matter. Do not give me any sycophantic prattle either, I want your honest assessment." As the orc spoke, Silas couldn't help but look over at the girl beside him, appraisingly. She wasn't unattractive. Slender of frame, dark features, her hair much cleaner and lustrous now than it had been the last time he'd seen her. He didn't necessarily appreciate the clothes she still wore, and resolved that when their discussions here were over he would allow her to choose from the extensive wardrobe of the other ladies of the house. They were often too high to get dressed, and sat around in worn chemises more often than not. One thing was for certain, the girl looked absolutely starved. He would send for Louise to cook them all breakfast. Yet for now, he was intent on listening to the state of infernal affairs.

[Hazudar]

Tromperie Hall... so THIS was where da boss spent his nights. Hazudar gawked about the hall's interior in clear discomforture, trying to avoid staring too long at anything valuable. Being in a posh place like this made him feel like he ought to be sweeping candelebras and silverware into a large sack, not sitting around nursing a mug of... whatever. Something distressingly non-alcoholic. The brute gulped it down nonetheless, oblivious to the liquid's scalding temperature, on the off chance it'd steady his nerves. It didn't.

Why'd he invite me here? He must be plannin' to off me where none o' the men'll see... he doesn't trust me, thinks I'm plannin' a takeover! An' it's all HIS people here, tongueless eunuchs an' drug-addled whores... he'll say I up an' vanished, went lookin' fer Ankou, an' the boys'll buy it! My god, how far are we from da Red Sky? There'll be no one ter hear me screams!!

"Good ****," the orc smiled weakly, as he set the mug back onto its saucer.

Silas, it seemed, wanted to boast about this girl, the latest addition to his 'staff,' ... Th' greedy, self-servin' bastard! Keepin' an entire HAREM all to 'imself, while I'se gotta make do wiff leftovers! 40-pattern-old hags, one-legged half-elves, what's next?! ... And so, reluctantly, the orc pried his eyes away from his survey of the potential escape routes, glancing over Senara's more succulent bits with polite interest. Thusfar, he hadn't paid the ex-captive much attention... Did yew have her poison me, ya sly old fox?! Is dat it?!

"She still got her tongue, though," Hazudar pointed out, extending a claw rather rudely to point at Senara's lips. But yew already knew dat, didn'tcha--ya inbred letch? Bet yew made good 'n' sure o' dat at least a dozen times now... "Hey wench, wench! Can ya understand me? Twirl yer hair if ya can." The orc cocked his head quizzically at her. "Fancy a shag, yew an' me? Lack of a response'll be interpreted as a 'yes'." Haz paused for a moment, then frowned and shrugged at Silas. "She woulda said sompin' by now, I'm finkin'."

"A Kaldres whore? I never woulda guessed." You mean 'secure for YOURself the whole of the city,' I'm sure. Throw da lot o' yew damned nobles into da slave pits along with th' Kaldres wretch, it'd serve yew swine right! "Yew can count on me boss; I'm behind ya one hunned poi-cent!" Hazudar thrust his thumb into his chest, which was puffed out proudly. Sounds well an' good, ya silver-tongued devil--an I'm sure you'll be givin' the same speech to da men while Senara here chops up what's left o' me. 'He was a noble orc, but we must not let his departure distract us from my--ahem, OUR goal...'

An awkward pause. Feeling the crimelord's eyes upon him, Hazudar fidgeted; he could not help reflecting on the murderer's strange behavior towards him as of late. It had begun the moment Ankou had gone rogue and had now built to something almost like affection; this, more than anything, made him all the more certain that something was not right with the boss, he'd lost it, finally teetered off the brink and plunged straight into the deep end. The orc gulped, tensing himself for the inevitable blade between the shoulders that he knew must come at any moment now...

