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Post by fallenraen on Sept 6, 2017 20:37:25 GMT -6
Like All the Others
Featuring Axenus and Phoebe
Setting: Valore, Eithne
Time period: Between chapters I & II
Human!AU
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Post by corruptedcorvid on Sept 8, 2017 15:25:20 GMT -6
[ Axenus ]
It was a day like any other day: wake up, take care of morning routines and make sure he was good and fresh, took care of the patrol and head back to the barracks until being sent out to another part of the city for work. Around were slaves, lots and lots of slaves. It was no different from when Axenus had been younger, servile slaves up and around the house doing chores. Washing dishes, dusting the shelves and all around, cleaning up messes. The labour slaves were no different, but they certainly had it worse.
It made his skin crawl every time one of them messed up or broke something or did something wrong. A Chevalier or two would stomp in their direction and scold them or put them in their place. Replaceable. That’s all they were. No one cared if they were broken or tired. Their job was to work, work and work, and nothing but that. Once they were done, another came and took their place. It was sad to see that every day, so he did his best to keep their spirits lifted. He wasn’t like the rest and they could see that; Ax never raised his voice or lifted a hand to them if something wasn’t done right. They made him worry more than anything.
He was with his back against the nearest wall, arms crossed as he was told to keep watch over them. His job was to keep them in their place and make sure they did as they were told. It was never a problem, the slaves a nice set of company when the other Chevaliers weren’t watching. They talked when they could, exchanged a couple words or did his best to help them with something. He felt bad, working around them a lot changing the way he saw them and what he saw them as. They were all living as we were and they had feelings. If it was anyone the Chevalier despised, it was definitely all of Aodh.
He’d let out a long sigh, taking his hands and raking his fingers through his thick black hair when it just wouldn’t be tamed. Always falling into his face or getting in the way, but it added onto who he was and how he looked, so it was definitely a keeper. His arms dropped back to his side, taking a step away from the wall and walking around. His eyes glanced to the slaves that were passed, watching them work and sneaking in a smile here and there in their direction. They needed it to, something to keep them going. A little bit of nice went a long way.
Word Count: 448 | Post #1 |
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Post by fallenraen on Sept 8, 2017 16:05:56 GMT -6
Phoebe
Friendship is a flower that grows from trust Winter, despite the cold drafts that could drift into the rooms the slaves slept in within the Dark District, was perhaps one of the easier times to work. The days weren’t as hot nor seemingly as long, though many fell ill to the chill in the air that nipped at them all as they stood in the cold and worked. As winter gave way to spring, however, the days got warmer. Longer, yes, but there were less coughs that filled the night, fewer sneezes among bodies all pressed together. It was tolerable to work during, one of the younger in the bunch of slaves made to paint the walls and fix the gardens or exterior of the building that was their project left to stand out in the sun as she brought up a paintbrush to stroke over the side of the building.
It wavered, faltered, her grip unsteady on the brush. She’d been a labor slave for less than half of the year, the days slipped by with no way to keep track of them then besides the seasons without her masters telling her what day it was of what month and what appointments they had that they had to attend to or host. It was the stress that made her nervous, fearful to mess up. One mistake and it seemed she was usually one of the most yelled at, she personally felt, yet she tried to make up for what she did wrong. She took on extra work, attempted to prove herself to be a good slave. She wanted to be a good slave, someone worthy of praise. She sighed, as she painted and thought next to another slave tasked with the same chore, before she turned to dip her brush back into the paint bucket - and it spilled from being knocked aside the side too hard.
Over the pavement, a sandy cream washing up onto the shoes of some other slave who snapped.
“Don’t you know how to paint?!” they shouted, startling others around them. Even Phoebe had jumped, unexpectedly dropping the brush she’d been holding and staring at them with wide eyes.
“I - I - I,” she stammered, stumbling over her words, “I’m s-sorry… I didn’t mean t-to…” she was trying to explain, wanting to ask if they wished for her to clean their shoes.
Instead they stamped them, no doubt tired from standing all day until their own knees probably ached on top of then having paint splashed onto them. What was wrong with this little girl? Didn’t she know how to speak if she couldn’t do her own job?
Her heart felt as if it were skipping as she shied away, her gaze falling to the ground. No doubt a Chevalier would overhear them scolding her, come to as well and then escort her away to get a new bucket of paint if not some soap and water to scrub the street with. Why couldn’t she do one simple job? The frustration at her own failure had tearing pricking at her eyes, apologies falling back from her mouth.
Post count: #1 | Word count: 513
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Post by corruptedcorvid on Sept 13, 2017 18:26:51 GMT -6
[ Axenus ]
Everything seemed to be going as it was meant to. The slaves did their jobs otherwise peacefully and silently, gathering paint on their brushes and smearing it onto the building they are taking care of. As he was about to turn back and make another round in the direction he came from, he flinched from the sound of a bucket tipping over and hitting the cobblestone below. Oh no.
Spinning around, he spotted a smaller slave not too far from where he stood, another slave turned on them with anger as paint spilled around their feet. His heart ached for the girl, feeling bad for her and the other slave who was angry with her. Lord Ignacio, why must it be this way? Axenus peered around, hurriedly stepping over to the two before another Chevalier decided to take his place. He knew he was the best for the job unless everyone wanted to have a whole argument going on.
“Hey, you two,” he called over to them, his voice gentle as he spoke. His attention landed on the other slave first, nodding his head over his shoulder. “Take a break. Go clean yourself up and fetch another pair of shoes, alright? I don’t think anyone wants to stand in wet painted shoes all day,” he added, ignoring the scowling and grumbling from the other slave as they set their own brush down to do as he was told. Another Chevalier would take charge and escort them to where they needed to be.
It was then that the younger slave stole his attention away, a frown on his face when it seemed she was going to cry. The tears were threatening to spill over and run down her cheeks, but there was no need for that. “Hey,” he started, his voice softer than before. “Look, this isn’t a big deal, ok? Mistakes happen. We’ll get this cleaned up,” he explained to her, putting a hand against her back and lightly urging her to come with him.
“Let’s go find some rags and soap or something to clean this mess.” And probably get her to calm down. If she was a wreck and was made to get back to work, surely something else could happen and the other Chevaliers would be on her about it. She was a fragile little thing and didn’t deserve that kind of treatment from the soldiers who were already tough enough from training or wars. He peeked down at her, tipping his head to one side. “I’m, uh, Axenus,” he said, “What’s your name?”
Word Count: 427 | Post #2 |
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Post by fallenraen on Sept 13, 2017 22:17:27 GMT -6
Phoebe
Friendship is a flower that grows from trust “Hey, you two,” someone spoke up, Phoebe’s stomach dropping to her own feet.
Oh gods, then it truly began, didn’t it? If it had been at all possible, the girl’s eyes would have widened even more at the sound of another voice breaking in between her stammering apologies and the irritated slave before her who had likely had enough of her and the day entirely. Was she going to be yelled at more? She watched the Chevalier in his uniform make his way over, clutching her hands close to her chest as she backed up, though they didn’t make a move towards her. Instead, they spoke to the other riled up slave who cursed under their breath, all put stomping away in their paint-soaked shoes.
She frowned, watching them leave, footprints behind on the cobblestone made from the paint on their shoes, and the others turn back to their work while she was faced with the Chevalier in front of her. She dread being yelled at, scolded more than she already had been, and she felt embarrassed. It burned in her cheeks as the tears welled up in her eyes, hastily brushing them away as she was told that it wasn’t a big deal she’d spilled paint onto someone else. Wasn’t it? They’d have to get new shoes… their job was put on hold unless another slave was assigned it - hers as well. That was two less slaves to finish the project for the day if their time was taken up doing something else.
She’d expected him to yell where she was met with only a soft voice, but still she flinched when he touched her back, hesitant to walk with him until she had no other choice. “O-okay…” came the soft reply, her gaze falling to the ground as they walked and she nervously interlaced her fingers in front of herself to keep her hands from making anymore mistakes (despite the Chevalier beside her reassuring her that mistakes did happen). At the least they were going to clean it up, so she supposed it couldn’t be that bad… right? She bit the inside of her cheek, walking quietly, until he spoke up again.
