The ancient rotunda was resplendent even in the gloom cast by the cloudy skies. A light rain fell from the heavens, the kind of endless drizzle that soaked everything through without ever quite seeming to get anything wet. It was a miserable kind of day, a day of those everlasting pitter-pats of rain drops and those occasional sighs of the wind through the trees. The latter never lasted long; it was only enough of a breeze to briefly stir the water-laden, drooping leaves on the trees, but never enough to send the dreary skies on their way. Despite the greyness of the day, the small circle underneath the stained-glass roof of the rotunda was filled with the colors that reflected from the ceiling onto the pillars. It turned the emerald Birdsong grasses to various shades of teal and brown and yellow, the results of vibrant hues mixed with green. The drapes, thick and white and luxurious, hung lifelessly from the entryway, their dangling ends earthbound by the rain's soaking relentlessness.

The little slave girl hovered under the protective covering of the rotunda as she sought shelter. Had she been in service, she would likely have been out in the wet and the mud and the muck; but she was not, much to her dismay, and so she found herself huddling away from the entrances, trying to make herself as small and unnoticeable as possible. In all likelihood, this was a place meant for royalty, or at the very least the merchants - in other words, it was no place for the likes of her. She should be standing quietly under the canopy of the trees, though even the broad leaves of the forest trees would do little to shield her from this particular rain. They were already sodden, saturated, and she could hear the large plops of raindrops as they skidded along drooping stems and wilting leaves. Had she been anyone else, she would have been glad for her shelter, but, being herself, it only reminded her of her various failures.

She remembered Zuriel wistfully - not because her latest owner had been particularly kind, but because the angel had been her Mistress. She had done as the buckskin had expected, treated the little slave girl as a servant, and for all that, Kaiylia had lost her in the darkness. She should have tried harder, should have looked harder, should have, should have, should have... or, at least, that was what she told herself, kicking herself over and over until she lost the ability to reprimand herself. What was the use, when she was sure that Zuriel was gone, that she would never see the many-horned seraphim again? She had failed, like she had failed all of her owners before. Now, she simply stared out of the entrance to the rotunda, blankly watching as the heavens fell to the earth and wondering what would become of a masterless slave in this masterless land.

"Talking"

@[Wilibald]

Kaiylia

"Sweet Juniper!"

The voice, when it came, was a surprise, and the sudden voice from beyond the drapes (for the little buckskin had yet to see its owner) startled her so badly that she stumbled into the column beside which she had been hiding. The stone had been worn smooth by time, and her still-damp golden pelt slid seamlessly along until her rump encountered the soaking drapery, at which point she squealed and scurried toward the far side of the rotunda. She had long since discovered that the best thing to do when a slave drew unwanted attention was to disappear, at least for the time being, for the slave that drew attention generally drew wrath as well. Better for her health and her owner's image if she simply took herself elsewhere. The punishment was less likely to be severe.

The voice, though, stopped her, and as she paused at the far entryway, she wondered what kind of male she had run into. He didn't address her properly at all, particularly given her station; nevertheless, he seemed to be addressing her, and so she was required to remain. Unless, of course, he had a companion whom she had not formerly seen. Taking a deep breath, the little slave girl turned her head to the side, careful to keep her posture submissive and her eyes downcast. Her ears fell loosely to the back of her head, which she held in a lowered, cringing position, as though expecting a blow at any moment. Unfortunately, the newcomer did not seem to have a companion, and so he must have been talking to her.

She turned around.

Her posture did not change, though it took a great deal of effort not to look him over. A vague curiosity had blossomed in her mind, and though it was the merest shadow, it made her want to see what kind of odd stallion would address her as - as an equal. He bumbled on, his voice mild and apologetic. He was clearly mistaking her for someone else, or perhaps he was simply a lonely old hermit with no way of knowing how the real world worked. In any case, his friendly tones left the poor buckskin pony more confused than ever. She suddenly realized that he had stopped speaking and seemed to be looking at her expectantly. Only her slave training saved her, for she had half-stopped listening to him in order to hide her bewilderment.