"Dat could be dangerous for us, too." Especially for da men an' I, not dat it'd bother YOU much... quit playin' games, pal, I know what yer up to here! Jus' kill me an' be done wiff it! "And we're kinda spread thin as-is. We oughtta start pickin' through the smaller rackets, find men we kin use." Soon you'll be short one orc, too, but I guess sacrifices must be made--ain't dat right, ya old selfish bastard?! "I could hit the streets, see if thar's anyone worth recruitin'. Viper Quarter, places like dat." ...HILLBILLY! "Though I'll need to offer 'em sumthin'..." Who'm I kiddin'? At least ya'll have orders ter pass on to yer next lieutenant, ya tyrant! Heartless tyrant!

In spite of himself, Hazudar's gaze was drawn to Senara again, along with the boss's. What did he see in that half-starved slave? Dat had BETTER not be my replacement. Is it cause she's a half-elf?! Do ya see sum o' YERSELF in her, is dat it, ya narcissist?! "Uhh... mebbe we could use th' dwarf, Sigula. Da 'Fleecers' might be in a better position ter see who among our lessers is on da level--an' who ain't." Though sometimes ye kin tell juss by lookin' at an elf. Silas, Silas... after all I done ya for! =(

[Senara]

Shock and surprise seemed to keep pummeling the slave girl as she was first acknowledged by both males and then gestured to sit. Never before had she been asked to sit at a table with her master, much less at a table in general. Such niceties were completely foreign to her and she knew not how to react and only bowed her head and fidgeted with her hands in her lap. Her nerves bounced around in her stomach, causing her heart to pound loudly in her ears. How did they treat slaves here? Would she be sold again? Would she be assigned mundane tasks? Would she be punished if she was a second late in responding to her master's requests? Could she ever learn the language so she could properly function?

Being in a constant state of unknowing, Senara somehow did manage to recognize that the orc was speaking to her. Immediately she looked up and met his eyes, wide with curiousity and ignorance. What was the point of spekaing when they wouldn't understand her? They might think she were swearing at them or something and she definitely did not want such a misunderstanding to occur. For the past few brightenings she had been free of all form of physical punishment. She would do probably almost anything to keep herself from a whip lash again.

Thoughts of her former life in K'Terak drifted back to her and the half elf became lost in a sea of memories as the two males talked. Where was her brother now? The day before she was sold her brother was taken by another slaver. Would she ever see him again? A pit of despair had sown itself inside the young woman's heart since his forced departure, and had only grown with each passing day. Closing her eyes she briefly recalled how their hands were ripped from each other's, the tingles of the skin on her hands rippled up and down her spine while her eyes swam with tears as she cried out. Too much to think about now. Such days were to only be relived in private right now.

Pushing away the pain, Senara's gaze met those of Silas and Hazudar. There conversation must have ended while she had been thinking of Auron. Biting her lip and twitching her nose, she looked back at them expectantly as a silent sigh escaped her mouth. Noticing that their mugs were empty, Senara rose and walked over to the counter, grabbing the teapot gingerly and brought it back to the table, tilting her head as if silently asking if they desired more.

[Silas Lescartes]

Silas listened to the orc passively, but his speech seemed disenchanted, uninspired, and it showed quite clearly. Whether Hazudar was in actuality more of a fool than he'd shown himself to be recently, or whether he was distracted, one couldn't be sure. What was certain was that his lack of enthusiasm quickly began to grate on the nerves of his host, whose jaws clenched and temples pulsed as he struggled to contain an outburst. I can kill him here and now. The men needn't know a thing. They are so easily deceived after all. The lunatic raised his mug to be refilled by the starved girl, who had unknowingly suffered insults at the hands of the orc, for whom Silas now held some strange affection for, feeling himself slighted by the brute's disinterest. I could tell those who gave a damn that he'd up and left, after the fae... they'd believe that for sure.

