Characters in this post
View character profile for: Tyreth Cartagan
View character profile for: Cordelia Vega Winslow
-The Cartagan Orchard. Mid afternoon, 2 DSTR-
[OOC - I spoke with Aasully to get permission for this. I have checked to see if she approves. Of course, if she doesn't, I will edit.]
Tyreth narrowed his eyes when he saw the anger flash across Cordelia's face, her hat being ripped off so quickly that it left a few strands of her hair standing upright before they settled back down. Why was he pauing attention to her hair? She had a small space within reach that she could shove into his gut if he was to get distracted, and here he was, getting distracted by a slave's hair. Glaring down at her and the show of insubordination that she was carrying out by scrunching up her nose in refusal, he had to hold his hand steady and back beside his legs in order to not strike her to the ground. Waiting for her to gather herself and fix her clothing, he pursed his lips in annoyance and looked to the other slave with her. Seeing the woman hard at work, her hands covered in a thick layer of filth, he nodded slightly. A slave down on her knees, hands travelling through the dirt and fertilizer to rid the ground of every micron of weeds.
Then there was Cordelia, the slave who refused to accept her role in life. The slave who held open eye contact with him in front of the others. The slave who had just flicked rotten apple onto his boot and forced eye contact again.
Feeling his nostrils flare slightly as he breathed in a lungful of rage, he shot his right hand out and took hold of her throat. Picking her up off the ground and squeezing his hand around her throat, he brought her ear to his mouth before speaking, "Learn your place, slave. Look into my eyes again, and I will have them torn from their sockets and force fed to you. Do I make myself clear?" Throwing her down to where she would hit with her feet first before more than likely falling to her rear, Tyreth forced her the rest of the way down to her back with his boot planted squarely on her chest between her breasts. Putting enough weight on his foot to hold her down as well as to apply significant discomfort, he glared down at her wordlessly.
The message he intended to send should have been loud and clear. One stomp of his foot, and her life would be ended then and there. She would be chopped up and added to the pigs' slop, bones, flesh, and all. Forgotten to the world as soon as she passed through the pigs' assholes and in to the dirt. Churned and mixed with the soil through their daily walking habits until it could be used as fertilizer. Removing his foot from her chest after holding it there for a few minutes, he reached down and grabbed her dress by the front. Pulling her up to a standing position, he moved his hand back to her throat. It did not have the force as before, but served as a reminder to being choked as he spoke, "To the front porch, now!"
<Tag - Cordelia>