Characters in this post
View character profile for: Tyreth Cartagan
View character profile for: Cordelia Vega Winslow
View character profile for: Randel Cartwright
-The Cartagan Orchard. Earlyish morning, 2 DSTR-
Cordelia stood, silently taking in the disposition that the men seemed to carry for one another. Both contained traces of frustration and testosterone. It brought some amusement to her, hearing Mr. Cartwright combat orally. It wasn't truly a combat per se, but a pissing contest. She knew the debts that were owed to Cartwright. She also knew what a kind soul he seemed to be. Catching his eye at the moment he acknowledged her, which was highly uncommon in the world of slave and master, Cordelia returned the acknowledgement with a soft smile, and a bow of her head.
Returning to her stiff position, she watched Tyreth with interest. When his eyes met hers, she raised a brow at the same time he narrowed his eyes. Her small bit of defiance could be admired, or made her called a fool. She was practically gluttoning for punishment. Truly, it was to gauge the tolerance level of her new owner. What could the women get away with? What could she get away with? It was of high interest to find out the new limitations placed on her family. The term family could be directly applied to the fellow slaves, as she could be seen by some as their mother, some as their sister, and some as their teacher. A dynamic sort, if you will.
Without a word, Cordelia would follow the men to the room she dreaded most. She didn't have much of a reason to dread the four walls any longer, as the main reason she avoided its confines is now dead. Taking in a deep breath, she held in the sweet oxygen, and released the breath slowly while being spoken to by her Master. Giving no response, she entered the room, shuffled to the side, and stood against the wall. Her eyes scanned the now covered desk, and her thoughts trailed to the memories that haunted the deep scent of musk.
The last time she was in that room, she had been forced to dance for a man. He was unbelievably handsy. It was to his displeasure that she was unusually temperamental that afternoon. Blame it on the spit that had yet to dry from her face, which her beloved master had provided; or blame it on the fact that she has denied him a dance in the first place. Closing her eyes, she fell into a deep reminiscing of the many women she had seen walk out of the room- discomfort pulling at their fraudulent smiles. Opening her eyes once more, she focused on steading her rising heartbeat.
Ooc: sorry y'all, school started back up and I have all night classes. I'm a little bit exhausted haha. I'll catch up fully tomorrow.