Second serve
[06:08] “46” chewed her lip “There is an inn, Master…but I don’t know where it is yet. I’m still getting used to the city. I was exploring when I came in here and found you, Master.”
[06:10] Crow (melchior.wardell) stepped into the tavern. His keen eyes would drift from one to the other. He held pause without shame or the intent to hide his scrutiny. The man was seasoned in his profession and as he moved on could tell that he was fit, agile and very very aware of his surroundings. He noted the man at the counter and would take a position where none would surprise him in his back. “Tal all.” his voice dark and moody. As if for once his slave hadn’t completely satisfied him in the evening. Of course such was not the case – but one could wonder such.
[06:10] Storm (celticstorm.thor) enters the tavern removing the coin from the previous nights to take to the Administration Building. Before Leaving “Tal warrior and travelers, please sit and perhaps one of our finest slave girl shall dance for thee!” nods out of respect and makes his way out
[06:16] Mávur con Ar (fallega) pants softly and pulls three copper coins from his pocket to place them on the counter. “You’d better get to know the city quickly, you little Cosian Sleen.” And just like that, she’d already been given a nickname by him. He spins the last copper coin so that it whirls around its own axis in front of him on the counter. He turns his head when he hears a gruff voice behind him. He sizes up the man dressed in dark clothing carefully before returning his greeting. “Tal Killer.” Respect, but no fear, rings in his voice. He knew this caste from the time before they tried to take over Ar.
[06:16] “46” clammed up as Storm appeared, her head low, shoulders rounded slightly as the man clearly terrified her. She was a much different beast than the woman he’d met the day prior, clearly having had the delusions of release stripped from her mind.
And then just as quickly as he came, he was gone. Another took his place though and she’d turn her head for a moment to Crow “Tal, Master” she said quietly, She certainly wouldn’t be dancing that day, A foot was bandaged and she was clearly favoring one side of her body, a slight lean in her posture. “May I get you anything to drink, Master? I don’t know much yet…but I can work it out, Master.”
[06:19] “46” heard the name he called her, biting back a comment and simply going with “Yes, Master.” was all she said in response quietly.
[06:21] Crow (melchior.wardell) ’s sharp, dark eyes swept over the scene in the tavern with practiced, lethal efficiency. He didn’t miss the subtle exchange between Mávur con Ar and the slave, with the spinning copper coin. Nor did he miss the shift in the girl’s posture. She was a bruised, bandaged shadow of whatever spirit she had carried the day before, clearly battered by the reality of her collar. When Mávur offered his respectful greeting Crow gave the man a short nod of acknowledgment. He didn’t order her to jump to her feet, nor did he demand a dance from a girl. “Black wine,” he commanded simply.”
[06:28] Mávur con Ar (fallega) turns his gaze back to the red-haired slave, and the corners of his mouth lift slightly when she makes no verbal response to her new nickname. Too bad—he almost wished she’d put up at least a little resistance. He turns to the man whose presence hardly anyone seemed to enjoy. “I assume men like you have keen observational skills. Have you happened to notice an inn where we could stop for the night?”
[06:31] “46” swallowed nervously as she felt the killer’s gaze fall over her. They had always made her quite nervous. More so now that she didn’t have any protections. As the man gave his order, she’d nod “Yes, Master. First or Second?” she asked, slowly standing with a slight whimper of pain as she moved to wash her hands, ears pricked to hear his response.
She believed she’d picked up on the man’s accent that had insulted her, guessing where he was from and still having to resist very strongly to say something back to him.
[06:34] Crow (melchior.wardell) didn’t answer immediately. He waited until the girl retrieved his cup of black wine, watching out of the corner of his eye to ensure her gait held steady despite the bandaged foot. Only after answering “Second.”, did he turn his attention to Mávur, his expression unreadable. A low, dry rumble sounded in the back of his throat, the closest Crow ever came to a chuckle. “Observational skills are a requirement of survival in my trade,” he stated. “Especially in a Port where half the patrons are looking for a bed and the other half are looking for an unguarded throat.” he would tip his head towards the West “You’ll find the inn up the stairs”
[06:39] Mávur con Ar (fallega) watches the girl just as Crow does, though his gaze isn’t nearly as menacing. She’d just had the misfortune of piquing his interest when she revealed where she was from. His light-colored eyes scrutinize her openly before he turns away his almost youthful face as Crow explains the direction to the inn. He nods slightly. “My Thanks. A bed will do for me. At most, my throat needs to be moistened from the inside” a poor attempt at a joke. Of course, he knows he wouldn’t be making bad jokes anymore if the killer had it in for him. Besides, there was hardly anyone who would put him on a list. Except, perhaps, his books, which he torments with his fingers.
