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lycrawaterz14

Of Slaves and Royals

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Rachel bobbed her head in agreement, following right on her heels as was usual. She looked up in alarm as her master was nearly struck by a vehicle, scrambling after her as she walked inside. "Are you alright, Miss?" She asked breathlessly, looking at Dawn concernedly. Surprisingly she didnt hate Dawn, nor did she blame her for her own life as a slave. She was nice to Rachel; her meekness was just her personality.

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"I'm fine. Just a bit angry." Dawn looked around, looking for the Dragon's Hoard, where she had seen that cute dress. "Hmm. Do you think they have a map?" She walked forward, glancing to and fro for a small piece of guidance. "Well, I guess we're on our own, Rachel." She walked forward into the hustle and bustle of the mall, strange people and their poor slaves running about. Looking back at Rachel, she saw that Rachel really was pretty. Suddenly, a bit of jealousy sprung up in her. Dawn tried to shake it off, but it was stuck there, like a thorn in her side.

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Rachel chanced a look around them, and inclined her head towards a desk. "Perhaps the information desk would have a map?" She suggested quietly, toying with the edge of her shirt. She followed dutifully behind her all the way, keeping her head down and speaking to no one.

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"Oh! Good idea!" Dawn looked for the information desk. Aha! There it was, sitting in the middle of the mall's entrance area. She walked up to it, and rapped on the desk. She and the lady sitting there had a little conversation, then the woman reluctantly handed over a map. "She's so lonely." She opened the map, then offered Rachel a peek at it also.

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Rachel simply nodded, looking at the map. "Where would you like to go first, Miss?" She asked, studying the map. She was careful not to lean on her or breathe in her ear/face, or do anything else incriminating.

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"The Dragon's Hoard, then onto Churli's. Where I saw a nice pair of sandals that would look very, very nice on you with that dress." Dawn looked for the quickest route on the map to the stores. "This way!" she said, trotting off into the crowd.

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No matter how many times Dawn said it, Rachel would be surprised when she was offered clothes. "Yes Miss," she replied, trailing after her in her wake. She was careful not to bump anyone, her head still reeling slightly. Why was her master being kind? No one was kind to their slaves, usually.

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"Oh, here we are! Clarrisa? You in here? Yoohoo!" Dawn walked in he store, beautiful clothes surrounding the racks. Turning to Rachel, she looked at her up and down. "Hmm. Size two?" She flicked through a rack adorned with pretty white dresses, the skirts being long and fluttery, coming over the knees about ten centimeters. There was a golden woven belt, and the top part of it was simple, yet elegant. "Hmm. Try this on. Clarrisa isn't here, I don't believe. Ooh. You'll look amazing, trust me."

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Rachel stood by, still slightly convinced that this was going to end as a cruel prank and she would have to watch Dawn try the dress on. She managed a nod at the size question, watching her out of the corner of her eye. She looked openly stunned as a dress was offered to her, and not only that, but she was complimented. "A-are you sure, Miss?" She stammered, blushing bright pink. "I.. It is not.. Are you certain you wish to spend money on me? I'm not important..." She trailed off, looking down at the dress. It was pretty.. But she wasn't supposed to have such a luxury!

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"Yes, I am sure. Don't question me, Rachel." Dawn snapped, eyes growing steely. "Everyone is important, just some are less fortunate than others. You are important to me." Dawn stepped closer to Rachel, and pulled Rachel's chin up. "Remember. I am not to be questioned. Just to be obeyed. Now hurry along. I want to see that dress on you."

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Rachel's eyes widened as she was snapped at, mostly in surprise. She was.. Important? No one had cared about her before. Her gaze automatically sought the floor, but then her chin was being lifted up and she met Dawn's gaze. "Y-yes Miss," she stammered, accepting the dress and scurrying into the dressing room. Her eyes watered in her emotional confusion, but she quickly wiped them dry. Not now. She changed quickly into the dress before she came back out, tugging at the hem.

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Dawn looked on as Rachel stepped out, fussing with the hem. She truly did look good in that dress, like a goddess in a way. Her bright blue eyes and light brown hair made her look innocent. "Stop tugging at the hem. Twirl for me. We're buying this." Dawn made a swirling motion with her finger.

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Rachel dropped the hem and spun on the pad of her foot, watching the dress swirl out around her. "Thank you," she said quietly, looking gratified. She understood this was a privilege, and that considering things, she was very lucky.

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"Take off the dress, and change. Be sure not to wrinkle it, okay?" Dawn walked up to the cashier and bought the dress. "Yes, it's for her. Leave it alone." she murmured to the cashier. She paid a small fortune for it, but that was okay. She had more. "Let's go get you some shoes. Preferably those sandals." Dawn turned, and toko a bag from the counter. "For the dress." she explained.

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(I dunno.)

 

Tybalt grinned. "Stop. Fake. You have it in you..." He lightly pretended to hit her, but didn't.

