It's a Date Then|Ekaitz
May 30, 2007 2:11:34 GMT -5
Post by Kender Bard on May 30, 2007 2:11:34 GMT -5
Anarchy walked into her home, clutching a bundle of clothes. Fine, crisply white silk gleamed between her fingers, with an ocassional flash of black somewhere within in its depths. She didn't feel much like hunting for where Da'cien was at the moment so merely called out in an authoritative voice, "Da'cien!"
The redhead stepped out from the kitchen where he had been washing dishes and singing something about whistling while working. "Yes, mistress?" he asked quietly, bowing his head to the dark-tempered woman.
Pausing, Anarchy admired her work and toy. There had been much improvement. She was enormously pleased, and glad that the decision she was making was not the wrong one. "Did you know that there's going to be a wedding today?" she asked airily, suddenly in the mood for a little conversation.
"I've.... heard whispers of it, mistress," Da'cien answered, feeling a flash of fear rip through the numb insanity he had developed. Every slave was afraid of what the wedding would entail; even newer slaves with rebellious streaks had doubled their efforts to work and please.
Anarchy smiled pleasantly at Da'cien and went on, "Then likely you know who it is between. I'd like you to be my escort there. It's sure to be a drab, horribly boring affair. There's nobody else I know aside from you and Danny who would be entertaining as an escort, and between the two of you..." She smirked in an odd, crooked way; as though she wanted to keep a sneering appearance up but was genuinely smiling too. "You are the most handsome." She held out the bundle a little awkwardly. "So I got you a fine outfit. Get changed, and I will do the same."
Da'cien's breath hitched in his throat. She had praised him; she was giving him a gift. Oh, something was wrong, and yet.... "Thank you," he said humbly, taking the package. "I will return forthwith." He disappeared into the small room where he and Danny were allowed to sleep, and stripped off the kilt and sandals that were his normal wear these days.
The new clothing was like something he had worn as an extra in Amano's masterpiece "Pirates Of The Strait: Red Opal's Hex." It invoked a horrible longing Da'cien had thought he left behind.
"No," he told himself harshly as he dressed. "No." Giving his hair a quick combing, he exited the room and presented himself to Anarchy.
Anarchy took longer in dressing; she was primping in front of her very expensive, small mirror, trying to make sure she looked good from all angles she was capable to see; going through her jewelry, changing her mind one minute to the next. At last, she'd fixed things to her liking. She emerged from her room and went to meet Da'cien, a cranberry velvet gown whispering softly against her legs and the floor with her footfalls. She paused to reach up and adjust the golden dragon hairclip that kept her locks in a carefully tailored 'spill' down her back. "You look marvelous," Anarchy enthused when she'd set her eyes upon him.
"You are elegant, my lady," Da'cien returned, for a moment sounding like a young lord, then he shook his head, cringing. "Forgive me, I speak out of turn."
"No, no," Anarchy corrected. "You're doing splendidly. Though everyone knows you for what you are, I don't mind if you pretend to be a lord today." Eyes twinkling, she added, "Just don't forget your place when we return." As if he could. "I will want someone to whisper to during this whole stuffy affair, and it would be good to hear intelligent conversation back." She held out her hand to him. "Shall we then?"
Permission! Permission to take off the mask of a slave, and put on a bejeweled one of alabaster that portrayed a prince! Da'cien shook with joy as he took Anarchy's hand and looped it through his arm, like a member of some royal court. "We shall," he said grandly, and with those words, he was suddenly somehow more alive than he had been in the months of his enslavement.
Stepping lightly and proudly, Da'cien escorted Anarchy out of the house, but let her lead him to the temple.
The redhead stepped out from the kitchen where he had been washing dishes and singing something about whistling while working. "Yes, mistress?" he asked quietly, bowing his head to the dark-tempered woman.
Pausing, Anarchy admired her work and toy. There had been much improvement. She was enormously pleased, and glad that the decision she was making was not the wrong one. "Did you know that there's going to be a wedding today?" she asked airily, suddenly in the mood for a little conversation.
"I've.... heard whispers of it, mistress," Da'cien answered, feeling a flash of fear rip through the numb insanity he had developed. Every slave was afraid of what the wedding would entail; even newer slaves with rebellious streaks had doubled their efforts to work and please.
Anarchy smiled pleasantly at Da'cien and went on, "Then likely you know who it is between. I'd like you to be my escort there. It's sure to be a drab, horribly boring affair. There's nobody else I know aside from you and Danny who would be entertaining as an escort, and between the two of you..." She smirked in an odd, crooked way; as though she wanted to keep a sneering appearance up but was genuinely smiling too. "You are the most handsome." She held out the bundle a little awkwardly. "So I got you a fine outfit. Get changed, and I will do the same."
Da'cien's breath hitched in his throat. She had praised him; she was giving him a gift. Oh, something was wrong, and yet.... "Thank you," he said humbly, taking the package. "I will return forthwith." He disappeared into the small room where he and Danny were allowed to sleep, and stripped off the kilt and sandals that were his normal wear these days.
The new clothing was like something he had worn as an extra in Amano's masterpiece "Pirates Of The Strait: Red Opal's Hex." It invoked a horrible longing Da'cien had thought he left behind.
"No," he told himself harshly as he dressed. "No." Giving his hair a quick combing, he exited the room and presented himself to Anarchy.
Anarchy took longer in dressing; she was primping in front of her very expensive, small mirror, trying to make sure she looked good from all angles she was capable to see; going through her jewelry, changing her mind one minute to the next. At last, she'd fixed things to her liking. She emerged from her room and went to meet Da'cien, a cranberry velvet gown whispering softly against her legs and the floor with her footfalls. She paused to reach up and adjust the golden dragon hairclip that kept her locks in a carefully tailored 'spill' down her back. "You look marvelous," Anarchy enthused when she'd set her eyes upon him.
"You are elegant, my lady," Da'cien returned, for a moment sounding like a young lord, then he shook his head, cringing. "Forgive me, I speak out of turn."
"No, no," Anarchy corrected. "You're doing splendidly. Though everyone knows you for what you are, I don't mind if you pretend to be a lord today." Eyes twinkling, she added, "Just don't forget your place when we return." As if he could. "I will want someone to whisper to during this whole stuffy affair, and it would be good to hear intelligent conversation back." She held out her hand to him. "Shall we then?"
Permission! Permission to take off the mask of a slave, and put on a bejeweled one of alabaster that portrayed a prince! Da'cien shook with joy as he took Anarchy's hand and looped it through his arm, like a member of some royal court. "We shall," he said grandly, and with those words, he was suddenly somehow more alive than he had been in the months of his enslavement.
Stepping lightly and proudly, Da'cien escorted Anarchy out of the house, but let her lead him to the temple.