Why was he introducing himself? Most of the Chevaliers did not unless to announce who they were and that they would be overlooking the group of slaves today, and even then that couldn’t really be counted as an introduction. One of her hands dropped to tuck her hair behind her ear when it began to fall, creating a curtain in front of her face while she tried to hide her confusion. Why was he being so nice to her? Not all Chevaliers were mean, no, yet they weren’t… soft. They probably didn’t cry over spilling paint like she did.
“Phoebe,” she offered at last, her voice just as quiet as it had been the first time she’d spoken up. It didn’t hurt to give her name, did it? It wasn’t as though they had name tags and, admittedly, being called her name was a lot better than “slave” or “girl” and even “you there” (when there were numerous other girls not to mention other slaves in general who could respond to that last one unless directly pointed to).
Post count: #2 | Word count: 542
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Post by corruptedcorvid on Sept 14, 2017 16:31:48 GMT -6
[ Axenus ]
She’d looked about ready to break as he approached, backing up and wanting to disappear. If he was honest, he couldn’t blame her. She seemed about as clumsy as could be, dropping an entire paint can over and even getting it onto another slave’s shoes. His guess was that she didn’t get it very well, her hesitation and fear making that much pretty obvious to his eyes. A poor soul.
His hand pulled back as soon as he felt her flinch, not wanting to scare her anymore than she was. At least she came along with him which was what he needed. Just a quick clean of a mess and they could put the entire catastrophe behind them.
“Phoebe,” he repeated with a soft ‘hm’, stepping away and over to where they had supplies set down for cleaning and other things in case they needed it. What he grabbed was a bucket of water, some cleaning chemicals, and rags. It was best to hurry before the paint ended up drying in some spots. That would make the job a whole lot more difficult.
He stood up straight after grabbing everything he could, facing the young slave once again. “Well, Phoebe. There is no reason for you to be worrying, alright? It was a bucket of paint. Nothing that can’t be fixed,” he assured her, trying for a smile then. Would she appreciate the gesture or just brush it aside and continue to be upset? The Chevalier kept away a frown that tried to creep onto his face, shaking his head and turning back to walk where they originally came from. He kept the supplies to himself so she wouldn't have to carry any of it, even if it may have been a slave’s job to.
Before they made it back to the paint spill, Ax excused himself and stepped aside to speak a few words with two other Chevaliers he came across. Probably nothing Phoebe could hear with them practically whispering, but he went back to Phoebe after a few moments and once again led the way. “I’m sure this should take no more than a couple minutes. Just some washing and scrubbing to get out all the paint.” Nothing too big, he hoped.
Word Count: 374 | Post #3 |
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Post by fallenraen on Sept 15, 2017 1:09:33 GMT -6
Phoebe
Friendship is a flower that grows from trust He repeated her name after she gave it away, a confession on her lips, and a ‘hm’ followed afterwards. What did that mean? She peeked up at him from under her eyelashes, having looked away as they’d walked, but couldn’t bring herself to ask whether or not it was a good ‘hm’ or bad. Had he wanted it to yell at her later on as the others did? Some seemingly pretended to be nice, gave treats to the slaves, and then turned on them when their patience grew thin or drained completely. Everyone’s patience ran out eventually. Her gaze lowered to the street, her hair slipping from its placed she’d tucked behind her ear as they walked.
Her arms wrapped around herself, the back of her neck aching, stinging with the threat of more tears, until they came to a stop. The Chevalier, Axenus, gathered what they needed for the clean up job. Rags, a spare bucket, chemicals. She frowned, knowing the smell would cling to their hands long after the job was done, but what was her place to complain? Her gaze lifted to him when he spoke after rubbing at her eyes as if she weren’t about to cry again. No reason for her to worry? She didn’t look so sure, though she couldn’t find it in herself to argue. “Al-alright…” It was all she could say, wanting to believe his reassurance and smile.
She had no idea who he was, but he hadn’t seemed entirely so bad. If the street could be fixed as he said, what it really a big deal then that she’d spilled one bucket among many? She didn’t smile back as much as she shyly looked to her feet, waiting until he moved when it seemed he was not going to have her carry their cleaning supplies. It was foreign to have her hands empty, useless, yet she followed the Chevalier wordlessly until he excused himself and left her standing there. A lost child next to slaves who all worked while he spoke with the other Chevaliers, a small spike of worry skipping in her heart. Was he telling them about her? Planning what her punishment would be later?
Phoebe’s bottom lip was worried between her teeth, the taste of blood on the inside of her lip by the time he came back and she tried to straighten herself up and appear more presentable. A good slave. It’s what she wanted to be, yes? She had to be. She swallowed, nervously toying with her fingers as he made his way back. A couple minutes? “What… what then?” She had to ask, holding back from wincing. Maybe she shouldn’t ask - it wasn’t her place to. “N-never mind… We can just - we can just clean.” And worry about after when it happened.
She hesitated, unsure if she was allowed to take from him, before she held her hand out to help set the bucket down by the paint she had spilled over the cobblestone. Rags. Was he sure they were going to do the job and not some kind of brush? She held her hand out for one of them regardless to kneel over the stone, the chill climbing up from her knees, and begin to work. A couple minutes, and then she’d see what else was there that he’d have her do. She stole a side glance at him while scrubbing, unsure whether to thank him then or not. Was he a good person to?
Post count: #3 | Word count: 381
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Post by corruptedcorvid on Sept 15, 2017 18:03:11 GMT -6
[ Axenus ]
Phoebe wasn’t a very talkative one, he’d noticed. Was it the whole ‘speak only when spoken to’ that she was following (even though he was speaking to her, so he didn’t understand)? All he got out of it was that she was still very frightened, probably expecting the worst for herself after the paint spill was cleaned up. It was sad to see, the expressions on her face when she got more worried over some thought that probably popped into her head. He noticed it again after coming back, her finally speaking up to ask him what then?
Ax only looked at her then, a faint frown on his face. Was she expecting to be beaten or worse? It was only a can of paint. “Well, after all of this, you can stop worrying,” he told her, a mix between sternness and a joke. Worrying was stressful and he didn’t want her to over stress herself. That wasn’t healthy. “After this, the mess will be cleaned and everything will be okay.” How okay would that be for her? Slave life wasn’t okay. He pressed his lips in a thin line when she otherwise brushed away her question as if it hadn’t been asked, a sigh escaping. It was her wish and he’d give it to her.
What he hadn’t expected was for her to help him set everything down near the mess. No, he did expect it from her, but he didn’t expect her to do it. He didn’t want to toss the work on her just because it was what the slaves did. Still, he grabbed one of the rags and held it out to her before kneeling down beside her. How many of the other Chevaliers got down on their knees to clean up messes with or for the slaves? He felt eyes on him, as if what he was doing was a weird sight to lay eyes on. Maybe it was, but could he be blamed for wanting to help? For his heart to be in the right place?
He dumped the rag into the bucket of cleaning chemicals and dropped it on the cobblestone, scrubbing up and down as he tried to get rid of the paint. What a mess. It wasn’t a comment he spoke aloud, not wanting her to think he was accusing her and make her feel more bad. He wasn’t. It just really was messy. The Chevalier peeked over at the slave briefly, watching her clean and thinking to himself.
“Going back to what you asked earlier,” he said, bringing up the question she’d wanted to drop. His attention turned back to the paint stained cobblestone, focusing on scrubbing it clean. “After this is done, I’m moving you somewhere else. I figured you might want to do something a bit less… messy? And maybe you just wanted to get away from here.” In case she felt ashamed after what she’d done. He understood the feeling of wanting to disappear, though it wasn’t so much the case with him as it was with others. He just noticed it. Ax’s shoulders lifted in a small shrug, dumping the rag back into the water to clean it out and get more water and chemicals soaked into it. Man, are we going to stink after this. The thought made him chuckle, bringing the rag back to the ground to scrub once more.
