Word Count: 508 :: I’m always making you wait.... It seems crazy how easily threads get old when you’re a slow-poke. OnO And yes, in Korea, you’re supposed to eat seaweed soup on your birthday, hehe. OuO It’s much tastier than it sounds (unless it sounds yummy, that is).
As the two approached the cabin, the slave’s thoughts seem to hung in the air. Voiceless and silent as they were, the need to speak was apparent. However, silence was permitted to ensue. The enslaved fighter was silent, her mind almost suspended by memory of culture and the inevitable forgetfulness. It was almost a struggle, one that showed within her eyes. Her throat wished to sound her thoughts, and yet her mind was ever forgetting. The thought seemed to slip away from her grasp even as she sought it. It was unfortunate for the Korean, who so completely molded of that foreign culture. To forget it—it would be to forget Herself. And yet it could not be helped. The wounding of her mind, the result of her excessively belligerent lifestyle, had overcome her culture. The martial art was her only identity. And now, too, the golden ring at her septum would become her new identity. Already, she grew too complacent in her role. Despite the lack of battle, however, the one-track mind did not grow dull. White orbs flickered with the depth of her degeneration.
The blonde master’s words broke into her silent mind. The strong, black maw lifted slightly, acknowledging the broken silence. The enslaved one could not help but feel a certain amount of pride in her master’s approving words. The Taekwondo artist’s tenebrous plume waved once behind her in response as she bowed, accepting the positively charged words. TaeKyung followed Salvia into the cabin, following a respectful distance behind. Black auricles flickered, following the movement of the lynx but adamantly paying no more attention to it than she had before. It was clear that the black wolf did not like felines. But it was also made clear that what she liked did not matter. She was to follow her master’s orders and wishes. And her master wished to keep the lynx. Silently, the slave awaited her master’s orders.
The voice of Salvia sounded once more, her sentences always simple enough for the Korean to comprehend. There was a slight pause before the Korean responded, the conflict of her mind appearing within the far depths of her fathomless gaze. “One thing I ask,” the broken English sounded quietly. White orbs lifted momentarily to cross over the piercing, green eyes before lowering respectively. “TaeKyung birthday soon.” Another pause followed. When she spoke again, it was as if she spoke of something unfamiliar, as if some stranger told her the lines to a script—somehow unnatural. “Korean custom is eating Seaweed Soup on birthday....” Her voice trailed off, as if remembering a far distant memory. And surely, by now, with all that she had experienced, such a memory of ‘home’ would be distant. “I may have permission?” The dark crania tilted slightly in question, although her gaze remained grounded. The manner in which the Korean spoke, however, was not timid nor shy. Her voice was quiet and undemanding, but the dormant fighter lingered there beneath. She was not a frightened creature—simply a wounded, subdued predator.
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