New Acquisitions (Rhi-Rhi)

[Kingfisher]

@Viscount Rhi-Rhi

Few in the city were unaware of the event; the defiant slaves that had ignored the Shah's command.  The response that seen the masters condemned for their failures rather than the slaves.  Parsa understood the reasoning...understood and rejected it.  Essyrni law called slaves nothing more than man-shaped beasts, incapable of thinking for themselves.  And only humans could be punished for their choices...

Be that as it may, circumstance had offered the merchant an opportunity.  Guided by dreams, he had purchaced the gladiatrix for surprisingly cheap.  The crowd was conflicted.  While some boasted about their intention to break the rebellious girl, few were truly prepared to risk the same fate as their predecessor.

Though not nearly as opulent as the Shah's palace, the merchant's home was not without its charms.  He had orders for Yasmin to be brought to his lounge so that he might speak with her.  In the meantime, he stood on the edge of his balcony, looking down at the dusty city, picking as a pile of dates as he waited to meet the woman who had caused such a stir.

[Rhindeer]

Yasmin couldn't begin to understand why anyone would want her.

What had happened was common knowledge by this point. With the Shah as their audience, two slaves had gone into the arena--and refused to kill. It hadn't started out that way. When Yasmin had entered the coliseum, she had been determined to leave it, and when her eyes fell on Agrian, her friend, her mentor--well, none of that changed. She adored him, but he would kill her if she didn't kill him, and that was just the way of things. She had been determined to survive at whatever cost, and she had fought like it, too, but he had always been better. He had taught her his tricks, but not all of them, and in that moment she thought she was going to die. The Shah had given her judgment and signaled him to make the killing blow--and he threw down his sword.

Truly, he was the brave one. The rebellious one. She wouldn't have thrown down her sword for him. But that's not how the crowd saw it, and now people saw her as a rebel when she'd just been trying to live.

...She was oddly okay with that title.

She hadn't known until that moment that rebelling was even an option. Or at least, she hadn't realized it was possible to live past it. She'd disobeyed once before--and been thrown to a lion for it, with no expectation for survival. But instead of punishing them in this case, the Shah had punished their masters, executed them both. Publicly.

Who on earth would want either of them after that? With that kind of reputation, with that kind of risk?

Yet, someone purchased her.

And when Yasmin tried to answer her own question, the question of who would want to buy a slave like her after all that, every answer made her ill. Someone who wanted a challenge. Someone who wanted to well and truly break her. Someone who felt confident enough--and cruel enough--that they could do it.

Her masters had been varying degrees of unpleasant, even awful, but her horror stories were mild compared to others. She was always afraid when she was sold--but this was fear of a different sort. She'd experienced cruelty, but she hadn't really experienced sadism, and as she walked with the guardsmen to meet her new master, it was an effort not to panic, because a sadistic sort was the only sort she could imagine. And it was different in these situations versus the arena. Here, in a nice palace, her hands bound behind her back, she felt helpless, and domestic, social battles were a whole different sort anyway. Out there, at least she could fight back. At least she had the illusion of choice and control, even if it only extended to her own actions.

The guardsmen ushered her into a lounge and stood beside her, weapons sheathed but ready. "Prince Khosrawi," one greeted to get his attention. He gave Yasmin's shoulder a slight push, and she took the hint and bowed, peering through her veil to try and get a good look at her new master, even if it was just his back. "We've brought you the slave, as requested."

[Kingfisher]

The sound of the armored guard drew the prince's attention back inside.  So, she had arrived.  Turning, the lightweight drapes slid away as Parsa passed through the arched doorways back into the chamber, setting the plate on a short table.  Dressed in his loose robes, the man seemed to take his station seriously.

Black ringed eyes came to rest on the slavegirl as the merchant paced around her.  Without a word, he shooed the swordsmen away.  They quickly obeyed and, saluting briefly, they left by the door they had entered by.  Now the pair was alone.

Even bowed, Parsa had seen the tension in her features, a hint of terror.  He felt mildly conflicted.  On the one hand, he disliked the idea of being feared.  On the other, it said much of her intelligence.  He could do whatever he wanted to her and she knew it.  Still, he wondered at the girl's response when he would choose to do nothing.  Retrieving a curved knife from the folds of his robe, the merchant cut away Yasmin's bonds before moving to a pile of cushions on the opposite side of a table ladden with fruit.

