Completed FB: [Radacke Plantation] The Untamed and the Unhappy (Solo)

[Fiora Radacke]

Fiora 82, Summer, 513 AV Letting the last note of her lullaby descend slowly into silence, Fiora closed the door to her children’s room as gingerly as she could so as not to make any noise. She tiptoed through her own bedroom, stooping to pick up her sewing kit and settled herself down on the couch in the main room of the suite she shared with her husband. She pulled some colored thread out of a basket perched on the end table and unwound a long piece for her purpose. Then, she reached into her sewing kit and found the scraps of colorful fabric she wanted to use to make a patchwork blanket for baby Marco. Although she was a much better weaver, Fiora found that she also had a knack for sewing and that the latter activity offered a welcome respite from shuttling thread across a loom for bells on end. Which she had been doing for many seasons, in order to have enough tapestries to stock her new shop. The only break she’d had were the 12 days of rest after the birth of her son. His had been a taxing delivery, much more than his sister’s, and Fiora’s strength and energy had been sapped so completely that she could not even sit up in bed for days. Though the time had been hard for her, she couldn’t help but think how nervous and scared her husband seemed throughout her recovery. Bice had spent much time away from the fields to sit beside her bed and hold her hand and he would often bring her small trinkets to see if he could make her smile. She had never known that he cared so much for her. Of course, once it was deemed that her health was out of danger, he returned to his old self, perhaps with the tiniest bit more caution for her well being. The doors to the main room suddenly burst open and Fiora’s head shot up as the man himself fairly galloped into the room, his chest pushed out. She laid her work on an empty cushion of the couch, being sure to slide the needle into the fabric so that it wouldn’t get lost. Bice made it over to her in two long strides, grasped her hands, and hoisted her into his arms. As she hugged him, Fiora wondered what had him so excited this afternoon. “We’ve killed a dozen Zith today!” Bice boomed as he set her back on her toes. He looked into his wife’s face with a maniacal grin. “And captured two more of those shykes, though they won’t be alive for long. Or,” he corrected himself, “they might be, depending on what Mica has in store for them.” His mischievous expression turned into one of pure malevolence as Fiora glanced toward the doors, afraid that he would wake Lenthia and Marco from their nap. She looked back at her husband, putting her finger to her lips. “Why must you tell me of such things?” she asked softly, in an attempt to get him to speak in a quieter tone. “ I just thought you would want to know that our children are safe from the wicked flying folk,” Bice said, his humor not dampened in the least and the volume of his voice, if anything, increasing. Fiora noticed the muscles in his biceps were twitching he was on such a high. There were dribbles of sweat dappling his arms, neck, and forehead too, mixed with a few streaks of blood. She wished he had gone to tell his brother or one of his cousins about the recent battle instead of her. Although the Zith were indeed something out of her nightmares, she did not like to listen to tales of slaughter and torture about any race.

[Fiora Radacke]

