[ The life of a slave in Euchronia is often brutal and short.
Will is luckier than most that he's still alive and hasn't been worked as hard as most. At eighteen, he's still small-framed and brittle-boned, too thin on account of malnutrition perhaps; he's been a slave for as long as he can remember, though that isn't very long at all on account of the fact that he can't seem to remember anything before the age of around ten or so.
That's scary for a lot of reasons, as a slave, but his former master, an old rhoag woman, assured him (quite without his asking) that he's never been sexually abused. I've had you since you were a wee'un, she'd often tell him, in a queer mountainous accent. Some rapscallions from the wastes offered you to me — said they'd been paid good money to dispose of you and would take good money to sell you off. She was undoubtedly a cruel person, as most slave owners would be, but she wasn't all bad. More like a curmudgeonly grandmother than anything else. Too old and arthritic to maintain her formerly palatial estate, she had him dress as her maidservant and do her household tasks, and told everyone in her village — who knew her as an old witch — that he was rhoag, too, and merely lacked the traditional facial markings due to a birth defect.
She'd rap his knuckles for failing to meet expectations and expected him to sleep in a maidservant's room that was more like a jail cell, and weaved a strange spell to prevent him from living the premises (evidently some of the rumors of her witchliness was true), but it wasn't a bad life, all in all. He lived in relative happiness like that for some time. All good things must come to an end, though, and there is no place for an elda in a rural village. After she died, he was accused of laying an "eldan curse" upon her, and captured, and sold to slavers once again —
"Next lot!" the auctioneer's voice booms out over the crowd. "This one's a rare treasure for those with the eyes to 'preciate it!"
He's urged to stumble forward, past a shabby set of curtains that hides the slaves from view of the crowd. Chained with his arms behind his back, Will can't do much else but comply. A shocked gasp goes up when he emerges. Many have never seen someone of his kind before —
"An elda?" someone murmurs. "Elda are real?"
"An elda? Who would pay for one of those?"
"You're like to be cursed just havin' one in your home!"
"Now that's an old wives' tale if I've ever heard one! I'd risk it if the price is right..."
"Thin boy like that won't do well with physical labor."
"Boy? I thought that was a girl..."
"Eldan boy!" the auctioneer clarifies, in his loud voice. He tugs on Will's collar roughly to get him to gaze out at the crowd instead of at his feet. "Should be about sixteen or eighteen, thereabouts. Rather pretty, ain't he, and he's got odd eyes too, if'n that pleases ye. Thin and scrawny, won't grow any more than this, I reckon, but he's ripe for uses and used to housework! Answers to the name of Will. We'll start the bidding at twenty reeve!"
Twenty reeve? Is the life of an elda worth so little? Will feels a little sick, but that might just be because he's hungry and thirsty, and hasn't eaten in days. He sways on his feet... ]
[ The capital is a place where sickening spectacle draws a crowd. Executions, slave auctions... Just a handful of days here have driven home several times over how sheltered a life Strohl has lived, even though the idyllic fields of Halia are nothing more than a distant memory now.
Today's scene makes his blood boil, too, and it brings his steps to a halt near the edges of the throng gathered before the platform where the "goods" are put on display for their prospective bidders. A rare treasure, the auctioneer boasts, as if he's patting himself on the back for a job well done, getting his hands on some exotic object thanks to his own discerning eye. Yet he handles the eldan boy like an unwanted dog, an unsightly thing to foist off on the first person he can convince to take it.
Twenty reeve. It's bad enough that these are people's lives, not a merchant's wares, but that's adding insult to injury.
Nobody places a single bid. They're all too busy muttering more of their comments, speculating that there has to be a catch, if the auctioneer could settle for that paltry sum. It can't be a real elda, maybe he's diseased, and so on...
Strohl finds himself pushing his way through the crowd, to the very front. It won't do any good to make a scene, he knows, and this is just one auction among many, one slave where there are countless others, but he can't abide the thought of walking away, either.
"Watch it, you—" Jostled, a man shoves back; Strohl pays him no mind, focused on the pair standing on that platform. Well... The boy — Will — looks like his legs are about to give out underneath him and send him tumbling to the ground. The auctioneer's intervention now is just as rough as it was moments ago, hauling the elda upright again, before he clears his throat.