Word Count: 566 | Post #4 |
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Post by fallenraen on Sept 16, 2017 22:22:58 GMT -6
Phoebe
Friendship is a flower that grows from trust Talkative? By the Starscape, no. It was partially the “rule” of speak only when spoken to, to be heard only when addressed as slaves were merely seen as they worked, but also simply Phoebe herself. Conversation… wasn’t exactly her thing. She didn’t know what to say to the Chevalier other than to apologize for causing him all this trouble of having to deal with her. She knew that she was a hassle; she had been told so numerous times by her past masters. Who would want to clean up after her mess?
His joke went over her head, the smaller and younger girl frowning in confusion. How could she make herself stop worrying? She didn’t ask, only nodding. Do as she was told, or at least pretend to, yes? That was a good slave. She told herself not to worry, especially when again Axenus assured her that everything was going to be okay, and maybe everything would be okay. Wasn’t that how encouragement worked? Or at least acting, though the girl knew nothing of such arts. Teaching, for a former servile slave, had been extremely basic. For her there’d been no reading or writing, no dancing or painting. Just cook and clean, do as she was told. It hadn’t been so bad when, at least, right then she was use to cleaning up messes.
Her own included. While the smell of paint and chemicals stung her nose, and would no doubt stain her hands with their scent long after unless they were allowed to wash their hands, the scrub, rinse, and repeat was something she had gotten use to over the years. What surprised her was the Chevalier dropping to his own knees, working beside her that got her to blink before she looked away when warmth rose up into her cheeks. He didn’t have to actually clean up her mess… It had been hers to spill, therefore hers to scrub up. While it was unusual, different, she found herself appreciating his help.
There was even the smallest smile that came to the corner of her face, her shoulders relaxing as they worked. Her gaze found its way back to him when he spoke, bringing up her earlier her question, and she was admittedly relieved to hear that she wouldn’t be given some kind of worse assignment. It’d been honestly what she’d been expecting, though she didn’t say anything of it in the case he changed his mind. “I - I don’t mind working here, Axenus, sir… but if you - if you believe I would be better placed elsewhere, I’ll do what you say,” she told him, nodding before she looked back to the paint they were wiping off the street. A few more words, a couple actual sentences? That was as surprising as his kindness, it being the most she’d probably said all day at once.
She didn’t let it get to her head, focusing on their task at hand and wondering where it was he was assigning her next. If not painting, then what other project on the site? Bringing water to the Chevaliers? No, she’d surely trip and spill any at some point. The gathering of stones for the building being built still on the other side was too much for her, anyone could see that. So what? “What - what is less messy of a job?” she dared to ask, peeking over at him again.
Post count: #4 | Word count: 567
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Post by corruptedcorvid on Sept 18, 2017 19:26:13 GMT -6
[ Axenus ]
He wasn’t sure he believed she would stop with her worrying. One couldn’t make one feel something just because it was asked of them, and he knew he couldn’t make her stop worrying. Ask? Sure. Reassure her or try? Yes. Actually making her was a different story, but he did his part and he tried. It was the thought that counted, or so he hoped. Phoebe didn’t look too… convinced that he was genuine. Yet, he couldn’t blame her. Sometimes such kindness towards a slave was odd and it wasn’t always that they earned it. If only there were more.
He felt her eyes on him, the confusion in her stare that brought his own up to meet hers. What he’d wanted to do was laugh a bit, but it was the other Chevaliers around that had him keep silent apart from a ghost of a smile that snuck onto his lips. It usually was a slave’s job to do such a dirty job, but it couldn’t possibly be wrong to want to help. No one could really grab him by the collar, lift him away, and scold him before sending him elsewhere. At least he thought.
“I know you wouldn’t mind it,” he explained, and really she would have no other choice if not asked to do something else. Why can’t they paint their own damn buildings? He paused in his scrubbing, tipping his head to one side as he searched for words. “I just thought you would maybe like something easier -- not that I don’t think you can handle painting,” he added in quickly so he wouldn’t accidentally hurt her feelings. She did a great job painting; it was one small mistake of spilling a bucket that had occurred. They happened.
She’d do what he said. It almost brought a frown to his face, realizing how easy a slave would bend for their masters and do as they wanted no matter what. From the simplest thing to something completely unrealistic and they would have no say. He puffed out a breath that he felt he’d been holding onto a bit too long, rubbing his arm over his brow before going back to the job they had in front of them.
“I don’t think working in the gardens is that much more clean, but doesn’t it beat smelling like paint and chemicals?” he asked, peering up at her for a moment. Dirt sure had a nicer earthy smell than any of what they were dealing with. Plus it could be more fun to get dirty in dirt rather than being covered in paint. He rinsed the rag once more, scrubbing up what remained of the paint on the cobblestones the best he could. “Which, by the way, we’ll take care of after this. I don’t think breathing in all these chemicals and having it on your skin for too long is that healthy. I’ll take you to wash up and then we can head on over to where we need to be.”
Word Count: 503 | Post #5 |
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Post by fallenraen on Sept 19, 2017 23:28:17 GMT -6
Phoebe
Friendship is a flower that grows from trust It didn’t hurt to try. To try to believe in the Chevalier helping her, try to convince herself that everyone would be okay, try to stop worrying. She scrubbed, she scrubbed at the cobblestone and thought over what he said. What was easier than painting? Probably not much. Painting was only the stroke of a brush, a dip in whatever colored paint she was told to in what sections she was supposed to along with the other slaves she painted beside. A small frown tugged down the corners of her mouth despite him adding in that him thinking she would like something easier to do wasn’t because she couldn’t handle painting. She felt incapable of it, of such a simple task always handed to her because she couldn’t do much else as a slave of any kind, and it was enough to drag down her gaze.
Such negative thoughts, such a hard time believing in herself. Maybe it was a little more difficult to stop worrying than she’d thought. Someone didn’t just wish themselves better, after all. She bit the inside of her cheek, quiet and working until when he spoke up next had her glancing back up. The gardens? From negativity, she noticeably perked up a little. “We’ll be working with the flowers around the building?” she asked, her voice soft and quiet. That seemed… that seemed a little more doable if painting had failed thus far. What could she possibly do wrong planting? Dirt was already mess to begin with, and the owner of the building had already laid out a blueprint for the plots. They could follow that…
But why would he continue to help her? That was what stumped her, the girl pausing and hesitating as her teeth found her bottom lip before she said, “I-I guess so, yes… I would rather not -- I would rather you not smell of paint and - and chemicals all day, sir.” Just because he wanted to help her. What was he doing? Did he not have elsewhere to be? More important things to do? She didn’t understand, though she couldn’t bring herself to ask as she shook her head and looked away to focus on cleaning up the last of the bit of paint they could. What a mess she shad made. She stifled a sigh, her gaze finding its way back to him as they worked and he spoke.
“It’s not healthy for you either, Axenus,” she pointed out meekly, frowning again, “Why - why did you help me? If… if you don’t me asking… I just don’t - I don’t understand why you’d risk getting these sort of chemicals in your skin.” In his lungs too. She… well, she could always go to a sanctuary if later on she had trouble breathing or was plagued by coughs from the fumes. She would feel terrible if the Chevalier had to go to a doctor’s office for the same reason all because he’d decided to help her. Why bother to?
Still, she couldn’t find herself refusing his offer to take her to go get washed up. Not having to smell like cleaning chemicals or paint all day would be nice. “Thank you,” she said at last, not really explaining what for. Everything? Helping her clean, offering to take her to clean themselves up? Giving her a new assignment, one hopefully easier for all of them? No other slaves would have to suffer with any messes she caused as, pointed out before, planting was messy to begin with.
Post count: #5 | Word count: 585
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Post by corruptedcorvid on Sept 21, 2017 23:26:27 GMT -6
[ Axenus ]
She was frowning. Was that on him? Had he worded his thoughts wrong and she ended up getting the wrong idea anyways? Ax opened his mouth to say something, anything, but gave up. He’d probably only make it worse. It was either that or she was just thinking too negatively about herself, understanding the feeling as he’d seen it in a lot of slaves. Worthless, replaceable property. What else could they feel?
