Sorry for crappy post. My ratty died .__.
My name, sir? came her meek voice, hark still fallen back as she continued to shuffle, though now in place. Wander Huxley. I was a... erm, gift...? To the boss.
The words sounded odd on her tongue. Gift. Boss.
Boss.
Sirius was no boss. He was too harsh, too cruel, too... Well, he was too arrogant and caught up with himself to seem to care for anyone else. A frown tugged her lips, rather disgusted with this strange culture. Mossy eyes tipped upwards slightly to 'look' at the Confidant, his blurs hard to make out in the dim lighting.
May I know your name, sir? Just... Out of curiosity, of course. You don't have to tell me if it makes you uncomfortable for talking to a... Well, a slave. Most people don't like to, apparently.
Those silver-dipped harks twitched slightly, twisting a tad to listen carefully to this stranger. He seemed oddly mellow, though that could have easily been because he was distracted. The dame considered posing this as an inquiry, though held her tongue for the time being, at least until she could figure out just what sort of person this stranger was.
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