"Sit," he said, gesturing to another pile.  And, hoping to truly baffle her, Parsa poured out a cup of water from a glass pitcher, making certain she saw it was for her sake as he sipped from his own seperate cup.

[Rhindeer]

Well, shit. That didn't bode well. Yasmin's skin crawled as he shooed the swordsmen away, leaving her alone with her new master. Nope. That wasn't a good sign at all.

It meant he wasn't threatened by her. It meant he felt confident enough to deal with her on his own, without protection, and with his tall, powerful form, it wouldn't be surprising to learn he'd had training, or perhaps even a martial background. He felt he could handle her, a woman with blood on her hands who could kill without a weapon; she'd choked a man out once, after gouging his eyes with her thumbs, though that was certainly not the norm for her and had been an act of sheer desperation.

She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, her heart throbbing wildly in her throat. Physical power meant nothing compared to social power. She had reaped the consequences of disobedience twice before, and both times she should have died but hadn't. Whatever he had planned, she knew she couldn't disobey; she was certain she wouldn't survive a third time, not so soon after the second. Did she have the strength to endure it, the strength to submit? Her hands were shaking as he drew closer, as he drew that wicked blade, and she bit the inside of her cheek to silence herself.

And then her bindings went slack, and fell from her wrists.

Her head snapped up in surprise as he walked away, and she blinked owlishly as he took a seat, so casually, and told her to sit. Even poured water into a second glass.

...What?

Her legs felt heavy as she moved to the other cushion pile and, stiffly, sat. Or rather, it was more like she knelt. It made it easier to spring to her feet if needed, and she was certainly not going to be able to relax. The water remained untouched, despite her dry mouth. He hadn't given her permission, and she wasn't about to stumble into a trap if she could help it, so she kept her hands in her lap (folded tightly, to try to control her nervous fidgeting, and the impulse to rub at her chaffed wrists) and her head bowed in silence.

What...what was he playing at?

[Kingfisher]

From where he was reclining, Parsa picked up a piece of foreign fruit.  Once more wielding his knife, the man sliced a wedge through red skin and pale flesh, slipping the juicy material past his lips.  He promptly spat it out, depositing the bitter tasting apple into a trash bowl.  "I suppose that's why they're supposed to be fermented first," he muttered.  Sitting up he added, "That is why we try new things; to push the bounds of what can and should be done..."  His knife slipped away quickly.

The prince saw that Yasmin had not touched her water or any of the food.  He had neglected to make the offer officially.  How clumsy.  "Please, eat drink.  All at this table is freely yours.  For the moment, I withhold nothing."  The table helped display a riot of colorful fruits pilled into a broad ceramic bowl and beside that was a platter of flatbreads and from the latter, he took a round and tore off a piece.

Parsa wanted to wait, give the dark woman a chance to feel comfortable but given her history, he knew such a feat would not come easily.  And clearly silence did not help.  Instead, he simply moved forward, saying, "You and your friend caused quite a stir in the arena."  He was watching her from the corner of his eye now, trying to avoid intimidating her any more than he already did.  "Tradition holds that one must always die at the end of a match no matter how well the combatants perform..."  He puntuated his comment with a sip of water to cover up his irritation.  That was not something he was ready for Yasmin to see.

[Rhindeer]

Yasmin watched him through hooded eyes, trying to keep her observation subtle while still keeping track of that knife. And even when he invited her to eat and drink, she hesitated, ignoring the gnawing in her belly that was some toxic mix of anxiety and hunger. She didn't think she could eat, lovely as it all looked; she would probably get sick. But it was bad manners to say no, and bad manners were far riskier for a slave that wasn't allowed to say no, so after a pause and a quiet "thank you" she picked up a date and took a small nibble. Part of her registered its sweetness, but she barely tasted it as her mind raced, trying to find the catch, the trap.

His next words made her blood go icy. She froze.

