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[Artigan Crowley]

9th of summer, 517 a.v The sun was still up by the time they reached the housing complex – barely. It was that odd in-between time that was neither day nor evening, but there was still be enough light to spark a few candles before the night fell completely. Artigan himself was also in an odd state of in-between. On one hand he was beyond excited for the new companion that traveled with him; extra hands would help on many practical levels, but beyond that, this was an actual person. Someone to talk with, complain to, all those things he’d come to miss; since his mentor’s death, social interactions had been fleet and passing. Having someone else in his home would brighten the place up a bit. And slaves were economical! On the other hand, though, Artigan was also trapped in a whirlwind of calculations – food, money, space, time, clothes – so many things that were suddenly much more crucial. The purchase had dug deeper into his pockets than expected, and he would have to be careful this season. No, they would have to be careful. It was a ‘they’ now. And that pushed him back into giddiness. The young gadgeteer did his best to hide the steady bounce between the two extremes as he led the way into the housing complex. “It’s a good spot,” he explained to the young man in tow. “A balcony unit – we overlook the canal. Fresh air whenever you like and a good view. It’ll be a bit cramped, but part of that’s my fault; I’m a mess all over the place. Once we straighten things up a bit, it will be easier. And it won’t be forever! A season or two of saving should be enough to get something bigger.” Artigan wasn’t sure exactly what he thought of the young man he’d bought, but he supposed that was only natural; they’d only just met today, after all. The gadgeteer had done his best to be welcoming, but was also aware that too much welcome could come off as smothering; he didn’t want to press the youth, but he at least wanted him to know that he would be in good hands. And that the less than ideal situation Artigan called home was only temporary. “This one is ours,” Artigan said when they reached the door, stumbling over the word ‘ours’. Druva was at the door when he opened it, as she always was; the dog greeted her owner jubilantly, nearly tripping over herself in eagerness. She was just as happy to see the stranger, and immediately tumbled over to the young man in determination to become his friend. “This is Druva,” Artigan said with a smile. “She also lives here. I am her person, and I think she also wants you to be her person.”

[Czes Aster]

9th of Summer 517

Needless to say, Czes was not happy with his current situation. At all. He wondered what kind of person would purchase another human, and apparently this person was that type. Yet, from what he had seen so far, it seemed to be a part of life in Ravok, not one that Czes could say he agreed with.

Perhaps a few years ago his view on the topic of slavery wouldn't have been negative, yet after all he had gone through, the idea left a bad taste in his throat. An alright childhood, and then enslavement, that couldn't be all his life would amount to.

The small clink of his locket against his chest brought the boy out of his mind and back to reality. He had to accept what was happening and move on, Lina, his sister who had gave him his treasured locket, was dead. Nothing would change that. It was all Czes could do to move on.

He toyed with the locket as he walked, listening to the other chatter about his house, he didn't seem that bad, well not as bad as the slavers that had taken him. Though it wasn't likely that the singer's opinion of the other would change anytime soon.

Anyone who brought slave's was a petching vagik in his opinion, and the newly-slave was tempted to kick him and run, though he resisted the urge, instead biting down on his fingernails roughly. There was no need to anger someone, he knew that logically it wouldn't work out in his favour.

They had reached the man's house, a place which he had described as a mess, which was slightly irritating, but nothing too bad. As he opened the door, a dog bounded over to him after greeting the man who was presumably it's owner.

"Hello Druva." He greeted, reaching out a cautious hand to pat the dog as she approached him. A smile flickered across Czes' face for a moment, though it was almost unnoticeable and went as fast as it came. He liked dogs, but one wasn't enough to dissipate his distaste with the current situation, and his smiled faded back to the blank expression he was attempting to maintain.

[Artigan Crowley]

Although Czes had kept quietly to himself for most of their time together, the presence of Druva seemed to have an effect. There was one tiny crack in that careful mask of nothingness, just for a moment, but it was gone in another heartbeat – once the boy had set a hand on the dog, he was retreating back into himself and replacing the mask. Czes, it seemed, was determined to remain closed. “She’s easily excited, but a good girl,” Artigan explained. “If she jumps up on you, tell her ‘no’ and push her back down. I find that asking her to sit will usually get her focused again.” The gadgeteer made his way to the table in the center of the apartment and cleared away the mess of parchment and scribbles. “This is part of the problem,” he admitted, gesturing to the pile. “Paper and ink tend to just… show up around me and then get where they’re not supposed to. Nonsense, most of it, but there’s a good schematic here and there – I’m a gadgeteer, did I tell you? Half of the job is scribbling on paper and the other half is trying to figure out what I wrote down. And then there’s the occasional explosion, but I’m trying to cut down on those.” Rooting around in the cooking corner, Artigan gestured to the table and the single chair. “Take a seat. I have some bread and cheese around here somewhere; it isn’t much but it will get us to tomorrow. We’re both tired; you probably more so than I.” Truthfully, Artigan wasn’t quite sure how to handle Czes, expecially with the boy’s determination to remain emotionless. He hadn’t displayed any real displeasure, but Artigan had yet to get a solid read on who exactly the boy was. He supposed that, for tonight, the best he could do was make sure Czes was comfortable and then leave the rest for tomorrow. He found the food and set it out. Since there was only one seat, he leaned against the opposite side of the table and did his best to slouch so he wasn’t overlooking the boy. “So, Czes,” Artigan said. “I know this is… odd. I’m not… used to this. There are things that need to be discussed, but I don’t want you to be overwhelmed. Let’s just begin with questions. Are you well? Are you hurt, injured? I was told that you were in good health, but, well… I don’t usually trust those sorts of people. And you certainly haven’t been eating enough, from the looks of things. Or been getting enough sleep.” Artigan paused briefly and shook his head. “I’m rambling. Again. I’m one of those types that just spews words over everything. But you get the general question I’m asking?”

[Czes Aster]

Watching the person who had brought him chatter about his dog, and then his mess, Czes concluded that his intention wasn't to hurt him. A guess that was given evidence when the dark haired man asked if he wasn't hurt, though the boy supposed that anyone would want to check whatever they brought wasn't harmed.

Though, if he kept going with the way he was currently thinking, it would likely only get him into trouble if he spoke what he thought, so it would be better not to think it in the first place. Yet he wasn't that much of an accepting person.

He discovered quite quickly that it wasn't an exaggeration that the place was messy, it definitely was. Papers were scattered across his table, which the gadgeteer quickly cleared up.

A gadgeteer seemed like an interesting job to Czes, and he briefly thought that the man in front of him seemed like the type to enjoy tinkering with things. The mention of explosions worried him slightly, but he pushed that to the back of his mind while he listened.

He sat down when told to, half glad and half suspicious that he seemed to be acting nice, and decided to not begin to eat the food the other had placed on the table yet.

Fiddling with his necklace as he spoke, a habit he had picked up after his sisters death, he answered Artigan's question slightly quietly. "They haven't hurt me that much,
not as badly as the slavers that brought me here did."