Life in Ravok [Valerius]

[Melenna]

Melpomene did as she was ordered, ringing the bell and going through each gesture of asking for water and rinsing her hands. When she was finished, she chose not to argue further the point of the harp—a lyre and a harp truly were two different instruments with different techniques and thus one wouldn't necessarily prove proficiency with the other, but Valerius was the one with the pockets and the means. It would be best just to do as he asked and pacify him, as she'd already made him wait, but she didn't feel like playing. By asking a question unrelated to her appearance or behavior, he would likely receive much more than he bargained for.

“I don't know anything about you.” Melpomene smirked, folding her arms in an almost defiant gesture. She had new confidence from the food in her belly, and she almost felt a thrill as the door was opened for conversation, even if it would only be a brief debate before she was silenced. “I may not make assumptions, but even us savage konti are prone to observations. I know already that you care a great deal for detail and aestheticism, given your criticism towards me. Your complexion tells me that you likely spend a great deal of time indoors, and the occupied bookcase in your room speaks of a fondness for reading. A man who finds music a source of weakness likely wouldn't openly study literature—perhaps your subjects deal with sciences? Business? Etiquette?

“But all of this cleanliness, the lack of touching—it makes me feel that you are either morbidly afraid of sickness or are very much alone, given your concern for personal secrets. You may very well be both. Nothing may be certain, but no part of our perception is, and thus we are left with stories and embellishments to offer truth when time has rendered any evidence to dust.” Melpomene retreated from there, softening her tone, as it had been growing steadily louder.

“Speaking of assumptions, however, you assume that those who love art are weak. Is it weakness to know how to please others, how to communicate things in ways words cannot? Were I the enemy of one that makes music with anyone, why should I care what his tastes are? A man I would fear and respect is one who fears only himself. A man who realizes that his own fears are spawned from his own perceptions, his reactions and emotions, and then takes control of them, is a man who can look death in the eye and not be afraid. Fear of pain, of loss is strong, often overwhelming, but it dulls in time. We become numb to misery until we are lost in it, and then we have nothing to lose. Those at such a precipice are those you should be afraid of. That manner of man fears no consequence.” The konti was oddly sober, but her cheeks were warm, her thoughts passionate.

Melpomene's hand began to lightly trace over the harp she'd left on the table. She was starting to regret bursting into such a flurry of speech, but she didn't want to be interrupted, to be be stopped. So she went on. “Since my capture, the only songs I have known are those of such sorry creatures. I could play for you a thousand tunes, the cry of mothers being taken from their children and the wails of those being punished for wanting nothing more than another piece of bread. With such sounds, I could paint a thousand bloodied sunsets and give you the sorest music a heart can bear. But that, perhaps, is not what you would wish? Something lighter and more suited to these elegant walls you call home?”

[Valerius Nitrozian]

„I’m a scientist. I work with my aunt at the Kelvic Research Institution, and I previously studied the Ancient Tongue at the University of Zeltiva“, he replied as she spoke about what kind of impression she had of him so far. He rather liked being told that he cared a great deal for detail and aestheticism, even by a slave. Her next words were much less appreciated though. Valerius was indeed both. Both morbidly afraid of sickness and very much alone. He was afraid of death, of losing his good looks, the only thing that mattered to him. He was afraid of becoming just another ugly freak that couldn’t take care of himself, and he had no friends, no lover to share his life with. There had only been strangers, secretly met in a room somewhere and sent away before dawn, to satisfy his body’s needs, accompagnied by feelings of disgust, but nothing more. Friends and lovers could betray you. Love required you to occasionally relinquish control, to give your lover something back. It made you vulnerable, and he didn’t want to be vulnerable and potentially be treated with contempt because of some pointless, secret desire that he didn’t even admit to himself. He looked at her for the longest time after she had ended. Did she realize what she had said? Was she not worried that he would punish her, that he would send her back? She was talking to him as if she were his equal now, and he almost raised his hand to strike her, but then he reconsidered it. „Do I look lonely to you?“ he asked. He sounded almost angry now. „Why would I want to please others? Pleasure is irrelevant.“ He had the vague feeling that she was telling him something important, but he did of course not listen. He never listened. „Play something joyful for me, something about how wonderful the world we live in are, and I may ignore the way in which you talk to me. A slave like you is hard to find, so I will forgive you – for now.“

