-The Cartagan Orchard. Mid afternoon, 2 DSTR-

Tyreth was pleased to hear the hardwood flooring groan in protest as a second set of feet, no matter how much lighter, joined the first to walk across its surface. Hearing her footsteps blend into his rhythm for a few steps before falling into a more natural gait, Tyreth smirked slightly as he realized what she was doing, trying to match his pace, but ultimately failing. Coming to the door to his new office, he looked in with a tinge of regret and disgust before continuing in when he saw that Cordelia was close. Moving to the side of the desk, he kept his gaze out into the orchard as he absentmindedly rapped his knuckles on the surface of the desk. The hard taps were softened by the curtain he had placed over it, but they set the tone of his mindset. They were the war drums that would punctuate his recovery of the orchard, returning it to its former glory.

Turning away from the orchard to face the desk, he leaned forward to rest his hands on the edges. Looking at the painting of the horse, his eyes drifted to the riding crop before narrowing. Pushing away from the desk, he walked over to the crop and took it down from the wall. Looking at it angrily, he turned to Cordelia before speaking, "Answer me honestly. Were you ever the victim of this...tool?" Not waiting for a response, he took it in both hands, one at each emd before bending it quickly and snapping the wood within. Throwing the crop onto the desk, he next pulled down the painting. Looking the horse over, he dug his fingers into the canvas before ripping down, marking the painting with four large gashes. Letting the painting drop from his hands, he stepped towards Cordelia and looked her face over. Moving a hand to her chin, he raised it slightly to look at the marks on her neck.

Shaking his head, he retracted his hand and walked to the other side of the desk wordlessly. Sitting down heavily in the chair with his back to the orchard, he motioned towards the other one before speaking, "Sit down." Reaching down to a leather bound wooden box beside his leg, he picked it up and brought it up and onto the desk. Opening it and straightening the support legs that held the lid open, he sifted through several leather bound bundles of paper before bringing out one that had her name pressed into the leather. Holding it up so that she could read her name, he spoke while holding the thick book in the air, "These are my files on you. Much of these come from my uncle, discussing lewd topics and fantasies he had with you." Opening the book, he took hold of the entries from his uncle. They dominated nearly three-quarters of the parchment within. Taking his dagger from his belt, he cut the pages out with a single stroke. Pulling them away from the book, he dropped them on the ground without saying anything, letting my the audible thump speak for itself.

Sliding the dagger back into its sheath at his waist, he looked down at the book before looking up at her and speaking, "It does not say much, but it does mention that you have some education and the ability to read and write. I want to know more. Where do you come from and how did you find yourself a slave? I need to know what skills you have, other than those my uncle cherished." Motioning towards the collection of near-pornographic content, he continued, "I have no use for a sex slave on my staff."

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