Closed Little Letters [Valerius]

[Achenar]

76th Spring 516AV
Dry Island

Achenar stared up at the polished door and it's creeping ivy. The air was thick with humidity, the day had been harsh on the many people who lived here, but it wasn't so bad that he couldn't leave the estate like his master had wanted. During the day, he ran errands; fetching letters or retrieving clothes from seamstresses. As a svefra, he wasn't accosted with as much frequency as his divine form, and that meant he could watch and listen with ease. There were rumors abound of the Radacke dynasty and the implications of their second season of rule. With the tension growing, the hammer on his temple began to feel more like a target. What was stopping these men and women from stringing him up as an example to all who serve the Radacke?

Thankfully, he'd only gotten harsh stares, if he'd gotten any at all. Today had been decidedly different, however. When he'd retrieved a parcel for his master he gave him an appraising look as he often did, smothered in underlying motives.

"You spent some time with a man, a certain Valerius Nitrozian, do you remember, Achenar?" He'd flitted his quill between his fingers with his impeccably clean, gloved hands. "A Ravokian of a notorious family. Curious that he's so far away from home."

His master never spoke his thoughts aloud unless he was trying to instill doubt and questions. Achenar's face had turned a shade of red at the mention, but he said nothing.

"He no doubt learned etiquette and poise from such a sophisticated family. I think its past time you learned some yourself, pet. There's an office on Dry Island, quaint little place, really, but it will suit my purposes. Go there for your first lesson. I expect to hear everything that had transpired."

The stressed word was following by a dark stare and an even darker smile. Achenar knew what he meant and what he wanted and as he made his way through the lazy tumble of buildings that made up Kenash proper, he tried desperately to unravel his master's motives.

Why here? Why this place? It was quaint with it's ivy decorations, but it didn't seem particularly lavish enough to house someone important. The svefra hesitated in front of the door. He was dressed in simple pants, shoes and a shirt, decidedly nicer than the rags most slaves wore, yet the leather collar around his throat and the hammer at his temple would mark him no better than his peers. Let's see who would warrant interest from Zaelsen Radacke.

With the sun slowly setting on the horizon, Achenar reached and rapped the door three times.

[Valerius Nitrozian]

Valerius didn’t think that he had ever been that exhausted before. The work that he had done in Ravok could not compare to what Konrad Venger had put him through that morning. The man’s treatment of him still irked him to some extent – he had been kicked, punched and thrown to the ground, like some sort of useless commoner - but on another level he almost respected him, which surprised him. Their little training session had been quite enlightening. Konrad was a man who had killed before and knew exactly what one had to do to gain the upper hand in a fight, quite unlike his old teacher and professor of Nader-canoch, Argent Berrywillow.

Every inch of the Ravokian’s body seemed to hurt, but despite that he held himself completely straight as he sat at his desk and went through the notes he had made on his students in preparation for the lessons that would take place the next day. His posture might even be a little straighter than it normally was for it made his back hurt a little less. He had lain in the dirt and sweated like he had never sweated before, but little of that was visible now. His appearance was quite impeccable. He had bathed and changed into a fresh set of clothes immediately after he had left Konrad, a crisp white linen shirt and black pants, and he had even cleaned his boots himself. To Valerius anything less than perfection was unacceptable. He would not even admit that he was uncomfortable or tired when he was alone.

It took him a few moments to notice that somebody had knocked on his door – he had been quite busy with his notes on the Ackina girl, an insufferable teenager, but fortunately not entirely without intelligence – but when he finally did he immediately rose from his chair and walked over to the door to open it. He was not the kind of man that let his visitors wait unnecessarily long, but preferred to get things over with as quickly as possible.

It was a little late for one of the dynasty brats to show up in his opinion – his students had an unfortunate tendency to get drunk after dusk, party or participate in various orgies throughout the night – but one could never be completely sure. Maybe one of them had wisened up and decided to get more rhetoric lessons or even study the ancient tongue instead of engaging in frivolous activities. Stranger things had happened before.

As he looked at the man that stood on his threshold though, he realized that it was not the case. He couldn’t remember ever seeing him before. He had certainly never taught him.