He could only sigh, shaking his head at the thoughts at he continued to scrub at the stones. Almost clean. Just a bit more. What surprised him completely when he looked back at her was the way she immediately perked up at the mention of working at the gardens. Did she like flowers? Did she actually enjoy working in that area? “Yes, it’ll be what we’re working with. Do you, uh… do you like to?” Hopefully for her it was much more enjoyable than painting and smelling like it or chemicals.
Ax set his rag aside, hanging it over the edge of the bucket as he settled back, looking down at his hands. He’d almost run them through his hair, but the smell and reminder of chemicals kept him back. That was the last thing he needed soaked into his scalp and strands. “I don’t think you’d want to smell like paint and chemicals either,” he told her, biting back on a small smile. Of course she would change it and tell him she didn’t want him exposed to the chemicals, but he knew. “If I’m not smelling of paint and chemicals, I’m probably smelling of sweat from a day’s hard work. Don’t you worry about me,” he told her gently with another shake of his head. He was strong and he was, for the most part, healthy. He wasn’t too worried.
And then there came the question of ‘why?’ He lowered his hands, his fingers brushing along the stones on the ground. Is it wrong to be kind? His gaze stayed on her for a couple moments, no words leaving his mouth as he wasn’t sure how to respond. “Hey. I’ll get myself clean, Phoebe. I’m not afraid to take risks,” was what he settled with, not the answer she was looking for and not what he wanted either, but he figured it would work. He pushed himself to his feet, holding out his hand regardless of the chemicals. She’d touched it too, so what did it it matter if she touched his hand?
Thank you. Even though it wasn’t explained what she was thanking him for, he thought he had an idea. It felt nice to hear regardless of how she hadn’t needed to thank him. It was what he did. He liked to be there to help however he could, but at least the smile on his face grew just a smidge. “You’re welcome. Now, come on. Let’s go get you cleaned up.” And the rags and bucket back to where they got them so they could head on to their next area of work.
Word Count : 510 | Post #6 |
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Post by fallenraen on Sept 22, 2017 23:23:48 GMT -6
Phoebe
Friendship is a flower that grows from trust It was her own fault, really. Normally the girl wasn’t so negative, yet from time to time the thoughts had a way of creeping in for anyone. For labor slaves such as herself… it wasn’t difficult to see why. Many of them did feel like the city’s property, easily replaceable when they perished under the labor they worked under. It was no wonder for their name as, sometimes, the work was truly unbearable to those tasked with worse jobs than just painting. It was difficult for her who had once been a servile slave to tend to her master’s every whim and wish to be unable to do the simplest jobs handed to her by the Chevaliers that oversaw. What use was a slave that could do nothing?
Those kind of thoughts, however, were quickly swept up and to the side at the mention of the possible new assignment she could be given. She’d never been really asked before what she would like to do, so she was taken back by his question and blinked at him before warmth slowly came to her cheeks and she looked back to the mess they were cleaning. “I… I don’t know, really,” she admitted, “It sounds fun.” Easier than painting despite her earlier wonders of what could be easier than that. All planting was was just digging in dirt, setting down the plants, and covering them up, right? She sat back when what they could do of their job was done, her rag following his own as she tried not to wrinkle her nose to the smell left over. That was nauseating.
From the thought, and where her gaze was on her hands, she glanced back up at him, looking sheepish to what he told her. Would she want to smell like paint or chemicals? Of course not. Who would? Yet, as always, she was putting someone else before her. Their needs, their health. She was more concerned for the Chevalier than her own well being, but she did not deny his statement. “I’ll try,” she promised him, however small and childish she might sound. He was a Chevalier after all. He didn’t need a little girl, a slave at that, looking out after him.
His answer, to her question of why he helped her, why he risked helping her at that knowing how dangerous chemicals could be to the skin or their smell alone, hadn’t been what she’d been looking for. Not exactly, though still: she seemed satisfied with his answer regardless when during the silence he’d taken to think over it and look to her she’d shyly looked elsewhere. Had it been wrong of her to question him? If he was unafraid to take the risks, then it had probably been nothing to help her clean up. The work had gotten done twice as fast as it might have by herself alone, anyways, so she didn’t see any harm in it as they were going to clean themselves up. What harm had there been?
She was hesitant to take the offered hand, not because he too smelled of chemicals that was no issue when she did, but because she wasn’t use to the help up. When she stumbled, when she fell, she picked herself up off her knees. It’d been that way since she’d left her mother’s side, had been forced to really, but there was this boy… She reached up, pausing, before she eventually took his hand to stand up with the help he offered, her cheeks warm again by the time she took her hand back to herself and interlaced her own fingers in front of herself as she looked away. “Al-alright,” she said, to him saying to ‘come on’ before she asked if it was alright of her to take a bucket. He could have one, and she could too. Would that be bad?
Post count: #6 | Word count: 646
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Post by corruptedcorvid on Sept 23, 2017 21:57:20 GMT -6
[ Axenus ]
If he had it his way at all, the slaves wouldn’t be working such silly or difficult jobs for them. No, there wouldn’t be any slaves to begin with. How was it a fair lifestyle? While the higher ups lived in luxury, the poor or the slaves lived in struggle or to work for those higher. Servile slaves worked for their own masters, pit fighters were forced to fight, and labour slaves worked for the city and had it so much worse. It was a big thing in Aodh, but he disliked it. He refused to accept it.
And then there was the young girl in front of him, so confused as to what she was meant to do with the kindness he gave towards her. Too young and too innocent. The blush painting her cheeks lifted his brows; had they been alone he may have laughed or joked about it, but he was quiet, only the glittering of amusement in his blue eyes. “It can be fun -- so can painting, really. Just not out here.” Not on the buildings for the city. Did she like to paint otherwise? Maybe with nice paints and canvas? He didn’t ask, nodding to what she said.
He hoped she would try to not worry. Not about him or his health when her own well being mattered, or at least should have to herself. “Good. I wouldn’t want to sound demanding, but it’s not needed regardless of how I do appreciate the thought,” he admitted. Just so she didn’t think he was pushing aside her feelings. It’d been nice that she cared, but there were things more important that she could worry about. While he’d helped her and offered to move her somewhere easier, she didn’t know him.
His head tipped to the side as he watched, waited to see if she would take his hand. It didn’t look like it at first, making him wonder if he was wrong to offer his hand for help. In the end, she did take it and he pulled her to her feet gently. Once again, he felt the stares from other Chevaliers and the slaves. Confusion from the workers and disbelief from the soldiers. Axenus brushed them off, simply ignoring them as his focus was on the slave in front of him.
Did she really want to carry one of the buckets? He bit back on a sigh, guessing that she would have to since it technically was her job according to the city. The last thing he wanted was for her to get in trouble for him doing the work for her if they thought she was slacking and using him to her advantage. “Here.” One of the buckets was handed to her, the lighter one no doubt, and he stepped away to walk in the direction they came from earlier. “We can go drop these back off and then head to the gardens from there. We’ll probably have to grab some tools first anyways.” Like digging tools, but he didn’t want to forget to clean their hands first. The chemicals were irritating his skin and he wanted them off, same for her.
Word Count: 528 | Post #7 |
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Post by fallenraen on Sept 25, 2017 21:22:31 GMT -6
Phoebe
Friendship is a flower that grows from trust Was he inwardly laughing at her blush? She’d ducked her gaze away, the heat in her cheeks all but burning them. “Y-yeah,” she agreed, however nervously she likely seemed, “I don’t… I don’t think painting today was a very successful day.” Though, when was it? All the slaves did was paint plain buildings, the same colors over and over. For her, if she made a mistake, it was easily painted over. Spilling the paint all over the floor, or in that case the road, wasn’t as common of an experience she felt was better likely forgotten before she started worrying about it all over again. Would they have to buy more paint? Who else would they place on painting duty or who would be given extra time to complete the jobs the other slave and herself hadn’t been able to finish?