Fiora “Why don’t you tell the whole family about it at dinner?” she prompted sweetly. “For now, you should wash up and put on some clothes that aren’t so…bloody.” “In a few chimes,” he said, throwing himself onto the couch. Fiora winced, hoping that he wouldn’t get the furniture dirty and then reached out to grab her sewing kit and fabric, as it was ready to tumble off the end of the middle cushion. She set everything neatly on the floor beside her and resumed her position on the other end of the couch as Bice unlaced his leather boots and kicked them off. “What have you been up to all day?” he growled. “Weaving and what-not?” He didn’t wait for her to answer, which wasn’t that unusual. “I don’t know why you think you have to open up a shop in the city. We have plenty of mizas and it’s so close to all those barbaric, foreign travelers coming and going. Who knows what they would do to you…” Bice smacked his hand against his thigh. “We’re going to have to get you a guard slave. A big one. I”ll go see Jahk tomorrow to see what he’s got in the Breaking Grounds.” “That won’t be necessary,” Fiora broke into his monologue. “I will be fine, I’m sure. The location is excellent for trading with the merchants and you know I’ve been asking for something like this for many seasons now. It will give me something to do.” She bent her head down and rolled her eyes up to peer at him. “Besides, I was one of those barbaric, foreign travelers once,” she reminded him, unsure whether to chuckle because Bice had no business calling anyone else barbaric, or burst into tears as she remembered how he had taken her from her family. Bice laughed, too loudly still, and rocked back into the cushions of the couch. “You’re petchin’ right,” he said. The Benshira woman grimaced at his guffaws. She knew that one of the best ways to get him off a subject, though, was to remind him of one of his greatest conquests. “And you still look the part with all of your robes and jewels. I suppose I should be thankful that you never got a tattoo. No one would guess you were married to a Dynasty.” He reached over and gripped her face between the large fingers of his right hand and squeezed her cheeks too hard. Fiora began to tear up from the pain as he kissed her smushed lips with a loud smack and then bounded up and off the couch. She rubbed her cheeks as he disappeared through the doors to their bedroom. Sighing, she stood up and made her way back to the children’s room, carefully opening the door and checking to see that they were both still sleeping. It was stuffy in their small room so she opened the window to let in some air, hoping that the mosquitos wouldn’t find the opening and take the young ones as their next victims. She came back out and looked at the closed door to the washroom, where strange noises seemed to be seeping out underneath the wood to tickle her ears. It took her a moment to recognize the sounds as the offbeat hums of her husband. Once back in the main room, Fiora began sewing again, trying desperately to regain the peace she had felt earlier. But with the arrival of Bice, the afternoon had gone from cozily warm to oppressively hot, and not just in the children’s room. She was used to the tension he exuded whenever he was around her, but for some reason, she felt especially taut with worry today, as if there was something just under the surface that was pressing to explode.

[Fiora Radacke]

Fiora Perhaps it was just because she was so bored around the plantation every day. Even with the children to care for, Fiora found that she did not have enough to do to occupy her mind or fill the long hours. She was not really close with any of the other Radacke family members, though they weren’t always the best company anyway. She missed Inari terribly. She had not seen her dearest friend in almost half a season, since it had been that long since she’d been in the city. She would have invited Ari to the plantation, but she was certain that the Lorak woman would not like it here. Opening her own tapestry business was sure to change things for her, though. Fiora would be able to go into the city more often, and stay over night at the Inn some days if needed. She would get to meet new people and visit those that she already knew, like Ari. The prospect was exhilarating. “Where’s my blue tunic?” Bice bellowed from the washroom and Fiora let her head fall back against the couch in exasperation. She clearly would not be able to have any time to herself this afternoon. Quickly putting all of her supplies away, the Benshira went into her bedroom and pulled out a large tunic dyed a deep indigo color and knocked on the door to the washroom. “I have it here.” “Well, give it to me, then!” Bice pulled open the door and charged out of the washroom. He was shirtless and all scrubbed clean and if Fiora hadn’t known him for the volatile man he was, she would certainly find the Radacke handsome. Bice snatched the tunic from her hands but instead of putting it on, he threw it on the bed and grabbed Fiora around the waist. “Bice, it’s nearly dinner time,” Fiora protested weakly as he squeezed her a little too hard and nipped her neck. “You’re right again!” he roared. “And I’m hungry!” He yanked off Fiora’s red shawl and sent it sailing across the room. Then, he gobbled at her collarbone, snorting like a hog. “Mama!” Lenthia wailed from the children’s room. “Excuse me, Lady Fiora!” a slave called from the main room, standing right in view of them on the other side of the open doors. “She’s busy!” Bice growled, but he let Fiora push him away. Baby Marco began crying and Fiora rushed to her children first, gathering both of them up in her arms and then making her way back into the main room. The slave’s eyes were on the floor. He was very young, probably not even growing any hair on his face yet. “What is it?” Fiora asked politely.

