A Nameless Flower Park, Old Rose Harbor
7th of Roalis, 2720; Early Morning
I t was a good morning to be out despite the cries.
Yazad has been in Old Rose Harbor for a few weeks by now, which means that he was beginning to warm up to the notion of being in a different environment. No one can ever claim that Old Rose Harbor is anything like Brunnhold, which in turn was already quite the change from Florne. Vienda was decent enough. Just that-- decent. Less architecturally obtrusive to the eyes than The Stacks, but also a monstrous maze of foreign surroundings and wide roads forking into endless smaller ones.
Another cry. This time, it was lower in volume and therefore more tolerable.
Gulls were awfully loud avians, Yazad found out during his stay with Sophronios at the Old Rose Harbor Waterfront. They did not quite bother him -little ever does-, but he wished they could be slightly more considerate of Sophronios’ sleeping schedule. The man, after all, had gone to bed shortly after Yazad had woken up, sometime around dawn. In typical Sophronios fashion, the passive’s master spent his days of vacation going through a backlog of books as thick as cakes. Perhaps this is what books are: desserts for the intellectual minds made of paper, ink, and words.
Ever the honest man, Yazad admitted to himself with a chuckle that he -unlike the man he lived with- was not within the ranks of scholarly intellectuals. For one, never would he be spending an entire night reading about the properties of peas; which happen to be Sophronios’ most recent obsession. As far as the raven-haired man was considered, peas were better used in a hearty soup than as subjects of prolonged reading.
The roads were empty at this time of the morning. The new day had barely just put on its drapings of sunlight, and the humid haze of saline-laden air still hung in the air. All the better for him, he was out at this hour exactly because he assumed no one else would be. The cape he wore hung oddly around his body with his uncharacteristically ungloved hands holding it in place. For once, the sound of his heeled shoes clicking against the stone of cobbled streets was absent, and in its place was something far less pronounced.
Yazad was always ‘happy’. He had little reason to be miserable, so his days were a pleasant enough string of tasks to be completed, house chores to manage, and precious moments of small personal indulgences. His latest indulgence, however, was in no way small. Thanks to it, his heart was experiencing a surge of sensations a bit more gladdening than his normal range.
Basin Court was by far one of his favorite places in Old Rose Harbor. Bodily odors and the risk of being preyed upon by pickpockets aside, it contained the largest collection of wares the man had ever seen in his life, some of which are things that he had never seen displayed for sale anywhere else. It was there that he had stumbled upon something that he had coveted ever since he bought that book about Hessean dancing while in the company of a stoic galdor woman. It had also been one of the most expensive things that he had ever spent money on, but that came with no regrets whatsoever. It was a calculated purchase, really. Sophronios will eventually hand him more coins to add to his now dwindled savings, while the opportunity to find and buy an authentic Hessean dancing outfit with its accessories included somewhere in Brunnhold was close to none.
Yazad’s second favorite location in the seaside city, and his most recent discovery, was a small flower park tucked away from where the main road passed, sandwiched between the Waterfront and what could be a residential area. It was far enough from the beach that he could barely hear the squawking gulls in the distance as they flew over an endless expanse of blue, looking for a few more meals of fish to start the day. And yet, if it were not for trees and buildings blocking his view, he might have been able to see the foamy sea waves crashing gently against the corroded surfaces of old wharves.
Sea-viewing is not why he chose to leave the house, and his sleeping master, so early in the day. No, he would have gone straight to the shore if he wanted that. Soon enough, stone gave way to a carpet of dewy grass and the scent of the sea was replaced with that of wet earth and freshly blooming flowers. Yazad did not know the names of them all, but he smiled regardless as he made his way through them to the further part of the park where he had never seen anyone else. There were only a few scattered benches with peeling paint there, and a single gazebo supported by metal spirals topped with a decorated finial.
A refreshingly soft breeze passed by, tousling a single long lock of ebony black and the fabric that had been held in place until now. He had reached his destination, and so Yazad did not need his cover any longer. Just like the increase in warmth and illumination from the sun, Yazad felt his eagerness building up. The long cloak was quickly removed and folded neatly to sit on the closest bench, revealing a form clad in garb that would be quite at home--perhaps at a street entertainer’s corner in Hesse, rather than in Anaxas.
It was a very odd feeling to feel the wind against his exposed skin, in public no less. Yazad braced himself against the strangeness of it, allowing it to pass -and it did so quickly- before he took in a deep breath of the morning’s air, opening his arms widely in the process. Gold-colored jewelry that was certainly anything but genuine gold still gleamed and sparkled as they reflected fractals of sunlight, and the white article that stopped shy of the passive’s feet allowed a clear glimpse of the anklets surrounding his ankles. Never before had he been wearing this startlingly low amount of clothes while outside the house, but that should hardly matter if he is the only one around. Social proprietary was an amusing thing. A servant wearing such an outfit would be nothing but the target of ire and disdain, but if it were a street performer, people might be more accepting of this unusual display of uncovered flesh.