"Do you...intend to correct that?" she asked quietly, not noticing as her fingers sank into the date she held until her nails scraped the pit. She had gone tense, scarcely breathing as she waited for the deadly punchline. She had lived, they both had, and maybe he saw fit to fix that. After all, they had broken a rule, broken tradition, and she had been raised on horror stories.

Her last master had loved to boast about his kindness and how she could have it so much worse, telling her of horrors that went beyond beatings and rape. He told her of masters who tortured their slaves, even hunted them like animals, murdered them for pleasure, fed them to their pets...all sorts of nightmarish scenarios meant to make her appreciate how much better she had it, and always with that unspoken "or else" hanging over her head.

Obey, or else.

Endure this, or suffer worse.

She had never known how true any of it was. But she also never wanted to find out.

She drew a deep breath.

"That is, do you intend to, yknow...uphold the tradition? Make sure one of us dies properly bloody?" She cleared her throat. "Master."

She knew she was overstepping, saying too much. But if that was his plan, then consequences no longer mattered, anyway.

[Kingfisher]

The glass cup touched to the merchant's lips before the girl finally spoke up.  Setting the drink down, dark eyes fixed the slave with an appraising stare.  To most, her apparent forwardness would seem insubordinate, but Parsa recognized it as simple inquiry.  She was a slave, but that did not mean her life had no value to her.  Or to him.

Sitting up, the Prince gave a somewhat evasive reply.  "Perhaps you were not aware, but some of the crowd that watched your fight are thankful that you survived.  You have fans that wish to see you in the arena again."  Crossing his legs he continued, "Traditions are the habits of a society.  Sometimes they act in service to that group but other times, they are more an addiction.  They make us feel strong at the moment but weaken us in the long run."  His voice had been harsh, almost accusatory but the target of his scorn was not present.

Essyrn was dying.  It had once been a great empire, according to the histories he had been taught.  That was when the land was guided by forgotten ideals.  Now though?  "Essyrn honors vice, touting our weaknesses as virtue.  We hold greed in higher esteem than wisdom; sacrifice the strong upon an altar of vanity and lie to ourselves that nothing has changed."

Suddenly, his tone changed, as did the direction of his words.  Yasmin deserved an honest answer, not rants and rationals.  "I have no intention of seeing you die, " Parsa explained.  "You are too valuable to waste so frivolously."  He was not speaking of money, though.  To him, she symbolized an opportunity to correct at least in one way.  It was a quiet rebellion on his part.  "And I would see no more die by your hand, should it be within my power."

The prince paused, guaging Yasmin's reaction.  She would likely take him for a fool; he sometomes thought so himself but she may well have taken it as an opportunity.  The man's gift had been surprisingly weak at reading the slave, leaving him with no clue as to what to expect.

[Rhindeer]

...What?

Yasmin stared at the man. Actually stared at him, forgetting her subservient place and snapping a look up at him in wide-eyed bafflement. She had been waiting anxiously for the other shoe to drop, wishing her would stop beating around the bush and get to the point, and when he did it threw her off completely. Had she...had she heard him correctly?

And what did that mean? A dozen different questions tumbled through her head, some crazier than others. Did he intend to free her? No way. She'd heard of that happening but was convinced no one was so kind. Use her some other way? No doubt. A house slave? Bed slave? Hard labor outdoors? None of it seemed to matter at that point, just that he didn't plan on killing her, didn't plan on her killing, and though her stomach knotted in fear of this new, unknown, and unclear future, relief hit her like a wave, creating two very different, strange, and conflicting emotions within her.

She barked a laugh, an entirely inappropriate reaction, but her body didn't know what to do with the emotions swirling within her--so much dread, so much terror, so much stress, and then so much relief, all so intense and in such a short amount of time. She clapped a hand over her mouth, face heating, and tried to stifle the nervous giggles that wanted to escape. Deep breaths. Calm down. Breathe.

"...Forgive me, master," she said at last, voice muffled around her hand. "I...I'm afraid I don't understand."

[Kingfisher]

Parsa only sat a moment before a smirk crept into his eyes.  "I apologize for being so evasive.  I have very little opportunity to be surprised.  I enjoy seeing it in other people."