He gazed at the mark on his temple for a moment, raising an eyebrow slightly as he did so, before he took in the rest of the man‘s appearance. He didn’t look as if he had been born in Kenash. His tattoos were of a different variety than those that the Drykas he had sometimes seen in the city bore and hinted at the fact that he had lived a very different life and might have been free once. He looked as if his master treated him well though – his clothes were of decent quality - and he was not entirely unappealing despite the unfortunate mustache. He was probably a privileged slave, he decided, somebody that had the trust of his master, and thus it would be unwise to treat him with too much contempt. Especially here in Kenash slaves could have a surprising amount of influence.

He stepped back from the door and gestured for the man to come in. As he did so, he addressed him, in a tone that was perhaps a little cool, but otherwise perfectly polite, "Good evening. What can I do for the Radacke dynasty?" He couldn’t help but wonder whether the Magistrate had sent the man – or perhaps Janus who he had helped some time ago. Did the Radackes have work for him again, work that wouldn’t involve putting up with their spoiled children?

[Achenar]

The slave waited for what seemed like bells to him, staring at the polished door with a carefully controlled deadpan stare. It was not unusual for Dynasts to purposefully make lesser people wait, as though it was a subtle reminder to those under them that they were the privileged ones. In comparison, however, the door had swung open much quicker than the svefra had anticipated, though it was not a Dynasty brat that had greeted the door, but a very familiar man.

The sight of him made him pause in a momentary stun. He should have known. After all this time, he should have been two steps ahead of Zaelsen Radacke, but he was always a step behind. But why? His thoughts whirled into an inchohesive jumble. Why him? What was a Ravokian to his master? He was reminded of the man's words, of being from a notably wealthy family from Ravok, a city that Achenar had only heard of in passing comments on the road. He hadn't been lying. Achenar's jaw tensed and he avoided the man's gaze by lowering his head in a customary fashion.

He had almost expected him to react in a much more different manner, but he realized then that he was still in his svefra form, virtually unknown to him. The day was quickly ending, however, and he knew that wouldn't last. Despite his attempts to compose himself, his cheeks were still faintly pink from blush.

Achenar cleared his throat. "I've come here on Master Zaelsen Radacke's orders," he explained, his svefran accent a stark difference to his normally smooth Ethaefal tone. "He wishes me to learn proper etiquette in speech. I was told to you are an expert at it, sir." The idea felt ludicrous to the slave but he refrained from voicing it. What was most important in this situation was to gather as much information as he could to satisfy his master's curiosity.

His blue eyes slowly swiveled up to Valerius' face. Avoiding it wouldn't do him any good. He needed to read him and what all he could see was tired eyes, though he was reminded of the sheer fire and passion that had lit up those eyes like a wildfire had burned in him. So this is what he does.

[Valerius Nitrozian]

The Radacke slave seemed to be strangely hesitant as he stood there, on his threshold, almost stunned as if he had not expected him to live here. Valerius took a somewhat closer look at the man as a consequence. Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe they had met before, but where could that have been? Could he have been there when Konrad and he had visited Janus, a couple of days earlier? No, he would definitely remember his rather unique appearance. It was probably the slave that was slightly confused and not him. As far as Valerius was concerned, his memory did of course always work perfectly.

He gave the man a meaningful look as if he wanted to tell him that he should please stop that strange behaviour before he stepped into the building – after his visitor. Despite the fact that the man was a slave, he would allow him to enter first. He was always a little worried about having a stranger behind his back, even if the stranger in question was just somebody’s possession. Once they were inside, he closed the door and walked over to his desk. Achenar would likely find the furnishings of Valerius‘ office somewhat plain, but everything was in good condition and of course extremely clean.

"I’ve heard of Lord Zaelsen", he remarked, somewhat dryly, but didn’t reveal why he was familiar with the name. His involvement in certain questionable activities was none of the slave’s business. "And I am of course an expert when it comes to etiquette and rhetoric. I trained at the University of Zeltiva and the Institute of Higher Learning in Ravok. I cannot help but wonder, why Lord Radacke considers it necessary for one of his slaves to learn such things though. What exactly is it that you do for him? And why did he pick me?"