"Do I hear twenty reeve? C'mon, wouldn't want a find like this slippin' through yer fingers, eh?" ]
Twenty.
[ Strohl repeats the number with disgust, undisguised and incredulous. The auctioneer's gaze lands on him as his speaking up sets off another round of murmurs, how exactly a young man could put a find like this to use among them. ]
That's it? Far be it from me to turn down your generosity.
[ The auctioneer seems to have realized that he's misstepped by offering the elda at a price too low to rouse the crowd's interest. The idea behind it was to incite a bidding war, but now he can't get a first bid going, as the auctiongoers speculate that there's a catch to this "rare," odd-eyed elda. The man scowls at Strohl's interruption, looking the young clemar over, identifying him easily by his bearing and his unscarred features as some sort of noble stripling, unfit for sordid matters such as a slave auction.
He opens his mouth as if to say something unkind, then seems to think better of it, sneering as he twists Strohl's words in a different direction instead. "'That's it,' he says! Sounds like a bid to me! I've got twenty, do I hear thirty? Fifty?"
Another clemar man from the crowd, seemingly of a nervous temperament, ventures a bid. "I'll... I'll bid fifty!" he cries out, though he doesn't sound sure of himself.
The man standing next to him — a brother or relative, perhaps? — immediately raps his knuckles against the back of the man's head, less a forceful gesture and more a chiding one. "Idiot! We're not takin' an elda into our house no matter how cheap the labor would be!" He turns back to the auctioneer, yelling: "Bid withdrawn!"
Another woman from the crowd raises her voice. "Oh, put that thing away! No one wants a wretch like that in their home!"
It may very well be that not everyone in the crowd feels quite so viciously against the elda — but against such social pressure, who would stand up for something so reviled, so downtrodden? There are a few more murmurs, but they settle into low whispers. Those who would have been tempted by the slave boy's low price, whether for labor or for pleasure, seem to be now ashamed of themselves.
The auctioneer's gambit has failed, and his rare treasure is now unlikely to sell. Scowling at the whisperers and naysayers, he hauls the elda boy off his feet again, whirling him roughly in Strohl's direction. (Will stumbles and loses his balance, but regains it soon enough, peering anxiously through his dirty hair at the man who spoke up in his defense before casting his eyes downward again.)
"Goin' for twenty!" he barks, apparently eager to be rid of his unique cargo so that he can move on to the other slaves. "Sold, then, to the bleedin'-heart nobleman — unless you're withdrawing your bid, too?"
Strohl never bid, as such, but nor does he have the power to shut down this entire unjust operation. The elda in chains looks into his eyes again and looks down once more. ]
[ The elda (Will, funny coincidence that it's so close to a different name held in Strohl's memories) barely looks up, but his timid glances somehow pierce Strohl to the core. It isn't pity, no, and it's certainly nothing like having second thoughts — he just wants the boy to look at him again. Could have sworn that there was something familiar about Will, for a moment.
But he shakes himself out of it, setting the thought aside as ridiculous, and besides, it's not as if he stepped in because he fancied that he recognized someone he knew. His hands have already come up to catch Will, to steady him, even if he hasn't handed over the twenty reeve yet. The boy's slight frame feels distressingly frail beneath his palms; he loosens his grip, keeps it gentle, despite the anger rising within him.
"Well?" The auctioneer's patience is a thin thread near snapping, his mood soured. Among the crowd, some are beginning to whisper that they should have bid after all, that might have been a real bargain, but it's too late now.
It's best to hurry before any of them do try to draw this out even longer.
Without letting go of Will altogether, Strohl reaches into his knapsack, which truthfully isn't bursting at the seams with coin or anything else that would paint a target on his back, and gives the auctioneer his payment. The man snatches it from his fingers, finally unlocks Will's chains, and motions for newly-acquainted master and slave to move out of the way so that he can get back to his auction. He probably can't wait to make more than twenty reeve next time...
It's impossible to put a stop to all of it. There'll be more auctions just like this one. Reluctantly, Strohl reminds himself of that — he's done the only thing within his power right now. He'll see to it that Will is treated well from now on.
