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.”
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.”