[06:40] “46” nodded “Yes, Master” she found a mug, before moving to the hearth in the corner, taking the ladle and dipping it into the pot of black wine before pouring it carefully into the mug. She hung the ladle up and looked about her, soo finding the sugar and milk. She added a spoon of yellow and a spoon of white before mixing it into the small cup, then topped it up with bosk milk and stirred it. With that complete she’d limp back to the man and carefully held the cup with both hands as she stiffly moved to her knees, offering him the small cup. It was far from the best offering in the world, the slave extremely fresh and not really knowing how to do it properly. She was nervous to be so close to him as well, only adding to it.
[06:44] Crow (melchior.wardell) s hardened features at Mávur’s clumsy attempt at tavern wit. “Then stick to moistening your throat and stay out of the dark alleys,” he replied. His dark, sharp gaze flicked back toward “46” for a brief second, noting her cautious, quiet movements as she tended to her serve. But when he noted what she served him a brow arched. It gave his face that dangerous edge. As if a snake would lift its head to slither before it would strike. “I asked for a second serve. You deliver me a first. Do I look like the type for sugar and milk?”
[06:49] Mávur con Ar (fallega) nods slightly at Crow’s words, “I’ll take that advice to heart,” and says nothing more. His eyes are already back on the slave girl, who is now limping back toward Crow and sinking to her knees there rather inelegantly. The corners of his mouth turn up. He’d like to teach her the proper posture. The feuds between the cities didn’t stop at female slaves, after all. Too bad for her. When Crow complains about his drink, his eyebrows rise. He notices the change in the man’s expression and almost feels a little sorry for the slave girl.
[06:50] “46” froze as she realized she’d mixed it up, beginning to tremble with fear. Her chest began to rise and fall faster, and she’d look down “I-I’m sorry, Master. I mixed it up…M-May I go and bring you the proper drink, Master?” tshe stammered, clear terror in her tone as a feeling of dread fell over her. She could feel Mayur’s eyes on her too, and a little bit of anger at herself popped up too, that she’d made such a basic mistake in front of him, especially after his earlier comment.
[06:55] Crow (melchior.wardell) didn’t shout. He didn’t slam his hand against the counter. In truth, the absolute, deadly silence that fell over him was far more terrifying than any raised voice. His dark, unreadable eyes remained fixed on “46” as she froze on her knees, her frame trembling under the suffocating weight of her mistake. He let the silence stretch, taking a brief, chilling beat to let the dread settle deep into her bones. “Fear makes for careless hands, girl,” he stated with cold, absolute authority. “And careless hands lead to wasted effort.” He took a slow step closer, his towering frame casting a dark, heavy shadow over her kneeling form. “You will not go back to fetch another cup,” he commanded. “You will sit in that mistake, control your breathing, and remember the taste of your own error.”
[06:59] Mávur con Ar (fallega) now turns so that he can look at Crow and the girl. The man’s reaction was unexpected. Most of the men he’d encountered in taverns during his travels would have roared or immediately drawn their whips. This man, however, seemed alarmingly calm, which probably didn’t make the situation any less dangerous. He watches the girl’s reaction closely, her trembling, her tense posture. He almost leaned back, but manages just in time to grab hold of the edge of the bar. He’d momentarily forgotten that the stool has no backrest. “Damn” he mutters in a deep voice and straightens up as if nothing had happened.
[07:02] “46” shrank beneath that gaze and the heavy silence, suffocating her like a thick smoke. Her chest rose and fell faster, shallower, close to hyperventilating from the terror and dread she felt. Her shoulders hunched without her realizing, her face paling beneath the killer’s gaze as he moved closer.