Yet as he sipped the steaming tea, he felt slightly calmer; the rage subsided, and the elf chalked the perceived neglect up to a three-day long bout of insomnia, and unrest. He had a point, insofar as securing new men for the organization, yet it didn't change the fact that they would be well-suited to send a couple of others into various facets of the city's infrastructure. There was no harm in arranging a few plants here and there. The overlord wasn't so foolish as to overextend himself. He knew their capabilities and their incapabilities alike, and surely better than his lieutenant. The only thing he had in common with the men was their stupidity. Silas Lescartes sat at the head of a syndicate of idiot savants, gifted only in criminal endeavors.

"Perhaps we had best refocus your attention then on recruiting, Hazudar. Clearly you are better-suited than I when it comes to associating with these men. I am, unfortunately, cut from a different fabric." And as he said those words, he reaffirmed his lonely fate. Silas was not a criminal, in the conventional sense -- he wasn't one for petty larceny, or the odd heist -- he was a sociopath, a sadist, an outcast, as it were. He was far too vicious to be accepted by run-of-the-mill brigands, and not enough in tune with humanity to walk amongst the others. There was a class he belonged to, although its members were fewer and farther between. Perhaps in all the years of his existence he had been fortunate enough to meet one other, and where was she now? She might as well have never come into his life at all. A haze of sweat-soaked sheets and bloodied blades swirled in his head, and then he felt himself falling.

His head jerked instinctively, and it was apparent that he had began to nod off. Regaining something of his composure, the exhausted madman cleared his throat and apologized. "Clearly, I am more exhausted than I would have liked to believe... but I will make my opinions on matters clear before we call this meeting to an end. I concur that the dwarf, Sigula, is an unique operative, insofar as he might learn the truth behind public opinion. Should you or I go door to door, surveying, I daresay we would be loved unanimously. We have acquired something of a reputation, and it hushes the voices that would rise up against us the moment we were perceived as complacent, which is hardly something I am looking forward to. I am of the belief however that if we disrupted the hierarchies of the smaller groups, we would be faced with a significant drop in profits. How would they produce without their best and brightest? We are in a unique position, for we scarcely have to work with all the taxes paid us. Our men are free for less material, and I daresay more important operations. I quite like it this way."

Silas looked stole a glance at the slave, as if considering if it would be wise to keep her around. "I fear I will retire soon, orc. We had best rap this up, or else we might continue it another time." What he had been trying to ascertain from the rapid glances at the delicate creature caught in the middle of two monsters was whether or not she could be trusted to move freely about as he slept, or perhaps she was more than she seemed. Perhaps he had better sleep with a weapon nearby.

[Hazudar]

While not the most perceptive, nor possessed of what could be called a fully functioning brain, Hazudar could yet hardly miss picking up on Silas's clenched jaws; the all-too-familiar pulsing at the temples. And, given his familiarity with this psychopath to beat all psychopaths, he knew well what those facial tics meant.

Criminy, whaddya know... da boss still likes me after all! He trusts me more'n anybody, he's just can't bring 'imself ter say so--DAT'S why he seems so tense!

Stifling a grin, the orc relaxed visibly, slumping in his seat and wiping a drop of sweat from his brow. Ter hell wif it--he even threw back another mug of tea; nothing had ever tasted better. Immensely relieved, the orc hardly noticed the boss having one of his Alzheimeresque spells.

"In dat case, I'll try an' expand our profit margins too. If we could pry the docks away from th' Five, our profits'll skyrocket faster'n my **** at the sight o' Jiala, pardon my Jaedaxian."

Come to think of it, the Five really were the source of all their ills. Unseating that quintet of faceless cowards would put their--uh, sorry boss, Silas's organization in undisputed control of the Gut, with all the manpower, resources and tribute that entailed. Hell, with all the recent advances they'd made upon that other group, they might as well declare outright war... which made recruitment an even greater priority.

But they could talk about that later, for--as Hazudar surmised from the eyes Silas was making at Senara--boss Lescartes was eager to away to the bedchambers and continue breaking in his latest acquisition! Springing hastily to his feet, the orc all but saluted in his renewed respect and admiration for the crimelord.