[Melenna]

Melpomene stared at her master, failing to shrink back as she often had before. This kept her shoulders back and the angle of her chin proud, but her eyes were still soft. There was sadness, a touch of empathy in her pale eyes that spoke what she no longer dared to. She felt pity for the man, and yet still a touch of amusement—this was the first time he'd expressed something more than the usual monotone of stoicism. Though betrayed by little more than a slight change of pitch and volume to his voice, she could hear it in his inner song, the sounds and unsteady rhythms she had come to know as guilt or melancholy. He didn't, however, want to confront the topic further, as was made clear by the oppression of a vague threat.

In time, I will know your pain that you deny, though I would not wish it. The mark of a god is a curse you do not understand. Her thoughts could not reach him, but Melpomene directed them at him anyway, as though her gaze alone could betray them. It made for a painfully tense silence, finally ended by the slightest grating of wood on wood as she slipped the harp into her arms. His questions were still biting at her mind, but answering them was begging for punishment. He wanted her to play, so she would play.

And yet the task was harder than it looked. Melpomene had rarely made music when she wasn't in the mood. When she thought back on those times, she was surprised by just how often she had been miserable, set off by a tear in her gown or grumpy when she felt peckish. Back then she'd had no true concept of what real sorrow was, what actual loss and pain were. It was almost horrifying to realize that she had experienced more pleasure in walking into Valerius' room than she ever had watching the most brilliant sunsets Konti Island had to offer. Coming out of a darkness that had threatened to engulf her cast the most ordinary things as glorious—feeling the smooth fabric of a clean dress against her skin, feeling neither too hot nor too cold, feeling her feet rub carpet and her hands against porcelain –all of it was new and lovely, granting joy of the simplest kind.

Even talking to an ice cube determined to belittle her and what views she had was stimulating. She was happy though she should have been angry, slowly molding into a picture of confidence when she should have been frightened of reality. Someone owned her and yet she felt somehow free, and all she had to do was curb her tongue and make some music if she didn't want trouble. Her fingers were at first reluctant, as her mind was still on the potential argument at hand, but she was distracted enough when she touched the first note. She frowned, adjusting the string by twisting one of the tuning pins on the harp's frame. Melpomene worked string by string, thrumming it a few times as she twisted until she was satisfied. Her inner ear was uncanilly good at identifying pitch, and thus without aid of anything else, she was able to perfect the harmony the instrument could produce.

With that slight work done, Melpomene offered a porcelain smile, resting the instrument firmly against her right side. With her right arm around its back, her right hand would also grip its bottom firmly, allowing her left hand to freely play. She looked away only as she sought something from memory, something brief and light to ease the atmosphere without making her feel sweetly sick. When it came to her, she began to play, her hand almost dancing as it plucked across the string. It was all a matter of finding the right beat and the right chords; only after that did she add embellishments, flaring her wrist out and adding notes on the fringe of the melody. She played out at least a few measures before she found her voice, which began to drift from her lips as a delicate soprano.

“Gently tread the path before you
Soft as morning’s kiss of dew
Down through the brush to the brook o’er the bend
Up to the valley’s sloping end
There at the gleaming of earth’s tears
Wash away concern and fears
For how can wonder cease to last
At the falls so deep and vast
Come, follow friend, I’ll lead you there
To that tumbling misty stair
Kissed by the mist on moss under fern
Near clear water’s soothing churn
Come with me, under leaf’s shadow to hide
My deepest secrets to confide”

By the time Melpomene finished, she was lightly swaying, gaze lost somewhere beyond the windows. Only when the last note dulled against silence did she seem to notice Valerius again, bowing her head towards him and sweeping out her right arm as though she was opening herself up for his inevitable judgment.

