namesthesky | an estate sale

Damn the old lady. Damn her into whatever creative torments have ever been invented for priests to wish on their theological opponents, all simultaneously, for ever and always, let it be done.

Aya is quite aware that she'd revise this opinion if her opinions had any power over the fate of the old lady. Since they do not, she will stand here and silently call down curses.

She was supposed to be willed to herself. She had plans. She was going to sleep in the temple attic and work for the post office and save up enough to go to Carthapane. She was pretty sure she could be enrolled in a college by twenty-five, doing something useful by thirty - she was undecided pending her more formal education between illegal human export and working within the system for debt relief or purchase-to-manumit programs -

And now she'll just count herself lucky if she gets bought by someone with loose enough security that she can flee over the border without falling into a magic, attempt to teach herself Tsopixi, and do - she doesn't have a plan after that, now. Her plan went up in smoke when the old lady's will was read and she was left to the idiot grandson and the idiot grandson traded her to a reseller for enough to cover his bad investments. She can't go work for the post office with marked heel and no papers.

And she is keenly aware that she is sixteen going on seventeen, which is a much different situation than she faced when she was on the block a decade ago being advertised for her literacy, assessed for her ability to take dictation.

She shifts position. The chain between her collar and the wall jangles. She watches people going by, browsing, reading the sign posted in front of her.

"Ayabel" - 125 seo
16 yrs, healthy
Reads & writes (Esevi, some Ancient Sudre)
10 yrs housegirl experience, previously farming
No history of rebelliousness

Yeah. No history of rebelliousness, because the old lady was old and coming up on the end of her life, the old lady let her read books and left her enough free time to think and draw, the old lady was going to will her to herself and then she could get started on her life.

This history won't last long, Aya doesn't think.

Most especially if anyone looks at the second line and brings her home for the obvious thing.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

anotherbreeze

"Yeah."

From:

namesthesky

"And instead I got bought by a retired old lady who wanted me to take dictation because she was getting arthritic. I've been about as absurdly lucky as I could get without manumission papers wafting out of a magic into my lap. Or her doing what she let me think she would."

From:

anotherbreeze

"Guess so," he agrees.

From:

namesthesky

Aya... is out of things to say. It feels weird to be talking about herself this much, and she's pretty sure she's addressed all his expressed curiosities.

From:

anotherbreeze

He is out of things to say too.

He waits another moment, though, to see if she comes up with anything.

From:

namesthesky

Nope.

She picks up a pastry and bites it, breaking eye contact.

From:

anotherbreeze

Then - yeah. Back to his room he goes.

From:

namesthesky

Aya eats pastries. She adds a border of further detail to her butterfly's wings. She picks up the book she's in the middle of and reads on.

She undergoes a sort of emotional unfurling over the next several days, when everything continues to be exactly as it was presented to her. She takes the colored inks and experiments with using them in coded drawings; preliminary results are promising. She finishes the history book, its companion volume, several plays, a novel, and a catalog of case studies of people who've wandered into magics and successfully come out with this or that deformity, drawback, arguable enhancement, or crippling condition - instead of dying instantly, vanishing, or becoming permanently stuck to something inside the magic until dying less than instantly. She eats the excellent household food, three meals a day. She gets her change of clothes, finds out where laundry gets done, and thereafter has a suitable schedule of personal and fabric-related cleanliness. She finds a little box of decorative tacks in the attic, puts up her lizard on the wall, confirms that Hal isn't going to make a face at there being a tack hole in the wall, and then puts up the other drawings and the new ones she's drawn since the first day. She thinks she'll take a stab at actually organizing the attic - pretty much entirely for her own convenience - one of these days.

Edited Date: 2014-02-23 10:19 pm (UTC)

From:

anotherbreeze

And then...

Dinner with the family is a thing in this household. Hal can freely avoid his parents at other meals, and invariably does, but his presence at dinner is required. So dressing up and going downstairs in the evenings is an unremarkable event.

Usually, though, he's back in less than an hour. Today it's more like three. And while he's been known to head straight for his room after dinner and not come out for a while, today he doesn't even make it that far. He comes into the little front room and shuts the hall door behind him and then can't manage the minimal coordination necessary to detour around the couch that is in his way. Instead he collapses across it, sobbing into his hands and bleeding through the back of his shirt.

From:

namesthesky

Aya was starting to wonder where he'd gotten to after a couple of hours, but hadn't gotten nervous enough to go ask Berete if she knew anything.

Now she knows.

She creeps out of her room, waiting to see if he'll snap at her or even just ask her to go away.

From:

anotherbreeze

It is debatable whether he even notices she is there. He certainly doesn't give much sign of it; he just continues to cry.

From:

namesthesky

Aya goes to the side of the couch, on the end where his head is.

"Do you need help?" she murmurs.

From:

anotherbreeze

He shakes his head.

From:

namesthesky

This seems pretty obviously false, but it might be the kind of false where she can call his bluff, or it might be the kind of false where he most of anything wants her to pretend it's true.

She thinks, trying to figure out which it is.

Eventually she decides to try: "There's gauze in the kitchen. I could get you some of that and hot water."

From:

anotherbreeze

He nods.

From:

namesthesky

Aya goes to the kitchen, and gets hot water, and clean rags, and a roll of gauze. She also breaks a leaf off the aloe plant in the window and gets a little bowl and a knife to shred it. She hauls everything back up the stairs, managing not to spill in spite of hurrying to prevent the water from cooling to tepidity before she gets there.

She plunks the bucket and then everything else down beside the couch. "If you want me to help I'm going to need to see," she says softly.

Edited Date: 2014-02-24 02:09 am (UTC)

From:

anotherbreeze

Yes. That is logical.

With some difficulty, he wriggles out of his shirt.

His back is pretty well fucked up, to an extent most people would consider excessive even applied to a slave. It would be easier to count the parts that aren't bleeding than the reverse.

From:

namesthesky

Aya makes a hssst sort of noise. She expected it to be bad based on the spread of blood on his shirt, but this is - well, she might need to make another trip.

She dips a little of the water into the bowl for mixing with the aloe after she shreds it, and with the rest, starts doing her best to clean him up. She doesn't bother telling him it's not going to tickle.

Edited Date: 2014-02-24 02:21 am (UTC)

From:

anotherbreeze

He hisses occasionally, but mostly doesn't react, at least not in a way that's discernible past the crying. The crying is very much still a thing.

From:

namesthesky

Once she's gotten the worst of the blood away and can tell where the injuries are under it, she shreds the aloe in the smaller bowl of water, crushes the shreds until it amounts to a paste, and starts applying it. "Going to need you to sit so I can wrap you up," she murmurs.

From:

anotherbreeze

He nods again.

It takes him some time - half a minute, maybe - but he manages to sit up. And continue crying. Definitely that.

From:

namesthesky

Aya wraps him up in enough layers of gauze that she doesn't expect him to ruin the next shirt he changes into, tucks the end in, and sits back on her heels. With the last of the clean water she rinses her hands off.