No doubt thoughts to fret over later, though right then when she was trying to look up - and literally did have to. Demanding? She shook her head when he said that he didn’t want to sound that way, almost lifting a hand up to brush her hair back behind her ear when she looked up before she paused and thought better of it. No, she wouldn’t want chemicals in her hair. That was just more to wash. “You - you don’t sound demanding.” Could he ever have tried? For a Chevalier, he’d done nothing but be polite to her. Not that it was entirely rare, there were kind Chevaliers, but again: their patience usually seemed to wear out at one point or another. A slave did or said something, and usually their time of being nice for that day was gone. She had to wonder how long his would last.
Or was his heart made of gold? Someone so pure probably wouldn’t have become a Chevalier, exposed to what they all saw. She said nothing of it once she’d stood, waiting and even giving the smallest smile when Axenus did hand her a bucket to carry with him. That made her feel a little better, less useless as she walked beside him. The others she paid no mind to, almost forgetting they were there if not for the quiet chatter the fellow slaves were allowed to have. “After we, um, wash, right?” she asked him when he told her the plan, glancing up at him as she checked to make sure. “I don’t think plants would like chemicals - plus they kind of… They’re kind of annoying.”
The way they itched her nose from their smell, irritated no doubt both of their hands even if only mildly. It would be a relief to rinse and wash off before they got to work with something a little more natural. Little beat, besides the water Cascade had created, simple earth.
Post count: #7 | Word count: 467
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Post by corruptedcorvid on Sept 27, 2017 1:32:34 GMT -6
[ Axenus ]
What a shy girl. He made a mental note to be careful if he decided he was going to laugh, not wanting her to take it in the wrong way and be hurt by it. “Mistakes happen, Phoebe. I understand that.” Not everyone did and he was glad he stepped in when he could. He worried what would have happened if anyone else got there before him and took charge of what to do with her. No, the problem had been fixed. There was no need for any of that. “We all have our days that sometimes don’t go as planned.”
But he hoped him jumping in and saving her from yelling or possibly punishment made her feel better. Did the slaves ever expect to be saved like that or did they just accept their punishment if no amount of prayers helped? At least he didn’t sound demanding, and he gave a nod to her when she told him that. Good. There were some circumstances where he didn’t care how he sounded or acted, but this was a different situation. He could count on maybe one hand the amount of times he’d yelled at a slave or acted like a complete jerk, if even that.
He caught a glimpse of her smile, glad to have gotten one out of her, even if it was from simply handing her a bucket. What a sweet little girl. He wondered if she ever smiled often or if it was a rare sight. Not that he would ask, especially since sometimes was better than never. He looked ahead, leading her back to the area from where they got the buckets and rags from to begin with. He blinked when she reminded him about the cleaning up part, giving an awkward laugh and almost rubbing the back of his neck with his chemical covered hands.
“Right! Yes, of course we’ll go and clean ourselves,” he agreed with a quick nod. He’d thought about it and had full intent on getting them cleaned, yet forgot to bring it up while listing what they were doing. Whoops. “Plants wouldn’t love chemicals and I wouldn’t want either of us getting in trouble for murdering a whole thing of them.” Not at all. He didn’t want to imagine the kind of trouble he’d get the poor slave into, and he didn’t know what they would do to him. Maybe a lot of yelling and he hated sitting down for that shit. He’d had his fair share of scoldings from both his commanding officers and his parents.
Axenus dropped the bucket of chemicals where he got it from, along with the rags besides them to dry. While waiting for her to put hers down as well, he shook his hands out and wrinkled his nose. How did Phoebe deal with that on a daily basis? He definitely couldn’t. “Alright, so let’s go clean ourselves up and then we’ll head right on over, Phoebe.” He nodded with his head in the other direction, turning around and beginning to walk to where the area for them to clean up was.
Word Count: 518 | Post #8 |
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Post by fallenraen on Sept 28, 2017 0:12:42 GMT -6
Phoebe
Friendship is a flower that grows from trust Mistakes did happen. To her the most it seemed, but still: his positivity brought some relief. How could she be a bad slave when everyone, apparently, had days that didn’t go as planned? “Do you?” she asked him, almost finding it difficult to believe. He wasn’t too much older than her, it didn’t seem much like it when she looked at the man, though then and again she was only eighteen. Maybe, as more of an adult, she would mess up less. Just maybe. She was still curious of to his off days, if he really had them.
It seemed like Chevaliers never messed up. The nobles were perfect, the nobility almost divine. What could Axenus possibly mess up? His hair? Even that seemed unlikely, though the girl said nothing of it nor bring her doubt back into the conversation once they had stood and began to make their way back to the supply area for the project. His exclamation, the “right!” that fell from his lips, startled her ever so slightly as she looked at him before she relaxed and continued to walk beside him, forcing a smile to cover up her jumpiness. “I wouldn’t want to hurt the plants with - with the chemicals on our hands,” she commented, inwardly dreading the trouble he spoke of if they had. Would they make them do the entire garden by themselves or task them with something worse?
Would he be forced to work with her - or oversee her as she did all the work and he was not allowed to aid? All seemed horrible choices that she quickly shook her head to to shake, focusing on where they were going. He set the bucket down, the rag as well where hers soon followed, until he announced they were going to clean themselves up and head over to the next station in the overall project. Weren’t they supposed to clean up? She gave an uncertain look to the buckets they were leaving behind before she decided in the end it was best to not worry about them if he did not, quickly scurrying after the Chevalier to fall into pace beside him.
Post count: #8 | Word count: 360
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Post by corruptedcorvid on Sept 30, 2017 0:13:13 GMT -6
[ Axenus ]
Did he? She questioned him and it made him laugh, putting his hand over his face and shaking his head. What, did she think he was perfect? He certainly didn’t. His nose wrinkled, remembering his hands weren’t yet clean and he dropped his hand back to his side, grinning at her. “Please. I have just as many bad days as you. Some days, I forget how to use a sword and hurt someone during practice. I’ll drop something or trip and fall over in public. It’s happened, trust me.” And then there were days he couldn’t hold his alcohol and he let it go over someone or his gambling days weren’t as good as he hoped. Those were ones he kept to himself, unsure of how she would look at him then. He wanted her to like him, to trust him. She needed a good friend, one on the outside.
“So yeah. I, um, I’m not that perfect, Phoebe,” he assured her, rubbing his hands together. Far from it. Maybe perfect in his own ways through another's eyes, but not perfect. Never perfect. He shook his head, cringing almost when his exclamation made the girl jump and he had to apologize softly. Whoops. “Neither of us do. They don’t deserve it, the poor plants,” he agreed, peeking at her when she stared at the buckets for a few moments longer before she followed after him. Was she worried about them?
“Hey,” he said, to get her to look at him while he spoke. “It’s fine. I’ll get those later if anything. You won’t be in trouble.” Did most of her days go by with her worrying about it? It sure seemed like it. The girl needed a break. Maybe one day he would steal her and take her to do something nice… surely he could skip a patrol and show her more than just the work they made them do. He didn’t speak his thoughts, figuring if he were to do anything, a surprise would be nice. A surprise filled with worry because he knew it’d be what she’d do. Axenus bit on his lower lip to hold back a chuckle, leading the way towards the cleaning stations.
As soon as they arrived, he took her over to one of them and turned the water on for them to use. He stuck his hands under, scrubbing at them and then splashing some onto his face to cool off. “That feels a lot better,” he sighed with content, enjoying the coolness from the water after the bit of work they settled down to do. It was a few moments there and then back into the sun for more work. At least planting sounded much more relaxing than some painting.
Word Count: 458 | Post #9 |
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Post by fallenraen on Sept 30, 2017 0:58:23 GMT -6
Phoebe
Friendship is a flower that grows from trust He what she’d asked been funny? The girl had frowned when her question was followed by a laugh from the Chevalier, Axenus putting a hand over his face that made her worry. He did remember they had chemicals on their hands, didn’t he? She opened her mouth to point so out, only to shut it when his hand eventually dropped. “You do?” she asked instead, surprised when he told her that he had as just as many bad days as she did. That seemed a little impossible, but, for someone practically still a teenager, it likely did. Every bad day was something she reflected on, remembered years down the road and fretted over.