Turning to the boy, both hands resting on Will's shoulders, he looks him over more closely. His voice is quieter than it was when he spoke to the auctioneer, his tone warmer. ]
Shall we be off? If you feel up to walking, I mean.
[ No one person has the power to end the cruelty on display here. Will feels shame for it in his own heart, but he knows that nothing short of a miracle can save the other slaves for sale, or end the entire cruel practice. Some other day, perhaps, they can dream of a proper revolution. Perhaps it is enough, for today, that Strohl has saved Will and Will alone from a terrible fate.
The young elda stumbles forward clumsily, but gratefully, as he is released by the slavers and into his new master's hands. Behind him, the auctioneer has smoothed his cruel features over into a calm and pleasing mask again, and signals for an assistant to crack a whip against the ground, the signal to push forward the next unlucky slave for the onlookers to evaluate.
Maybe one day.
Today, Will nods nervously, inwardly feeling lucky to have secured a new, seemingly kind-hearted master, but equally aware that he's not out of the woods yet. It could be, for example, that Strohl has a terrible temper. But he has a warm voice, a gentle voice. Will likes the timbre of it already. The touch of Strohl's hands against his shoulders — that's reassuring, too. ]
Y-Yes, master. I'll go where you wish.
[ Perhaps Will can earn his favor yet...? His wide eyes communicate a desperate desire not to be abandoned. ]
[ Now that Will has lifted his gaze to look at Strohl again in turn, his eyes really are captivating. Once more, that flicker of something like recognition makes itself felt, but Strohl only offers the boy a smile, gives Will's thin shoulders a gentle squeeze, hoping that it reassures him. Maybe it's not enough, after the things that Will must have gone through as a slave...
Strohl wants to tell him that there's no need to call him master, let alone be afraid. He wants to promise Will then and there that everything will be better.
(Can he promise Will that? What does a clemar know of an elda's lot in life? Just hearing the auctioneer and the people here was awful, but it sounds like Will served someone's household before, and then there's the question of how that happened and how he ended up in today's auction...)
They should leave this place first, get Will somewhere far away from any slavers. ]
Let's go, then.
[ Withdrawing his hands, Strohl leads Will out of there, the crowd behind them soon. Before long, though he set his pace to match Will's, he stops in his tracks to shed his coat, holding it out to the boy. It should be warmer to wear than just the threadbare things that Will has at the moment. ]
Here. We'll get you clothes of your own, of course, but I hope this will do until we manage that.
[ The young eldan slave falters for a time, caught between refusing the coat that is offered to him and mechanically accepting what his master gives him. On the one hand, he shouldn't refuse an order from his master, but on the other hand, he can't take something that doesn't belong to him either, surely...? ]
I fear your coat would be too good for me. I've done nothing to earn new clothes just yet.
[ Flustered, Will finally settles for taking the coat, but he doesn't put it on, instead merely holding it as he bows and attempts to curtsy with a skirt he doesn't have. ]
I'm only sorry that they sold my servant's dress and apron. I used to be a maidservant of sorts...
[ A maid...? Well, that explains the curtsying and the servile demeanor. He clutches Strohl's coat with both arms as if seeking comfort from it, though, and Strohl would have to be truly cold-hearted to make him travel too far without shoes. ]
[ Strohl could kick himself. So much for making sure that everything will be better... All he's managed is something thoughtless, leaving Will uncomfortable. Of course it won't be as easy as, what, wrapping Will in his coat as if it's a blanket?
It's heartening, at least, to see Will holding the garment in his arms, practically hugging it. Strohl gazes at the boy, honestly rather charmed by the sight, though what he's hearing is disturbing all over again. Is housework really all that they had Will do, if he had to wear a dress for his owner...?
He doesn't want Will to relive any of it. ]
Hey... You don't have to call me anything but Strohl or do anything to earn clothes or anything else. All right? I just didn't want to leave you back there.
