Thread: The Bet (Darjeeling X QB)

Fleur spat on the ground, though her mouth was too dry to produce much at all. It was more so the gesture that indicated what she thought of Markus statement. Hes just a child, ready to throw a tantrum every time something wrong happens. Her eyes flickered suspiciously at the slave trader, who was being unusually kind. At the very least, he had not hit her though her stomach still strongly remembered his fist driving its way into her gut. The dark haired girl shifted a little closer to the wall as if she were hiding her belly away. Being pig food is better than being made a plaything of that boy. She spat again. Death was not an attractive option to be sure but she would never reveal as much to Markus. There was no love between them and she despised him as much as the others for what he stood for and what he had done to both her and the other slaves. Even if it was just a part of his job, it was still his choice, and it took a special kind of man to partake it work like this. Fleur would not have been surprised if she found her step-father to be of Markus make. If she didnt know any better, they would have been one and the same. Those nobles are all the same to me. She scowled, a dark shadow painted upon her dirt streaked features. You deserted to serve against the people rather than for, Fleur said bitterly, one of the first signs of emotion she had revealed in the past few nights. Markus voice gave her no reprieve but at the very least the lack of contact made her more willing to cooperate and converse. Ill do more than ruin his eye, and I wont be doing it for you. Her eyes followed the slave traders form as he lowered himself into the old seat, his tone still retaining a sense of familiarity. Fleur would not miss him but perhaps he was right. Lord Edgar seemed like a horrible man and however many times Markus had her beaten or whipped, it was never to kill. She did not respond to him and they sat in silence for some minutes. The snap of Markus fingers made her digits twitch, as the sound usually preceded a beating or five. A scowling guard approached her carrying something and she twitched again as the soft object was thrown against her naked body, the man lacking not in resentment. Fleur smiled sweetly at him as he and Markus left, tapping her own nose lightly even if the gesture made every bone in her body ache. Offering neither reply nor farewell, she threw the rags on herself it looked a little bit like a potato sack but it offered her some hint of modesty and hid her bruised flesh away from the chilly night. The wall was hard and cold against her spine but she huddled against it anyway. Weakness she would never show in front of another but alone and locked away, she allowed her eyes to shut. The fire burned low, bright green to a simmer as she filled her thoughts of happy memories and devout promises. Her eyes were dry, not a tear shed since the day her mother had almost sung her to sleep and not a day ever after and now, she would give them all just to hear her mother sing again. The Bluebird sang to herself instead, her voice soft and dainty, the sound rising in her cell like a beautiful echo which faded slowly as the bird herself fell into a dreamless slumber. Dawn greeted her in fetters and rough shoving from her prison, dragged from her sleep and to her feet as she was taken away from her slave pen. The others were still deep in their own dreams or nightmares and the dark-haired Kyra too. Fleur knew she would be given no chance to say her goodbyes, nor did she need it or want to. The others were probably relieved that it had not been them who drew the ire of the noble but Fleur herself. In some way, it should have made her feel righteous but she felt nothing of the sort. She was taken groped, slapped and grabbed along the way as guards were wont to do but the raven-haired slave gave them not a lick of attention. Even when the rags were ripped away from her, she only pinned the guard with a cool eyed glare, her chains rattling slightly. They were wary of her, and it was all the more necessary to give them a reason to be afraid even with her chains. Their journey was stopped and they ground to a halt in front of duo, a male and female. The fairer one spoke with grace, vastly different from slave and master alike. Fleur was used to the necessary papers and lines to sign with splotched ink. She only noticed when the man addressed her with what appeared to be an insult though his gaze blazed elsewhere. She offered no response, though she licked her dry lips again. Her legs were shaking, aching even as she stood staunch, firm and proud in her bonds. The guards seemed to mutter amongst themselves, disgruntled that the man should talk to them in such a way for it was only now did Fleur see the gleam of a collar about his and the others neck. When the woman approached her with a key, Fleur held her hands out subconsciously and even when the male questioned the woman, she was freed nevertheless and there were gentle fingers upon her wrist. Fleur caught herself before any noise escaped her. Kindness was not something she was used to and these fellow slaves could very well be under their Masters command to lull her into a false sense of security. She tilted her head. Ameera and Dinesh, names that were as foreign to her as this land was but they were pleasant enough. Fleur, she replied flatly as she rubbed her bruised wrists to soothe them. The Bluebird knew she could easily turn on the guards and while she could not overpower them, she could perhaps break one of their noses again, or even the slaves in front of her. The woman seemed not to care for her own safety and Fleur considered that too and yet, she found herself taking the outstretched hand against her better judgement. She could have escaped but she would have been cut down before she got too far. She was hungry, thirsty and tired and no matter how much will a slave had, it was nothing against the face of steel and well-fed men. I will follow as I dont seem to have a choice.