[Fiora Radacke]

Fiora “Master Jahk has brought you a slave to inspect before he sells him. He wants to know if he will do as a weaver.” The fresh-faced slave bowed and left the suite after Fiora told him she’d be down soon. “Petchin’ shyke,” Bice was muttering as he struggled to fit his big head and matching biceps into his tunic. Fiora rolled her eyes upward since the fabric blocked his view of her, set Lenthia down on the floor and took the little girl’s hand. “I’ll be back later,” she said and hurried out of the rooms, before he could protest. She made slow progress through the plantation house with a small toddler in tow, but the trio finally made it to the weaving room. Fiora used the free hand that wasn’t holding Marco to open the double doors and strolled inside. The room was a flurry of organized activity. Three slaves were poised at spinning wheels, taming the recent batch of cotton crop into sturdy strings while twice that many sat or stood in front of looms of various sizes, swiping the shuttles and creating intricate designs. Lenthia dashed off to watch one of her favorite slaves spin her wheel while Fiora and Marco wound through the looms like threads themselves, looking for an unfamiliar face. It was not difficult to find. A man was huddled in the corner, taking a water skin from a fellow slave and tipping all of its contents into his mouth. He wore only a filthy rag around his abdomen, which hung half way down his thighs, exposing his bony limbs. He was so thin and his arms and legs were so elongated that he looked like a long-legged spider. When the girl that had given him the water skin caught sight of Fiora, she bowed her head and hurried back to her duties. The man looked at the Benshira woman with doleful eyes, one of them swollen nearly shut. A drop of water clung to the stubble on his chin and there were more bruises mingled with the streaks of dirt on his narrow chest. Her heart filled with pity but she was careful not to let it show in her eyes. “What is your name?” she asked tenderly. “Kizou,” the man choked out. His voice was hoarse and, judged by his appearance, he was probably ravenous with hunger. Fiora called another slave to hurry to the kitchens and get something for him to eat.

[Fiora Radacke]

Fiora When a hunk of bread and a small piece of fish had been given to the slave, Kizou tore into both hungrily, forgetting all manners as the food disappeared down his gullet. He twisted his body so that he was facing the corner of the room and Fiora saw the angry welts on his upper back that the rags did not cover. She shook her head sadly and walked over to another slave. “Please take Kizou to the slave quarters and get him some new clothes,” she said. “And put some salve on his back and wherever else he needs it.” The slave nodded and when Kizou was finished eating, the pair of them left. Fiora wandered around the weaving room, inspecting the handiwork of her slaves. She bent to praise one and, after handing baby Marco to a young woman to hold for a moment, she helped another untangle some knotted thread. The weaving slaves were used to her kind nature, as this room was one of the few in the whole plantation house where she could be herself. Bice rarely ever visited the weaving room with her so these slaves never saw her demanding Dynasty persona. Speaking of Bice, he would probably be wondering where she had gotten to, so Fiora gathered both children and instructed the slaves to send Kizou up to her quarters when he returned. Back in the suite Fiora shared with her family, Bice was practicing his drums, smacking the taut leather with nary a pattern. The sounds reverberated around the room, and it wasn’t long before Fiora began to develop a pounding headache that matched the beats. Lenthia ran on her short legs over to her father and slapped the leather with her own pudgy hands. At first a dark expression flitted across Bice’s face, but it was gone in an instant and he picked Lenthia up and threw her into the air. The girl’s squeals did not help the pulsing in Fiora’s head, but she smiled at them as she went into the children’s room to change Marco.

[Fiora Radacke]