[Valerius Nitrozian]

As she looked at him, Valerius looked back at her. Whatever brief hint of emotion had been there before, was gone again. There was only indifference. Showing your feelings, no matter how briefly, was a weakness, and weakness led to betrayal, abuse and pain. Valerius Nitrozian was not interested in any of those things. As she picked up the instrument, he sat completely straight again, hands on the armrests, as if that brief almost loss of composure had never happened. With a light wave of his hand he gestured for her to begin. He didn’t mind that she didn’t start singing right away. He knew enough about music to at least be aware that an instrument needed to be tuned. If it would help her play a better song, the delay was acceptable. He wasn’t unreasonable. And thus he simply nodded and waited. He had not expected much – Valerius generally had low expectations of other people. He had thought she would have a nice voice and play a nice, but unspectactular song that would keep him entertained for a while. He was wrong. Her voice was pleasant and gentle – it was lovely - and she played well. As he closed his eyes for a moment, he could see himself, taking a walk through the landscape she sang about. The Konti , he decided, might not know her place yet, but she had talent. She would be worth it, more than worth it. He didn’t compliment her on her song though, not so soon after he had bought her. It would only get to her head. Instead he asked, „Where does the song come from? Did you yourself compose it and come up with the lyrics? Or do the Konti on the White Isle sing such songs to each other?“

[Melenna]

Questions, he always had questions! Melpomene would have been happy to sit and soak in the thoughtful silence that lingers after any expression of prose, but there her master went again, jumping into interrogation. She couldn't help but wonder if the trip to his room was nothing more than a test, an opportunity to poke and prod at her until he was sure he wanted to keep her. The one thing that kept her from glaring or rolling her eyes was the nature of his inquiry—he didn't seem interested in discussing the quality of her work but the context from which it came. Unfortunately, it was just another opening to a conversation both might regret, as Melpomene still felt the need to talk far more than she ought to.

“To say that my sisters play only this manner of song or that they don't at all would be inaccurate. We write what is in our hearts, which differ in every emotion and experience, and we also perform the music of other cultures. As far as I know, there is nothing we do not play, if that is what you ask.” Melpomene shrugged, loosening her grip on the harp to let it rest more easily on her side. “As for writing it myself—yes, I composed the music and the lyrics. It was my ability to compose that allowed me to form a small group, a band of musicians that played anywhere we could. Before I was brought down to what you see before you now, I had become a leading artist that performed in the white halls of Mura.”

Melpomene fidgeted with the harp, her own expression growing troubled at the memories. It seemed so long ago that she had sung with her friends, women she had come to love and admire for their ability and personalities. What had become of them now? All she knew for certain was that they had been sold as she had after their capture, but to what manner of men she didn't. Would they still play as she was, or had the music gone out of them? Would their new masters even let them play? Why had they ever left the island in the first place?

When the konti spoke again, her voice was meek. She stepped closer to the windows, cradling the harp in a light embrace. “Valerius, what are you going to do with me? I am so much more than music.”

[Valerius Nitrozian]

„You have some skill“, Valerius remarked as she informed him that she had composed the song herself. The words had been spoken in the same, neutral tone of voice that seemed his trade mark, but if she wanted to she could consider them a compliment. He finally rose from his chair where he had been listening to her and watching her, and came closer, looking first at her and then at the instrument. „Would you like to have a band here?“ he asked. „People that you could play with? You could entertain my guests. We regularly have large gatherings here at the manor.“ „I haven’t decided yet“, he admitted as she asked him what he was going to do with her. „You aren’t exactly what I imagined you to be.“ He followed her to the windows, but still maintained a certain distance between them. „If you want to know whether I’m going to hurt you, torture you or sell you to another master, no, I won’t do that, unless you constantly misbehave and anger me.“ He paused and looked out of the window at the canal below for a moment. „What are you besides a musician? What can you do apart from playing songs for me and sharing my secret?“

[Melenna]

Melenna didn't answer immediately, though in more than one way, her body did. The same tension she'd felt when being brought to him for the first time was upon her as he moved closer, painting her cheeks pink and dipping her chin. There was so much contradiction in that moment—he said he would punish her if she was too frequently unpleasant (she wasn't entirely sure of what was meant by “misbehavior”), and yet he was willing to provide her with a band. It wasn't even something she requested or needed, but he'd come up with the offer by himself and was dangling it before her doe-eyed stare. Surely, there were selfish motives of his own for it, as he had already mentioned entertaining his guests, and yet she couldn't see the narcissism in it. He didn't say she had to perform for others or that she had to compose for a band, instead proposing that she could. For all the konti knew, that was simply a misinterpretation of his words, but that was what she chose to believe.

