• Mature • From Rags to... Better Rags

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Llyr Llywelyn
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From Rags to... Better Rags



72 Ashan 719

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The walk from the tea parlor to the shops along the Gleam had gone quickly, but quietly. Zarik didn’t say much. Though he didn’t hold onto the rope as a leash for the slave girl, Oceta, anymore, and instead held her hand, he didn’t respond to anything she said on the way. He was lost in thought, contemplating what he’d done. It’d been reckless of him to purchase a slave so young, even with her purported skills and well-trained behavior. If he’d gotten the type of slave he’d gone to find, he wouldn’t have to worry about caring for them or their development… not in the same way, at least. An adult slave could mostly care for their own skills. Though he supposed Oceta was not that young either. She was in the middle of it, and she certainly would be able to care for Hazel. It wasn’t as if he’d gotten a slave the same age as his adopted daughter.

Occasionally, as they walked, he squeezed Oceta’s hand. The leather of his glove crinkled around her fingers, then he would realize what he was doing and ease so as to not hurt her. A few times, when a fast moving cart went past, or groups walked by, he pulled her to remain close to him. He didn’t want the obvious slave to get nabbed and taken back to the market – a common ploy he’d heard of. Newly bought slaves sometimes were forcibly separated from their new masters, who were left murdered in alleys, and returned to the trade within trials to repeat. It wasn’t the auctioneer’s con that bothered Zarik, it was the potential of other, more deadly scams that still lingered as possibilities. Gold was just gold, but death and knowing Oceta would be back in the world of slaves… that was something else.

They reached the tailor’s shop and Zarik led inside. A plump woman greeted them cheerfully.

“Lord Zarik!” she said, immediately setting down her sewing needle and measuring tape for a robe she’d been stitching the hem of. Older and round in figure, she had white hair curled up in a beehive, and heavily painted maroon lips. Her face was pale, dusted with powder. She walked over, then paused as she caught sight of the girl briefly. She asked the biqaj. “What can I do for you? Did you come to see the new fabric we imported from Rharne? It’s fine satin, one of the best. You would most certainly glow within it.”

“I haven’t come for myself,” explained the blond man. He set a hand lightly on Oceta’s shoulders and pressed so she would step forward. “This is my new… girl, Oceta, she will be watching Hazel for me. I require proper clothing for her, and as soon as possible. Oceta, this is Miss Rios. She is a seamstress and fashionista. Say hello.”


Last edited by Llyr Llywelyn on Sat Jul 27, 2019 8:53 am, edited 2 times in total. word count: 505
Please — consider me a dream.
Oceta
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Re: Collab PH Oceta




She said nothing as they walked, nor did she complain when his hand clenched tightly along her hand, knowing very well that with a single word, he could control and end her very life. Instead, she simply followed him, keeping up the pace. Slowly? They would find themselves within a tailor’s store. Something foreign to her for a number of reasons, but as she was introduced to the Seamstress, she would bow her head politely. “This one’s name is Oceta, Servant of Master Zarik. Greetings madam.” Speaking in her softspoken tone, she would seem slightly lost in thought at the apparent news of new clothes. By the Immortals, she didn’t remember the last time she had received new clothes, and never had she worn anything that wasn’t akin to rags. Often the clothes were a few sizes too large, or in turn tightly fitting on her form lest they were ripped further than when they were given to her. It for this reason that she wouldn't complain at the prospect of new clothing. She supposed it made a smidgen of sense after all. he needed a servant that would represent him well and not deter any guests from his home and so forth. For that, she would follow obediently.

Hazel. Was that the name of the daughter in question? Remaining silent with her head bowed low, she was glad that she was recently bathed, the odd substance in her hair to rid of any vermin such as lice, and to leave her smelling semi pleasant if anything. "Pardon Silk Mother. If you happen to sell shoes, perhaps ones better than footwraps like the ones around my feet, I am sure it would be in my master's best interest. If I were to walk barefoot or in footwraps, they easily become dirty and stained, and it would be difficult to clean master's home with filthy shoes or filthy feet." Bowing her head, looking upon her master, she seemed neutral, only wishing the best to serve her master to the best capability. "Also Silk Mother, please bear upon me dark colors so that my figure shall appear less dirty than the brighter or white. My master's guests shall look upon him in contempt if a dirty slave serves their dishes, or takes their clothes to rest." She had thought ahead, and with it, the prospect of new shoes would allow her to run faster, allow her to be of great long term investment for her lord. Would her master not only want the best deals and offers?