Did he do the same? “You don’t… you don’t seem like someone who could be clumsy,” she told him, shyly looking away. She knew clumsy. He’d seen what she was capable of in just one day of an accident. She couldn’t picture him tripping over in the streets as she was sometimes prone to, stumbling over her own feet or uneven cobblestone. With the way he walked? It was easy going, untroubled. How could someone trip walking like that?
The sword bit also surprised her at the same time it did worry her. “Do you have to practice all the time so you don’t forget?” It seemed like a lot of work. He wasn’t perfect, he told her. Somehow, the confession made her feel better. Maybe he wasn’t perfect. She certainly wasn’t. “I-I’m not perfect either… so - so it’s okay,” she told him, trying for a smile. Two imperfect people working together. It hadn’t gone wrong while cleaning up mess of paint, so what could?
She didn’t ask for in fear of jinxing them, walking otherwise quietly beside him until he spoke up and mentioned the buckets she glanced back to. “O-oh. I wasn’t… I wasn’t worried about getting into trouble, Axenus,” she began to explain, nervously adjusting the sleeves of her shirt as she looked away. “I was just… I was just wondering if we were supposed to clean up after them, but-but it’s okay.” If he wanted to get to them later or leave them for someone else, she had no room to protest. It wasn’t her place.
It was nothing she explained when they finally arrived at a place they could wash their hands, the girl having to fight back a smile as he cooled himself off with the water. Was it that hot? Maybe under a uniform, she thought, glancing at his attire. Even in winter trekking around in those all day might get a bit stuffy. She shook her head, not asking if they did, as she focused on washing her own hands free of the chemicals and their smell. It did feel a lot better which she nodded in agreement to, shaking her hands dry when she was done and carefully avoiding flicking any water in his direction. “Are - are we ready to go then? After we get the new supplies?” she asked, looking up at him and awaiting his confirmation.
Post count: #9 | Word count: 510
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Post by corruptedcorvid on Sept 30, 2017 1:15:14 GMT -6
[ Axenus ]
Did she really think she was the only one who ever messed up? He was hardly surprised, the grin barely leaving his face. No, she made it clear to him what she believed, that she was a terrible slave and the only one capable of doing something wrong. It wasn’t true.
“Mhm, I do,” he replied to her, nodding his head slowly. There were just those times where he forgot how to use a sword properly or even hold it right, or so many other things. “I guess my appearance must be misleading then. You don’t truly know a person until you sit down, talk and get to know them.” And she didn’t know him when they’d only just met. Apart from the obvious like him being a Chevalier and then knowing that he wasn’t as graceful as he could have looked. No, they were only human. Everyone messed up one way or another.
“I don’t really… forget?” he commented, tilting his head as he thought over how to word it exactly. “Because I remember how to use it mentally, I know what I’m supposed to do, it’s just that I do it wrong or I make a silly little mistake. That’s all. What kind of soldier would I be if I completely forgot how to use my own weapon?” he asked with a laugh. It would be bad if he went into battle and couldn’t block properly or counter, or even attacked his own comrade because he couldn’t tell who was who at that point. That would be bad.
“We practice to remember, yeah, but also to learn more and get stronger. I quite enjoy a bit of sword fighting -- Maybe you’re not perfect, and I don’t even know you, but I think you’re perfect as you are.” It definitely was okay, he agreed with that. Her smile brought one of his own onto his face, liking that she at least tried. She had to smile more, to be hopeful. Surely there was something in her life that gave her a reason to keep going and not give up.
He shook his head. “I could clean them up later if anything,” he promised. If someone said anything or no one lifted a finger to help (other Chevaliers), he would head back and clean it up for them. There wouldn't be a problem there. He’d worry about it after, more concerned at that moment with simply getting them cleaned and cooled off if she was hot as well. It wasn’t even that he was hot, but being in uniform for some of the time and doing patrols and other work did warm him up a bit. Not only that, but he had touched his hands to his face with chemicals on it and he wanted to wash that off.
He turned and shook his hands out, running his one hand over his face to brush off any water and then raked them through his hair to slick it back as well as he could. “If you’re ready then, yeah, we could start heading over.” He looked over to the girl, shutting off the water before stepping back a couple steps. “We're going this way,” he said, pointing one finger in the direction they had to go, then turned around and slowly started to lead her. What would they need? Some shovels? A hoe? The plants they would have to put in and whatever else. They’d worry about it as soon as they got there.
Word Count: 584 | Post #10 |
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Post by fallenraen on Oct 1, 2017 15:55:21 GMT -6
Phoebe
Friendship is a flower that grows from trust Logically, she knew she wasn’t the only person to ever mess up. There was an entire world out there of other people, but in her life? It forever seemed as if she was indeed the only one who ever tripped in the street, dropped expensive plates, or knocked over paint buckets. It, therefore to her young mind, was surprising that a Chevalier such as himself was clumsy. It was even more surprised that’d he admit to it, effectively shattering the image of perfection she’d built up around him and others. Chevaliers had always seemed so sure of themselves, giving orders and running effortlessly after criminals or fleeing slaves.
Not to say that it was a bad shattering of the glass, no. It was a little enlightening, the girl nodding to his true words. She hadn’t known him until she’d begun talking to him, that much was true, but the labor slaves didn’t often talk outside of their district. While working, there was mostly silence unless to communicate what went where or how to do what. Speaking with him might have been the most she’d spoken in awhile completely, Phoebe too shy to engage in conversation with those she had to share rooms with. There weren’t too many around her age.
Axenus wasn’t really too close to her age either, but she hadn’t found herself too bashful to speak with him. He seemed nice (however far down appearances could go). “Oh… I see,” she spoke up, commenting on how he didn’t really forget how to use a sword. Mistakes did happen, didn’t they? She looked thoughtful, reflecting to herself, before her gaze glanced up to him again as he continued to explain and then joke. “Do all soldiers use weapons? Or - or are those that just… plan?” In their head. Did he understand what she was trying to get at? The word for it, strategists, was beyond her vocabulary. She did try to reach for the word she didn’t know, attempted to maybe come up with one of her own, but being uneducated did sometimes show in the way her eyebrows drew in, stumped.
Eventually, it was a thought shrugged off when Axenus continued the conversation. He liked sword fighting? Did that include fencing (if that was what it was called)? She opened her mouth to ask until he called her perfect as she was, her face flushing red as she had looked away and focus on washing her hands. Perfect? He must have been looking in his own reflection or something.
She bit the inside of her cheek when he told her he’d clean up the buckets and rags later, nodding again to his words to acknowledge them before the water had been turned off and she’d shaken her hands dry before he followed the action and even slicked back his hair. Did he ever cut it? Labor slaves had to, or were required to put it in a bun if they didn’t have their hair trimmed past a certain point, but she didn’t ask. Maybe he put it up while he trained. Wouldn’t he have to? It’d get all tangled otherwise, she could imagine. “I’m ready,” she told him when he spoke, shutting off the thought. Over her momentary flustered, she offered him the smallest smile.
Where he stepped back and went, Phoebe obediently followed behind the taller Chevalier with her hands neatly clasped in front of her. She was a little excited to plant, the late winter weather into early spring permitting some of the tougher (survival-wise) flowers to be placed down. They would look pretty when the whole building was down, the owner no doubt pleased. A successful project was a good one, and she was happy that Axe asked her to do something other than paint. She looked to him at the thought, wondering out loud, “Axenus… do, um, do you like flowers?” she asked, stepping next to him to make it easier for them to talk.
Post count: #10 | Word count: 661
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Post by corruptedcorvid on Oct 2, 2017 0:43:24 GMT -6
[ Axenus ]
He wasn't afraid to admit certain things to certain people. If he’d been up against an opponent, of course he wouldn’t explain to them that he could be a klutz. To Phoebe? He was being honest and thought they could use his mistakes as both an example and a joke to make her feel more comfortable. He wasn’t ashamed and didn’t mind if he got laughed at a bit. Normally, it was his cue to punch someone in the face (his drunk logic), but he liked getting a smile or laugh out of the smaller girl. It made his heart happy.
