Throwing her eyes to high heaven Stare let out a dissatisfied caw as she turned to glare around the room. She found a satisfactory partition which would do well to get changed behind and stomped over to it as she began to tug off her clothes. “Stupid idiot has to leave me with this stupid, ugh,” she muttered as she struggled out of her current crumpled tunic. Sweeping it over her head she flustered at her mental extent, where he was usually lying in wait.

Gravelle wants to talk about rooms for a ‘guest’ of his. He said he arranged this meeting with you?

There were a few agonising seconds of silence. She tried again. My lord, did you hear-

Stare, you can deal with a trifle like this, came an emotionally weary, tepid voice. Deal with all these matters as I would, not as you wish I would, not as you would, but as I would, which I trust you to do.

Easing into her finer tunic she proceeded to tie the belt around her waist as she breathed in slowly. Her eyes glanced down to the dull metal cuff on her left wrist that had been there for so long now that it was part of her identity. The immovable ornament connected her mind to Vitruvion’s, and had at first been a shackle that shouted her enslavement to her. Now it was more than that, a symbol of her close bond with him, and though sometimes she wished it could come off, each day that passed made her more used to it. More aware of the benefits. More aware of the power.

“Ahm … Miss Stare?”

She looked around the partition at the guard, her eyes briefly studying his young, blonde form. Slowly she breathed in, straightened and adjusted her clothes as she felt Vitruvion's presence feel satisfied, then drift away; once more to look for his sister.

“Yeah,” she replied, striding out. She paused to reach one more into the trunk and pull out her weapons - her dagger and clawed glove. Then, tying them both onto her belt she continued on her way towards the door.

“My name is Eirik, miss,” the young man said with a small smile. His hand lay on the hilt of a small set of daggers at his belt. “Lieutenant Zulon has placed me in charge of your safety.”

Stare glanced around at him, her brow raised. A brief glimpse into the aura sight told her he was middle-of-the-alignment neutral in morality, human, in his 30s and had a mostly honest heart but darkened by small white lies. Ones he likely told his family about his work to avoid the truth of this hellhole.

“I apologise but I do not recognise you much.”

He shook his head, a small smile on his face. “You probably wouldn't miss. Though when you first came to live here I was amongst those who …”

Tied her down, trussed her, made her into a package ready for Vitruvion's pleasure.

“Delightful,” she grunted. “And apparently now I'm your boss.”

His lips twisted into something of a smirk. “Apparently so.’

She let out a single note of laughter before slamming open the door.