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XX Charlie Ashford
Color=#ff6600
It's not like Charlie knew what sort of place he'd stepped into. It was safe to say he'd worked with nobility before, but he'd never been concerned about titles and other such things. He respected everyone, that's what his mother made sure he was taught. When you had nothing, and through his life, Charles had had plenty of that, manners were all you had late.
Something inside him felt red hot anger as everyone looked upon him like he'd murdered a babe in its cot. "when addressing someone of my statue, use the term 'your grace'." It was that statement that made him pause. Really that's all it was? He managed to keep his face straight as a torrent of emotions filled his body. The face of his mother as she taught him to respect everyone the same. They were all children of God were they not? The horrid winter months where he gave his last scrap of meal to the small boy who had no family, how horrible starving had felt, he was sad to say he'd felt it more than once. This 'grace' had never known what it was like to have an empty stomach, had done nothing to Charlie to deserve respect. He'd given it anyway by calling him sir. Why was one word so important to these people?
He realised then, he was not in a kind house. He was standing in a lion's den, had sent his sister to a place where everyone seemed to judge him at first glance. "I don't think I got your name." Oh, now he asked? Was this how this game was played. It took everything inside him to hold back the look of intense distaste for the 'grace' in front of him. For there was nothing graceful about this man. But he'd had practice at hiding his true feelings. His fear and anger especially. His hand rested on the cross that was hanging from his neck under his shirt and managed a low bow befitting for a 'noble' this man claimed to be.
"Charles James Ashford, 'your grace'" He was thankful that looking at the floor hid at least a little of his anger. He stood up straight head held high as those who had started to depart watched him as he followed the bastard king up the stairs. Just do the work, make sure Mary is okay and we'll find a new job. He sent a prayer up to the lord that maybe just maybe, they'd both make it out of here unharmed. How wrong he already was. He stepped into the private room not knowing of how much he'd actually lost already.
Color=#ff6600
It's not like Charlie knew what sort of place he'd stepped into. It was safe to say he'd worked with nobility before, but he'd never been concerned about titles and other such things. He respected everyone, that's what his mother made sure he was taught. When you had nothing, and through his life, Charles had had plenty of that, manners were all you had late.
Something inside him felt red hot anger as everyone looked upon him like he'd murdered a babe in its cot. "when addressing someone of my statue, use the term 'your grace'." It was that statement that made him pause. Really that's all it was? He managed to keep his face straight as a torrent of emotions filled his body. The face of his mother as she taught him to respect everyone the same. They were all children of God were they not? The horrid winter months where he gave his last scrap of meal to the small boy who had no family, how horrible starving had felt, he was sad to say he'd felt it more than once. This 'grace' had never known what it was like to have an empty stomach, had done nothing to Charlie to deserve respect. He'd given it anyway by calling him sir. Why was one word so important to these people?
He realised then, he was not in a kind house. He was standing in a lion's den, had sent his sister to a place where everyone seemed to judge him at first glance. "I don't think I got your name." Oh, now he asked? Was this how this game was played. It took everything inside him to hold back the look of intense distaste for the 'grace' in front of him. For there was nothing graceful about this man. But he'd had practice at hiding his true feelings. His fear and anger especially. His hand rested on the cross that was hanging from his neck under his shirt and managed a low bow befitting for a 'noble' this man claimed to be.
"Charles James Ashford, 'your grace'" He was thankful that looking at the floor hid at least a little of his anger. He stood up straight head held high as those who had started to depart watched him as he followed the bastard king up the stairs. Just do the work, make sure Mary is okay and we'll find a new job. He sent a prayer up to the lord that maybe just maybe, they'd both make it out of here unharmed. How wrong he already was. He stepped into the private room not knowing of how much he'd actually lost already.