"We'll talk more later, boss. Dun let me keep yas!" Hazudar glanced between Silas and the slave girl rapidly, unconsciously licking his lips and lingering in their presence somewhat longer than was necessary. Don't min' me, jus make like I ain't here seemed on the very tip of his tongue.

"Uh! Yeah! Later, den." The brute turned to leave.

[Senara]

Silently Senara noted the tired apperance of her master, wondering if he had slept at all recently. Tilting her head slightly to the side, the half elf briefly considered mixing a tea that would perhaps give him more energy but then decided against it, figuring it would be one, to much of a hasstle to ask if he kept any herbs and such in the nearby vicinity as she had not found it polite to look into another's cupboards and such, and two, didn't want to thoroughly make herself seem as though she might perhaps have sinister motives towards her new master. He might assume she were mixing a posioned drink rather than an energy booster. Not a good idea until she could speak his language, or at least get to know him a little better.

Her eyes slipped towards the orc, and from the inflexions in his voice assumed that he was more relaxed. Clearly they were discussing something that involved perhaps her Master's approval of the orc...but there was no way to know. But from what she had observed, Senara believed that the orc did work for her master. Realization dawned. Once again she was confronted with the turth that this man was in fact more powerful than she could possibly have perceived from that first meeting. This set her nerves a little on edge though she kept her feelings from reaching her face. An entire life of practice while in servitude seemed to ironically benefit her now.

But she completely missed the looks she was receiving from the two males in the room as her eyes fell to her lap where her hands fidgeted. For a moment she stopped moving her fingers around and inspected her nails. Of all the times, now she was looking at her hands critically. For the first time in all her patterns they were gleaming after the preferential treatment of just two, three brightenings. She almost laughed at herself out loud, but managed just a smile. Right now she was far from "home," had no idea where her brother was, and now the slave of a powerful half elf, and didn't speak the language. And she was checking to see if her nails were pretty. The action reminded her of her mother.

Her mother...Senara managed to keep the smile still glued to her face as memories began to sweep down upon her. The woman had always managed to smile at her each morning and say something funny to make her forget for the briefest instant that well...they weren't slaves to a horribly abuse Vysstichi mistress, that they were just a quaint little family. Before the crack of dawn the three were always awake and bustling around the home on tip toes to not wake the family. But when they had finished their work, they would sit in the kitchen on the floor next to the fire and enjoy tea together.

Just the image of her mother and brother laughing and smiling made her heart twist and shudder inside and smile that had been fixed on her face dropped. Once again her expression was blank. Better blank though than tearful, fearful, angry and whatever other emotions were swirling around inside the young woman. But when she looked up, she watched the orc rise from the table and say some words to the Master and then look over at her...oddly. To this she just raised her eyebrows and blinked, watching him turn to leave. Then slowly, her eyes found her master's and Senara bit her lip.

What now?

[Silas Lescartes]

The elf's cold, glaring eyes narrowed in vicious curiosity when the lumbering beast stood, as if to leave. He didn't initially understand what the orc was babbling about, but it soon became apparent that his lecherous tendencies had gotten the better of him. Silas's lip curled in disgust as he looked upon the unconscious ticks of the super sexual and severely undersexed creature before him; it was common knowledge his affinity for the lewder things in life, yet never before had it even remotely concerned the sadist himself. It was mildly unsettling that Hazudar should so clearly fantasize about him in compromising positions, and now here he was beating a hasty retreat, off to do God knows what. Silas was certainly not going to keep him from it, and before he turned to go, the elf nodded silently in farewell, afraid his distaste would be readily apparent in any combination of words.

His gray eyes lingered on the hulking figure as he slinked away, winding clumsily back through the passage by which they came. And then they were alone. Silas turned on the girl hesitantly, not quite impervious to the awkward silence that enveloped the pair, stealing a fleeting glance before loudly clearing his throat. "Well," he said stupidly, quite aware that she could not understand him, "you can... follow me, if you please." He raised a delicate hand and motioned for her to trail him, and off they went.

