<div class="floatleft">(https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/02/cc/7d/02cc7dd8e0d76469ac60fd12421d4095.jpg)</div><hr/><strong>N’ebthe:</strong><br/><strong>Race/Culture:</strong>Nefasi<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Storage area, 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>Zidir, Ilhan<br/><hr/><br/>N’ebthe certainly was no ordinary slave. She was not born into slavery nor was she brought up around it. Yes, she’d been aware it existed but her people thrived off of freedom and would never go so far as to force supreme obedience from anything. At most they asked for aid or cooperation and that was what she did here. She did not consider herself a slave of any of these people but merely a cooperator. It would be pointless to be needlessly defiant over certain things – many of the things she was ‘asked’ to do would not kill her nor taint her practice and thus far she had refused anything that would. Her obvious ‘disability’ had at least gained her some pity where others would have been instantly struck down for their insubordination.<br/><br/>Rose wine peaks pebbled at the fan of his humid breath, her breasts perking into two near perfectly mirrored mounds. He’d hear the soft intact, the sharp way her chest swelled with new air filling her lungs at the cascading sensation that tickled her sensitivity. A strong hand braced her hip and she found herself already savoring the way each digit molded along her flesh, instinctively leaning into his grasp all the more. She didn’t quite understand it but already she felt a strange connection with the Djaffir, one that continued to strengthen without rhyme or reason. It reminded her of the pitcher plants, luring their pray in with a sweet promise of honey – there was no malice, just danger and this situation felt the same. She just was not entirely sure what kind of danger was there – or if there even was any.<br/><br/>Regardless she leaned into the caress of her cheek, resisting the urge to close her eyes as he studied their unpolished charoite depths. His close proximity allowed her a place of focus she hadn’t the privilege of previously – suddenly his face was not just an odd mesh of golds. There was a vertical split for his mouth and nose, and through two horizontal hollows there was a pair of striking grey eyes. For once her gaze gained focus and narrowed up to him, locking their gazes in silent analysis of what luster she could now witness.<br/><br/>For a moment she had been lost in the detail she could see and almost missed his suggestion. Shock marred her angular features, completely taken off guard by his unorthodox proposal as she was sure Zidir was just as stunned – perhaps even amused. Who knew? She found it interesting and promising even if she did not exactly understand commerce, she did at least understand trade. She wasn’t sure whether Zidir would go with such a transaction – to be paid over time? Had slaves ever bought their freedom? If they had she was uneducated in its processes. She didn't even know how to reply...<br/>