Sitting forward, the merchant began to explain himself.  "I could free you outright.  But such an act would cause a scandal...one I doubt would end well for either of us.  It would also squander the chance you offer."  He had the urge to stand, to play up the theatrics of his speech but the 'prince' had little doubt she would prefer a genuine explanation.  Instead, he just continued.  "You are a symbol, perhaps the first slave to survive the arena.  I would see that you are not the last."

The merchant reached forward to clasp the young woman's hand.  "I cannot do this without help.  I am neither warrior nor slave.  Even if I could fight, I have the luxury of rejecting the order without it meaning much.  But you?"  Parsa shook his head.  "It will be a gamble," he admitted.  "I won't force you, but would you be willing to return to the arena if it might offer a chance for others to survive?"

[Rhindeer]

This man was saying a lot of words, and Yasmin was having a difficult time keeping up with them. Not because they were abstract or difficult to follow, but because he was veering way off script. All those years in slavery, she had mentally prepared for all manner of awful things and had dealt with several of them. She had spent so much time preparing for, and enduring, cruelty that kindness had never entered her thoughts.

She didn't know how to react to this. She didn't know how to process this. Ever fiber of her being was still waiting for it to be a trap, for there to be a catch, for her to wake up.

He took her hand, and Yasmin jumped. She had frozen up completely as she tried to control the strange, panicked, giddy energy inside her that wanted to make her either laugh or cry or punch things. All of which would make her look utterly mad, she was certain, and none of which were appropriate. She swallowed hard and looked down at their hands, hers scarred and marked up with lines of ink, each mark a life taken to preserve her own. He had to be fucking with her, right?

But when she slowly looked back up at him, he looked nothing if not sincere.

Uh...

She licked her dry lips. He wouldn't force her, he said. He was outright asking her what she was willing to do. What the hell?

"You...want me to fight to save others?" she said slowly, trying to wrap her head around it. "I, uh...well. I mean. Yeah?" She pulled her hand back and rubbed at her face, sitting back in her seat with a deep breath.

"I'm sorry, this is just--this is just crazy. No disrespect, er, master. I...yes. Yeah. I'd do fucking anything to spare someone else what I've gone through, I--" She glanced down at her hands, at all those marks, and took another deep breath. "I never wanted to kill anyone."

[Kingfisher]

"Few would," the merchant admitted, a look of pity in his eyes.  The man's insight gave him a glimpse of his nation's future.  Those that would come later would have little love for Essyrn's history of blood sports.  The arena would forever become a stain on history.  But those days were a long way off and change moved slowly.

"That said," Parsa added, standing.  "Understand, this will be a difficult road.  Perhaps more so than it has ever been before."  The prince rose, advancing toward the entrance.  "Until now, your masters have expected remarkably little of you.  Your skills are...limited.  The fear of wasted investments keeps most slaves from any proper instruction."  He knew this was not Yasmin's case.  The man she had fought and lost to, the true cause of the scandal, had been the lioness's instructor of sorts.  But continuing formal training would be good.

Rapping briefly at the the door, Parsa turned back to the slave.  "You will train with my guards, furthering your understanding of the sword.  You will also have a dedicated training partner."  The door creaked open and another woman entered, close to Yasmin in age.  He skin was fairer than Yasmin's, a byproduct of a life lived under veils.  She worn none now but Parsa permitted her to go out in thicker veils than most expected of their slaves.  Her cotton shirt was simple,  solid white and covering much of ler loose fitting trousers to the knee.

The newcomer rapidly took a seat opposite Yasmin and without waiting for permission took a sip from her master's glass.  Setting the glass down, the woman spoke for herself, only offering Parsa an unreadable glance.  "I am Zahara.  Like you, I am a slave in service to my master.  I will help you adjust to your new life here."  As shocking as most might find Zahara's brashness, this had been a carefully planned charade.  Above all, the merchant wanted Yasmin to feel safe.  Though that safety did not extend beyond his walls, his home was as much a haven to the women as it was to him...

[Rhindeer]

Looked like today was just going to be a day of endless surprises and firsts.

Because never in her life had Yasmin ever witnessed a slave behave like that! Correction: she had never witnessed a slave behave like that unscathed.