"I’m far from the only man in Kenash that teaches rhetoric and etiquette. There are other teachers besides me, although I do of course feel very honored that your master sent you to me." He noticed that the slave was looking at him like that again. It almost seemed as if he were afraid to meet his gaze. Valerius himself did of course not have any such problems. He looked directly in the man’s eyes that he noticed were blue just like his own before he sat down in his chair, gesturing for Achenar to sit down as well.

It would be easier to instill some sort of good manners into the man if his back didn’t hurt so much because he had been standing all the time. And he already knew exactly how he would begin his lesson. "One of the most important parts of any conversation is eye contact. I noticed the way you were staring at me. Such a thing is considered inappropriate unless we have a very close relationship – which we don’t, as far as I know. So kindly refrain from staring at me like that in the future."

[Achenar]

Of course he'd know Zaelsen Radacke, the ethaefal thought bitterly. He realized that he wasn't in his ethereal form, and so the Ravokian couldn't have known who he was with a face so starkly different than what he'd seen in the Caged Sun. The memory of their business together was clear in his head but the svefra didn't voice it. Until the sun disappeared behind the horizon, Valerius wouldn't know who he was, and he half hoped he wouldn't remain for that long. It seemed only half a bell or so before he'd be revealed.

My, what a pompous ass, though, he stifled his look of disdain at his reaction. "I can't claim to know why my master does what he does, sir," Achenar told him, finally recomposing himself. "I am his personal slave. I generally run errands for him." It was a half truth mostly, but one told out of necessity. He'd learned, through Zaelsen's often derogatory remarks, to keep his emotions under a strict guise, otherwise he was picked apart, torn asunder and smothered underfoot. The svefra had no shred of self-confidence save for his ability to deceive, and that was the only way he could survive physically and mentally. In truth, he was a empty soul in a broken husk, trying to pick up the pieces again.

"I think my master is aware of the fact you are not the only man to teach rhetoric in Kenash, sir," Achenar answered as he stepped in after him, aware that the man looked somewhat irate. From what he'd been told of Valerius' family, however, he didn't expect an office as... plain as this was. It was simple, but nothing felt out of the ordinary. Perhaps it fit exactly what the Ravokian wanted and nothing more, though he expected a family as noble and wealthy as this man's to afford something a bit more luxurious.

"It's likely the others just didn't meet his rather high expectations." He knew how easy it was to butter the dynasts up with compliments, but he was still unsure of the Ravokian's motives. He'd been wholly unpredictable when they'd last met, and.. somewhat unstable. Behind closed doors, a person's true colors often shone.

He settled in the chair across from him, refraining from crossing his legs. The first critique the man spoke was met with a furrow of his brows. Close relationship? Achenar bit back the comment he wanted to make about how close they'd been all those nights ago, instead offering a twitch of his lips in a quiet smile and a nod of his head. "As you wish, sir," he remarked. "I was only appreciating your appearance. You seem well put together."

He tapped the edge of the table, wracking his thoughts for ideas on how to get any useful information out of this interaction. "Are you from Zeltiva, or Ravok?" He continued, pressing the questions. He already knew the answer, but perhaps he was one of those types that engaged in a topic once the subject was broached. "I've only ever heard stories of Ravok, and Zeltiva I had the pleasure of visiting before."

[Valerius Nitrozian]

„Then I will teach you how to comport yourself among Freeborn and nobility“, Valerius decided as the man revealed that he was Zaelsen Radacke’s personal slave. The tone of his voice was dispassionate, as if he did not truly care, even as his thoughts momentarily strayed from the task at hand. He had had a personal slave as well once, a Konti by the name of Melenna, but that had been years ago. Nowadays he was forced to live a life that was comparable to that of a commoner. If he had any say in that matter, the status quo would only be temporary though. “If it is really as you say, and you run errands for your master, you will encounter a wide variety of different people.”

