Open Made a maid

[Hwyn]

Spring 12th 517Av

He knew it was coming; it didn’t make it any easier though. It was still in the wee hours of the morning the sun had yet to even bless Ravok with its first rays, but there she was. Byrony, one of the maids of the estate, though one the Hwyn decidedly liked more than most, she’d been one of the first people he’d met within the estate beyond Eva and her father and after he’d played his violin for her and Eva she’d been more than cordial in there interactions. However, She’d been eyeing him oddly since his return from his and Eva’s vacation. When he’d finally asked her what she wanted she began a small if polite tirade on how decidedly sloppy he was as a maid, and that boy or not if he was going to wear a dress in the Nitrozean household he was going to do it properly. At the time, Hwyn had assumed that she was going to begin barking orders at him more often, but she’d left it at that in the evening with a warning that she’d be collecting him on the morning. At the time, he’d shrugged it off, but now he was beginning to wonder what her definition of morning was.
But there shy was fully dressed and wide awake as if she woke this early ever morning, grimacing at her Hwyn squinted hardly interested in whatever this woman wanted at this hour, he’d gotten used to sleeping in when he was with Eva, even when he slept in he rose before his master, but this was ridiculous.

“Byrony Whaddya waaaaaaannnttt???”

“I told you I’d be making a proper maid out if you and I meant it, for starters you should always rise early, so don’t give me any of that lip of yours.”
Rolling his eyes Hwyn rose, it was amusing in one way to see her being stern with him, she wasn’t much older than him and her impish features made it almost difficult to take her ire seriously, though Hwyn was well aware of what she was capable of doing to those she didn’t like, he was getting it quite easy. Rising reluctantly he moved to pull on his dress and apron, but found his hand in a vice like grip the moment he moved to put it on. Byrony glowered down at him. If Eva was scary at times, then the look Byrony was giving him was near bloodthirsty.

“Like I said, sloppy, It seems I really am going to have to school you in the very basics. Now Put this on.”
Pulling a corset out from a small basket she had with her she handed the uncomfortable looking device to Hwyn still wearing a grim expression, she was serious! Swallowing nervously Hwyn nodded pull his arms into the device, he’d worn corsets before but had avoided them, they were uncomfortable, too much so to be worth it in his own opinion, but he dared not deny the maniacal maid. Pulling the laces tight Hwyn sucked in his supple stomach and quickly tied the corset when it was decidedly tight enough, though when he met Byrony’s eyes again it was obvious she wasn’t impressed.

“Must I do everything? Turn around Hwyn”

Holding back an intense frown Hwyn turned slowly, he knew what was coming and would have rather taken a winter swim than what was about to happen. For a moment, the laces loosened, one blessed moment, taking a deep breath Hwyn relaxed, then a small foot appeared on his lower back, the evil villain behind him bracing for a deed truly despicable. With a grunt displaying herculean effort. The corset constricted around his midsection, a truly evil device that grasped his body like a demon hell-bent on crushing his lungs. Flailing his arms as he gripped his bedframe in agony Hwyn wailed in discomfort.

“Byronyyyyy you’re killing meeeee”
“Don’t be such…. Grrrrr…. Don’t be such a girl”
Even the unflappable maid seemed to be giving enough effort to make her brow furrow as she pulled tight the laces that crushed the life out of him. Gasping and otherwise bemoaning the corsets death grip on him Hwyn attempted to bend Byrony’s heart with the saddest eyes he could muster which was rewarded with one last tug that he could’ve sworn was would’ve made his eyes pop out of his head.
Then when he thought her torture was over she pulled out an iron comb and Hwyn only whimpered in response. The next several minutes were blown as Byrony pulled every snarl and tangle from his blonde locks without an ounce of mercy. Then finally Hwyn was allowed to get dressed, though Byrony insisted on him retying his apron tell he got it near perfect before finally tying it herself. Then they were off, As they left the Slaves quarters Byrony informed Hwyn that he’d be accompanying her on her morning route of chores and they’d be visiting several spots in the merchants ring. The first among those being the Spicy lass, something some rare spices currently being in stock, though the names Byrony listed when well over hwyn’s ears as he had no experience in the kitchen.

