Thread: Behind Glass  Verse&Sesu

He was grateful enough that his answer hadn't gotten him into any trouble. In fact, her mood seemed to lighten slightly. The guards stayed where they where as their mistress gave no sign to advance at him. He had never really thought about what tests they might put him through to prepare or hone him for life in the black towers. The thought sent his mind reeling into another one. Yes, that must be it, then. They were in constant need of servants, and that was probably why he had been picked. In the surprise, and to be honest, fear, back at the drinking hole he hadn't considered such an easy explanation. It made him smile so he wouldn't laugh. When one of the houses shaped like a man looked at him disapprovingly he made sure to keep his amusement to himself. While slave was a stepdown from ruler of the new world, it gave him a sense of symmetry, and from what he'd heard life inside the glass would always be preferable. The usual scouts for slaves were very well groomed and fed. As the new thought was easier to accept, he also started thinking about what it meant. They had always been inclined toward the beautiful. His chest swelled a little with foreign notion. When was the last time he'd seen himself without smudges? Embarrassing as it was to admit, whatever gift this one had could very well make her a better judge of his physicality than himself. All he knew was his general features and height. Akalli lit up when he saw Sybin, coming over to her quickly to share some of her energy. And it was usually a lot. He perched himself half on the table as he collected a cut from the cold part of the spread. He smirked as he dangled the meat over his lips before he started tearing at it lazily with his teeth, trying to take as much time as he possibly could eating it while she waited for her answers. The slice could only last for so long. He licked his lips and bent down slightly, still supported by the huge table as he looked her in those perfect, artificial eyes. Pretty like a boy, Sybin. he promised before grabbing her arm, sliding fully onto the table, popping her down on his lap. In the sense that she is one. he explained as he pulled some parsley from a bowl of stew, tickling her lips with it imploringly as he discretely rocked her like a toy. He wasn't sure she'd completely understand the less than subtle hints, and he wasn't one to mock her for her -- lack of processes, so he decided to simply tell her, still trying to feed her the food decoration. It's not a girl. It's a boy. He looked dirty. And they were sure to let him know. The water was well heated and strong. The first thought he had when they left him alone with the soap was the impulse to steal it. He decided against it and made sure to use it well instead, scratching its surface to clean his nails when he was done with his body. Mother had told him stories about it, and he had been particularly interested in hygiene when she was alive. He became still as the water drained off him. This was the life they'd had. Finally, he would be able to taste it. He jerked slightly when a pair of women entered the tiled room. When he saw the scissors and clothes in their holds he felt calmer. Half way through the haircut and shaving, he thought to ask about this new life. So, what kind of job are they cleaning me up for? The answer made him cold. The girls giggled. He looked at them from where he sat on the chair they'd brought in. Soft faces instead of bone. His head tilted as he let the hairdresser continue his work. The tailor didn't seem to have much on her agenda anymore, now that he was fully clothed. By his orders she was on her knees, her mouth and face too busy to laugh. Eventually the two produced Orrin in a new shape, though still badly sun burnt, he was clean, dark tresses in control finally, waving back instead of every which way. He bowed to the woman with the red hair as soon as they were made to meet again, his hands a little steadier this time. The thought of royalty hadn't settled quite yet, but he was beginning to understand the magnitude. And he liked the taste of it. The cut on the tailors face from her friends scissors had been a proof of that. Livia Orsin, they told me. It is nice to meet you without wearing rags. He straightened fast. Will there be more? Tests, trials? Rewards?