He'd never imagined when he first set foot in Tromperie that he would ever entertain guests, although the former slave was not quite a guest, she was a... well, he didn't know what she was exactly. She certainly seemed content to stick around the man she didn't yet know to be a lunatic, and Silas began to care for her as a boy would care for a stray puppy. It was unusual for him to experience such skewed affection, but there was something in her plight that he could identify with -- he too was unable to communicate with those with whom he shared this earth. Surely, he knew their language (and others), but there wasn't the slightest commonality between he and his fellow man. He was as much out of place as was the girl behind him. Silas looked back to make sure that she had understood to follow him.

She was an attractive girl, a real flower given the conditions in which she'd grown; the orc's perversion was not without warrant. Now wasn't the time for such observations, however, it was time to get her out of the rags in which she so undeservedly strut about. If she were indeed to remain in his presence, she couldn't very well be walking around in such filth, and before long they stood in front of a door left ajar. A skeletal hand pushed it open to reveal a room lined with fine satin cushions and filled by a thick, smoky haze. Silas halted Senara at the entrance, and entered the room alone. It might have been difficult to see what exactly he was stepping carefully over, but the soft moans and giggling would belie the half dozen scantily-clad women who lounged about the floor -- some still smoking, others dropping hallucinogens even despite the interruption.

Ignoring the whores imploring him Silas headed quickly for the wardrobe on the opposite side of the room, and within moments his slender arms were laden with an assortment of dresses, gowns, and other feminine garms. He was in and out in a matter of moments, paused only momentarily by a resistant hand clutching his leg. He cursed under his breath, kicking the whore off brusquely, and a minute later the door closed behind him, shutting the women from sight, and leaving the odd couple alone in the hallway again. "Come on," he said futilely, leading her up to the bedroom, the lease to which she'd been granted for the past few days. He threw the clothes on the bed with an audible sigh. He stared at Senara blankly for a moment, as if unsure how to proceed from here on out.

He pointed at the dresses, "These," he said, turning his finger upon her, "are yours." He took a step closer, and pinched the shoulder of her current outfit in his fingers, lifting it slightly, shaking his head in disapproval. "You will not wear this anymore," he said plainly. The elf grabbed up a number of outfits and thrust them upon her. "Here you are." His arm fell upon her shoulder and he patiently guided her to the washroom, assuring her she was free to find something more aesthetically pleasing, perhaps more comfortable. "Go on," said the benevolent madman, trying his best to sound cordial as he slumped onto his bed.

[Senara]

She hadn't realized how large the Hall was even in her few brightenings wandering about. The young woman dared not take her eyes off of the half elf walking in front of her for more than a few seconds in fear of getting lost in the many corridors of the mansion. From the few glances to the walls she managed, Senara continually found herself astounded by the lavish wall hangings and other luxurious decorations that added to the rich atmosphere. Never before had she been in the presence of a numerous amount of such lovely items. Even the carpet beneath her feet felt plush and sumptuous. With each step, Senara began to feel incompatible with the material beauty surrounding her. She even began to walk on her tiptoes for fear of invisibly dirtying the grand runner beneath her.

Then he reached a room and motioned for her to stay at the door frame. As he went to the wardrobe, the young woman's eyes roamed across the room. What were all these women doing just lying around on the floor? Didn’t they have better things to do? But then she smelled the odor of narcotics in the air and wrinkled her nose. Disgusting. They’re all drugged. After living with a vysticchi family whose older son lived hedonistically, smoking and utilizing drugs every day, causing him to laze around and shout idiotic orders and lewd comments to his slaves, Senara had little tolerance for the use of such substances and had decided never to be tempted to use them herself. They all appeared to be such fools and sloths when induced anyway. Why did he put up with such lax and slothful behavior? Especially in his own home? Even if she could have asked the half elf who led her away to another room, the young woman would have bit her tongue. It was not her place to inquire into the affairs of her new master. She was only there to serve.