For someone that staunchly denied wanting to please others, the young man seemed almost obsessed with pleasing his guests, thinking of entertainment for them and making sure the slaves were according to their taste. He was worried about his image, about enemies waiting to strike at the sign of any weakness, and yet he said he wasn't lonely. Despite the denial, wasn't the evidence pointing to a man with no one to confide in, no one he could always trust to protect him? Melenna could see nothing else despite his forever cold features and the ever present threat of what might happen if she overstepped her boundaries of being a slave.

It was getting worse, too. She knew some of Rhysol's verdicts through hymns and epics and had been exposed enough to her master to understand a few of his characteristics. Slowly, it was becoming more difficult to see an unforgiving and soulless master: when she looked at him, she saw a boy who'd always been threatened to behave in front of guests or else, a boy who'd always been cautious of making friends because he was afraid of betrayal, a boy who'd always been isolated from his own family through the nurturing of nannies and slaves who he was taught to see as inferior. There weren't affectionate family portraits or even a warm feeling to the house, everything elegant and brisk and utterly superficial. She'd been brought into it all as a recent slave—Valerius had likely been trapped here most of his life.

These were Melenna's assumptions, and she allowed herself to see nothing else. It was more than possible that she was wrong, that she was simply turning Valerius into someone she could empathize with due to her own loneliness. She was without family, without home, without her own people and utterly lost without them. What was her purpose if she could not longer make her friends smile or see the beauty of her home? She didn't want to appease her master, she wanted to make him the friend she lacked, to make him comfortable, to move him to smile or laugh. There may not have been a more difficult man in all of Ravok to desire such things from, but never in any history has the heart been a reasonable thing.

Melenna stepped closer, the tantalizing view of water outside no match for the new curiosity she felt for the man. Everything was so delicate between them, each gesture having the possibility of winning his ire and pushing her away, but she risked it all for the slight chance of melting some of the ice between them. It wasn't wise—most of the slaves seemed to keep their distance as necessary, only calling him by “Master,”—but she was determine to see a human being, even if the lump of muscle in his chest was mostly dead.

“All I ask is time to show you.” Melenna's voice was quiet enough to be a whisper, but her eyes were earnest. “Let me linger a while with you and let me hear your thoughts, what troubles you and where your studies have taken you.”

OoC: Yes, there was a name change. You can assume she introduced herself as Melenna, as that's how I will be referring to her.

[Valerius Nitrozian]

„There’s nothing that troubles me“, Valerius replied coolly. He didn’t look at her, but out of the window, at the canal where a ravosala could be seen. He preferred that means of transportation to all others. Valerius had always had a bit of an affinity to the water. „Why do you think that there is something that troubles me? My life is perfect. My grandfather is Sitanos Nitrozian. I belong to one of the richest and most influential families of Ravok and will probably marry a woman from an equally powerful family when the time has come and my grandfather demands it. I will do what I can to please Rhysol, and he’ll reward me for it and mark me. What is there that could possibly trouble me?“ The words were spoken with only the tiniest hint of bitterness. A decade or two ago Valerius had been all that, a lonely boy that had been threatened to behave, a child whose care had been delegated to servants and slaves, who had been taught that nothing but pleasing Rhysol and furthering House Nitrozian’s goals mattered. A decade ago, when he had still been a boy, he might have been less reluctant to open up to her, but now he just didn’t care anymore. Besides, he didn’t dare to say the things that bothered him out loud. He didn’t want to. What would happen if he acknowledged those thoughts, those doubts? He would risk losing everything, he would become poor, an outcast. He liked the comfort that life in Ravok offered to him. He liked the fact that he only had to work if he had to, that everybody respected him and feared his name. This was the only kind of life he had ever known. His personal feelings were irrelevant. He had a good life. „My thoughts are no business of yours“, he informed her. „As for where my studies have taken me, I’ve already mentioned that I studied at the University of Zeltiva. I had considered becoming a professor there, but I was called home as serving Rhysol and Ravok was considered to be more important. I doubt that there is anything that you can show me. You can’t help.“ „What would the point be anyway, of you, a slave, discussing such things with me? Why are you so eager to talk to me? Why are you so interested in my thoughts and feelings? So that you can gossip with the other slaves? Blackmail me? I didn’t buy you because I needed somebody to talk to. I needed somebody to work for me and occasionally entertain my guests.“

[Melenna]

Melenna's cheeks reddened with aggravated chagrin, her tongue feeling dry. Rebuff was what she had expected, and yet hadn't prepared herself for. She was nothing more than a slave to Valerius, an asset that hat no other purpose than those he could pin on it. This she'd known from the moment she saw his eyes from the slavers' stage, and yet that tender hope of making a friend, that spark of a dream still burned as it fizzled away. Impossible, it would be impossible to hope to change anything in Ravok, to desire anything more than what she already had. The slaves would bite at her successes, her master her failures, and that was all there was to it.

