west coast smoker
may brings with it dark stormclouds of pure steel wool that stick to the grey sky
like lint on a sweater. they hang around, close to puget sound and thicker in the
surrounding hills, threatening rain but bringing nothing but the smell of it with
them. a pod of orca swims just off the docks of the loneburough manor, dark
and shielded by a gossamer of mist from their blowholes they slide through the
water like a part of it. the overcast skies mean very little to the residents of the
manor, seeing as the newest slave acquisition is arriving, which means for the
slaves another mouth to feed and another life to watch tattered to pieces before
it's old enough to really live, and it means to the heir of the daedal house some-
thing quite different. it means the beginning of the process of freeing slaves and
maybe changing the world. that might be ambitious, but puget sound has been
known for its ability to make dreams come true, after all, and if nothing else the
orca are a good sign.
the largest bull slips handily into the water as he follows the matriarch under, a
boat working its way up river as a very small patch of sun breaks through the
looming grey stormclouds. this is the beginning of something quite different.
luca goodwin;;
the newest acquisition sets his bags at the foot of the lower bunk bed furthest
from the door and closest to the window. he has very little in his bags aside
from makeup and revealing clothing given to him by his last master. he regards
all that with something akin to disgust but takes it with him anyway because a
man in his situation cannot and will not let go of the few things he does have
to his name. not that it particularly matters, after all, he himself is little more
than property at this point and pretending to be anything else is next to
useless this far in. his haughtiness might remain, but luca will always be the
first to admit that his soul is broken; slavery is no place for a highborn man
and even less a place for him. but he has somehow managed to keep going
and that's what's brought him here, finally free of his mark as a bedslave and
perhaps just one step closer to being a freed man. one can only hope at least.
but hope is rather worthless, he has to remind himself, at least to men like him.
luca sits on the bed and waits in the empty room, awaiting orders or requests,
some direction. it's become his default at this point, waiting, patient.
silas davison-winn;;
somehow, silas has found himself not only at loneburough manor but without
anything to fix or work on, which is a rare enough occurrence on its own, but
also with a full pack of cigarettes in his back pocket and a stash in his jacket
pocket. the only logical path from both those things is making his way down
the daedal property to the docks, at least in his mind, where he picks through
the rushes and cattails lining the edge of the dock to sit with his legs swinging
over the edge. as he lights a cigarette between his teeth he notes the pod of
orca not far offshore, and for a long moment his eyes catch on the rainbows
that their blowholes spatter when they give off mist every time they come up
for air. silas feels hunger gnaw at the corner of his stomach but ignores it; the
cigarette is more important, and beyond that, there's the weed in his pocket.
it's not exactly what he'd like to be doing, but si is more than aware that doing
coke at work is frowned upon in most places, even when it's legal. pot, on the
other hand, he can definitely write that off as just another way to get through
the day. at least he hopes so. the feeling of being sober is getting to him. and
anything to escape it is good in his books. holding the cigarette between his
teeth, silas pulls his glass pipe and stash out of his pocket and starts loading
a bowl, eyes still distantly on the orca, swimming through the reflections of
stormclouds on the sound.
may brings with it dark stormclouds of pure steel wool that stick to the grey sky
like lint on a sweater. they hang around, close to puget sound and thicker in the
surrounding hills, threatening rain but bringing nothing but the smell of it with
them. a pod of orca swims just off the docks of the loneburough manor, dark
and shielded by a gossamer of mist from their blowholes they slide through the
water like a part of it. the overcast skies mean very little to the residents of the
manor, seeing as the newest slave acquisition is arriving, which means for the
slaves another mouth to feed and another life to watch tattered to pieces before
it's old enough to really live, and it means to the heir of the daedal house some-
thing quite different. it means the beginning of the process of freeing slaves and
maybe changing the world. that might be ambitious, but puget sound has been
known for its ability to make dreams come true, after all, and if nothing else the
orca are a good sign.
the largest bull slips handily into the water as he follows the matriarch under, a
boat working its way up river as a very small patch of sun breaks through the
looming grey stormclouds. this is the beginning of something quite different.
luca goodwin;;
the newest acquisition sets his bags at the foot of the lower bunk bed furthest
from the door and closest to the window. he has very little in his bags aside
from makeup and revealing clothing given to him by his last master. he regards
all that with something akin to disgust but takes it with him anyway because a
man in his situation cannot and will not let go of the few things he does have
to his name. not that it particularly matters, after all, he himself is little more
than property at this point and pretending to be anything else is next to
useless this far in. his haughtiness might remain, but luca will always be the
first to admit that his soul is broken; slavery is no place for a highborn man
and even less a place for him. but he has somehow managed to keep going
and that's what's brought him here, finally free of his mark as a bedslave and
perhaps just one step closer to being a freed man. one can only hope at least.
but hope is rather worthless, he has to remind himself, at least to men like him.
luca sits on the bed and waits in the empty room, awaiting orders or requests,
some direction. it's become his default at this point, waiting, patient.
silas davison-winn;;
somehow, silas has found himself not only at loneburough manor but without
anything to fix or work on, which is a rare enough occurrence on its own, but
also with a full pack of cigarettes in his back pocket and a stash in his jacket
pocket. the only logical path from both those things is making his way down
the daedal property to the docks, at least in his mind, where he picks through
the rushes and cattails lining the edge of the dock to sit with his legs swinging
over the edge. as he lights a cigarette between his teeth he notes the pod of
orca not far offshore, and for a long moment his eyes catch on the rainbows
that their blowholes spatter when they give off mist every time they come up
for air. silas feels hunger gnaw at the corner of his stomach but ignores it; the
cigarette is more important, and beyond that, there's the weed in his pocket.
it's not exactly what he'd like to be doing, but si is more than aware that doing
coke at work is frowned upon in most places, even when it's legal. pot, on the
other hand, he can definitely write that off as just another way to get through
the day. at least he hopes so. the feeling of being sober is getting to him. and
anything to escape it is good in his books. holding the cigarette between his
teeth, silas pulls his glass pipe and stash out of his pocket and starts loading
a bowl, eyes still distantly on the orca, swimming through the reflections of
stormclouds on the sound.