Characters in this post
View character profile for: Tyreth Cartagan
View character profile for: Cordelia Vega Winslow
Different Approach to Annoyance
-The Cartagan Orchard. Mid afternoon, 2 DSTR-
Cordelia waited for him to move forward, as if she were not worthy to receive a punishment. Her features soft, concealing the anger that sat deep within her. Before she had a chance to back away, she felt her chin being jerked as his fingers wrapped around her slender, pale neck. Her instinctual reaction was to attempt to breath, but her airway was cut off entirely. Her hands shot up to his wrist, her fingers wrapping around it in a tight grip. Digging her nails into his flesh as her vision began to blur, and the blood rushed to her cheeks from the lack of oxygen.
"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?" His breath tickled her ear, and she dug her nails deeper into his skin. Just as her grip began to loosen from the blackness that tucked at the edge of her eye sight, she was flung towards the ground. Losing balance as she landed, she fell back onto her elbows, where she began coughing, and gasping for air. Reaching her left hand towards her throat, the compression and impact of Tyreth’s boot to her chest pushed her back against the ground. What little oxygen she had gained, had been knocked out of her.
Her chest did the best it could at expanding, but only having so much luck as to allow short, shallow breaths. Cordelia lacked the ability to look up at Tyreth, as she was preoccupied by her attempts to get a decent breath. Unable to focus her vision, she realized she was being thrusted upwards long after the act had actually occurred. Feeling his hand return to her neck, she sucked in a deep breath in preparation for him to reenact his previous actions.
"To the front porch, now!"
Pulling away from his grasp, she dodged his presence by taking a wide turn around him, and towards the house. Rubbing her throat gently as she walked, she felt the comfort of decent vision and fresh oxygen return. The cool grass beneath her feet welcomed each step. Moving around the house, her posture straightened and she let her hand fall to her side. Though there were physical markers of what had taken place, such as a shoe print on her chest and a hand mark wrapped around her delicate throat, the disposition of her facial features and body showed zero proof.
Reaching the front porch, she stopped just before the steps and turned away from the house, facing the road. A pleasant smile had rested upon her face, and her soft eyes, rested towards the horizon.
Well if it is obedience you desire, it is obedience you shall have. In the most inconvenient fashion, bastard.
Cordelia stood silently, as if she had no idea of her purpose on being there, except to stand directly in front of the porch, facing away from him. She knew the delicate line a slave walked. A slave must be intelligent enough to anticipate the needs of their Master, but dumb enough to not seem as though the Master relies on the slave. A slave is to remember the words and demands of their Master, and take them into account in whatever they did. Cordelia knew she was good at walking the line, entirely too good at it- at least with her previous owner.
Cordelia knew that Tyreth had come to the conclusion there was, at the very least, an ounce of proper intelligence within the woman. Instead of learning to walk the perfect line for her new Master, she would succumb to be the least anticipatory slave on the lot. Since he seemed unable to handle her small acts of defiance, silent ones at that, the likelihood of him able to handle her being told exactly what to do for a long period of time, every time she did it, was slim to none.
Folding her hands gently at her navel, she lowered her gaze while maintaining the look as if she truly enjoyed her place.