On the line for all to see
#1
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She is at the small lake east of the ruins, only one please <3
Word Count ► 303

Her clothes were unkempt, at least the ones near the basket sitting on the ground beside her. Isabella knelt before the small lake, another larger basket in the water and filled with liquid. It was to make the washing easier and keep the silt out of the water. She scrubbed using an oddly shaped, yet smooth, stone as a washboard of sorts to scrub at the dirt on the heftier cloth. But she was much more gentle with the more delicate items, letting them soak and using her hands to wash them away. She quickly squeezed out the water and added the moist clothes into her basket. She worked as quick as possible, her emotions mixed at having to do such a task but she trusted no one to clean her clothes or her more valuable possessions. A slave may suffice for the mundane, like cooking easy food, or cleaning pots, but not this.


When finished, she took her sopping basket on her hip to a line she had a slave tie for her by the lake edge to hang her clothes. The sun was shining, and the wind pulled at her long coarse hair as she began to hang up her clothes one by one. The heavy garments dripped water and waved gently in the breeze, brushing her side as she moved on to the next one on the line. A chore that was a pain but necessary, though she wished that she had a female slave to do this for her. Even if a male would be more useful in the long run. With Sirius gone, she had to be careful again without his patronage to support her. A light hand touched the pendant at her neck and the draped scarf that hid the scar caused by that bitch's blade.


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#2
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(467)


The shock of it had gone almost as quickly as it came. Salvia was, by birth and by nature, a creature that lacked the emotional connection to truly allow grief or worry. She approached this change with caution but without true fear. They had not rebelled when she had first come, nor would they now—and while she could see that the faithless fled, she did not let it weigh on her mind. Those worthy of this place would stay. In time she would reward them, but who needed to know this? It did no good to keep a man ensnared by gold. Loyalty born of bribery was not one she sought, though its cousin in debt was a fair thing to use.

This sort of manipulation was not beneath her, and while she lacked the ability to truly come off as sympathetic, she spoke with such tact that it did not seem to matter. Sirius had given her this gift above all others, just as her father had given her his unwavering and unromantic lessons in life. So hardened by these teachers was she that the thick ring of frost around her heart could be seen in eyes a color closer to summer grass. It chilled the edges of them, turned them sharp and uncompromising—unreadable—as if winter had swept in early and captured the color of a warmer season within itself.

Those eyes now fell upon the sight of a rust and earth colored woman hanging clothes upon a line. As she did not wear anything (save the cloak, which was now tucked away in a box of traveling gear) the ritual seemed unnecessary and tedious. She did, however, find the woman far more interesting. Sirius had taken a great liking to her (as he seemed to take with all pretty things) and she did not fail to recognize that charm for what it was.

Two legged as she was, Salvia strolled from the edge of the dilapidated homes and towards the lake as if it was her true intention. She had fashioned a crude lock for Sirius’ chamber, sealing inside his goods left behind that she had not taken as her own. Even if he did not return, she wished to give the place time to clear. It was not her’s to take; he had two sons, after all, and she sorely hoped one of them might return to this place. Until then the lock would remain and the key, hanging from a chain about her neck, would go into the chest that she had moved into her own domicile. She drew short of the flapping clothes and regarded them with mild interest. “How often do you need to do this?” Salvia asked, though her eyes did not yet go to the woman.

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#3
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eeeee hi
Word Count ► 346

The slave she had acquired with the help of Siv had been a wonderful thing. He was trained already in cooking and housework, which meant that she had less to do and less to teach him. But this was too much for the dog to handle on his own and Isabella demanded that he prepare her home while she worked on her clothes. They were not for the likes of a slave to handle, not without her supervision and she was lacking patience. So when all the laundry was dripping on the line, an assorted grouping of clothes in delicate and vivid colors. Reds, purples, and greens alike swung on the line in the breeze as water dripped down the length of them.


She hardly noticed her new Boss approaching and when she heard the woman's voice, Isabella finished hanging the last piece of clothing to the end of the line. She turned slowly to see Salvia looking at the line of clothing and gave a pleasantly neutral smile. An unknown, this woman was chosen by Sirius to take the Crone's place, and Isabella knew nothing of her. When Sirius left, compelled by his mysterious ways, Isabella's position was no longer secure. She had been a mistress of sorts to the Thistle King, and now she was simply the scent maker and fortune teller. How could she serve the Thistle Queen? It was a conundrum, of course.