She was nice company even if she was of little words, either too shy or not knowing what to say to some things. He noticed that she struggled, watching how her face scrunched up and her brows furrowed in from her thinking. Axenus almost told her to take it easy because smoke was starting to come out from too much grinding of her gears, but he only chuckled instead. “We’re all trained to know how to use a weapon regardless, but yeah. There are those who do most of the planning. We need brains and brawn -- I’m more brawn than brain, if I’m honest.” Alcohol really did a number on the body. How was he still alive? He shook his head, once again avoiding going onto that topic.
He couldn’t exactly speak about that when the girl’s face took on a shade of red from his comment. That time he did laugh a bit more than he’d expected to, the whole thing cute when he’d only given her his honest opinion. Had she never received a compliment? Oh, Lord Ignacio. He gave her a minute to collect herself and get over her momentary fluster, waiting patiently. When she told him she was ready, he’d started walking with her.
She seemed to be doing a lot better than she had before, not as… scared. It was nice to see that she was a bit more relaxed, excited even about their next job. It sure beat painting, or at least he hoped it would. His brows lifted and his head turned towards her when she spoke, her question making him grin. Did he like flowers? “Me? Yeah, I think I do like them. They are nice and smell lovely -- I do especially love it when they make me look pretty.” The last part, however true it was, was only a joke. Yeah, he loved to make himself look nice for the public and he didn’t mind smelling like flowers from whatever he used to wash himself. Putting them on himself? If someone dumped a whole thing of flowers on him, he doubted he’d complain much.
“What about you, Phoebe? Do you like flowers?” Had he already asked her that before? He chewed his lip, trying to remember. Even if he did, it wasn’t a big deal. He told her anyways that he made mistakes and that would be one of them if he accidentally asked multiple times. His memory wasn’t the greatest thing in the world, but he learned to deal with it.
Word Count: 522 | Post #11 |
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Post by fallenraen on Oct 2, 2017 0:57:04 GMT -6
Phoebe
Friendship is a flower that grows from trust “Planning - planning seems a lot less dangerous than always have to carry a sword around,” she admitted, smiling timidly. Phoebe, to no one’s surprise, could not imagine herself ever needing to carry around any sort of weapon should she have been born into some other kind of life. If her father hadn’t tossed her away, even have claimed her as his legitimate own to save her from the fate of slavery? She doubt she would have ever needed such a thing, the life of a noble (unless twisted in the mind) rarely requiring such tools when they had Chevaliers and personal body guards to assist them. While the Chevaliers were still required to protect all the slaves they supervised, some she weren’t entirely sure would care to lift a finger to help should anything happen to them.
One less head to count and worry over likely wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen on their days, for a couple of them she knew didn’t care for the slaves that built the city and kept it pristine, though no doubt their commanding officer would have a word or two with them. Less slaves meant less work done, less work done often meant that the next day over they were all pushed harder to complete the jobs of those that had perished or simply disappeared. She stifled a puff of air when she got too caught up in her thoughts, glancing to Axenus again. Perhaps he would care if a slave got injured by a civilian or some criminal. Would he if they fell to the rubble they sometimes cleaned up? Fell into a channel and were drowned? Accidents to labor slaves happened, practically, all the time. They were replaceable.
Did he think they were? It was nothing she asked when she’d asked of flowers instead, the topic more cheerful and she genuinely curious if the boy liked flowers or minded planting them. Some boys tried so hard to be the idea of a “man” despite the term being generally overlooked in their herd. It was one of the few things she was thankful for: the neutrality when it came to gender. No one really had to worry about labels or wonder who was what when no one really cared. It made her happy to see women of higher positions in professions she’d heard rumored from other factions were less common.
“They make you look pretty?” she’d repeated his joke, giggling when he’d admitted to liking flowers behind her hands as she looked up at him. That was silly. “Do - do you ever braid them into your hair or anything?” It was more of a tease than Phoeb being seriously, though she did bite her lip when her hands fell back to her sides. Had it come out as rude? She didn’t know whether to apologize or not as she walked beside him, but him turning the question back on her didn’t leave her much time to wonder. Her cheeks turned a faint shade of pink, her gaze shying away.
“Um, sometimes? They do look pretty… and smell nice… but they also make me sneeze sometimes,” she confessed, rubbing the back of her neck. “The… the yellow dust in spring or summer - it can make my eyes watery.” What was it called? Al… Al-er-jeez? She didn’t try to figure it out, clasping her hands neatly in front of herself again. “But - but other than that flowers are nice to look at. I don’t think they should be so bad right now, though… it’s not yet spring.” Which meant no “yellow dust”, right?
Post count: #11 | Word count: 600
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Post by corruptedcorvid on Oct 2, 2017 3:12:14 GMT -6
[ Axenus ]
“Well, planning would be less dangerous than carrying weapons around,” he agreed with a nod, turning his head to look at her. Anyone could accidentally hurt themselves with a weapon they had to carry around, or hurt another person without meaning to. He had before, both to himself and others several times. While he was a decent planner, weapons were just more his thing and he did so much better in battle than he ever did making plans, that was for sure.
He led Phoebe over to where they had more tools, those for gardening and such that they would have to use. She had definitely gotten caught up in her thoughts, he’d noticed by the large gap in their conversation of just silence. Was she alright? What had been going on in there? he wondered. He took that moment to search through the tools, gathering up everything of which they would need for their job. Her giggling made him grin when she questioned him and flowers making him pretty. What could he say? He loved to make himself look nice.
Maybe it was a bit silly for a man like himself to worry so much about his looks, but his ego was pretty high and he loved it when people stared or took a moment to admire him. “Me? I wouldn’t be against it if I knew how to braid,” he chuckled, looking at the girl who seemed to be questioning her choice of words. He thought for a moment, grabbing the smallest of the tools to offer to her with a smile. It was all he would give her, but she felt better holding onto one of the buckets so maybe she would appreciate his gesture.
She was a too shy girl. How many times had she turned into a bright shade of tomato just in that day? He would have to keep count from then on, he decided, laughing a bit as she answered his questions about the flowers. “That yellow dust would be pollen,” he explained to her, tipping his head to one side. He guessed she didn’t know, but not all of the slaves were very well educated to begin with. Hm. “It sounds to me like you’ve got some allergies. That isn’t very fun.” Not for those who sneezed or actually got sick from it. Was she very bad?
“I’m sure there wouldn’t be a lot of pollen now anyways,” he said, nodding slowly to motion they were going to get moving again once he gathered up the tools they would need. The shovels, hoes and whatever else that was useful. They had a good time ahead of them for work, but with chatting and actually planting? He didn’t doubt it’d go quickly. He stepped aside, turning and beginning to walk once more with the slave to their designated place for work.
Word Count: 478 | Post #12 |
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Post by fallenraen on Oct 2, 2017 16:48:52 GMT -6
Phoebe
Friendship is a flower that grows from trust “Oh,” she replied, when he chuckled he wouldn’t be against braiding flowers into his hair if he knew how. She paused for a moment, looking thoughtfully to the street they stood upon before she shuffled her feet. “I - I wish I knew how to braid… I would braid flowers into your hair if you wanted them -- if - if that doesn’t sound too silly or - or too bold,” she stumbled over her words suddenly in her sentence, worrying she’d, as a slave, had sounded too brash for offering to braid flowers into a Chevalier’s hair. It hadn’t been just that, however, that made her cheeks warm. Would he think her too forward at all?
She could jump to the defense that she wasn’t trying to flirt with him at all, she really didn’t even know how to if she was honest (or would likely want to), but what did he so much as think? Hopefully not as much of it as she apparently was, a flustered mess that toed a loose pebble with her shoe and bit the inside of her cheek until he spoke up and told her that the “yellow dust” she’d been referring to was called pollen. Was that what that word meant? She blinked in surprise, her embarrassment fading. “Pollen? O-oh, okay.” And al-er-jeez. Just as she’d thought. She nodded to the word, though it sounded different the way he pronounced it than it did in her head, remembering her mother had had it as well.