Yasmin stared openly, and had to make a conscious effort of shutting her mouth before her jaw hit the floor. Speaking without permission, sipping from the master's cup unbidden. The over-familiarity. It was unthinkable, and she had to blink several times as though to clear her vision as though she doubted her own eyes. And Prince Khosrawi looked utterly unaffected. He was allowing that?

Hakeshna help her. Yasmin had lived her life knowing what to expect of her masters, knowing how to play the role and stay within the lines--and how to toe the line, too, and leap across it as she had recently!--but this? This was new, and so outside her understanding of how master-slave relations were supposed to work, that she felt utterly off balance. Where were the lines in this sort of situation? She didn't like not knowing where they were, didn't like not knowing the rules, and so many of the old rules seemed to have been tossed to the wind. It was enough to make her feel paralyzed.

After all that drama, she was still all too aware of how close the sword had come to her neck.

"I...uh...hello," she said lamely, voice quiet, shooting wide-eyed looked between the beautiful slave and her new master. Fuck. She couldn't take the ambiguity anymore.

She cleared her throat. "I'm just, er, kind of...assuming I have permission to speak and all, since you're all talking to me, and she did...that. But like...do I actually have permission to speak? Like whenever? This is kind of really different to what I'm used to and I'm not really picking up what the protocol is here!'

[Kingfisher]

Parsa could not help but chuckle at Yasmin's shock.  "You will have to forgive me, but your continued surprise remains such a delight..."  The laughter quickly subsided and the Prince coughed into his hand as he recomposed himself.

Zahara desided to annoy her master by stealing his line, saying, "Master Khosrawi prefers those who serve him to share their thoughs, especially when the questions pertain to our lives."  The fighter tossed the merchant an almost mocking smile.

"Yes," the man confirmed.  "Of course, the stresses of putting yourself in danger merit some amount of privilege.  When you are within my household, I want you to have the opportunity to relax; speak freely and openly."  It had been an odd interruption but the prince could make do with what was left to him.  Besides, it was an impressive demonstration of his point.  Zahara was of the same profession as Yasmin so everything the former did reflect his expectations.

[Rhindeer]

Yasmin felt the blood rush to her cheeks at her master's laughter and she ducked her head, embarrassed. It felt like everyone was in on something very obvious that she couldn't see, and their calm amusement in the face of her roiling emotions was...awkward, to say the least. And his comment that her surprise was delightful only made her face hotter. She was not used to this.

And was definitely not used to the idea of speaking freely!

Where was the line? How "freely" was freely?

"Freely and openly, huh?" she said at last, when she could finally put thoughts to words. She looked between the two again, settling on the "prince". "Then what the fuck?"

Not the first thing she wanted to say, but it was out so might as well own it now. She threw her hands up. "Please excuse me, this is just...a lot. I thought you were gonna murder me! Are you serious? About all of this? Like, let me get this straight, you want to help me? Us? Other slaves? You're really a slave?" she said, pointing at Zahara. "You're not just his wife pretending to be a slave? I'm sorry, I just..." She took a deep breath.

"I've never met a master that wasn't a monster."

[Kingfisher]

The merchant's expression turned sour, not at Yasmin's impertinence but rather at the reminder of the reality of the world around them.  "On that, we very much agree," Parsa admitted.  "Though, perhaps 'parasite' is a better term; ticks chewing at a decrepit husk, heedless of their own suicide..."

Expression softening once more, the Prince continued.  "I understand your hesitation and incredulity.  You have seen little to inspire trust in one such as me."  Glancing back toward the other slave girl, he admitted, "I have no easy way to prove my sincerity beyond any reasonable doubt.  I only ask that you let me try..."

"Just to point out the obvious, but this, 'free and open' thing ends when the master has guests.  Monsters have a knack for turning on their own when given the chance."  Zahara's words were blunt and direct, almost irritable as she found the caveat too vital to gloss over.

Parsa muttered a nervous 'um' drawn harshly back to the practical side of exchange.  "That is true, but not something you will have to worry about for some time."  Turning from one blunt woman to the other, the merchant decided to conclude the discussion simply.  "If you have any specific concerns on what I expect of you, I urge you to ask when you feel ready.  But I you would prefer, Zahara could show you around my home as you adjust..."