[ And he won't leave Will standing here or make him walk around the city any longer than they need to. Pointing into the distance, Strohl means to take Will to the inn where he has found a room for the time being. Some food and a bath will hopefully go over better than the talk of new clothes. ]
Despite his protests, Will seems loath to let go of Strohl's jacket now that it's in his arms. As they make their way to the inn (Will isn't too surprised by the choice in lodgings, he's seen enough of Strohl's belongings at this point to conclude that, while the young clemar is a nobleman, he is either currently traveling on foot or no longer possesses land, and most likely both), the elda holds Strohl's jacket against his nose, partly to obscure his face out of some vague sense of shame, but also because he likes the way it smells.
Will used to do the laundry for the "witch" he was in servitude to, as well as other household tasks, but aside from the cheap soap with which he washed her stiff sheets — soap which would leave his hands chafed and cracked at the end of each day — he hasn't ever known the scent of sweet-smelling things. Fruit was occasionally awarded to him, on the rare occasions when his mistress did not want to eat it and had leftovers to give him, but aside from the sweet smell of an apple or a pear, he's never known anything to smell as wonderful as the way Strohl's jacket smells in his arms right now. Does Strohl himself smell this nice...?
The young elda is quiet as he's led in his tattered rags to Strohl's inn room. The innkeeper gives him a discreet sidelong glance — it is clear that he and his "new master" have just returned from the slave auction, after all, but she would be a poor innkeeper to report her customers for illicit activities, and anyway, the slave trade is not illegal by any stretch of the imagination. She says nothing; it's none of her business so long as Strohl pays his fee. They head up to his room without incident. ]
[ Thankfully, no one's staring too much... Once they make it to the inn room, Strohl shuts the door behind them, facing Will after that. The boy seems happy to clutch his coat close as though it's actually a blanket, and he decides to let Will keep holding onto it. ]
Well, here we are. Just an inn room right now, but you'll want something to eat and a bath, right?
[ They can start with that. Clothes... Having some on hand would have helped, since Will could change into them after his bath. Strohl lifts one hand to his chin, thinking.
He really can't bring himself to drag Will around town without any shoes, so maybe it'd be better to take his measurements and go look for something that he can wear? At least until they can find something else together... ]
Let me take care of that while you make yourself comfortable — won't be long.
[ But he waits for Will to react first, unwilling to leave him alone unless he can be sure that it's fine. The last thing he wants is to make Will feel abandoned. He doubts that it's easy for Will to just sit down and make himself comfortable in a new place, anyway. ]
[ A bath and something to eat...? Nothing could make Will happier, and this inn even has running water, so Will won't have to trouble himself with bringing the water in from outside. Ah, could this really be true? Has he really stumbled into having such a kind master? There must be a catch. The luxury of a proper bathtub is something that he never even dreamed that he could have in his lifetime. Anxiously, and with a strangely elegant, demure air about him, the young elda laces his hands in front of him, looking for all the world like some sort of lost princess rather than a mistreated slave. ]
Oh — of course, sir. Will you be heading out? I can draw the bath on my own. Please don't worry yourself on my account...
[ He did say not to call him "Master," and Will knows it, but the "sir' just kind of slips out... Trying to make up for it in his own way, Will stumbles into other, still more ridiculous words: ]
Oh! A-And I won't attempt to escape or anything, either, I... I promise!
[ But it's all the more suspicious now that he's said it out loud, right? Ah... what to say to avoid punishment, to make the best first impression...? Will fidgets with the plain hemp shift that the slavers gave him, wishing for all the world that he had his old and familiar apron again. ]
[ Small steps. Trying to reassure Will won't get far if it makes him feel like he's done something wrong, least of all when he's already anxious, so Strohl doesn't comment on the "sir" or insist that it's no trouble to draw him a bath. The room should be pretty safe, and he'll be back from downstairs soon — worrying about Will running off on him or someone breaking in didn't even cross his mind. Still, he'll take the promise as another good sign.
Reaching out, Strohl gives Will's shoulder a light pat. ]
I believe you.
[ If anything, he wants to promise that he'll never do anything that would make Will feel the need to run away. That much is something that he hopes Will can trust. ]
See you in a bit, all right?
