Thread: ____Pandora's Prize_____(OctopusPrince x Xinavee)

Samir did not know the word Nymph, but he wondered about the repetition, the questioning of his words. There was something penetrating about his new master's gaze, in asking to hear his name-- like it had been some sort of test more than to simply hear the word, like there was meaning in such a thing, and in a way Samir could understand that. A name was important to many cultures, it held history and bloodline and power. And yet, there was another focus in the request-- the word 'pleasure'. Was it not the correct word, to use? Had he said it wrong, to say it would please him to know his master's name? When Arwen's hand pulled at his jewelry again, something the gladiator seemed fond of, Samir was pulled nearer even more than he'd already been, head tipped back in Arwen's touch around his throat. He was still unflinchingly calm, even though the risk of violence in this was something he recognized intrinsically. At any moment, he could do the wrong thing, even as trained as he was. He focused his gaze into Arwen's, drew in a steadying breath and spoke with the grace that he held with any task he was commanded to do. Arwen. He answered. Until Arwen decided to sell him to someone else, perhaps someone stable and kind, this was his master. He had only ever used his master's name when being asked by someone else who he belonged to-- it was strange, and intense, the way Arwen asked him to say it for him, to display the knowledge, but that seemed to be part of the test. It was also strangely intimately to hear his name said over and over, and while Samir could not place Arwen's accent, he could tell just in that that he was neither Roman nor Persian. Samir did not understand his new master's intentions, but he obeyed anyway-- it was not his place, nor did he have any way to question the mind of his master. Perhaps in time, in serving this gladiator should he allow it, Samir would grow to know and understand his nature, but just then, he was asked to look upon Arwen's face and recite his name, so he did. Arwen's hold on his throat, the grasp of his hand and brush of his fingers, the strength of his arms, there seemed in all of the contact he'd known of this gladiator a gentility that was unanticipated. Samir had not the slightest hope that when that trunk had been opened that he'd be met with gentle hands, a stern, calm voice, and simple commands. He thought, in the drugged drowsiness of his mind, that he'd be raped and slaughtered, that his life had only been prolonged for the violence that had plagued his master's household to be spread out and enjoyed by many. He had been blessed, and in recognizing that, he reached up, carefully, gently, and stroked his fingers along Arwen's wrist, not with the intent to pull his hand away from his throat, but to allow it there, to welcome the touch, because even as they'd entered this room, Arwen had not dragged him by his hair to the bed to take him-- he'd only wanted to be served, to be cleaned and responded to when speaking. Arwen is the name of my master. Samir said, quiet, but resolute. The home of my life before this, has perished... to belong to you is all I have, now. I will serve with my best ability. He hoped, desperately, that his Latin was right, but just in case, to make it clear with his actions as well, he dipped his head, and kissed Arwen's wrist, a gesture of subservience that could be as plain or as intimate as one wished. Just then, he meant the gesture without intimacy, only gratitude for the fact that the hand around his throat had done nothing at all to harm him. His luck was incalculable, and even if Arwen was not what he seemed, if he changed his mind and decided that harming, maiming, raping, killing Samir was a better choice than to keep calmly commanding him into action, those few hours of peace after so much turmoil would be held in Samir's mind as a blessing still. He knew well the coarseness of men of war-- he had heard about it as the Roman's encroached on Persian households one by one, killing and taking all they wished, greedy hands grasping fiercely at any treasure that could be claimed after all that owned those treasures were brutally slaughtered. To be awake, intact, and bathing another man with a strigil? That was a feat Samir had the scope to understand even as a pampered palace eunuch. Had he not been sold, he would have been in the Persian army just like any other man, and perhaps long dead under Roman hands.