<div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/8/8d/Atiya_2.jpg)</div><strong>Character</strong>: Atiya<br/><strong>Location:</strong>The Belled Collar<br/><strong>Concerning:</strong>Waking & going on an errand to the markets.<br/><hr/><br/>As Atiya hurried along the road that led to the market she observed the free man sitting at the bench along the way. As her mind often did she wondered what the man would be if he were on Urth. Probably some UFC fighter or something, she mused. He was too thick to be a basketball player though he certainly was tall enough for it. Though she appreciated his form she averted her eyes quickly lest she catch his attention. She was learning that the less she talked to the free, especially strangers, the better.<br/><br/>Unfortunately for her just as she was about to pass the man he spoke and she recognized the words of greeting and her title, kajira, but nothing else. She hadn’t been asked often enough who owned her because the free at the tavern already knew who owned her and the free at the market knew once they saw the slip of paper with the shopping list on it. She took a deep breath and turned trying to rehearse the words she would say before she said them, her soft lips moving noiselessly as practices the few words she knows. She walks over to stand in front of him and starts with a hesitant  “greetings,” then she kneels quickly, almost forgetting to do so. Her rump bounces down onto her heels with a clinking of chain scraping against the iron belted around her pelvis and her knees push together into the typical pose for a tower slave.<br/><br/>She looks up at him briefly and her eyes trail over the scar along the side of his face before she remembers her place and her eyes lower to his feet. Flustered already now that she had forgotten to kneel  before she spoke she started again. “Greetings Master….” She paused and went over the words that he said after the greetings.. Maybe he was asking where she was going? Her lips twisted as she worried her bottom lip then she continued with, “market,” as an answer to where she was going. Her hand reaches up to her collar and she tugs at the list that the cook had folded behind the metal ring with an order for bosk meat and cheese. As a way of explanation she offers him the slip of rence paper, the small scrap held carefully between her dirty fingers.