"Not as often as you'd think, Reine." She gestured to the line, knowing that such a load would seem daunting. "I think this is my second or third time doing so since coming to Salsola." It was easy to keep clean and she was meticulous. "I avoid wearing finery when I know I'll ruin it, such as hunting or foraging for plants." Isabella took in the woman who had replaced Sirius, wondering what lurked beneath the surface of this woman's waves. Isabella had to approve that a woman had replaced the King, even if it meant her position was much shakier than before.


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#4
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omg I totally forgot about this I suck I am sorry ;-;


Once, her Uncle might have fashioned Salvia into a razor-sharp weapon for his own design, forged her and polished her to absolute perfection. His disappearance had left her in the dark ages, and while still sharp and still deadly, she was blunt and simple in ways he was not. Riddle-games and archaic discussions were beneath her and Salvia, whose simplicity (much like her father) was not in fact a sign of stupidity, fell back on things she already knew. Her world was one of iron instead of gold. Her world was the skins of dead beasts instead of velvet. She sought not riches but something that even she could not fully comprehend.

The wolfdog explained her routine and Salvia found the whole thing intriguing, to say the least. While she was capable in lesser processes, such as tanning, she lacked the desire to create. Her right-brained ways were what had given her power early on, and they kept her focused and unimaginative in all things…save for those rare instances of brilliance, such as recognizing the idea of selective breeding. It had proven itself with the sheep, and next year, she would begin with the horses.

“Did you make all this?” She asked, suddenly aware of how little she knew about Isabella. It gave the woman an advantage, and recognizing it, a faint crease formed between Salvia’s eyes. She did not wish to look foolish around her subjects.

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#5
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is okay <3 I also forgot if Siri had left already or not >>;
Word Count ► 313

Isabella saw the ever so lightly surprised look - or perhaps it was wishful thinking from the question asked - on her Queen's face and shook her head as she herself peered at her line of clothes swaying in the wind. "No, Reine. I don't have the skill nor the material to make complex things. The best I can do is to patch holes or tears in seams." It was pitiful, especially since the woman had a love of the finer things in life, and these clothes were considered fine things, even if they had to suffer under her inexperienced hands. She wished that she could make these clothes but then she would have even less time for the other things she did during the day. Another slave would have to be invested in, and she would find herself an overseer rather than a proud creator. That would simply not do at all.


The Confidant turned to the woman who had taken the reins from Sirius, the man who had left them. Isabella was still very uncertain of her, though she had heard of her prowess and her ability from others. But Isabella was not concerned as long as things were going well, so she let her gaze linger for a moment before letting a careful smile spread across her face. "Are you interested in such things? You don't truly seem to be one of that sort." It was really a comment saying that Salvia was nothing like Isabella, but the woman was sure few truly were like her, if her ego was one to talk. "I always pictured you were one of our warrior women."


Pulling a long length of cloth tight, the woman smoothed out the creases on the moist article of clothing. "Do you even wear clothes, ma Reine?" she asked lightly, wiping off her hands of the moisture.


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#6
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He is. We could keep this short since it is pretty old, but I do like their dynamic thus far. :>


Though it was disappointing to hear that Isabella was not capable of producing such finery, Salvia admired the materials none the less. She saw their beauty for one thing only—trade. Even now her mind was working with a detached sort of way, needing to focus on what came next. Sirius was gone and Salsola would now fall to her alone. She would not be a weak link in the chain, nor would she allow her home to fall apart around her. Salvia would enforce this in the days to come, with steel tongue and frosty aggression. She would see to it that Salsola survived its first winter without the Thistle King.

In spite of herself, a small smile appeared on Salvia’s face at Isabella’s bold words. She disliked flattery and had since she was a child, so such blunt honesty about her lack of refinement (at least, in the pretty ways of girls) was seen instead as a compliment. None of her sisters had shown much desire in clothing or anything (at least to her knowledge) but she thought of her aunt and cousin and imagined the two of them might.

“I have a cloak,” she admitted. “But it is easier to hunt without. No, this is not something I would wear,” Salvia went on, speaking broadly about clothing as a whole. “I see why others would want it.” This was the closest she came to expressing any true interest in the garments.

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