“Do you have alerjeez?” she questioned him, wondering if he also got itchy eyes. Thankfully, for being in the labor force, hers weren’t severe. Getting sick from them? She’d seen many labor slaves who got sick and simply didn’t recover and it scared her to ever have a bought of sneezes for a week without medication that was sometimes difficult to come by unless she went to Vatros Sanctum. She almost frowned, then, when all he handed her was one small tool to carry as they’d spoken. The smallest one?
She peeked at the others he gathered, following him without any protest. Maybe he just liked carrying a lot of things. Did he like feeling helpful too? She held the little tool in her hands, turning it over as she’d looked at it, before trotting after him when she’d lagged behind. Hopefully, gardening would be easier.
Post count: #12 | Word count: 395
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Post by corruptedcorvid on Oct 2, 2017 19:40:36 GMT -6
[ Axenus ]
He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to feel shocked or honoured that the shy little slave girl offered to braid flowers into his hair had she known how. At first his response was to look at her, at a loss for words as he watched her stumble over her own and had her cheeks redden. If she had known, he would have let her. A laugh rose up from the Chevalier, his eyes glittering with amusement in their pale blue depths.
“I think it sounds silly,” he admitted, allowing his laughter to slowly die away. “But I wouldn’t turn you away. If you wanted to make me pretty, go ahead. I’d let you -- Bold? I would say so, but not in a bad way at all.” When she was too scared to talk really at all? He thought it was rather brave of her, though a good thing is she was warming up. He even offered her a smile, just in case she needed the reassurance. Flirting hadn’t come to mind when she didn’t seem that brave or comfortable really. Yet he would have allowed her to do as she pleased, only flattering the boy and boosting up that ego of his.
“I, um, no. No I do not have allergies,” he told her, having frowned just a bit on the look of her face when he gave her the smallest tool. Despite trying to be nice and letting her help, it did make him feel bad. Was he making her seem useless? He really hoped not, thinking about it as they walked through the streets to get to the area they would be getting the planting done. “I mean, I do get sneezes from dust if it tickles my nose, and I’m sure pollen would do the same, but I don’t get fits from them.” So he would assume he had none.
Axenus huffed softly, eyeing the tools in his hands. He did like to feel useful, enjoying helping others and trying to not make them do too much. Sometimes he did more than he could handle, occasionally for the exercise, but he wanted to let Phoebe help if she really wanted to. With a wrinkle of his nose, he took another of the tools and, reluctantly, held it out to her without casting her a glance. She needed to take it before he changed his mind.
Word Count: 399 | Post #13 |
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Post by fallenraen on Oct 2, 2017 22:52:22 GMT -6
Phoebe
Friendship is a flower that grows from trust Braiding the hair of a full-grown man did sound silly, didn’t it? The girl blushed when he agreed, though the shade less red than when he had started to laugh. “I’m sorry,” she apologized, the words slipping from her mouth. She hadn’t meant to get too far ahead of herself offering… but it didn’t seem he minded. She blinked, almost shocked when he told her that he wouldn’t have turned her away should she have wished to make him look “pretty”. Really? How did he not think that as too bold of a slave or a girl such as herself to begin with?
She bit her bottom lip softly, unsure what to say. “So… what - what is a good kind of bold then?” If her offering to braid his hair and place flowers in it was not the bad kind. She hadn’t known there were different kinds, not really. There was the courageous bold, and then there was… she supposed the right for it was stupid. Offering to braid his hair hadn’t been very courageous of her, she believed, so she was a little confused how it could a “good kind of bold”.
She didn’t ask anymore about it as their conversation continued, her learning that he didn’t have allergies and nodding to his words. That was okay. At least he didn’t have to sneeze or sniffle in the spring, right? Unless something tickled his nose which he then did explain. It was a good thing he didn’t get fits from allergies. They weren’t fun, though she doubted she had to elaborate when he surely knew what others went through when they had their allergies. She didn’t have much time to when, to her surprise, he handed out another of the tools for her to take.
Phoebe brightened up, smiling as she happily took the object to hold to herself while they continued to walk to the destination. “What are we doing first?” she asked him, looking up at him when she paused at the edge of one of the flower beds with marked posts next to them. Did they have everything to start gardening?
Post count: #13 | Word count: 355
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Post by corruptedcorvid on Oct 2, 2017 23:55:56 GMT -6
[ Axenus ]
Axenus shook his head quickly, to not let her get the wrong idea of his laughing and claiming it’d been ‘silly’. “No, no. Don’t apologize, Phoebe. You said nothing wrong,” he assured her. When all he’d done the entire time was allow her to speak as she pleased without so much as a scold in her direction when others may have believed her to step out of place? He was fairly easy going, not minding how she spoke or if she decided to make jokes. If she couldn’t have her freedom, he at least wanted to give her that much. Someone to talk with easily without fear of getting into trouble. He wanted it for all of them.
He chewed on his lip, thinking for a moment. “Well, wouldn’t that be considered a good kind of bold? I was, uh, a bit surprised you would offer such a thing,” he admitted, the corners of his mouth twitching into a small grin when her face lit up to him handing her another tool. Yeah, he bet that made her happy. “That’s only because you seem a bit more on the shy side, quiet and more to yourself. So I think it was nice for you to be able to speak up like that, even if you believed it to be silly. There’s nothing wrong with being silly.” He could be when he was off of work or out with friends and not being too much of a grump. Laughing and joking around was healthy.
The next few moments were silent, the Chevalier making his way down the streets and around corners until they got to the area of their work place. Planting, right. That would be lots of fun. He took a second, standing there and looking around before he turned his attention to the slave and nodded to her. “We can set our things down here and get to work,” he explained, kneeling over to set the tools down besides the beds they would plant in. “I’m sure you know how to plant, right? If not, just ask and I’ll help.”
Word Count: 351 | Post #14
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Post by fallenraen on Oct 3, 2017 1:07:10 GMT -6
Phoebe
Friendship is a flower that grows from trust How much could someone blush in one day? Maybe her cheeks would be permanently stained pink or red, she thought in horror for how warm they were. Could they do that? She let him assure her, however, offering a small, sheepish smile. “W-well… You said you couldn’t braid… and I can’t either… but if one of us could, it might be nice.” He said he liked flowers, right? They made him look pretty? Who didn’t want to look pretty? By Aodhian standards, not that Phoebe could care much for them when she could easily disappear in a crowd with how “simple” she appeared, he wasn’t bad.
A touch of flowers would be cute as much as they would be silly. Makeup or hair dye didn’t seem really much his style (not that she could imagine the flowers to begin with, but they were rolling with that topic). “I don’t mean to be so… so to myself,” she admitted to him when he explained his reason as to why he had been surprised she’d offer to braid his hair, “It just - it just sort of happens.” Did he understand? As they’d walked, the girl had adjusted the hold of the tools he’d given her that she looked down to shyly. It was difficult to converse with others sometimes, especially when she was so prone to trip and stumble over her words or letter, but he hadn’t said anything of it yet. Was he not tired of listening to her stutter? Had his patience not run out when there were moments of silence as she tried to gather up what she wanted to say?
It had to be a first, it felt like, in a very long time. Her mother had never minded, as a child, the way she had hid behind her skirt or trailed behind her when too nervous to approach others of the household and ask to play. It hadn’t been… exactly forbidden as much as it had been viewed as odd, the illegitimate child playing with those of noble blood. It had been to her mother, therefore, that she’d stayed with. Since then? There’d been very few people in her life that seemed so tolerable of her and her ways, but maybe… just maybe she could be hopeful enough the Chevalier beside her would be one of them. He couldn’t be like all the others, could he?
She’d turned the thought over in her head, casting him a side glance before she’d looked away when they’d arrived at the flower beds and had asked her question with a look back up to him. There was nothing wrong with silly, he’d said. She had the feeling that, probably, not all the dirt would stay where it belonged if she claimed she didn’t know how to plant. He seemed like the goofy kind, the idea making her giggle as she knelt beside him and set down her own tools to begin working. “Okay, Axenus.”
Post count: #14 | Word count: 494
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