Fiora “Fiora!” Bice bellowed a few chimes later. “Get out here!” Sighing heavily, the Benshira walked back out into the main room, the baby on her hip. Kizou was standing with his shoulders hunched forward and his head down, but his eyes wide open with terror at the sight of Big Bice. He must have been unfortunate to cross paths with the younger brother of Mica at some point, though Bice did not seem to recognize the slender man. That was not very surprising, though. Handing Marco to her husband, Fiora moved over to Kizou, now fully dressed in simple cotton pants and shirt. Kizou bowed and lowered his eyes, but Fiora ignored this. She took his hands and examined his fingers. They were long and thin, perfect for weaving. Lenthia also came over to inspect the digits with her mother. Bice grunted once or twice behind her back, watching her carefully, she was certain. Her husband, however, actually thought that all women swooned over him and his outrageous muscles and that any man smaller than him was simply not worth a woman’s second glance. Fiora could not count the number of times, though, that she had prayed to Yahal for Bice to lose some of that awful strength. Noticing that the slave before her was shifting awkwardly, she let go of his hands and smiled at him. “You can weave, Kizou?” she asked and the man nodded eagerly, a tiny light finding its way into his sad eyes. “Really…that is wonderful! Come, sit here and take this small loom,” she instructed him, handing the instrument to Kizou. “Weave me….a scene that you know, from your memory. Perhaps the swamps surrounding Whiplash, or the main house even. Perhaps the single lone tree that stands out in front.” “Perhaps a field full of indigo blooms!” Bice added and Fiora shrugged. “Whatever is in your mind when you close your eyes,” she encouraged the slave and Kizou nodded and went to sit in one of the chairs in the main room. Fiora brought him a basketful of thread and set it at his feet, now covered with a pair of leather shoes that were worn at the toe. Kizou wasted no time, but chose his colors rapidly and began to attach them onto the loom. Turning her back on the slave, Fiora motioned for Thia and Bice to follow her into the bedroom. “Let’s get dressed for dinner,” she proposed.

[Fiora Radacke]

Fiora They left Kizou to his task while they ate dinner with some of the Radackes. Fiora despised dinner at Whiplash. The men in the family ate like animals, guffawing at each other’s crude jests and spitting food across the table, and many of the women were not much better. She tried to shelter the children from the rude gestures and cursing that went on, but it was a difficult task and Fiora dreaded the day that Lenthia and Marco would begin to repeat what they heard from their vulgar, barbaric relatives. She knew it was inevitable. After dinner, Bice went to wrestle and lift weights with some of the other men and Fiora took the children outside for some fresh air. As she walked through the grass, rocking the baby and keeping a close eye on Thia, she began to hum a little tune that she remembered from her childhood. Thia ran off to pick some wildflowers and Fiora strode in the same direction, keen on protecting her daughter from any of the swamp predators that might be lurking in the grass. The trio stayed outside until it began to get dark and then Fiora led her children back into the plantation house and up to their suite. Kizou was still shuttling away at the loom a couple bells after they left him. Not wanting to hover, Fiora only smiled at him as they passed through the main room. Marco was already snoring and drooling on her shoulder but Thia was still full of energy. After settling the baby in his crib in the bedroom, Fiora took her daughter into the master bedroom and played a few games with her. She was already attempting to teach Lenthia the alphabet, but the toddler was easily distracted and seemed to detest looking at and memorizing shapes. All the more reason to get a nanny slave soon. When Thia finally began to rub at her eyes, the Benshira led her daughter into the bedroom and settled her underneath the blankets. She kissed both of her children’s foreheads and quietly shut the door behind her as she left them to sleep. Making her way back into the main room, Fiora nodded at Kizou, who had not stopped weaving for many bells now. “You may take a break to stretch your fingers,” she told him, but he shook his head. “No thank you, Mistress.” Fiora did not like to be called that name. It sounded so horrid to her ears. Yet, it wouldn’t do to insist on something more preferable, as it would only confuse the slaves when they were around other Radacke women, as well as make Bice angry.

