[M] What else could you possibly teach me?

Isabella Heiwa · 01-01-2012, 03:23 AM

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WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.

here you will see the tale that I shall tell you it, even if you do not believe me.

Word Count ► 867

The heavy scent of thick lavender oil pervaded the wet air. It curled from the small glass vial when the thick, yellow liquid dripped like honey from the glass into a jar of warped glass. It was a jar her own kind created, not the stuff of the dead ones. True, the human's glass works were sturdy and just as nice, but there was something unique about the patterns in hand-blown glass jars. This one came from Freetown, which a customer had once brought her rose water in. It had been, undoubtedly an expensive gift for him to give. But she had rewarded him well for his efforts and thoughtfulness. Unfortunately, he was the one who had found a knife between his shoulder blades not too long ago. Thoughtful as he had once been, his stubborn, selfish jealousies irked her. Of course, he had also brought her the lavender just days before she had ended his wretched existence.

It was all his fault. It was entirely his fault that she had to flee. No one would come see a woman who would easily slit a man's throat as she would straddle him between her legs. Everything had been so perfect in Montreal. She had learned snatches of the local French, and had used the sweet, sultry tongue to get the monolingual canines. She had worked her tail off to get her small flat clean and decorated to her highly demanding tastes. It had been swathed in beautiful red silks and shimmering clothes. It would have been especially gorgeous around this time of year. Candles in salvaged metallic holders glimmered in the dark nights, making the rooms glow gold. The fireplace would have been lit, not for warmth, but to provide atmosphere. It would smell of hickory and pine, depending on what wood she found, mixed with the lavender scented candles she had traded for. It would make for a wonder winter.

Now, she was stuck in a hole in the ground in a crumbling ruins. Nothing could be done with the situation at the moment, either. Winter made it difficult to build and the woman did not want to order about slaves when her own rank was low on the chain here. Her place in this pack of liars was far from secured. She wanted so much from this place, but was unsure if it would be given to her. Isabella did not know what her limits were, though she had learned quickly that the best way to decide was that if you had to ask, you probably should shy away from it. Granted, she had taken a communal slave to help with her den, but that had felt right. After all, she was supposed to be incorporated into the thistle kingdom, right?

The oil dripped slowly into the jar, the flow halting as soon as the woman tipped the vial straight. A long piece of cork with a tapered end stuffed up the vial. With a sigh, she looked at the half empty vial of oil before tucking it away in a shelving nook in her den. She scrambled out of it, hunched over but keeping the glass jar steady. An old, cleaned steel pot was heating water. Thankfully, it had not yet begun to bubble, so the woman took it off the hot embers gingerly with a rough rag. It was steaming gently, but was cooling quickly. Slowly, Isabella poured the hot water into the jar, so the oil could dilute properly. She set the pot next to the rough fire pit and picked up her bone comb. She swirled it in the warm water and gave a satisfied smile as the wafting scent of lavender rose up to meet her willing nose. Satisfied, she ran the comb dripping with lavender water through her hair, easing out the tangles. Isabella had to be dignified, after all.

Isabella smoothed her pelt, adjusted her heavy crimson skirt with the yellow thread embroideries, and made sure to center Sirius's payment between her bosom. She touched the cold metal and gem, resignation in her sigh. As much of a danger as that man was, he was her reliable source of information. She had to know what to do, she had to know how to be useful. To be part of the Family meant honor and prestige. And prestige came with infamy, especially if the names of the promoted was given at every group supper the leaders held. Isabella was gussied up and ready to strut her stuff. If only the man would notice the care she took, and the effort taken to see him.

Thankfully, she was mercifully close to his own domicile. But she knew he was not the kind to gladly welcome people into his sanctum. So, outside of his domain, she stood. Well, everything was his domain, wasn't it? Isabella gave a final sigh and put on her sultry smile, eyes smokey as she called out the thistle king's name. It certainly did not taste like barbs on her tongue, but she knew he was just as likely to bloom as he was to stab wandering fingers with briar thorns.

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