FIC: Andrea's Story (cont.)
Jun. 5th, 2007 08:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jeriendhalAnd lo, I slog forward...
140
Master Tez stomped back into the guest house three hours later, looking tired and rubbing growing stubble across his scalp irritably. Unbidden, Andrea scooted into the kitchen to retrieve a pot filled with hot water and clean towels, in anticipation of her master’s routine. She found him in the central garden, relaxing in a lounge chair, having shucked his boots and socks and resting his feet on an ottoman that been dragged out along with the chair. Another servant had already found his razor and soap, which were waiting on a small table beside her master.
With the ease that came from long practice she laid the steaming towels over his scalp, warming and relaxing his skin for his daily shave. When she’d settled them he let out a contented sigh, closing his eyes and letting some of the tension out of his frame. After taking a breath he asked, “Did we have any visitors, Andrea?”
“One, the ambassador’s page, Jonathan Kinkaid,” she said, massaging his scalp through the towels. Her master made a sort murrrrahhhhh noise and melted into the chair’s padding. “I’m afraid I wasn’t able to the information you wanted passed along to him though.”
“Why not?” he murmured.
“Oh, I thought he was trying to figure out your position on slavery. I told him you were against it, but he couldn’t understand why you enslaved me.” She whipped the towel off his head and began brushing shaving cream over his scalp. “After that I threw him out.”
“He was a representative of the human ambassador, I sincerely hope you were a bit more polite than you’re implying you were.”
She took a deep breath, before she began running the razor over her master’s scalp. Ranting while holding a sharp object was something she’d quit doing two weeks into her apprenticeship with Artisan Velan, after nearly lopping off her own thumb while trying argue and score a line in a piece at the same time. “It was like he was implying that I should be ungrateful to you or something. You saved my life. Should I forget about that and just walk away from you, or claim privileges I haven’t earned?”
“Mmm, the sentiment is reasonable, I suppose,” he said, keeping his eyes closed as she scraped away hairs and bits of foam dropped onto his face. “It is a contradiction to be anti-slavery while holding slaves yourself.”
“What other choice did you have? What choice did I have?”
“There are always other choices. It’s just that some are more inconvenient, or dangerous, or expensive,” he replied. “We could have tried to reach the Southern Continent, or another country, or even stayed and attempted to stop the Cleansing. Enslaving you and taking you to the Elven Domain was just the easiest solution.
She finished scraping away hairs and washed her hands in the basin briefly, before dribbling a bit of aromatic scent on her hands and rubbing it into Master Tez’s scalp. “Well, at any rate, I’d appreciate it if you would choose someone else in the household to accompany you to the next meeting. I wouldn’t care to risk speaking to him again in public and perhaps saying something out of turn.”
Master Tez reached out blindly and grabbed a towel to wipe his face off. “No,” he said.
Andrea froze. “What?”
“I said no,” he repeated, laying down the towel and sitting up.
“Why, Master?” she asked as he stood up.
“You are my servitor and you will obey my orders,” Master Tez said. “When you are in Moot Council chambers you conduct yourself appropriately at all times. That means no yawning, or picking fights the ambassador’s entourage. Consider it an exercise in self-control.”
“But I don’t even have a reason to be there!”
“Your reason,” he said sharply, “is that you are my slave, and I told you to be there. You need no other.” He turned on his bare heel and left, leaving Andrea gaping in his wake.
TBC
140
Master Tez stomped back into the guest house three hours later, looking tired and rubbing growing stubble across his scalp irritably. Unbidden, Andrea scooted into the kitchen to retrieve a pot filled with hot water and clean towels, in anticipation of her master’s routine. She found him in the central garden, relaxing in a lounge chair, having shucked his boots and socks and resting his feet on an ottoman that been dragged out along with the chair. Another servant had already found his razor and soap, which were waiting on a small table beside her master.
With the ease that came from long practice she laid the steaming towels over his scalp, warming and relaxing his skin for his daily shave. When she’d settled them he let out a contented sigh, closing his eyes and letting some of the tension out of his frame. After taking a breath he asked, “Did we have any visitors, Andrea?”
“One, the ambassador’s page, Jonathan Kinkaid,” she said, massaging his scalp through the towels. Her master made a sort murrrrahhhhh noise and melted into the chair’s padding. “I’m afraid I wasn’t able to the information you wanted passed along to him though.”
“Why not?” he murmured.
“Oh, I thought he was trying to figure out your position on slavery. I told him you were against it, but he couldn’t understand why you enslaved me.” She whipped the towel off his head and began brushing shaving cream over his scalp. “After that I threw him out.”
“He was a representative of the human ambassador, I sincerely hope you were a bit more polite than you’re implying you were.”
She took a deep breath, before she began running the razor over her master’s scalp. Ranting while holding a sharp object was something she’d quit doing two weeks into her apprenticeship with Artisan Velan, after nearly lopping off her own thumb while trying argue and score a line in a piece at the same time. “It was like he was implying that I should be ungrateful to you or something. You saved my life. Should I forget about that and just walk away from you, or claim privileges I haven’t earned?”
“Mmm, the sentiment is reasonable, I suppose,” he said, keeping his eyes closed as she scraped away hairs and bits of foam dropped onto his face. “It is a contradiction to be anti-slavery while holding slaves yourself.”
“What other choice did you have? What choice did I have?”
“There are always other choices. It’s just that some are more inconvenient, or dangerous, or expensive,” he replied. “We could have tried to reach the Southern Continent, or another country, or even stayed and attempted to stop the Cleansing. Enslaving you and taking you to the Elven Domain was just the easiest solution.
She finished scraping away hairs and washed her hands in the basin briefly, before dribbling a bit of aromatic scent on her hands and rubbing it into Master Tez’s scalp. “Well, at any rate, I’d appreciate it if you would choose someone else in the household to accompany you to the next meeting. I wouldn’t care to risk speaking to him again in public and perhaps saying something out of turn.”
Master Tez reached out blindly and grabbed a towel to wipe his face off. “No,” he said.
Andrea froze. “What?”
“I said no,” he repeated, laying down the towel and sitting up.
“Why, Master?” she asked as he stood up.
“You are my servitor and you will obey my orders,” Master Tez said. “When you are in Moot Council chambers you conduct yourself appropriately at all times. That means no yawning, or picking fights the ambassador’s entourage. Consider it an exercise in self-control.”
“But I don’t even have a reason to be there!”
“Your reason,” he said sharply, “is that you are my slave, and I told you to be there. You need no other.” He turned on his bare heel and left, leaving Andrea gaping in his wake.
TBC
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no subject
Date: 2007-06-06 02:42 am (UTC)Tez is currently BALD?! Haha, Amazing!
Second thought:
Damn, Tez can be a bastard. But then, the longer you're alive, I suspect, the more reason's you'll acquire to be bastardly. Among them the fact that you're tired of being nice.
Third thought:
You'd be amazed at the injuries people can do to themselves with just an exacto knife. Especially when talking/being distracted. I mean, dang, they're just tiny bits of metal, but they are sharp! Being angry and shaving (someone else, no less) is probably not conducive to not cutting people open.
no subject
Date: 2007-06-22 12:18 am (UTC)