This time they were walking toward familiar ground; Senara recognized they were headed towards the bedroom that she had been using for the past few brightenings. But her thoughts were more focused on the half elf in front of her rather than the dresses in his arms. She was assuming she would be doing laundry or something so instead, she contemplated what exactly her new master did for a living. And then decided the better of it. Perhaps when she began to understand the language she would come to discover what exactly her master's occupation was. Right now though she was better off trying to learn the language as well as the behavior of the master.

But then upon entering the bedroom, he surprised her though. Over the past few weeks the half elven woman had only used sign language to communicate with the other slaves and had become something of an expert. Blushing when he shook his head at her current dress, Senara mechanically took the clothes and allowed herself to be led over to the washroom. What was going on? She thought she understood the basics of pointing...but what she understood couldn't actually be the truth, could it? Was he actually allowing her to choose something else more appropriate to wear from the many dresses? Never before had she been allowed to touch such finery. Every time her mistress went shopping, the young elven woman would only be allowed to carry the boxes into the bedroom where her mother would put the clothes in the closet.

Poking her head out of the washroom to look at him uncertainly, only to receive a comment which she assumed to be a sort of encouragement to look at the clothes in her arms, Senara sat down on the side of the tub and began to sift through the clothes. There was a light blue shift, just as flimsy as the dress she was currently wearing, and much shorter. "Oh my!" Senara whispered to herself in Feaniian. Now she had an idea of the type of women that were lounging around in the room. Certainly she wasn't about to join a harem...was she? Laying it aside, she turned to the next dress, now worried. Holding up the chocolate brown dress of a little longer length, Senara shook her head. The waist would certainly be too small on her; it would make her bosom heave almost out of dress. Was she really to become another prostitute in the house? The prospect left a frown on her face as she lay down the dress and proceeded onto the next one. While she was not innocent to such matters, she was not exactly knowledgeable either. "If that's the way it is to be...then there's nothing to do about it." Resigned, the half elf sighed and continued to rift through the clothes, occasionally gasping at the more revealing ones. If Silas had entered during the excavation, he would probably have found Senara's cheeks the color of cherries.

But then she found two dresses at the bottom of the pile, one reaching the floor while the other ended just after her knees. The first was black satin and had a white top attached to it to make it less scandelous. Obviously the owner wore it without the white shirt to show off her cleavage, but Senara was not interested in appearing in such a manner to her new master. Perhaps if she dressed more conservatively, she might be able to disuade him from any thoughts of making her join the...women in the other room. Quickly slipping both the shirt and dress on, Senara managed to slightly loosen the top of the bodice so that she could breathe more easily. The white shirt gave her coverage over her shoulders and sloped down a good three or four inches below her neck to give her some breathing room. And it was a perfect length too, just below her knees. It wasn't a very fancy dress, but it was definitely an outfit she could work in during the day.

Excited, the young elf smiled to herself and then slipped out of the black dress and into the other that had caught her eye. A floor length scarlet red dress with a plunging back and a low v-neck in the front. As she tugged it on, she looked at herself in the mirror and stared. The dress was absolutely lovely, but to beautiful to wear on a regular basis. This was a dress to be worn on special occasions. As if she had any to wear it to though. It stuck and smoothed itself along her slender body and curves, causing her to even blush at herself in the mirror. This wasn't like the other scandelous dresses from the pile, this was...what did her mother call it? "Sophisticated." She whispered to herself. If only her mother could see her now...

Brushing away the tears, Senara changed back into the black and white outfit, gathered up the other dresses in a nice manner and headed back out to the bedroom, placing her grey dress on the top of the pile. Gratitude shown in her eyes as she delicately placed the dresses on top of the bed and walked over to Silas, taking his hand and kissing it appreciatively and admiringly. Then she stepped back and gazed at him, wondering what would happen next now that she was in clothed in something more that she hoped pleased him.

