Thread: streetlight swag

Work still needed doing as the crew faltered, sinking down onto the ground, chests rising and falling with labored breaths. Alone she stood, like a shepherd watching over his sheep, or a father watching over his children. They were amusing her, these men. She found it fascinating how they could go from a horde of men that were willing to fuck her given the chance but then dissolve into a mass of tired individuals. Rolling her eyes, Naila retrieved the broom from the hand of one of the males resting and finished the few boards that were left to be cleaned. The lass will clean an spread er legs! One hollered, his voice raspy. Turning, Naila stared down at them with eyes liked daggers, taking in their pitiful state without remorse. It was their faults that they were so easily winded, whereas she was limber and could probably clean for hours. Now she understood why the captain only gave them the command of cleaning the barracks, for he would be short an entire crew if he had asked for anything else. It does not appear that you would be able to get it up, for you can hardly stand! Letting out a huffed breath, as a bull would, Naila returned the mop and broom to the small storage space. At that moment, they pulled themselves onto their feet and wavered, wiping sweat from their foreheads. Really, it is amazing how the captain picked such an excellent lot. She murmured, tying her hair into a quick braid on the right side of her face. They stood, out of things to do, while their eyes surveyed the barracks for something else to do. There was no reason for them to break into the alcohol stash until they were certain the room was spotless. While they saved their own skins, Naila placed her hands on her narrow hips and looked at the space where she was to sleep. Are there anyother blankets? She tried, watching as the men seemed to bloom now that they had gotten a rest. Tha blankets on our beds are tha only ones, lass. Ye are welcome to share em, fer a price. Naila shook her head and looked at her makeshift bed. Compared to the pile of sodden hay on the ground, she longed for a pile of mattresses stuffed to the brim with down feathers. Perhaps a few comforters and silken sheets to slip away into. Her bedroom in Miribar smelled like candles always, or whichever oils were dribbled into her washing bowl. This place, this hell hole meant for thieves and liars, had a permanent stench of piss and occasionally shit when the wind blew through the toilet hole. She could never imagine living here simply as a lifestyle and now wished she could return to Miribar more than ever, even with a bounty on her head. Heavy footsteps sounded on the floor above their heads, growing louder as they stomped down the stairs and into the barracks. The source of the noise came from the man, the captains friend with a face like a rat. His eyes found hers instantly and he stepped closer, grabbing her by the shoulder. Naila winced and struggled to pull away but was, in turn, yanked up the stairs as if she was being led to the guillotine. As soon as they reached the upper deck, the man threw her forward and she stumbled, catching herself before falling onto the floorboards. Compose yourself. He threatened, storming towards her, a raised hand to strike her. The captain wants to speak with you. You will do what he says when he says it. Do not speak until spoken to. If he tells you to lie with him, you will spread your legs and stick your ass in the air. No crude remarks, no attitude, no nothing. I will personally throw you off this vessel and make it look like an accident. Do I make myself clear? Nodding stiffly, Edmure grabbed her again and sent her towards the door where the captain was stationed. I can accompany myself, thank you. Stabilizing herself and gathering her bearings, Naila fixed the sleeve on her dress and stepped inside the mans room. She looked at the ground and mentally repeated the orders Edmure had given her. ---- Sitting by the northern window, Troen rested his forearm on his knee, leaning forward. Looking straight down and even directly outwards towards the buildings in town, the community was bustling around. From the closeness of the window, Troen could tell that the morning sun was not quick to warm the town below. Many rushed around with shawls spread over their shoulders and tucked into their armpits, while others tried to warm up by blowing air into closed hands. Parts of him wished he could bring some of them inside and offer them warm broth or tea to sip on, but that wasnt a characteristic he possessed. See, if his brother was still ruler, Tapio would have beaten the crowds out to the corners and would be helping them with their jobs. Tapio would be lugging chickens over his shoulders, not worried about feathers sticking to his garb or blood running down his sleeves. The male was a natural-born helper and Troen was satisfied to say that he was not the same. Even though the two Johari boys were similar in appearance, they were nearly polar opposites in attitudes and personalities. While they were growing up, Tapio had always been treated between the brothers, even though their parents promised that they refused to pick favorites. Pinching the bridge of his nose before running his hands over his eyes, Troen groaned softly and hoped that his memories would find themselves a new body to make a vessel out of. If he was going to be the best ruler that Miribar has ever seen, he could not afford to be reminiscent over his dead brother. Especially because the death was his own fault, perhaps it was Tapios fault for securing his spot on the throne while being the younger brother. Outcomes would have been different if the real rules had been set forth when it came time for the newest king to be crowned. Age and birth was always prominent, the oldest son was always the one to get the throne first. Tapio had managed to weasel himself past the obvious. Their parents were proud of both their boys, especially their new royal son because he was royalty, and the frustrated and envious Troen sat in the background. So, truthfully, he had done the correct thing for his family, he had helped them abide by the rules since he had gotten rid of his brother. Things would have been easier if Tapio would have just waited until Troen himself was dead or two old to rule, then his younger brother would have his chance to finally be the king of Miribar. Pushing the thoughts into the back of his mind again, he continued to stare out the frosted windows, waiting for Miribars doctor to come pay him a visit. At that moment, hands found themselves on his shoulders and he would have jumped if he had not gazed down to see the hands themselves. They were the same hands that had grabbed him by the neck the night before, the same hands that belonged to the wife that didnt want him. You are fairly observant, He spoke to Samosa, though keeping his eyes from her body behind him. Did you suck on sugar cane through the night? You seem sweeter than you were when you were telling me to keep my hands from you. Troen placed his well hand over hers on his shoulder and squeezed gently before shooing them away. He stood slowly, his joints seemingly cemented in place from the cold and immediate sitting. I do not understand, my love, have you had a sudden epiphany? It was only before the rising sun that you spoke of feigning love and treachery. Bringing her closer, Troen locked their eyes and pressed his lips to her clothed shoulder, the same spot he had kissed the night before. How do you wish to take away my pain, my love? Enlighten me, for even the physician cannot think up a cure. His wounds would heal, as sure as rain, but the pain was deep and coursing through his entire being. The feelings were almost like a disease that affected him and he needed it gone.