Gazing upon the room, she would slowly bow her head before presenting one last inquiry. "Finally mother, please allow me a free pair of fur gloves that I see in the corner. They look slightly worn, and my master wishes to buy today in bulk. They would be of great use as I carve, whittle, and or fish for my master. Showing us such kindness and courtesy would only cause my master to be grateful and buy ever more from my lovely silk mother when he returns for more goods!" Bowing her head politely, so very low, she would flatter and look to please the lovely silk mother into considering the deal for her master. A slave did not combat with words nor battle, but instead would fight using courtesy. A caring embrace for her master and her betters, Oceta had already acknowledged she was nothing more but a humble servant for her master's command. It did not mean she did not get tired, or scared, or otherwise, but she had no rights to do so. She had no rights to represent him, and yet, she knew Quacians far better than he did so she would imagine, being born and raised among them her whole life. Many an errand had she run, and many a time had she been commanded to get the best prices for the coin she was given, lest she be flogged or berated for her uselessness.

Waiting for a long moment, her head held low while waiting for a response, she would slowly stand upon hearing acceptance or denial regardless. "Thank you sweet Silk Mother for even consideration of my request, for I only offer it in the best interest of the best and greatest master." With it, she would firmly stand backwards, stepping steps behind her master, hands held neutrally at her sides, head bowed down as slaves should. A slave knew courtesy and discipline, and Oceta had known those things her entire life. So, she would wait in peace.

Last edited by Oceta on Thu Jul 11, 2019 2:50 am, edited 1 time in total. word count: 769
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Llyr Llywelyn
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Re: From Rags to... Better Rags



The slave girl introduced herself formally. Zarik approved of her polite nature. He crossed his arms and listened as she spoke of shoes, with slight reasoning as to why she said such things. A slight smile showed on his lips, but he quickly rid himself of it to pretend that it was a very serious and sophisticated matter when Miss Rios raised an eyebrow at him. She didn’t seem to mind, looking back at the slave as the spiel of logic was shared.

When Miss Rios looked at him again, he nodded. Boots and gloves would have been likely included in the attire he would purchase anyway, but he wanted the slave to believe she’d done well with the bartering. His nod was well-understood by the seamstress.

Miss Rios nodded and said, “Yes, your master is a fine customer of mine. I would be happy to outfit even a slave such as yourself as he prefers.” She tittered lightly, then gestured toward a small platform to the side of the room. “Stand there and… Lord Venora, if you would but leave us for a break or so, you would find that she will be outfitted with all the attire she might need under your service.”

Oceta thanked her, going so far as to call him the best and greatest master. Between the woman and the girl, Zarik’s cheeks burned with a bright silvery-blue blush. He cleared his throat and did his best to maintain composure, as would be expected of a lord. If Oceta could handle herself so well as a mere slave, then he could do the same as one of supposed higher-standing. Oceta didn’t know he came from peasant stock, nor that he learned manners between the rough life of a ship at sea and banditry in the jungles. If he could, he would keep her ignorant of those facts. He preferred if she considered him to be of the softer and gentler class of the wealthy.

“I will stay here,” he informed the seamstress. “To assure everything goes accordingly in regard to fabric and color. Do as the misses says, Oceta.”

Zarik guided Oceta to stand on the platform, then he took a seat nearby on a bench. He crossed his legs, then waited for the seamstress to perform her job.

Miss Rios took out a string from her pocket, then took to measuring Oceta. She went between the girl and the back room before returning with skirts and blouses, aprons and stockings, and various other articles of clothing made from simple cottons and soft wool. Nothing too flashy, nothing too fancy, of earthy-toned colors or woven material that had never been dyed at all.