She didn’t notice the Arian’s blunder, the slave’s focus pinned beneath the killer’s calm but dangerous demeanor. As she heard his command she’d pant out “Y-yes, Master.” she stammered and she’d try to focus on her breathing, although she’d only be able to get half a proper deep breath before it began to hurt her ribs and back, the slightest of wheezes heard as she took them. Almost inaudible.
[07:06] Crow (melchior.wardell) ’s dark, unblinking eyes caught Mávur’s slight fumble. He didn’t laugh. He didn’t even shift his footing. A faint, barely perceptible tightening around the corners of his eyes was the only indication that he had noted the clumsy moment. “The stools here are built for alert men, traveler,” he stated. He turned his full attention back down to “46,” who remained frozen beneath the weight of her error. The shadow of his imposing frame stayed fixed over her, a quiet, immovable pillar of discipline. “Control the panic before your lungs fail you, girl,” he commanded, Slow. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Do not force a deep breath.” the mere suggestion seemed to be a life sentence if she would not comply. “Only when you stop trembling you are allowed to lift yourself and grab me the right black wine. But it will not be paid. I am sure there are ways you can compensate the Innkeepers loss by your error.”
[07:10] Mávur con Ar (fallega) ‘s eyes rest on the pitiful object at Crow’s feet. He doesn’t interfere. No Gorean man would interfere with the punishment of a slave girl, not even his own, unless the property were rendered useless. Here, however, the consequence is likely to be truly instructive. Of course, the Killer had noticed and commented on his little blunder. He grins slightly, just as young men tend to do; “uncomfortable” is all he says now. However, he is well aware of the subtle dig. He was young, but not stupid. And above all, not stupid enough to believe he could measure up to a killer’s attention to detail, wisdom, and life experience. Still, the way he treats the slave makes him almost likable.
[07:14] “46” noticed the wheezing, knowing she needed to speak to the physician soon, but right now…there were more pressing matters. Her head remained cow, but as she heard his words she’d start controlling it a bit better “Y-yes, Master.” she focused, following his instructions to the letter and before long, that trembling began to ebb, as the adrenaline in her system calmed.
After a long ehn she’d finally lift her head “May I fetch you a new cup of black wine please, Master?” she asked, almost calmly although it was still tinged with fear. She was still inwardly furious at herself as well, for making a mistake of one of the most basic things infront of the Arian, no doubt giving him something to laugh at later, perhaps…
[07:19] Crow (melchior.wardell) ’s sharp gaze lingered on “46” as her shallow breathing gradually steadied, matching the slow, measured rhythm he had demanded. The anger at herself was plain in her eyes but Crow cared little for slave pride. He cared for discipline and utility. A low, gravelly hum sounded in his chest as he looked down at her. “You may,” Crow permitted a little annoyed that he somewhat had to repeat himself. He took a step back to give her space to rise, his dark eyes shifting briefly toward Mávur con Ar. The young man’s slight grin and terse admission of the stool being uncomfortable had not gone unnoticed. Turning his focus back to the bar, Crow folded his arms across his chest, waiting with patient, unyielding vigilance as the girl moved to fetch the dark brew. “Be warned … with each mistake I become less forthcoming.”
[07:22] Mávur con Ar (fallega) ’s playing again with one of the coins still lying on the counter—the ones he used to pay for that awful-tasting Kalana. As the slave girl begins to control her breathing and the trembling finally subsides, so that she is actually able to speak a sentence without stumbling, his eyebrows rise again. “Interesting,” he murmurs deeply. If he could read the girl’s thoughts, he would probably tell her that he never mocks a mistake. Except for his own. He wasn’t cruel. He might treat her more strictly than others if she would belonged to him, simply because of her background. But he had never been cruel. He flips the coin again, and it makes the familiar sound of copper against wood.