As they left the manor Byrony again chided him telling him hos posture was poor and he needed to walk with less slouch. Looking at her Hwyn again furrowed his brows but was surprised to see that that Byrony no longer wore the fierce expression she had in the estate, she seemed more relaxed the moment they were out. Shrugging Hwyn straightened his back and took longer strides matching his would be role model. In her own way she was trying to be nice to him, if she didn’t like him he figured she wouldn’t be helping him fit in, but the tightness of his ribs and sore scalp were hard pains to ignore. Thus the two maids made their way to the merchants district in the dawns early rays. The older of the two striding confidently while the smaller blonde one attempted to mimic the teachers gait.

Credit to Shimoje, the bestest buddy

[Rhyson Halfhame]

12th of Spring, 517 AV

Rhyson observed the Temple of Rhysol, and scratched at his chin speculatively. The building itself, while no doubt impressive, was not what he'd expected. Its soaring domes and spires were just as fearsomely imposing, its many-limbed sculptures and carvings just as unsettling yet majestic as he had heard. No, what struck Rhyson was the newness of the building. He leaned against a wall, nursing a smouldering tuft of freshly purchased pipeweed, a variety of Kline that tasted very fine indeed. He watched as folks went along the canals about their daily business, while the paths themselves were quiet enough in the morning. From his vantage point, the Temple loomed over Ravok, and he was certain there were very few un-loomed over places in the city. But where Rhyson came from... The buildings had that same monolithic, imposing feeling to them, plus a few centuries worth of age to say the least.

When Rhyson had first come to the city, he had made his way to the Temple first. It had been to register and purchase a house of course, but he had heard the zealous muttering a saying many times since; "All folk in Mizahar hear Rhysol's call, and are drawn to his holy place." Rhyson didn't know if that was true, but as he puffed away that lovely morning, he could recall his appraisal of the building itself. Fine make, meticulously cut stones and carved reliefs. Not equal perhaps, to certain other, older structures, but that was just it. He had been surrounded most of his young life by buildings whose makers would not only have said had no equal, but who had been dead for too many generations to defend that claim. And so he continued to study the Temple of the Black Sun, from his first day to this present one, even if he was pre-occupied with his morning smoke.

The Spicy Lass had opened not ten ticks before, and he'd already been inside to collect the pleasantly crackling Kline from Ruby. She was a friendly girl, and very much come into her own, near as Rhyson could tell. A shade too young for his taste, such that it was, but definitely a woman about her business. She'd leapt at his request for something new to smoke, producing this fine blend before her store was even properly open. He'd apologized for his rudeness, and then offered to accidentally on purpose obscure her sign with his smoking form to deter those unfamiliar with the city from stopping in just yet. And in addition, he would steer away those who knew the shop by sight for a period lasting the duration of his tuft. Some sort of excuse would do him just fine, something along the lines of "Watching the shop for Miss Ruby, she took a ravosala over to the Café Fleurs for a quick delivery." Paper-thin to be sure, as far as excuses went, but enough to buy the girl time to get settled in mayhaps. It was the least he could do, over-eager customer himself, to repay her prompt and able aid.

It was thus, a bit of a blessing that nobody graced the Spicy Lass' steps for a good half of his tuft. Rhysol was beginning to think his luck was blooming that morning when he spotted a pair of servants headed very purposefully in the direction of the shop. Grunting softly, Rhysol shifted his weight and stood up tall and straight, which wouldn't do him much good depending on the age and race of the individuals approaching. And yet, he stepped up to stand more squarely in front of the door to the shop. He reached for his bullshyke excuse and realized he'd forgotten it. The two individuals drew closer, both more evidently being slaves as he discerned their garb and stature. Important slaves for important people judging by the posture of the one in front. Sleepy, unassuming, uncomfortable slaves judging by the one in the back. Rhyson was still grasping for some inane reason to send them on their way when they closed the gap between themselves and him.

"You're early," Rhyson said stupidly, puffing a desultory cloud of smoke in their direction.

Ledger-5 CM, for a small bag of Kline pipeweed.