[ Will has the room and the bathtub and a bar of soap to himself for the next while; Strohl fetches a meal for the two of them to share, bringing it upstairs along with a borrowed tape measure and a scrap of paper. After a knock, he lets himself back into the room, where he sets the food down to wait for Will. A bowl of vegetable soup, slices of bread, and a glass of water will be Will's to have once he's finished bathing, nothing too heavy so that he can ease his stomach into handling it. ]
[ It all feels like such a strange dream. To have the old witch die; to be caught again, sold again. He'd thought he would be sold to a crueler master, and wind up in a worse state, but instead his new master simply has him bathe.
And in such luxury! — he thinks, knowing nothing of what true luxury is like. The inn's provided soap is plain and cheap, of the sort that dries the skin slightly but will leave it smelling nice; Will still uses it liberally because he's never had the privilege of smelling nice before. A simple igniter keeps the water hot (a true connoisseur of igniters would know that it merely boils the water, and thus has to be turned off and on, whereas more advanced models can keep it warmed, but it hardly matters to Will, who is just glad to have hot water to bathe in).
When he emerges at last, feeling cleaner than he's ever felt in what he can remember of his life — his handsome new master is waiting outside for him. With food. Delicious food, by the look of it — soup and bread and water — a far cry from the meager scraps and stale fare that Will is used to. ]
...Is that really for me?
[ Shyly, he steps closer, his bare feet near-silent against the wooden floorboards. Instead of sinking into the other chair, as Strohl clearly expects, Will instead sinks to his knees by Strohl's ankles, clinging to his knee as he looks up beseechingly at the man, as if begging his new master to give him answers. ]
How... how can you be so kind? I've never known anyone to be so kind.
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no subject
Will is luckier than most that he's still alive and hasn't been worked as hard as most. At eighteen, he's still small-framed and brittle-boned, too thin on account of malnutrition perhaps; he's been a slave for as long as he can remember, though that isn't very long at all on account of the fact that he can't seem to remember anything before the age of around ten or so.
That's scary for a lot of reasons, as a slave, but his former master, an old rhoag woman, assured him (quite without his asking) that he's never been sexually abused. I've had you since you were a wee'un, she'd often tell him, in a queer mountainous accent. Some rapscallions from the wastes offered you to me — said they'd been paid good money to dispose of you and would take good money to sell you off. She was undoubtedly a cruel person, as most slave owners would be, but she wasn't all bad. More like a curmudgeonly grandmother than anything else. Too old and arthritic to maintain her formerly palatial estate, she had him dress as her maidservant and do her household tasks, and told everyone in her village — who knew her as an old witch — that he was rhoag, too, and merely lacked the traditional facial markings due to a birth defect.
She'd rap his knuckles for failing to meet expectations and expected him to sleep in a maidservant's room that was more like a jail cell, and weaved a strange spell to prevent him from living the premises (evidently some of the rumors of her witchliness was true), but it wasn't a bad life, all in all. He lived in relative happiness like that for some time. All good things must come to an end, though, and there is no place for an elda in a rural village. After she died, he was accused of laying an "eldan curse" upon her, and captured, and sold to slavers once again —
"Next lot!" the auctioneer's voice booms out over the crowd. "This one's a rare treasure for those with the eyes to 'preciate it!"
He's urged to stumble forward, past a shabby set of curtains that hides the slaves from view of the crowd. Chained with his arms behind his back, Will can't do much else but comply. A shocked gasp goes up when he emerges. Many have never seen someone of his kind before —
"An elda?" someone murmurs. "Elda are real?"
"An elda? Who would pay for one of those?"
"You're like to be cursed just havin' one in your home!"
"Now that's an old wives' tale if I've ever heard one! I'd risk it if the price is right..."
"Thin boy like that won't do well with physical labor."
"Boy? I thought that was a girl..."
"Eldan boy!" the auctioneer clarifies, in his loud voice. He tugs on Will's collar roughly to get him to gaze out at the crowd instead of at his feet. "Should be about sixteen or eighteen, thereabouts. Rather pretty, ain't he, and he's got odd eyes too, if'n that pleases ye. Thin and scrawny, won't grow any more than this, I reckon, but he's ripe for uses and used to housework! Answers to the name of Will. We'll start the bidding at twenty reeve!"