[Rhindeer]

"I, uh...sure?"

She had questions. So many questions. But despite the endless questions tumbling around in her head, Yasmin was still too off balance to vocalize them--and too wary, as well. This prince made her bloody nervous, just by virtue of who he was and what he represented, and she was still looking for the trap, like a fly buzzing around a room, unaware of the web looming just ahead.

"I mean...sure! Why not. Let's start the tour, yeah," she said at last with a look at Zahara. "Free and open" (minus guests!) or not, Yasmin knew she'd feel more comfortable alone with a fellow slave...if she really was a slave. Could one ever be fully honest with their master no matter how much they claimed they could be trusted?

For that matter, could she trust the slave? Many slaves were fiercely loyal to their masters, if that loyalty earned them special privileges. And this Zahara was definitely held in high esteem here. The woman had practically pranced all over the prince.

She supposed there was only one way to get her answers.

[Kingfisher]

As Parsa turned to depart the sitting room, Zahara passed a glance toward the man.  He had a habit of pressing his first two fingers in the soft part of his head, just above the ear when he began to experience a vision.  It seemed his clairvoyance had been triggered, so the troubled man would be dead to the world for a time.

As the door closed behind the prince, the surprisingly liberated slave rose, turning to her peer.  It seemed Yasmin was still nervous about her situation; not unreasonable, though Zahara lacked much of the princeling's patience.  Death was a daily occurrence in the desert; why waste time looking for it.  Still, Zahara had been ordered to make her fellow swords-woman feel comfortable at the least so, with a calming sigh, she offered a smile as she finally spoke.  "So, shall we?"

The sandstone palace was moderately comfortable, and the pair mostly had free reign of the facilities.  "Is there anywhere you want to see in particular?" the senior slave asked.  They were in one of several sitting rooms, this one offering a view of the streets approaching the gate.  The entrance to the room was opposite the balcony and led out to the landing overlooking a broad courtyard and garden.  Many rooms branched off from the open air space, and given the scale of the compound, it could be difficult to show the newcomer everything that was available.

[Rhindeer]

Yasmin let her breath out in a long, low whoosh as though she had been holding it for some time. Which, well, she had. Her head was still spinning and she didn't see that stopping anytime soon, and the tight anxiety in her chest had only lessened a little. She was safe here, so she was told, but the supposed freedom only made her more uncomfortable. What if she overstepped a boundary she didn't know was there? At least when she knew where the lines were, she could properly toe them and challenge them before she barged right on over several of them at once.

But now they were alone, just her and this other slave. Even so, she wasn't sure how much she could trust her. How much could she tell her or ask her? Would her words find their way back to their master?

The woman spoke, and Yasmin jolted, jerked out of her racing thoughts. "Uh. I don't even know where to begin," she said, casting a look around the place. "I, uh. Look. The only time I've ever been anywhere this fancy was when I was in deep you're-gonna-die shit. But I guess..." She paused, giving the space another once over. No, actually, she did have a preference, come to think of it. "I guess outside would be my first pick. Anywhere."

She rubbed at one hand with the other, tracing over the black tattoos on her fingers. "So. This master of yours. How much of what he just said is total bullshit?"

[Kingfisher]

(( @Rhindeer - Due to inactivity, I am forced to remove and retcon this topic from my character's ongoing canon.  If this topic still interests you when you have a less bloated schedule, please send me a PM before replying))

As Zahara led the pair's way toward the exit, Yasmin's words gave her pause.  Turning to her companion, the woman stuggled to find the right words to say.  "Uh...none...as far as I know," she admitted.  "I guess there's always the chance he's been hiding his goals but he seems to trust me with...certain things he hides from others."

It was the best answer she could offer for the time being and rather than linger on the uncertainty of her response, Zahara held the door, ushering her peer to join her.  They exited onto a landing, now overlooking a courtyard, a wide garden with area enough for longing and a centrally placed fountain to offer ambiant noise in the largely peaceful space, which was ringed in shadey arches built into the outer wall.  Parsa was visible, moving quickly toward the main building before vanishing into the dimly lit refuge.

"He's unusual," Zahara admitted.  "But...he has his reasons for what he believes in."