Meanwhile, Zarik looked out the window and watched people pass by the shop on the street. He glanced a few times to watch how things were proceeding before returning to stare outside. Despite what he had said, he didn’t wish to be too involved. He’d only wanted to remain in case someone tried to swipe his slave from him while he was away. He liked Miss Rios, but he wasn’t sure if he entirely trusted the older Quacian woman. From what he knew of her, he knew that she had some more unsavory contacts connected to Lair.


word count: 556
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Oceta
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Re: From Rags to... Better Rags



She did as was asked of her as her master was so willing to purchase her new things, and the fact that the mistress before her seemed fine with the idea, she had followed the woman to the back. When ordered to remove her clothes, she had done so with little resistance. When she was measured by odd cord by the look of it, she almost felt as if she were being appraised like cattle. Oceta had never every been measured personally for clothes, simply having been given handmedowns by older slaves who themselves had outgrown their clothing. For some, they wouldn't ever really need clothes. Either because they were dead, or perhaps because they had been assigned to the pleasure houses. Frankly, Oceta had hoped she would never end up in the latter of two places. To be called pretty or beautiful by a master was something that was to set off warning bells, even if people might not believe it or see it that way. Luckily, Oceta had always told she looked rather mundane, plain, and boring. That was the way she wanted to be. Yet...after her bath? The combing and presentation of her person? Dreaded words game.

"You are very pretty little one. I'm sure you'll grow into quite the looker when you're older." Standing there, a tilt of her head as her eyes were shadowed, she feared such words that were meant for compliment. How could she not? "I-I see..." As hands were run through her course and yet oddly silky feeling hair, she lay in brief rest as she was firmly seated on a chair, a different set of measurements being taken from the side of her legs, a sole of leather raised to her feet as Oceta felt despair at the thought of growing to be beautiful. To be beautiful was to be coveted. For a slave, to be coveted meant that there would be less rest. For those slaves? Death or a life of being breeded and fucked like cattle was a destiny that was unavoidable. While Llyr her master seemed kind, she still didn't put it above the man to make the most profit as possible off of Oceta. Why wouldn't he? How wouldn't he? Brothels made incredible amounts of profit, and even when with child, she could still work and labor at a carpenter's bench to make him profit.

What would he get when the child was born? Another slave. Another piece of property to add to his dominion of which Oceta undoubtedly would have to raise. Nurture and teach the ways of slavery. Oceta shook lightly at those thoughts, because she wondered if that kind of life had any salvation, any saving grace that would bring a smile onto her face. Would it be a day of monotonous working and endless cycle repetitions? She didn't have much time to think as she was stood up again, but this time, she had vanished behind curtains of which none would be able to see the spectacle of. Oceta was gone perhaps twenty long minutes with the mistress, and by the end of it, there came a girl that looked nothing like a slave. Instead, there walked out a pretty young girl with a sheepish blush on her face, her hands held politely on her lap, stepping before the fellow with a shine in her eyes. She shifted uncomfortably in these moments. These clothes were so comfortable, it made her feel uncomfortable to wear and even be seen while in their folds.

She wore a modest work dress of a simple blue and white which held just at the knee. She wore firm leather boots and gloves that kissed her palms and feet as if a god had come to reward her with their soft embrace. Her feet were sheltered from the ground and anything along it's wide expanse. Her hair looked clean, a perfume scent made her have the lingering odor of peaches, her skin was an almost powdered white, and her hair was nicely trimmed to look more neat and appropriate. The blush, the uncertain look on her face, and the shifting of her left foot on the tip of the toe she was embarrassed, but when gazing at the man, she froze, slowly resuming her proper form and positioning again. "This one returns to her master. She hopes that her master is pleased." Speaking about the man in the third person was the proper and respectful man. To speak and refer to her master as "he" or "him" was disrespectful, showing they were on the same level when that was farther from the truth. The mistress gradually approached soon enough with a satchel with a spare set of clothes for the young girl including shoes and gloves. Of course to charge him for of course.

"I do believe I've done well. Everything you were looking for. I do believe you owe me proper payment." Lightly pressing Oceta forward, she walked before him before looking up with a turn to avoid his eye when she looked back to the shop owner. There was little Oceta could say. Not without stuttering like an idiot. Well...almost. She did say one thing. "Thank you for the clothes master."
Last edited by Oceta on Fri Jul 19, 2019 11:34 pm, edited 1 time in total. word count: 888
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Llyr Llywelyn
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Re: From Rags to... Better Rags



Zarik had said he’d wait… but within five bits of doing so, he felt anxious. He got up and started to pace around the front room of the seamstress’s shop. Hands at his lower back, he tapped them against each other with an unusual anxiousness. The reality of what he’d done sunk in, even more so than when he’d watch her drink tea and eat the soup – his thoughts had only been on caring for the girl, on making her feel better, and even with Miss Rios, making sure that Oceta wasn’t uncomfortable.