Why then, was she still standing there, gazing at his face? Why did she turn the tension of those blue eyes into melancholy and those questions into defenses? Where any reasonable soul would have seen a wall, she saw a door—he was asking, rather than stating what purpose sating her curiosity could serve, standing there almost serenely when he could have stepped away or shoved her aside. So instead of backing off and sulking in some dark recess of his room, she leaned herself forward, partially occluding his view from the window with her head.

The simple, silent movement placed her face in direct light, causing the scales framing the left side of her face to take a dozen hues of teal as their opalescent surfaces came aflame. Her hair blanched out and seemed wispier than it was, the softest blonde fog wafting across ivory skin. Simultaneously, the right side of her face was lightly shadowed, making the eyes seem darker and deeper than they truly were. Her gaze rested fully on the young man, pleading, and yet not desperate. She badly wanted to touch him but felt forbidden to from the tension between them, instead clasping both hands in front of her.

“I am whatever you make me to be—have I professed to be anything else but yours?” Melenna's head lolled lightly away from the window, casting odd patterns against the glass as it moved. “Am I wrong to wish your happiness, even if it was only for the sake of less punishment? Wishing you harm instead of health would be of no advantage, and surely you see it, being astute as you are. Where am I to go without you? To another master, kind or cruel? To the city where I own nothing and have no hope for proper work? To the wilderness, in hopes of finding my home? I have no motive to betray you, no reason to 'gossip.' You have been good to me.”

“The question to me seems to be if time will be as good to you.” Here, Melenna hesitated, drawing back. “You said that serving Rhysol and Ravok was considered to be more important than your studies—by your family, I assume. You did not say that you felt the same. I wonder if, perhaps, this burning intellect is something more valuable than a name. You are a Nitrozian, but is that name truly sweet to history in your eyes? It seems to me that the successors of your family would wish to drown out their predecessors, to make larger their new fame by diminishing what is immediately past. How well is your great-grandfather remembered? Do you wish to make a mark deeper, one that does not come and go with family lines?”

[Valerius Nitrozian]

„Happiness is overrated“, he informed her. Her kind words didn’t have the intended effect. „Success is more important. Power is more important. Besides, what makes you think I’m not happy? I have all this here …“ He gestured towards the luxurious furniture in his room. „So you do not need to wish me happiness. Wish for me to become more powerful than I already am instead.“ „You know that after a day?“ He furrowed his brow and looked at her in disbelief as she told him that he had been good to her. „You barely know me! How can you be sure that I will not drag you into the dungeon and whip you until you are lying on the floor and pleading for mercy? How can you be sure that I will not make you do things that no Konti would ever do voluntarily?“ „And what if I didn’t feel the same?“ he asked. „What good would admitting that do? It’s pointless. My duty is to Ravok and Rhysol. I will only leave once the Black Sun or my family say so. That’s the way it’s supposed to be.“ „My great grandfather was a great man“, he said, but in truth he didn’t even remember the man. He had died long before his birth. „And so is my grandfather, the head of House Nitrozian. You said that you wish me happiness, so why do you insist on telling me such nonsense and asking me if I wish to leave a deeper mark?“ „You make me think of things that I’d rather forget – forever. What does that have to do with happiness?“ „You said that you wanted to stay here, and yet you keep asking me all those questions. Have you lost your mind? Did I buy an insane Konti? Give me one reason why I shouldn’t throw you out of my suite right now and send you to work in the kitchen.“ „Tuuli never talks back“, he added. For some reason he couldn’t help but think of his meeting with the gadgeteer Tock, a free woman. She had dared to talk back and criticize him much like the Konti. He had hit her, so why was he reluctant to touch this Melenna? Because her voice was gentle, and she tried it with kindness rather than insulting him at every turn?