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

Admittedly, Milien pondered just how things would be different when he returned home. Perhaps the vineyard had not changed, except for a few people here and there but the essence remained true to the old values. Wisdom however, told him that he had definitely changed. But when he walked there in the grounds with his father rambling on, trying to cram in everything Milien had missed ever since his military duty, he found himself slipping into the role of a heir surprisingly ease. This was, and felt like, home. Handshakes and introductions were made as they encountered overseers, charged with holding up discipline and production on the grounds. Such was the chain of command, Milien's father gave commands on what he wanted done, the overseers put them in effect. They had yet to encounter Milien's childhood friend, a behemoth of a man known only as Lacroix. Although their ages differed by ten years, they had always gotten along well. Milien walked the grounds with the poise and rigidity called upon by years of training as both an officer of the French nation, and heir to this plantation. One hand on the whip affixed to his black leather belt while the other served as gestures when he wanted to accentuate a point. Walking by a couple of slaves his father made a pause, Mellina! Come over here. His father made an effort to explain her role in all this. He kept it brief and Milien made an mental note that she was only mildly more important than the others. Still, he saw the benefit of having such a position for the slaves, it was a means to keep the plantation productive. Milien walked up to the girl called Mellina, working in the outdoors had given her a slightly rugged look but there was no doubt that there was beauty beneath that. The girl barely reached up to his chin as he faced her. Milien had been around slaves his entire life, most of them cast down their eyes immediately at the presence of someone in authority. However this girl exuded something different. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. Was it defiance? Milien had learned to trust his instincts, the girl was unbroken. I assume this means we'll be seeing more of each other then. I prefer to know who father has given such responsibility to, when the day is done you are to come up to the estate. We'll have a chat. Milien made sure the girl saw that he was thumbing the whip at his side. He turned to the overseer, Make sure she washes up before. I won't have be having a discussion with a dirty slave. His voice firm, issuing commands was in his blood. And with that said he turned his back and father and son continued their business. The day came at a close little by little, the sun shifting from being scorching to just warm. Miliens father had finally left him alone and retired to his chambers. The young heir himself had taken temporary office in the old study on the second floor, he made mental notes of what to replace, which furniture to bring in. Perhaps father had meant for him to take his office but Milien had no plans to just replace, he was going to shape this place in his own image. Plus this room had access to a balcony overlooking the grounds. A jug of the plantations wine was neatly placed at the table along with glasses. Milien patiently swirled the purplish liquid, the scent strong of oak and grapes. Five minutes ago he was notified that the slave girl - the speaker - was waiting. Even though the man was doing nothing of importance he was going to make her wait as long as he deemed fit. No doubt she was tired and hungry after a day of toiling on the grounds, being tired and hungry put the edge of people. As he took a sip of the wine he wondered if such a simple trick would make a dent in her mind. When ten minutes had passed and his glass was empty he called out Enter!