[07:26] “46” tried to be more graceful in the way she stood, the way she’d seen slaves do in her past, but the stiffness of her body limited that. Still, it was clear she was putting effort into trying to being pleasing, especially after the huge mistake she’d made. She heard his warning and she’d reply softly “Thank you for your mercy, Master” before limping quite a bit faster than she had been before, clearly wanting to get him his drink back to him as quickly as she could behind the bar. She quickly washed her hands again, from under her nails to her wrists, before finding another small cup, placing the erroneous cup to the side and covering it with a cloth. She then limped to the hearth, ladling the fresh black wine into the small cup from the kettle.
She couldn’t read the man’s thoughts, nor have a feed with his, but she noticed he didn’t seem to be making fun of her or making a deal out of it.
She hung the ladle back up, then limped back to the warrior, the slave still paled as she offered him the cup “Blackwine, second slave, Master” she said quietly, hoping she would have satisfied him this time “I apologize again for the error, Master…”
[07:27] Nova Cane (elysiancynefin): as she knelt down and offered him the cup*
[07:30] Crow (melchior.wardell) ’s sharp, unblinking eyes tracked the metallic glint of the copper coin flipping against the worn wood of the bar. The rhythm of it, the flip, spin, slap, clack was the sound of a bored young man with coin in his pocket and time to kill, a combination that often invited trouble in a place like this Port. “Words like ‘interesting’ usually come right before a man spends money he shouldn’t, or buys trouble he doesn’t need, traveler,” When she returned, pale and breathless, offering the steaming cup with a quiet, submissive apology, he did not immediately take it. He let the heavy silence hang between them for a long, agonizing heartbeat, allowing her to feel the weight of the moment, before his hand reached out. His fingers brushed against hers, cold, steady, and unhurried as he took the clay mug from her grasp. “Your apology is heard, but it is no longer required. You made an error, you faced the consequences, and you corrected it. That is all that is required of you.” he stated to her as he dismissed her with a flick of his hand.
[07:37] Mávur con Ar (fallega) lifts his head as Crow speaks to him, and a wry grin appears on his face. “Those are probably very true words, Killer.” In fact, thoughts had begun to form in his mind that were probably nonsense. His eyes drift back to the girl, who is now preparing to hand Crow his drink. “Sometimes it’s better not to let the enemy into your bed,” he mutters briefly before sitting up straight and sliding the coins across the counter with much more energy. “I’m going to head out and look for the inn.” He reaches into his pocket once more and places a few more coins on the table. “Your drink’s on me, Killer. And no, that’s not a bribe. Just a thank-you for an interesting lesson.”
[07:39] “46” felt that long silence as he delayed his response, the slave, for a moment, trying to work out what she may have done wrong, before relief came at his words. “Yes, Master. Thank you for the lesson, Master.” she replied quietly. Then as he dismissed her she’d rise, looking at them both, she’d manage a sweeter, pleasant tone “I wish you well, Masters.” before she’d limp out towards the infirmary, glad the hide of hers that was still intact, had remained so.
[07:42] Crow (melchior.wardell) didn’t move. He simply stood, a towering, dark form, against the warm glow of the tavern hearth, watching the young man gather himself to depart. “The enemy in your bed is only dangerous if you close your eyes, traveler,” je responded “Keep your steel sharp and your eyes open, and no bed will ever become your grave.” He glanced down coin “I take no bribes, and I owe no debts,” he stated flatly, his tone measured and steady. As the young man turned toward the door, Crow took a slow, deliberate swallow from the cup. He watched the girl leave until her shadow faded. She had endured the test, held her tongue under the heavy weight of discipline, and ultimately remembered her training.
[07:44] Mávur con Ar (fallega) watches the limping slave girl walk away, and for a moment, she awakens the predatory instinct of a Gorean man within him. He can’t help but feel this way toward a woman from the city of his enemies. He growls softly, “Cosian Sleen,” before shrugging his shoulders and regaining a neutral expression. He turns to Crow and bows his head slightly. “Killer,” he says by way of farewell, then follows the slave girl out of the tavern. Only when he realizes that his steps are faster than usual—as if he were trying to catch up with her—does he slow down and snort. Once outside, he laughs briefly at himself before finally heading toward the inn ((thanks a lot for the RP, hope to see you soon :-)))
Crows Murder 
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