“Is that so?” He raised an eyebrow a fraction as Achenar claimed that the other teachers had not met his master’s high expectations, but he did not say more. He enjoyed flattery as much as any noble, even though his reaction was a little less obvious, nothing more than the ghost of a smile that flickered across his face and was gone all too soon. As far as he was concerned, showing one’s thoughts and feelings openly was a sign of weakness. It was best reserved for whatever took place behind closed doors.

He had thought the man would be offended by his criticism, that he would insist that he had not really been staring – most people would have done that in Achenar’ situation - and thus was surprised when he just nodded and informed him that he had been appreciating his appearance. He was aware of the fact that he was a comparatively good looking man, of course, better than most in fact, but it was unusual to receive compliments from a stranger, a slave and a man at that. For a moment he looked into the slave’s eyes, as if he were about to say something, something potentially rude, but then he simply pulled his gaze away again and remarked, “Indeed I am. Just because I am a Freeborn in this city doesn’t mean that I have to look like one as well.”

While Achenar tapped the edge of the table, Valerius sat still, with his back completely straight as if this were some sort of formal event where everybody was watching him and secretly judging him rather than a meeting between a slave and his teacher. The question that Achenar asked him surprised him. He thought that the slave would sit still and listen to his teachings, but he didn’t actually mind. He appreciated it if people were interested in his life, even if the people in question belonged to somebody else. It made him feel as if he was somebody that mattered.

“I was born and raised in Ravok”, he replied. “As far as I am concerned, it is one of the most beautiful cities in Mizahar, with its canals and the elegant houses the line them, despite certain unfortunate events that transpired there. My family are comparable to one of your dynasties as far as wealth and power are concerned. My grandfather, Sitanos Nitrozian, is an influential businessman. Your master might have heard of him.” He paused for a moment and wondered if he should really tell the slave all that, but then he decided that there was no harm in doing so. He wanted Achenar as well as his master to know that he was far from a normal Freeborn and could have been the Magistrate’s match if things had gone a little differently!

“I went to Zeltiva to study though due to the university’s prestige and lived there for almost three years”, he continued. For a moment there was a faraway look in his eyes as he recalled all the things that had happened there, the good ones as well as the bad ones. The memory of them still affected him, as much as he hated it, but he focused on Achenar again soon and the look in his eyes became cool and nearly indifferent once more. "I didn’t only study rhetoric, but also Nader-canoch, the Ancient Tongue, under the esteemed Professor Berrywillow, but I doubt that you will need to learn that language, considering you are a slave and your master is not a scholar. I almost stayed in Zeltiva to become a professor. Be glad that I didn’t, but decided to move to this swamp to teach dynasty brats and your kind instead.”

“But enough of that, we should get started so that we’ll be finished before midnight at least. I don’t think I need to teach you more about eye contact. So I will start with what I consider the most important part for a man in your position.” He put a light emphasis on the word “man”, as if he wanted to remind Achenar of his position in Kenashian society. “As far as I am concerned, rhetoric is not simply the art of speaking correctly, but the art of persuasion through speaking, a means to get what you want and have the effect that you want on those that you are talking to.”

He paused for a moment to give the slave an opportunity to absorb what he had said before he continued,

“As your master’s personal slave you are often asked to go somewhere alone, am I correct? You should never just go somewhere, but be aware of who you are going to, what their position in this city is and what can possibly be gained from associating with them. You need to appear absolutely trustworthy. I know that you do not have much of a choice, being a slave, but try to appear as if you want to be there nevertheless. Never let your true feelings show. Always use their correct title as well as the correct greeting. Bow when you are facing a dynast and don’t just stand there. Nobles can be extremely particular, although some commoners would probably enjoy being referred to as my lord or my lady.”

He almost sneered as he said that. In his opinion a man or a woman should never try to step beyond their station, unless the circumstances were extraordinary as they were in his case. As far as he was concerned, none of the rules applied to him.

“And use greetings such as good evening. I noticed that you did no such thing when you entered my office. There are some people in this city that will refuse to deal with you if you forget something as simple as that. People are easily offended.”

He stopped again to change his position on the chair somewhat. His back was terribly sore, although he would of course never actually admit that he was in any way uncomfortable.