Thread: streetlight swag

Had Naila been living in Miribar with her fianc, the men who chose to speak to her in that tongue would be hanged in the kingdoms square. The royal family had no tolerance for being spoken to any other way but as if they were gods. But now, as she stood upon a pirates ship, having asked for transportation, Naila felt out of her element. The men were extremely vulgar and though her tongue was quick, their words circulated around the same topic. As they continued to prove their manliness by grabbing themselves, Naila rolled her eyes and squinted, watching the captain. He soon gathered the attention of the masses, even the women on the barge leaned over the railing to listen. Naila bit back a smile when the captain altered his words. That was the way she was comfortable with being talked to, addressed like the queen she was born to be. His words dripped with sarcasm, perhaps using her own statement against her and Naila didnt mind. All she knew was the game of thrones, and it was her life to be a participant. If she had returned to Miribar in search of shelter, Troens men would have beheaded her right as she passed through the gates. She did not dare to retreat to her old home, for her death was easier done than said. Once she did make it back, though, there was no chance on her being caught for Troens death was her only wish. I did not say our actions were intelligent, sir, I stated that our way of speaking is such. She murmured, finding it hopeless in making herself clear to this man. His words were nearly as strong as his sword and Naila wished to stay on his good side. Acknowledging already that she may be getting herself a ticket for a bed underground, she would now have to watch her tongue. He introduced himself and Naila was quick to keep herself quiet. Her death would only be only more imminent if he found her to be the murderer of Miribars late King. Well, that was if this man and his crew supported the country, which it appeared he was against anything that any other land did. The order resounded in her ears and Naila bowed her head, folding her hands together. We ill show the lass round, capn! One man called as the others began to file below deck, taking a squeaky set of stairs to the underground. Swallowing, Naila fell in line and crossed her arms over her torso, finding that they were staring at her once she appeared in the barracks. Yer no safe tonigh, lass, They cooed, laughter spreading like wildfire as they retrieved makeshift brooms and mops from behind a half broken door. There are enough beds fer the men, an it looks like yer gonna be sleepin on tha floor. The fellow that claimed her upstairs had pointed to the open corner where a single blanket rested. On the opposite corner was a hole that had been placed in the elbow of the wall, the surface of the water only feet below. Tha is the loo, lass. Ye squat over it and shit or piss and then yer done. When the water is rough, the barracks can flood, ya hear? Good thing we aint got nothin of particular importance! Her mouth fell into a tight line and she stood near the wall as the crew filled a bucket with water by dropping it through the toilet hole. They began mopping the floor as others spread the blankets over the makeshift mattresses. Well, get ta work! She was ordered and jumped, working on sweeping the ground ahead of the fellow mopping. ---- Her words were like a lullaby in his ears, though he struggled to stay awake to hear them. Samosa was surprisingly easy to listen to, though her words aggravated him, like fingernails digging into his skin. As much as he wanted to love her, to actually accept the marriage to be between them, Troen found his attempts futile. The words slipped from his mouth like molasses and even though he did not mean them, not yet, he still attempted to comfort his fianc. He knew her home was preferable to her, but this was her new life and Troen was not going to bare living with a woman who made him feel entirely inferior. He was the man, not she. I would think you to be a man, but with breasts upon your chest and a cunt between your legs. Troen spoke surely, angered that Samosa was not assuming the role of doting wife, even in the bedroom. As per your request, my love, I will do as I choose and our kingdom will be reprimanded for your decisions. It was her choice to not bed him, to not want to be with child the night after their marriage. That was Miribarian tradition, at least in the royal family, to be impregnated before the second moon after you are wed. He understood that a ring was not yet upon her finger, but Troen now realized that a child may not be in their cards ever. Samosa would not give a chance for them to be in love. She was harboring a grudge or a negative emotion in her soul for the fact that Troens men had abducted her from her Palan home. The job was not his fault, though he had instructed the successful abduction, he needed a woman to rule Miribar alongside him. His fianc could be quick to blame Miribarian traditions over him, for he was just following the guidelines set before him. Had his poor brothers death not been pinned on Tapios runaway fianc, Troen may have taken her hand in marriage instead. She was certainly perfect for the role and would surely love her fiancs brother for he was nearly the spitting image of Tapio. Brushing his bangs from his forehead and near his eyes, Troen let out a breath and rolled onto his other side, holding in the pain. I bid you a peaceful sloom, Halting from speaking my love, he pulled the blanket over his injured arm, as a makeshift shield during his slumber. The rise of the sun would signify a new day, time would be given to see Miribars physician and then work on royal matters until lunch. The disappearance of the moon towards the oncoming morning would also proclaim the permanent burial of his murdered brother and hopefully the suspicions of his Miribars late King came upon his fateful death. Troen was awoken, in what seemed to be minutes later, by the sun painting a shine over half of the shared bedroom. It appeared Samosas body was still besides his, resting beneath the blankets like a hibernating bear. He had a right mind to place a pillow over her head and smother her for being so insolent, but he simply gathered his robe from the back of the chair and addressed the fireplace. The coals were blackened, what was left of them, and ash created a line from where some of the cinders had floated onto the ground. Maids would be in later to make the bed, arrange pillows, wash clothes, change coal, sweep and dust. For now, Troen tightened the silk belt around his robe and sat near the window, body curled inside itself as if he was an older man.