Twenty reeve? Is the life of an elda worth so little? Will feels a little sick, but that might just be because he's hungry and thirsty, and hasn't eaten in days. He sways on his feet... ]
no subject
Today's scene makes his blood boil, too, and it brings his steps to a halt near the edges of the throng gathered before the platform where the "goods" are put on display for their prospective bidders. A rare treasure, the auctioneer boasts, as if he's patting himself on the back for a job well done, getting his hands on some exotic object thanks to his own discerning eye. Yet he handles the eldan boy like an unwanted dog, an unsightly thing to foist off on the first person he can convince to take it.
Twenty reeve. It's bad enough that these are people's lives, not a merchant's wares, but that's adding insult to injury.
Nobody places a single bid. They're all too busy muttering more of their comments, speculating that there has to be a catch, if the auctioneer could settle for that paltry sum. It can't be a real elda, maybe he's diseased, and so on...
Strohl finds himself pushing his way through the crowd, to the very front. It won't do any good to make a scene, he knows, and this is just one auction among many, one slave where there are countless others, but he can't abide the thought of walking away, either.
"Watch it, you—" Jostled, a man shoves back; Strohl pays him no mind, focused on the pair standing on that platform. Well... The boy — Will — looks like his legs are about to give out underneath him and send him tumbling to the ground. The auctioneer's intervention now is just as rough as it was moments ago, hauling the elda upright again, before he clears his throat.
"Do I hear twenty reeve? C'mon, wouldn't want a find like this slippin' through yer fingers, eh?" ]
Twenty.
[ Strohl repeats the number with disgust, undisguised and incredulous. The auctioneer's gaze lands on him as his speaking up sets off another round of murmurs, how exactly a young man could put a find like this to use among them. ]
That's it? Far be it from me to turn down your generosity.
no subject
He opens his mouth as if to say something unkind, then seems to think better of it, sneering as he twists Strohl's words in a different direction instead. "'That's it,' he says! Sounds like a bid to me! I've got twenty, do I hear thirty? Fifty?"
Another clemar man from the crowd, seemingly of a nervous temperament, ventures a bid. "I'll... I'll bid fifty!" he cries out, though he doesn't sound sure of himself.
The man standing next to him — a brother or relative, perhaps? — immediately raps his knuckles against the back of the man's head, less a forceful gesture and more a chiding one. "Idiot! We're not takin' an elda into our house no matter how cheap the labor would be!" He turns back to the auctioneer, yelling: "Bid withdrawn!"
Another woman from the crowd raises her voice. "Oh, put that thing away! No one wants a wretch like that in their home!"
It may very well be that not everyone in the crowd feels quite so viciously against the elda — but against such social pressure, who would stand up for something so reviled, so downtrodden? There are a few more murmurs, but they settle into low whispers. Those who would have been tempted by the slave boy's low price, whether for labor or for pleasure, seem to be now ashamed of themselves.
The auctioneer's gambit has failed, and his rare treasure is now unlikely to sell. Scowling at the whisperers and naysayers, he hauls the elda boy off his feet again, whirling him roughly in Strohl's direction. (Will stumbles and loses his balance, but regains it soon enough, peering anxiously through his dirty hair at the man who spoke up in his defense before casting his eyes downward again.)
"Goin' for twenty!" he barks, apparently eager to be rid of his unique cargo so that he can move on to the other slaves. "Sold, then, to the bleedin'-heart nobleman — unless you're withdrawing your bid, too?"
Strohl never bid, as such, but nor does he have the power to shut down this entire unjust operation. The elda in chains looks into his eyes again and looks down once more. ]
no subject
But he shakes himself out of it, setting the thought aside as ridiculous, and besides, it's not as if he stepped in because he fancied that he recognized someone he knew. His hands have already come up to catch Will, to steady him, even if he hasn't handed over the twenty reeve yet. The boy's slight frame feels distressingly frail beneath his palms; he loosens his grip, keeps it gentle, despite the anger rising within him.
"Well?" The auctioneer's patience is a thin thread near snapping, his mood soured. Among the crowd, some are beginning to whisper that they should have bid after all, that might have been a real bargain, but it's too late now.
It's best to hurry before any of them do try to draw this out even longer.