"This one is called Kaiylia," she told him, her voice soft and mild. She did not have a name, not in the sense that he did; she had been known by a number until her first purchase, and with a name engraved on her slave bracelet, it had always seemed prudent to her later masters to call her the same thing. Of course, some has insisted on renaming her, but as they had never figured out how to remove her bangle, the calling had remained hers even after they gave her up. And they always gave her up. "This one cannot share a shelter with you, Sir. It would be improper." Her bi-colored gaze remained firmly on the ground, though her voice shook slightly with the effort of defying a male. It just wasn't something that one was supposed to do. "This one shall stand under the trees until you are ready to move on, if it please the good Sir."

"Talking"

@[Wilibald]

Kaiylia

For the briefest of moments, the little slave girl was in her element. How very refreshing it was to revert to her old self, to be given the opportunity to defer to her betters!

But then, suddenly, the entire situation came crashing down around her ears.

He was pleased to meet her, he was not pleased with her, he had honorable intentions and hoped he hadn't offended her; he wanted to be a gentleman and would be happy to stand in the rain.

She couldn't help it - she stared.

Those bi-colored eyes snapped up, taking in for the first time the full form of any creature in Helovia. To her surprise, his odd reaction to her subservient nature was not accompanied by an odd appearance. He was very small, though in relation to her own short stature, he was actually quite large. A chestnut pelt, darkened by the rain, faded around his belly and muzzle and covered a muscular body. He was more solidly built than the little slave girl, and with a certain detachment, she realized that he would be considered quite attractive in her homeland. In fact, were he a slave, he might even have been used in a pleasure house - but as that train of thought was entirely improper, she quickly banished it from her mind.

"Sir," she protested, lowering her gaze shyly after a moment of unabashed gaping, "This one hopes that she has not offended the good Sir. It would be most improper for the good Sir to stand in the rain." She stood for a moment in silent thought, her mind lingering over the stallion's kindly words. Hadn't he said something about being a friend? Well, she couldn't pretend to know what that meant, having never had any of her own - but if her company pleased him, then she would be able to avoid the rain and, perhaps, prove herself to a new Master who seemed to be quite the gentleman.

"This one will stay, if it please the good Sir," she finally conceded, haltingly inching back to her former post. Another mare might have inquired his name, which he still had not given (most likely being distracted by the little buckskin's odd mannerisms and his own dismay at her attempted flight), but the Academy had instilled certain habits in her, and she still found them quite difficult to shake. She wasn't quite sure what to make of the stallion with whom she shared her shelter, but she did break one of the Academy rules: never speak unless spoken to. "This one finds the good Sir to be quite the gentleman," she offered, speaking too quickly with nerves, her gaze peeking through her thick forelock, a spark of fuschia and green, before finding the grassy floor once more, as though fearing a disciplinary strike and preparing herself for his wrath.

"Talking"

@[Wilibald]

Kaiylia

Wilibald

When her gaze flickered upwards it would have been met with a kind, smile on his chestnut face. Noticing though deciding to be okay with her odd coloured eyes - mismatched colours that reminded him of springtime. She seemed to keep them focused down most of the time, so their colour was not as jarring as it might be. How did this land become so vibrant when his own was composed of nothing but soft colours?

He was quite happy to hear that she would remain, and that she appreciated his kindness. “The world is a better place with a bit of kindness.” And even better with a lot of it. Though perhaps there was that fine line because this mare seemed almost a little too kind. So many ‘sir’s and her soft demeanour, though most of that just didn’t bother Wilibald in the slightest. He was still too relieved at finding someone that resembled a natural colour, someone he could be on eye level with. It had only been a couple season but my how he missed such simple things as that! Perhaps there was hope for Helovia after all. “You don’t have to keep calling me ‘sir’ if you don’t want to. I don’t mind of course!” He quite liked the sound of it, if in a slightly smaller quantity. He was rather fond of the idea of being considered a kind sir. “You could call me Wilibald instead, if you’d like.”