[Fiora Radacke]

Fiora Fiora took off some of her jewelry and put it on the side table. She took up her sewing kit and continued working on the blanket for Marco. As she dipped the needle through the fabric, binding them together in a colorful display, she reveled in the quiet and the simple routine. Her stitches were small and tight and very uniform, the dashes of thread following one another in straight lines, like marching ants heading to their destination. As Kizou shuttled, Fiora stitched, and the soft sounds of their respective movements were like a gentle rhythm. The Benshira began humming under her breath, no melody in particular, but just some random notes as accompaniment. She was just reaching down to pick up another square of fabric when the stillness was shattered by her husband flinging the door open once again. With matching alarmed expressions, both Fiora and Kizou leapt to their feet. The slave bowed low, eager to please, but Bice did not even seem to notice him. Instead, the large muscular man crossed the distance betwixt his wife and him in a tick and gripped her upper arm in his fist. Fiora twisted in pain as he squeezed her bicep, digging his fingers into the flesh beneath her blouse sleeve. He had been drinking, she could tell, which was never good for her and he was in a violently lusty mood. “Bice, I just need to—” she started, but he put his other hand over her mouth and leaned down close to her face. “Shut it, woman,” he ordered her, and pressed his fingertips so hard into her arm that she was sure to have five bruises dotting her skin in the morning. Fiora lowered her eyes from his gaze, unwilling to defy him in front of a slave, and with her children so close by. She rarely opposed him anymore, and she wondered when she had turned into such a coward. Surely Inari would have stood up to such an ogre if circumstances had attached her to one. Yet, Fiora found it more and more difficult to brave this man. She seemed only to grow weaker as his cruelty increased. “Come with me,” Bice said, his features dripping with malice. Fiora began to tremble as he dragged her into the next room while Kizou stared after them with fearful eyes.

[Fiora Radacke]

Fiora Half a bell later, Kizou finished his weaving and sat contemplating the design until Fiora came back alone into the main room. The slave stood and looked down at the floor, awaiting instructions while his mistress crossed over to his small loom and picked it up. The tapestry was about three feet wide and a little less in height, but Fiora had never beheld such mastery in weaving, even in a design five times that size. The threads were taut and intermingled so finely that from a distance, one would not realize that the image was comprised of varied strings. She fingered the creation, marveling at the man’s work. “This is amazing,” she breathed, and it was. On one side of the tapestry was the profile of a man with a tense neck and open mouth. In front of the curved nose there was a violent scene of war with streaks of red thread shooting across gray bodies, and bright pops of orange and yellow resembling small fires. The sky in the back of the battle was very dark, though some white strings had been woven in dots to portray stars. The scene made Fiora’s heart beat faster, such was its realism, but then when she looked carefully at the eye of the man in profile, she had to swallow hard against a lump in her throat. There was a light in the eye of the figure, reflecting not the harsh scene of pain and warfare, but possessing a peaceful setting of a miniscule glade and a warm faceless moon that nevertheless seemed to smile. Fiora touched the reflection in the eye with her fingertip. It was as if the man in the tapestry did not see the world’s harsh ways, only the beauty of light and serenity. She raised her head up, only to meet Kizou’s doleful orbs. The slave was frowning in concern, evidently because he now saw her swollen cheek and the reddened finger marks around her neck. They were quite a pair, battered as they both were, and without having said much to each other all evening, they shared a deep bond due to their situations. Fiora suddenly felt that there was finally someone who could understand all that she had endured and continued to do so. It was certainly fate that they had been thrown together this night. “Welcome, Kizou,” she said. “If you would like to weave for me and eventually work in my shop, you have more than earned the position.” As the slave nodded enthusiastically, Fiora let a smile creep onto her face. “Get some rest,” she told him, “and I will see you tomorrow.” Kizou left their suite and the Benshira sank down into the cushions of the sofa, the tapestry still in her hands. She stared at the image long into the night, her eyes wandering over every detail. Finally, when she could no longer focus on the masterpiece, she rolled it into a thin cylinder and brought it with her to bed, where she tucked it under her chin for the remainder of the night.

[Poppy]

...because you've EARNED it!

Fiora :

+5 Observation
+1 Sewing

Bice Radacke: Rough Mannerisms
Bice Radacke: Violence in Passion
Radacke Dynasty: Ill-Manners Prevail

Notes :

Great insights into Fiora's home life! A bit more detail into the skill-related aspects will net you larger experience rewards next time.

Please PM me with any questions, comments, or concerns!