<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/>Atiya carefully untangled herself from the worn, ragged furs of the pallet she shared with her sister in the kennels of the tavern. Before she stood she moved the fur they shared over the older girls shoulders, tucking her back in carefully. Jaina sighed in her sleep and rolled into the warm spot Atiya had left, the pretty girls lids never even cracking. Jaina had always been a deep sleeper but, more than that Atiya knew her sister was exhausted from the previous nights work. Though they shared the same kennel and were slaves in the same tavern it was likely that this was the closest Atiya would come to being in contact with her sister until they shared the furs again. It was enough though, to have this last tangible connection to Urth, and Atiya clung to the idea of it as much as she could.<br/><br/>It was early morning – Atiya’s favorite time of day – and all was quiet now in the tavern. The only people up at this ahn were usually her and the cook and when she walked into the kitchen she wasn’t surprised to see the cook standing over a table chopping sul’s into manageable pieces, presumably to put into the days sullage. The cook always seemed to have something going in the kitchens of the popular tavern whether it was cuts of bosk meat roasting, great round loaves of sa-tarna bread baking, or other dishes cooking in various stages of completion. The smells, though they were indisputably Gorean, were not so foreign that she couldn’t close her deep blue eyes and imagine she was in her mothers kitchen just before Sunday dinner. In the morning while the city was quiet and only the cook was awake, she felt the most at content.<br/><br/>Atiya watched the cook only for the breath of an ihn or two. She knew the man would sooner box her ears than let her stand around pointlessly. The only thing that likely saved Atiya from more frequent beatings was that she was somewhat intuitive when it came to making herself useful. That and her uncanny ability to keep quiet and out of the path of most Free. She largely went unnoticed whether it be in the kitchen or out in the streets carrying out some errand or other. Atiya picked up a rep cloth and began cleaning the few dishes that the cook had managed to dirty already but, before she could finish, the cook was already barking out her name as well as a few other words that were, frighteningly enough, starting to sound more and more familiar to her.<br/><br/>She strained to pick out the words she had learned in the few months since her abduction on Urth and eventual imprisonment. “Atiya, …. market …. bosk …. cheese.” She breathed a sigh of relief as the cook tied a shopping list and a small bag with a few coins clinking softly inside. As long as she reached the location the shop owners would take over, untying the shopping list from her collar as well as taking what coins were owed for the items. Also, she had been to the market for bosk meat and cheese before. The first time it had taken her nearly 3 ahn to make the trip as she had to get directions from the veiled gestures of other slaves along the way. She didn’t dare ask any Free how to get somewhere so could only whisper “Market?” to their slaves as they passed and the other kajira would point quickly in some direction. She had been at their mercy and, while some pointed in the correct direction, just as many led her astray as if they found it amusing to see a barbarian girl lost in the city of Ar. Oh, it might have been amusing for them but all that wasted time earned her several lashings from her Master’s whip when she returned and she was forced to continue working afterwards, though her back had been opened and bloodied, her white silks tattered from her shoulder blades to her waist.<br/><br/>Atiya turned to walk out of the kitchens and hurry along to the market. She was always eager to go because if she were able to reach the market quickly enough she would have the luxury of taking her time on the way back. Before she could reach the doorway though she heard the cook call out her name sharply and she flushed. ‘Oh yes,’ she thought to herself, ‘that old thing.’ She turned and bowed her head, her long curly blond hair spilling over her slender shoulders as she moved back to the cook. Her hands lifted up and she laced her fingers behind her head and spread her feet to shoulder width apart. She held this position as the cook tugged into place the iron belt that Atiya wore on her errands, jerking her around unapologetically as he tugged a chain through a loop then locked it into place. Atiya kept her eyes averted having learned long ago to not look a Free in the eyes. There must have been something defiant about Atiya’s gaze that most Free didn’t care for because she had been the brunt of many a slap or kick or curse for only looking back at them. When the cook finished she relaxed her arms and turned swiftly, her white silk garment settling around the cold iron belt so that only hints of metal could only be seen at certain angles.<br/><br/>She breathed in deeply and turned her face up to the Gorean sun, drinking in the fresh air and the gentle warmth that the outdoors provided. It wasn’t that she was forbidden from going outside, obviously, but the chores at the tavern were so numerous that often she did not have time to be outside unless the cook happened to send her out for an errand. She hurried down the street towards the market and would, unless stopped, make her way at half speed back, arms laden with cuts of raw bosk meat and a wheel of cheese for the nightly crowd of men ready to drink, eat, and take pleasure in whichever paga slave that caught their fancy.