Now, however, he was alone again since he’d first stepped foot in the slave market. He’d actually done it, gone and bought a slave. Something he’d wanted to do for a while now, though he hadn’t thought it would be a girl. He’d always thought he’d buy some plain-looking man, maybe a few arcs older than himself, who could scribe and gather supplies. Or maybe he’d get a matronly woman who would cook and clean so he didn’t have to anymore. Whatever the case, he never imagined he’d be purchasing a girl several arcs younger than himself to watch an adopted daughter of even younger arcs.

The young mage felt a rush of fear alongside the anxiety, of panic. His breath turned shallow. What if he couldn’t find a way to establish business in Quacia again? What if his maddening husband’s patience wavered and he was summoned to return to the isles? What if… various potential issues and problems arose in Zarik’s mind. He could leave Quacia, but where would he go? Where else could he conduct business? Rynmere, certainly, was entirely out of the question. Ne'haer? His sisters would be there, they could stay with them for a while... He chewed at his thumbnail, pacing back and forth, back and forth, and he continued his frantic contemplation until finally – Miss Rios reappeared with Oceta.

He immediately dismissed his momentary panic attack. The girl was back. He had to look strong for her sake. He glanced at Miss Rios, who didn’t mention anything if she’d noticed his prior discomfort. He glanced over Oceta – who looked quite different once washed and properly cared for. She looked like any other girl might, though slightly prettier than the average.

Zarik leaned forward, placed a hand to his knee, and glanced over her. He took hold of her jaw, turned her face one way then the next. She still had a bruise forming from where the auctioneer had struck her. He lightly pressed his thumb at the injured spot. Though cleaned up, she didn’t look comfortable. She wasn’t used to the clothing, he could tell. He thought of when he’d first gone to Miss Rios, after his marriage, and had his wardrobe changed out – from the coarse cloths and frayed threads of peasantry to the noble silks and velvets. He’d fidgeted a great deal in those outfits for those first few trials. It took many breaks of wearing the outfits to get used to the differences.

“I am pleased,” he affirmed to what she said. He let go, stepped back from the slave, and brought his posture to his full height again. He looked over to Miss Rios and accepted the satchel from her. “Exactly what I was looking for. You are a master at the craft, thank you, Miss Rios. As a matter of payment, then…”

He paused when Oceta thanked him and he thinly smiled. “You’re welcome, Oceta.”

Then he went over to the shop counter to settle the payment with Miss Rios. Once finished with the straight-forward exchange, he snapped his fingers for Oceta to follow as they left the shop. Back out on the street, he took a deep breath, then looked over at the girl.

“The dress suits you, and the gloves,” he mentioned. “You look… pretty.” That seemed like something a little girl might care to hear. Though Hazel seemed annoyed whenever he called her such things, she also smiled and laughed more afterward. Zarik nodded, then gestured for Oceta to follow close beside him. He swept his gaze on the surrounding street. “We’ll go home now, and you can meet Hazel.”

word count: 725
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Oceta
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Re: From Rags to... Better Rags



When appearing before the man, watching him kneel downward to get a better look at her, reaching his hand out? She instinctively flinched and shut her eyes as he grasped her face, turning it to the side, and wincing lightly as he touched her bruised cheek. However, she didn't resist him. He was her master, and he controlled the very power of life, death, and purpose for her. She was his. So, she thanked him, and he was pleased by all that had occurred. By the looks of it, so was mistress Rios. "I'm glad that you're pleased. I'm also glad that I've received my just dues." Oceta was silent and she stood behind Master Zarik as he went about his duties of paying the fine mistress for the clothes and the general services she had performed today. Soon enough however, it was time for them to go, and they were back on the street. They were back out into the open world where Oceta no longer looked the role of a slave, but instead blended in with the look of a simple and normal commoner. Oceta's whole world was spinning in these moments.