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Rachel dipped her head and backed into the dressing room. She took great care in removing it, smoothing it out even though she hadn't wrinkled it and placing it on a hangar. When she came out, she nodded and gently situated the dress in the bag. "Of course, Miss," she replied dutifully.

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"What shoe size are you, Rachel?" Dawn walked into the shoe store, Churli, which was located next to the Dragon's Hoard. "Oh there are the shoes! DO you like them?" Dawn picked up a pair of simple sandals, brown, flat ones. The design to gold the sandals on was amazing, though. A gold twine was woven in a curvy pattern, seeming as vines were crawling up the buyer's ankles. "Very pretty indeed."

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"A size 7," Rachel replied, following in her wake and carrying the dress. At least it looked normal for slaves to carry the bags, and she would not be ridiculed for it. Her gaze lingered on the shoes, a foreign sense of want within her. They were simple, but pretty, and she liked them. She had never been particularly flashy anyway. "They're beautiful," she answered, though she wasnt just replying like she usually did. The pair of scruffy sneakers on her feet and an old pair of flip flops were the only shoes she had.

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Ella tensed when he hit her, and she was about to apologize for whatever she had done to anger him. However, reason then caught up with her, and she realized that the hit was even lighter than the playful swats she used to exchange with her brother. Relaxing back into the seat, she was tempted to return the swipe, but was afraid it would be the wrong thing to do. Instead, she glanced sideways at him, and with a very slight smile struggling to her lip, she asked, “Per your order, is this where I am to ‘beat the hell out of’ you?” She immediately regretted saying it as she realized just how disrespectful she sounded. “Forgive me,” she said meekly as she braced for a real strike from him.

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He laughed, a deep and genuine laugh, but it sounded unused. "Yes. Yes it is. Why would I forgive you? That was good! A good joke I mean..." He looked over at her. "I'm never going to hit you like they did. Not intentionally. Maybe playing or other..." He trailed off and stopped.

 

"You're witty. I like you." He smiled, ignoring what was in his face for a moment.

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When he laughed, Ella’s smile settled back into place, and she gave a sigh of relief when he said he’d never hit her. She was starting to wonder why she had feared him when he seemed so easy going. There was even something there that was starting to remind her of her brother. He’s not your brother, he’s your master, said that annoying voice in the back of her mind, and her smile faded. Even though she knew it was her own thoughts, she hated that voice. It always popped up to remind her of her place, and it always sounded like mean, old Mistress Montague. “Thank you, Mr. Tybalt,” was all she could say as she looked down to her hands.

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He grinned. "I will mess up your hair though." His hand shot it and ruffle shed hair, the car swerving into the driveway of a large mansion. "Heh." He chuckled, looking pretty happy.

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((Oh, I forgot to mention, I updated my application with a couple pics: Here and here. Couldn’t find any that I liked, so I improvised.))

 

She didn’t know what to think when he ruffled her hair. The last person to do that was a kind, old slave who was the only thing she’d ever had of a father figure. Sadly, he’d passed away when she was five, and she hadn’t thought about him in years. She gave a bit of a bittersweet smile as she remembered how she’d often reacted back then, and slightly moved her head away. It wasn’t a defensive movement, but rather like one would expect a child to make when a grandparent ruffled their hair.

Edited by starphyre77

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((I'm sorry, Sweet Wyvern. I've been kind of busy.))

 

Arvel looked over at Sam and nodded. "I'll be fine..." he answered with some amount of hesitation, but he recognized Sam's own distress and knew that his priorities were not to be feeling sorry for himself but rather to be making sure that his new master had everything he needed. That included emotional support. Sighing, he pulled himself together and looked firmly into the other man's eyes.

"I advise you to not tell me to not mind something if it is so clearly bothering you. Perhaps you don't really know, but the purpose of a slave is to do what his master wants and to help him in his time of need even if he doesn't as for it. Even if he doesn't want it," Arvel began, taking a moment to breathe deeply to calm his stomach that still felt the need to make him miserable. "One thing a slave isn't supposed to do is cause problems for his master. That's something that I have a talent for, causing problems that is. And I caused one for you, even if just a mental one. For that I am sorry. But know that my actions, my hostility, has absolutely nothing to do with you. If I say anything hurtful or rude, it is undoubtedly not because of you nor really directed to you at all. I'm a bitter man, Sam, and bitter men do stupid things." It seemed that the pangs of nausea in his stomach were starting to recede as he got more used to the ride, and he was just thankful that he hadn't puked in this nice car. Then Sam really might have been mad at him. Honestly, that was what Arvel had been hoping for when he made that comment earlier. He had wanted a fight, pure and simple. He hadn't wanted to make Sam sad. Honestly, he should learn. Whenever he wanted to make someone mad he never could. And the fact that he wanted to piss people off hinted that there was probably something wrong with him. Oh well.

"I'll try to be less of an censorkip.gif*** in the future."

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