Thread: Heir to the plantation. (Wreckles & AmyBeth)

When it came to enduring the heat of Vacqueryas, Milien Duflot had years of experience. Well he had to, considering the fact that this was where he grew up. It was in the middle of the summer, a week after his 24th birthday when Milien had finally been allowed leave of his three year military service, and now he was on his way home. From the horseback he savored the familiar scenery, the lush gardens, open fields filled with all manners of different grapes. The fresh scent in the air! If it was one thing the natives of Vacqueryas took seriously, it was the cultivation of wine - the Duflot family was no different. Milien's father was a prominent producer of wine, it came with the family name as they happened to be owning one of the largest vineyards in southern France. Things were expected of Milien, now that he was returning home. The frequent letters received from his mother could not contain her joy of having her only son come home and take over as she more or less put it. Milien wiped his brow with his sleeve, the musketeer hat did little to alleviate the rays of the blazing sun. Luckily the white silken shirt allowed for plenty of air to run through it. He was close now, just one more hill and the familiar view of the Duflot manor and it's sprawling grounds would greet him. When it finally did, he urged his horse into full gallop. Everything was exactly the way he remembered, it even had that familiar scent - crushed grapes. Speeding through the dirt path, joined with plentiful symmetrical vines on both sides like they were welcoming him home. His real welcome however awaited at the steps of the manor. With a tug of the reins his steed diminished in speed, allowing for the dust clouds to catch up with him. Clad in a long white summer dress stood his mother with a posture only mothers are capable of when seeing their young for the first time in years. Milien had barely time to get out of the saddle and forming the words Mothe- before he was hugged tightly. It was all fond greetings really, Milien knew the word 'Army' always tasted sour like a unripe grape for his mother - despite France no longer being at war. When his mother finally relented she snapped with her fingers and a young slave girl appeared with a tray containing a damp cloth and a glass of water. Milien made use of them both, glancing at the girl who patiently waited for him to dismiss her. He did not recognize her, a new addition? Not that he made a habit of being familiar with the faces of the slaves, but this one was pretty. Putting her out of his thoughts he turned to his mother who whisked away the girl, Am I correct to assume father is occupied in tending to that garden of his? A wide smile and a nod he received from his mother who then hooked her arm under his and together they walked off. Milien's steed being tended to by the stable-hand. Milien's father had been governing over the vineyards for many decades, it was no secret that he wanted his son to take over. But such discussions were best saved for later, now was high time for lunch! They three of them sat beneath the shade of a great willow, enjoying the fruits of the harvest. His father suggested that they take a tour of the estate grounds, to get acquainted once more. Milien knew it was just his father's way of wanting to spend time alone, which was something he'd gladly obliged. Before they headed out he was given his fathers leather whip with the motivation 'The owner must always be ready to discipline his servants if required'. Such was the way of the Duflot, obedience was something to be instilled. It was better to be Feared and Respected.