It was almost as if the prospect of new clothes was turning her into a different person, a transformed person who had no idea what she was getting herself into. Was she still Oceta? Was she still the same slave girl that was bought and purchased for the possible use of simple menial labor? The clothes told her that her master cared about her, perhaps more than what she realized. However, the man saying those next words made her eyes widen and quiver, lightly shake. When he called her pretty, that the clothes suited her? Something looked like it died within Oceta. Rather, it was something else being born. Fear. Fear was born within those simple words that were supposed to make her smile. She slumped almost, looking defeated, and with it, she nodded her head, slowly following the man to his home, worried, concerned, and perhaps realizing that he wanted her for also. What these clothes were for. Her master was still a man after all, and a man still needed to be serviced in his own right. It was something that Oceta feared.

Yet? There was also an odd curiosity. At being bedded, at being turned into a woman. Would she have minded it if it came from a man as kind and nice as Zarik? The man who fed her, bought her medicine, clothes, tools, and otherwise? These were questions that lingered in her mind as she followed after him, and slowly, she thought about herself more self consciously than she ever had in her entire lifetime. She was pretty? She was good looking? Her existence not as a slave, but as a human being was being deeply thought into and reconsidered despite such a thing being above herself. Her status. Oceta was a slave, and whatever her master wanted from her? She would have to, and would do it? Why? Because it was the immortals that chained her to this fate because of either coincidence, or her past actions, or any other odd number of reasonings she had no answers to. Her heart was heavy as she continued onward towards Zarik's home. Why? Well, for a number of reasons. However, she knew one thing.

If he told her to strip? She would strip. If he told her to be his? She would be his. If she told her to die?...She would die. It was not her duty to think about such thoughts, and so? She awaited her fate to come to her, solemnly stepping through the street with her dim and glassy cerulean orbs. They looked lifeless and dead with a lifetime of hurt behind them and indoctrinated servitude. Master gave her purpose. Master gave her life. Master would give her everything and anything she needed or deserved so long as she did a good job and did whatever he asked her to, whenever he asked for it. She was to clean his home, cook his meals for himself and his child, build if he asked for it, and any other number of odd things? So then why was bedding out of the question if she was so willing to do all the other things? It was an inevitability she was prepared for and yet scared to face. Her master would need more slaves surely, and through her, and only through her would he get more of them for free. She settled into her chains of bondage, and slowly, her heart was at peace. She followed after him, feeling the fabrics of her clothes and enjoying their feel while she still could.

She theorized that at some point, he'd remove them off of her and leave her bare, bare and defenseless to his inhibitions within her most twisted daydream of what he would do to her. What her purpose was. Though, that was because she was still uncertain and unknowing of her master's true and inner character. She was a foolish little girl wasn't she? Of course she was...but she was her master's fool. No place she'd rather be.
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Re: From Rags to... Better Rags

Flows good, and you two have an unmistakable knack for playing off of one another. Oceta, when it comes to her stilted, subservient disposition towards others, and Llyr, when it comes to his poised Lordling persona. Its an unlikely duo, but it's a memorable one that seems to be working very well.

I can't find any grammatical errors egregious enough to comment on without sounding nit-picky! Enjoy your rewards.

Oceta

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Knowledges:
Etiquette: How to greet those who have what you desire.
Etiquette: Doing what is asked of you without a fuss.
Persuasion: How to convince a shop keep to give you the best deal.
Persuasion: Flattery gets one farther in this world.
Persuasion: It doesn't cost someone anything to be polite or cordial to others.
Persuasion: People will offer you better deals if you give the implication you'll come back.
Woodwork: Gloves are good for those with crafts involving the hands.
Woodwork: Callouses are even better for those with crafts involving the hands.
Wealth:
Renown:
+5
EXP:
+15

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Llyr

Rewards


Knowledges:
Detection: Keeping an eye out.
Detection: Listening closely to surroundings.
Discipline: The delayed onset of buyer's remorse.
Etiquette: Acting as expected of your status.
Etiquette: Waiting patiently.
Tactics: Role: The Polite Lord.
Deception: No behaviors that suggest your past.
Appraisal: Judging new attire made for someone else.
Intelligence - Contact: Miss Rios, a Quacian seamstress and fashionista in the Gleam.
Wealth:
Renown:
EXP:
+15

Feedback


Understand that all criticisms are done in good faith. It would be a greater disrespect to not say anything in the face of problems. Please contact me through this account's inbox if you wish to further communicate on the matter of improvement, or if you feel as though anything is unduly harsh.
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