Without letting go of Will altogether, Strohl reaches into his knapsack, which truthfully isn't bursting at the seams with coin or anything else that would paint a target on his back, and gives the auctioneer his payment. The man snatches it from his fingers, finally unlocks Will's chains, and motions for newly-acquainted master and slave to move out of the way so that he can get back to his auction. He probably can't wait to make more than twenty reeve next time...
It's impossible to put a stop to all of it. There'll be more auctions just like this one. Reluctantly, Strohl reminds himself of that — he's done the only thing within his power right now. He'll see to it that Will is treated well from now on.
Turning to the boy, both hands resting on Will's shoulders, he looks him over more closely. His voice is quieter than it was when he spoke to the auctioneer, his tone warmer. ]
Shall we be off? If you feel up to walking, I mean.
no subject
The young elda stumbles forward clumsily, but gratefully, as he is released by the slavers and into his new master's hands. Behind him, the auctioneer has smoothed his cruel features over into a calm and pleasing mask again, and signals for an assistant to crack a whip against the ground, the signal to push forward the next unlucky slave for the onlookers to evaluate.
Maybe one day.
Today, Will nods nervously, inwardly feeling lucky to have secured a new, seemingly kind-hearted master, but equally aware that he's not out of the woods yet. It could be, for example, that Strohl has a terrible temper. But he has a warm voice, a gentle voice. Will likes the timbre of it already. The touch of Strohl's hands against his shoulders — that's reassuring, too. ]
Y-Yes, master. I'll go where you wish.
[ Perhaps Will can earn his favor yet...? His wide eyes communicate a desperate desire not to be abandoned. ]
no subject
Strohl wants to tell him that there's no need to call him master, let alone be afraid. He wants to promise Will then and there that everything will be better.
(Can he promise Will that? What does a clemar know of an elda's lot in life? Just hearing the auctioneer and the people here was awful, but it sounds like Will served someone's household before, and then there's the question of how that happened and how he ended up in today's auction...)
They should leave this place first, get Will somewhere far away from any slavers. ]
Let's go, then.
[ Withdrawing his hands, Strohl leads Will out of there, the crowd behind them soon. Before long, though he set his pace to match Will's, he stops in his tracks to shed his coat, holding it out to the boy. It should be warmer to wear than just the threadbare things that Will has at the moment. ]
Here. We'll get you clothes of your own, of course, but I hope this will do until we manage that.
no subject
[ The young eldan slave falters for a time, caught between refusing the coat that is offered to him and mechanically accepting what his master gives him. On the one hand, he shouldn't refuse an order from his master, but on the other hand, he can't take something that doesn't belong to him either, surely...? ]
I fear your coat would be too good for me. I've done nothing to earn new clothes just yet.
[ Flustered, Will finally settles for taking the coat, but he doesn't put it on, instead merely holding it as he bows and attempts to curtsy with a skirt he doesn't have. ]
I'm only sorry that they sold my servant's dress and apron. I used to be a maidservant of sorts...
[ A maid...? Well, that explains the curtsying and the servile demeanor. He clutches Strohl's coat with both arms as if seeking comfort from it, though, and Strohl would have to be truly cold-hearted to make him travel too far without shoes. ]
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It's heartening, at least, to see Will holding the garment in his arms, practically hugging it. Strohl gazes at the boy, honestly rather charmed by the sight, though what he's hearing is disturbing all over again. Is housework really all that they had Will do, if he had to wear a dress for his owner...?
He doesn't want Will to relive any of it. ]
Hey... You don't have to call me anything but Strohl or do anything to earn clothes or anything else. All right? I just didn't want to leave you back there.
[ And he won't leave Will standing here or make him walk around the city any longer than they need to. Pointing into the distance, Strohl means to take Will to the inn where he has found a room for the time being. Some food and a bath will hopefully go over better than the talk of new clothes. ]
We don't have far to walk, by the way.
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[ The young man falls silent.
Despite his protests, Will seems loath to let go of Strohl's jacket now that it's in his arms. As they make their way to the inn (Will isn't too surprised by the choice in lodgings, he's seen enough of Strohl's belongings at this point to conclude that, while the young clemar is a nobleman, he is either currently traveling on foot or no longer possesses land, and most likely both), the elda holds Strohl's jacket against his nose, partly to obscure his face out of some vague sense of shame, but also because he likes the way it smells.
