Which Way

[Victor Lark]

She was like a soup on a stove, the water of her fear simmering over the flame of her anger. Victor had been cooking like this since before he could remember, and yet he had rarely managed to concoct something so delicious. He should have been more careful, should have chosen whether to back off and mind his manners or to add kindle to the fire, but Victor was nothing if not reckless.

“Ah yes,” he agreed calmly, nodding a finger at her desperation. “But unlike the savages of Sunberth, who trade many a broken specimen for a poor price, we Ravokians do not treat people like pigs.”

It was almost like Victor owed something to the city he had abandoned a year ago. He continued, “If you had been to Ravok, you would know what it is like to dress in silks and satins, sleeping in a bed under and roof and serving masters who would keep you pretty before they hurt you.” He neared her, tipping a knuckle beneath her soft chin. “It is the life of a pet, not of a slab of meat.”

Victor looked her in the eye then, and if she looked back she would not see anger or malice. His pointed steel dipped into her cerulean pools not to intimidate, but out of curiosity. The fact might be hard to accept, however, when he added, “And it is a comfortable life. Perhaps you might have liked it.”

[Nira'lia]

‘He… he’s terrible!’ The Konti stared at him, her mouth slightly agape. Was he actually saying that she should have wished to serve under his family? That the dresses made of rich silk and satin, the soft bed, that these were all things that she should have wanted? And when he touched her skin, it had been a gentle gesture, but she felt nothing but horror and disgust. Without even thinking twice about it, she slapped his hand away. Nira’lia heard the sound of her skin hitting his, and it wasn’t a pretty noise. Rather, it sounded painful, and she could feel the sting on her own hand. She felt like hitting him once more—right on the cheek. It was right there, and it would be so easy. At that moment, the Konti really felt like she had to hit him. But instead, her surroundings went blurry and she broke down. Nira’lia wasn’t really one to cry, but this was just too much. Her cheeks were soon drenched with tears as she frustratingly tried to wipe it with the back of her hands. And before she knew it, she was on her knees and sobbing quietly. It was humiliating and she wanted to stop, but it was as if reality had finally caught up with her after all these years. “You… you petching man…” she said between sobs. “Am I supposed to think that my sisters are having the time of their lives? You worthless, petching fool…”

[Whimsy]

Nira'lia

Experience	Lore
+2 Socialisation	The Illusions of Ionu
+1 Philosophy	The Temple of Ionu
+2 Rhetoric	Victor Lark: Entrepreneur
	Rhysol: A “Kind” God?
	Loathing Slavery

Comments
Disappointing this remained unfinished. It would have been interesting to see where the argument went: if Victor would have become apologetic, or defensive of his city's trade, despite it hurting Nira so. PM me if you have any questions or concerns.

.