[Silas Lescartes]

The redressed slave returned to the bedroom shortly, looking far better than she had mere moments ago; the transformation was absolute. Whereas previously she looked the part of the slave she was, she now appeared as a maid or some such thing -- instantly more respectable... if only slightly, and perhaps that would be her role at Tromperie; Silas had yet to decide. The rags she'd taken off sat atop the pile of clothes the elf had given her, and she placed them on the bed beside him. The display of affection, or gratitude (whichever it may have been) that followed was unexpected, and a little embarrassing. Silas loathed unwanted affection, and while he may not have snatched his hand from her, or slapped her as he would've undoubtedly done to the whores below, he was nevertheless made uncomfortable by it. He said nothing.

While Senara had changed, the maladjusted elf lit a fire in the room, for he the first days of spring still crawled by like winter's, and he detested the cold. The fire served a different purpose at present, however, for the elf picked up the girl's discarded outfit and tossed it into the fire. "You are now a reflection of me, and my... benevolence," he struggled to find the word. "We cannot have you parading about in such filth." The smell of food and the sounds of commotion below signified that Louise had come from the Red Sky to cook his breakfast, as he'd requested earlier. They weren't to eat just yet.

Silas stood before the girl and appraised her appearance, even while her old clothes sizzled in the fire. She looked... refined. Staring her in the eyes, he nodded emphatically, to signify his approval. "Very nice," he said mindlessly. They were going to make a trip to the library before breakfast, yet before that, there was something he wished to impress upon the girl apparently: introductions. "My name is Silas Lescartes," he said, pointlessly. He repeated himself quickly thereafter, much to his dismay; his index touched to his own chest, he began. "Si-las," he said slowly. "My name is Silas." Then he pointed at the slave to do the same. He couldn't very well keep her around if she had nothing to answer to.

[Senara]

He had thrown her clothes in the fire. In the fire. She would never, ever be able to wear them again. That dress was the only thing she had ever owned in her life and now it was burning away, mixing with the orange and red flames of the enticingly warm fire. Slowly the gray fabric burned away, givng way to large black holes growing larger by the second. In mere seconds her only posession had become a new collection of ash particles on top of the burning logs. She would never ever wear the clothing of her Vysticchi mistress again. In a way...she was free.

But now she also saw the her old habits were to be discarded. The young woman noted the stiffness in her master's manner when she kissed his hand, a ritual she was accustomed to from her days as the slave of her Vysticchi mistress. Each morning she would kiss her mistress' hand as a sign of respect, subservience and loyalty. Each time she kissed her mistress' hand it was a disgusting reminder of her life of servitude. This time she had meant it to show utmost gratitude. Apparently though this custom did not translate over to this place, wherever she was. Or maybe he was used to other signs of respect?

Wishing she could understand what he was saying, Senara wove her fingers together and listened avidly. He had a very brief struggle to find a word and then returned to a monotone sound in his voice. Something he had said made him uncomfortable and she was at a loss. The half elves stood in silence for a few moments, her eyes looked at him and then flicked to the ground. What was he thinking now? But in the next moment the young woman smelled the breakfast being made somewhere in the hall. There was a cook somewhere in the hall. Perhaps she would be able to befriend this other servant, assuming that it was another servant. And maybe she could be taught how to cook. And learn more about her new master. The possibilities all of a sudden seemed endless.

Her eyes found his once more and she noticed that he approved of her dress. Senara glowed with pleasure but found herself quickly focusing on her new master as he began saying something. Then he was pointing at himself...he was pointing to himself...Silas? She was puzzled for a moment, then it made sense. His name was Silas. Her master was named Silas. Hesitating, she laid her right hand on her chest and said, "Senara." And then she bowed foward, her hair falling to the sides of her face.