Will used to do the laundry for the "witch" he was in servitude to, as well as other household tasks, but aside from the cheap soap with which he washed her stiff sheets — soap which would leave his hands chafed and cracked at the end of each day — he hasn't ever known the scent of sweet-smelling things. Fruit was occasionally awarded to him, on the rare occasions when his mistress did not want to eat it and had leftovers to give him, but aside from the sweet smell of an apple or a pear, he's never known anything to smell as wonderful as the way Strohl's jacket smells in his arms right now. Does Strohl himself smell this nice...?
The young elda is quiet as he's led in his tattered rags to Strohl's inn room. The innkeeper gives him a discreet sidelong glance — it is clear that he and his "new master" have just returned from the slave auction, after all, but she would be a poor innkeeper to report her customers for illicit activities, and anyway, the slave trade is not illegal by any stretch of the imagination. She says nothing; it's none of her business so long as Strohl pays his fee. They head up to his room without incident. ]
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Well, here we are. Just an inn room right now, but you'll want something to eat and a bath, right?
[ They can start with that. Clothes... Having some on hand would have helped, since Will could change into them after his bath. Strohl lifts one hand to his chin, thinking.
He really can't bring himself to drag Will around town without any shoes, so maybe it'd be better to take his measurements and go look for something that he can wear? At least until they can find something else together... ]
Let me take care of that while you make yourself comfortable — won't be long.
[ But he waits for Will to react first, unwilling to leave him alone unless he can be sure that it's fine. The last thing he wants is to make Will feel abandoned. He doubts that it's easy for Will to just sit down and make himself comfortable in a new place, anyway. ]
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Oh — of course, sir. Will you be heading out? I can draw the bath on my own. Please don't worry yourself on my account...
[ He did say not to call him "Master," and Will knows it, but the "sir' just kind of slips out... Trying to make up for it in his own way, Will stumbles into other, still more ridiculous words: ]
Oh! A-And I won't attempt to escape or anything, either, I... I promise!
[ But it's all the more suspicious now that he's said it out loud, right? Ah... what to say to avoid punishment, to make the best first impression...? Will fidgets with the plain hemp shift that the slavers gave him, wishing for all the world that he had his old and familiar apron again. ]
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Reaching out, Strohl gives Will's shoulder a light pat. ]
I believe you.
[ If anything, he wants to promise that he'll never do anything that would make Will feel the need to run away. That much is something that he hopes Will can trust. ]
See you in a bit, all right?
[ Will has the room and the bathtub and a bar of soap to himself for the next while; Strohl fetches a meal for the two of them to share, bringing it upstairs along with a borrowed tape measure and a scrap of paper. After a knock, he lets himself back into the room, where he sets the food down to wait for Will. A bowl of vegetable soup, slices of bread, and a glass of water will be Will's to have once he's finished bathing, nothing too heavy so that he can ease his stomach into handling it. ]
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And in such luxury! — he thinks, knowing nothing of what true luxury is like. The inn's provided soap is plain and cheap, of the sort that dries the skin slightly but will leave it smelling nice; Will still uses it liberally because he's never had the privilege of smelling nice before. A simple igniter keeps the water hot (a true connoisseur of igniters would know that it merely boils the water, and thus has to be turned off and on, whereas more advanced models can keep it warmed, but it hardly matters to Will, who is just glad to have hot water to bathe in).
When he emerges at last, feeling cleaner than he's ever felt in what he can remember of his life — his handsome new master is waiting outside for him. With food. Delicious food, by the look of it — soup and bread and water — a far cry from the meager scraps and stale fare that Will is used to. ]
...Is that really for me?
[ Shyly, he steps closer, his bare feet near-silent against the wooden floorboards. Instead of sinking into the other chair, as Strohl clearly expects, Will instead sinks to his knees by Strohl's ankles, clinging to his knee as he looks up beseechingly at the man, as if begging his new master to give him answers. ]
How... how can you be so kind? I've never known anyone to be so kind.