A lapse into silence then, and the chestnut pony found that he did not know where to go with the conversation next. “Awkward” was a new feeling for Wilibald, certainly something he was far from used to. Things were simple where he had come from, and here in Helovia it had always been some combination of fear, nerves and excitement. But now he felt so conscious of his presence - afraid to move a little closer or farther for fear it might cause her to think she should step out into the rain. Still just the thought of it was too much! How very unchivalrous this mare’s home must be if she would assume he’d take the shelter why she waited until he left.

He stayed where he was, conscious of the space between them and doing his very best to appear relaxed - a relatively easy accomplishment as he felt relaxed now that it was established that they would both remain out of the rain and in each other’s company for a bit longer. “You’re very polite, Kaiylia, which I’ve noticed is fairly rare around these parts. Are you from Helovia or did you wander here too?” Test the waters, see if such questions would be tolerated. Wilibald’s incredibly curious about her and not quite ready to move on and go back to the Falls.

home is where the food is

The little slave girl stared out at the rain, flustered. It was a new emotion for she who had always been so very careful and in control of the situations she had found herself in (or, at least, how she had been treated, if nothing else). The rain drops fell as thickly as ever, and she was distantly grateful that she had not found herself hiding beneath a tree limb that would do little to shield her from the pouring skies above. On the other hand, it meant that the odd little stallion that she had somehow earned the company of would not be moving on any time soon. If she were honest with herself, she would admit that she was actually quite cheered by this fact; but then, she had never been one to give in to emotion, so that was that.

But he was such an odd steed! He spoke to her as though she was of his status, as though she were not branded and marked as a slave. The bangle on her foreleg told her story as plain as day, if he could not see the crest of the Royal Family on her flank. Even if he did not know what the mark meant, in terms of ownership, surely he would be able to realize that she had been branded! And yet he continued to babble on cheerfully, as though trying to draw her into conversation, when she knew that she should not be associating with the likes of him. He may have been but a merchant in her country (for he was naught but an equine, and they were typically of a lower social caste), but he was still a far cry from a slave. Indeed, she had known merchants who owned slaves, and none of them had been half as kind as this stallion.

She managed to remain silent for a few moments, shyly avoiding his gaze (and, coincidentally, being unknowingly rude), but then he offered his name once more, and she found herself drawn to look at him again with raised brows. Surely he knew that she was a slave, and therefore beneath his rank, and therefore certainly not allowed to use his name! But there was such earnestness on his face that she had to wonder - was he, perhaps, from a land without slaves? Did such a place even exist? It must be a horrible, anarchist land, she decided quickly, for what kind of society functioned without slavery?

"Oh, no, good Sir!" she exclaimed quickly and fervently, "It would not be at all proper." Confusion shone through her bicolored orbs, finding its way into the lines of her face. How in the world was she supposed to explain her position to him? It wasn't a subject commonly spoken of in polite company, and she was nothing if not polite. But then he gives her an opportunity, inquiring into her past with interest. Still puzzled, and entirely bewildered by the stallion, the little slave girl offered an answer that she hoped would clear the confusion but remain polite. "This one comes from a distant land, good Sir, called Th'orqui. Slave traders rescued this one, among others, when the Royal Family was overthrown and the Palace left in ruin; the slaves were sold to new masters in many realms between here and the land that was Th'orqui. This one's Master perished of illness close to the borders of this land... Are there no slaves here, good Sir?" There was a hint of wild hope in her vocals, for what was she without her position? Was she doomed to a life of vacant wandering?

"Talking"

Wilibald

[OOC | Sorry, hun! I wasn't ignoring him introducing himself - she just doesn't understand using names. xD]

Kaiylia