5th Vhalar, 716
"Do you know why they are called Marilyn skirts?" she asked, twirling around one more time for him. She had been out, at Master's instructions, and bought a number of new outfits, one of which she was wearing now. Tightly belted, the "Marilyn" skirt as it had been dubbed, was beautiful she had to admit, but it did show rather a lot of her leg compared to the long dresses he'd had her in last season. She loved the way that it fell, though and the movement of it. "I put your money in the box in your bedroom. There was some left over, not as much as I would like. But I bought material, too, so that I can make things to your liking too" she said and she smiled at him. Her hair was in the new fashion, the 'victory curls' that had become fashionable overnight and which Faith struggled to do at first. She was determined, however, not to let him down and so she had sat and practiced in work the trial before, on the hair of one of the other girls. Once she was able to do it on her, it became easier on herself. The tight fitting belt and the fitted silk blouse accentuated her figure and she watched his reaction. "I hope that you are pleased?" she smiled and then moved over to him. "Thank you"
She made sure that the plate of cheese, fruit and home baked savoury biscuits she had made for him the trial before was well stocked in front of him and his glass of wine was full then she dropped a curtsy and excused herself so that she could put the clothing and materials away. As she did she considered that the savoury biscuits that she had made had turned out well this time. The recipe she had from the library seemed to be the best one yet and she had managed to get them so that they cooked correctly; it was the heat, she had concluded, that they were cooked at which was most important. When they were cooked too hot, they burnt before they cooked, but not hot enough meant that they were soft in the middle. The temperature was a low one that she needed, but it had to be above a certain temperature. This was her third batch now, and she thought that she might finally have cracked it.
She came back out and put down his play on the table in front of him. He had asked her to bring it back out and so she had, of course, complied. "You wish to practice it, Master? Hear the words themselves?" she asked for clarification. By all the Immortals, she hated the idea of acting. She did it, of course, without complaint or concern, but she hated it ~ the thought of all those people looking at her and seeing her and knowing that she was acting and was not this person that she was pretending to be. Oh, it was an awful thought.
"What would you like me to do?" she asked, picking up her copy and looking at him with a smile. In the distance, there was a yowling of a cat and Faith considered that she hadn't seen Mistral for a while, so it was probably the sound of one of Mistral's unwilling victims being mauled and mutilated by the hideous beast. She and the cat were finally starting to develop a relationship, but she recognised it for what it was and what it was, fundamentally, was a failed necromantic experiment. It was an evil and self absorbed creature and, since she looked after it so well (and she suspected that she did that a sight better than Tristan had before he had bought her), the cat tolerated her (and her it) and sometimes even showed her affection. Still, she sent a prayer to Famula that whoever Mistral was torturing now had the best it could hope for.
A swift death.
She made sure that the plate of cheese, fruit and home baked savoury biscuits she had made for him the trial before was well stocked in front of him and his glass of wine was full then she dropped a curtsy and excused herself so that she could put the clothing and materials away. As she did she considered that the savoury biscuits that she had made had turned out well this time. The recipe she had from the library seemed to be the best one yet and she had managed to get them so that they cooked correctly; it was the heat, she had concluded, that they were cooked at which was most important. When they were cooked too hot, they burnt before they cooked, but not hot enough meant that they were soft in the middle. The temperature was a low one that she needed, but it had to be above a certain temperature. This was her third batch now, and she thought that she might finally have cracked it.
She came back out and put down his play on the table in front of him. He had asked her to bring it back out and so she had, of course, complied. "You wish to practice it, Master? Hear the words themselves?" she asked for clarification. By all the Immortals, she hated the idea of acting. She did it, of course, without complaint or concern, but she hated it ~ the thought of all those people looking at her and seeing her and knowing that she was acting and was not this person that she was pretending to be. Oh, it was an awful thought.
"What would you like me to do?" she asked, picking up her copy and looking at him with a smile. In the distance, there was a yowling of a cat and Faith considered that she hadn't seen Mistral for a while, so it was probably the sound of one of Mistral's unwilling victims being mauled and mutilated by the hideous beast. She and the cat were finally starting to develop a relationship, but she recognised it for what it was and what it was, fundamentally, was a failed necromantic experiment. It was an evil and self absorbed creature and, since she looked after it so well (and she suspected that she did that a sight better than Tristan had before he had bought her), the cat tolerated her (and her it) and sometimes even showed her affection. Still, she sent a prayer to Famula that whoever Mistral was torturing now had the best it could hope for.
A swift death.
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