OOC: Sounds good to me!
"Very good, my lady."
Finding his presence unnecessary, even undesirable, Myron patted Titus roughly upon the back in the gruff, friendly way they had towards one another; the sound was loud and unfitting, and seemed to echo about the close, scented study, embarrassing the slave-master. He therefore bowed awkwardly and fled the room after the quick footstep of Betsey, to whom he responded, not unkindly, "Yes, yes, woman, I'm on me way." Titus did not watch the trader go, nor give any sign of his feelings, but he allowed within himself that, however much he had hated the slave-camp, he had not hated Myron. He recognized that Myron did what he did out of necessity, and not cruelty; for was he, Titus, not just as well-fed as Myron's children, that had the look of hungry cubs about their thin, sweet faces? True, he could never in all sincerity like the slave-trader, but he could not manage any feeling of particular hatred for him; of course Lady Bloom could cast blame, being in a position of plenty that allowed her to luxuriate in rigorous morals. Men such as Myron, such as Titus Kato, were not at liberty to consider anything other then the hard facts that permitted them to live. Titus liked the woman before him implicitly, but had the feeling that to agree with her would have been a betrayal; therefore he only smiled, and sat, awkwardly, in a little armchair ill-proportioned for a man of his size. He felt faintly ridiculous, having rarely been in a house and being the man least suited to the rose-bud wall-paper and chintz arm-chairs. He cracked his knuckles uncomfortably, and then folded his hands on his knees, acutely aware of her deep examination of him. Luckily, he was not a man given to fidgeting, and so managed to appear unbothered. He had never before been put out for auction on the sale-block in the city square, but imagined that this was how it must feel.
Silence held. The house was quite bare, and quiet, and still, and to Titus Kato this translated itself as severity; he was not much used to being alone, for he had lived his life in open fields and ate from pots steaming over cooking-fires and found his friends among the great, crushing crowds of sweating, fighting, and laughing men of his regiment. What he knew of women he learned of those that frequented those fields, loose women that had little to do with noblewomen, with this Belinda Bloom. She was made of steel, and he recognized this in her; she reminded him of a Captain in his regiment. The Captain had been soft-spoken, had sacrificed according to the religious almanacs, had not drunk with his men or taken women, and so it was that his regiment had taken him for soft; yet when a man had broken formation in the fields that man had got for his pride thirty lashings, and no soldier had taken the Captain for soft again. So it was, he felt, with the Duchess Bloom. She was inclined to be generous, he saw that immediately, and she had the means to do so; her servants were trussed up in good, clean cloth, and the house, equally clean, was furnished well. She had money with which to motivate her staff, but he had the feeling that it was that sharp tongue of hers, sharp, yes, and certain of itself, that did the trick; for he had found that it was fear that drove men to fight best, and he had no doubt it was so with hired help. So it was that, with the same feeling he had when faced with a superior officer, Titus Kato sat at attention, back straight and chin forward, for the benefit of a woman head and shoulders shorter than himself.
He had inferred her character upon first hearing her speak, for he was quick to realize, in the way in which she dressed and carried herself, that she was a woman that brooked no nonsense; these types were seldom prone to the fits of romanticism and crying that had been known to shake well-bred women with nothing better to think about, and he thanked the gods that he had happened upon a woman with good sense. He did not much care to be a charity case, but he found that she managed him well and sensibly and was grateful for it. He recognized that her ownership of him was as binding as that of a slave-owner, and, indeed, that this changed little, perhaps, for him; he was bound to her steadily and surely, for what work was there for the unskilled laborer with the slave-brand upon his skull, visibly distinguishable above the ear? Nonetheless, he respected her will to do things her own way, for that was what this was; it was the unbending decision of a woman to remain at peace with herself, and she did it confidently and remorselessly. He respected that in her.
"That's fair, ma'am."
She did not allow him much time to speak, and he liked that too, for he would not have known what to say. He did not often trouble himself with his circumstances, did not think about himself much at all beyond what was necessary, and, finally, would not have known how to speak. Yet, upon his two feet, with nothing but his body to speak for him, he was confident enough. He was strong, and sure, and he had a good eye and a penetrating foresight. His size alone was incentive enough for hire; he was very tall, and very broad in the shoulders and back (though he had become thin, and hollowed out), and was at heart a good man. The job was not one he would have chosen, was, in fact, one he implicitly did not like, but if nothing else she might trust in his pride. Though he would drink wine until wholly, utterly drunk, and though he had not much of a way about him with the women, still he was proud, and honest, and well-intentioned, and could not bear to be found wanting in a simple job requiring only brute force. There was that, and the fact that, like all men, he was apt to do anything to earn his living. Titus Kato was no less sensible than she, and though he remained rough, and happy, and irreverent, to have survived this long, as he had, required a mind that appreciated the subtleties of staying alive. He did what he had to do, and sometimes more (a man of his heart, mind, and stature was never contented with less).
Titus Kato had trusted that she, Lady Bloom, was to be his charge, and had looked upon it as good fortune. She was a good woman, certainly, but further she was confident, and sensible, and this made things much easier for a man, like Titus Kato, charged with her well-being. Now, though his face was inexpressive, and could be trusted to betray no indication of his true feelings, he was uncomfortable and vaguely unhappy. He had a presentiment that the young girl was trouble. True, every mother, even an adoptive one, was convinced of the peculiarity of their own child; the fact that Lady Bloom thought her niece unique, and unpredictable, did not necessarily make it so. Humans, Titus Kato had learned, were essentially the same, and, having the same needs, would react much the same under similar circumstances; however, the words 'impulsive' and 'reckless' disturbed him, and made him uncomfortable where previously he had been calm, and certain. He anticipated, by Lady Bloom's tone, that the girl was a particular weakness of hers. The woman was made of iron, but the girl seemed to have bled her dry. This in itself forewarned him of her capabilities. Nonetheless, he remained confident of his own. He did not trust himself to be a good influence on the girl but, should the need arise, he would not hesitate to hold her bodily.
"It shall be as you wish, ma'am," he said.
