<div class="floatleft">(http://th01.deviantart.net/fs70/PRE/i/2014/326/c/d/golden_eyes_by_reykat-d87bmu0.jpg)</div><hr/><strong>Name:</strong>Zidir<br/><strong>Race/Culture:</strong>Hadaree<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Slave piers<br/><strong>Day/Time:</strong>Yaus al-Niwt (Day of Houses), Amt (first month) of Alak Paret (Harvest Season), Mid-Morning<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>N’ebthe, Ihan<br/><hr/><br/>Zidir fought to maintain his polite facade when told there was a quality in his slaves that was not his to own. He managed to maintain the smile, but grumbled inside at Ilhan's attitude. He nodded, as if admitting the man's opinion even though the incline of head was an empty gesture, that much was apparent at a glance. Zidir let the man and N'ebthe exchange words without interruption. For a moment he considered the man was a lost cause, the disappointment of that was enough to not reprimand the slave on her insolence. If overheard out of context one might have thought it was under his care that she had suffered pain and such rumors could have done untold damage. Not here, Zidir thought while watching Ilhan's back and feverishly searching for words that might make the man stay.<br/><br/>He had all but given up when the Djaffir turned, unmasking himself. Zidir's eyes found now two dots to stare back into. The grin that had grown faint burst into new life. He took that chance, stepping in to cast one last bait. "Of course she was born with the gift of mysticism. Rare as they are practitioners of the sacred Nefasi art, very few gain powers of any significant measure by practice alone, wouldn't you say so N'ebthe?" His face turned to ask her with an expression that looked genuinely curious. Zidir turned back to Ilhan and continued, "Slavery she entered later, and though the grace remains, of which I am very proud as you know, she is of course familiar with her situation and seems to have come to terms with it." His head tilted and hands rubbed together unconsciously in nervous anticipation of the man's reaction.