"Hurte above, bless me with your grace." The soft utterance left the man’s rose-colored lips as he exhaled gently, eyes closing momentarily and opening slowly.
What started as a slow, almost theatrical couple of steps gradually escalated into something much more. Yazad disregarded his thoughts, the alien sensation of wind against the skin of his midriff, and even the cheerful chirpings of birds he did not see nor know the names of. His mind was fully immersed in his deliberate motions and movements; most practiced behind closed doors only to the rhythm of his own humming. Arms moving with the fluidity of a wave, hips that dipped in tandem with the music that only he could hear inside his head, shoulders shimmying when the fast melody slowed down. Once, twice, thrice-- his hips locked in precise and abrupt motions that caused the piece of tassel cloth wrapped around his waist to flick. The entire time, his sugary smile never wavered. There was only him and the imagined tunes of lively ups and downs now.
This entire idea was far too daring to be a good one. Yazad was not a daring man-- he was a traditionalist who held the principles of manners and customs at such high regard. And yet...strange as this all was, new and potentially improper for a manservant as it was, it felt just--right. If anyone existed in his temporary private world where a passive man can freely dance his heart out under the clear Roalis sky, it would be visible enough to them that the green-eyed passive was completely enjoying himself to a great extent, perhaps for the first time ever since his time at Old Rose Harbor started.
Yazad has been in Old Rose Harbor for a few weeks by now, which means that he was beginning to warm up to the notion of being in a different environment. No one can ever claim that Old Rose Harbor is anything like Brunnhold, which in turn was already quite the change from Florne. Vienda was decent enough. Just that-- decent. Less architecturally obtrusive to the eyes than The Stacks, but also a monstrous maze of foreign surroundings and wide roads forking into endless smaller ones.
Another cry. This time, it was lower in volume and therefore more tolerable.
Gulls were awfully loud avians, Yazad found out during his stay with Sophronios at the Old Rose Harbor Waterfront. They did not quite bother him -little ever does-, but he wished they could be slightly more considerate of Sophronios’ sleeping schedule. The man, after all, had gone to bed shortly after Yazad had woken up, sometime around dawn. In typical Sophronios fashion, the passive’s master spent his days of vacation going through a backlog of books as thick as cakes. Perhaps this is what books are: desserts for the intellectual minds made of paper, ink, and words.
Ever the honest man, Yazad admitted to himself with a chuckle that he -unlike the man he lived with- was not within the ranks of scholarly intellectuals. For one, never would he be spending an entire night reading about the properties of peas; which happen to be Sophronios’ most recent obsession. As far as the raven-haired man was considered, peas were better used in a hearty soup than as subjects of prolonged reading.
The roads were empty at this time of the morning. The new day had barely just put on its drapings of sunlight, and the humid haze of saline-laden air still hung in the air. All the better for him, he was out at this hour exactly because he assumed no one else would be. The cape he wore hung oddly around his body with his uncharacteristically ungloved hands holding it in place. For once, the sound of his heeled shoes clicking against the stone of cobbled streets was absent, and in its place was something far less pronounced.
Yazad was always ‘happy’. He had little reason to be miserable, so his days were a pleasant enough string of tasks to be completed, house chores to manage, and precious moments of small personal indulgences. His latest indulgence, however, was in no way small. Thanks to it, his heart was experiencing a surge of sensations a bit more gladdening than his normal range.
Basin Court was by far one of his favorite places in Old Rose Harbor. Bodily odors and the risk of being preyed upon by pickpockets aside, it contained the largest collection of wares the man had ever seen in his life, some of which are things that he had never seen displayed for sale anywhere else. It was there that he had stumbled upon something that he had coveted ever since he bought that book about Hessean dancing while in the company of a stoic galdor woman. It had also been one of the most expensive things that he had ever spent money on, but that came with no regrets whatsoever. It was a calculated purchase, really. Sophronios will eventually hand him more coins to add to his now dwindled savings, while the opportunity to find and buy an authentic Hessean dancing outfit with its accessories included somewhere in Brunnhold was close to none.
Yazad’s second favorite location in the seaside city, and his most recent discovery, was a small flower park tucked away from where the main road passed, sandwiched between the Waterfront and what could be a residential area. It was far enough from the beach that he could barely hear the squawking gulls in the distance as they flew over an endless expanse of blue, looking for a few more meals of fish to start the day. And yet, if it were not for trees and buildings blocking his view, he might have been able to see the foamy sea waves crashing gently against the corroded surfaces of old wharves.
Sea-viewing is not why he chose to leave the house, and his sleeping master, so early in the day. No, he would have gone straight to the shore if he wanted that. Soon enough, stone gave way to a carpet of dewy grass and the scent of the sea was replaced with that of wet earth and freshly blooming flowers. Yazad did not know the names of them all, but he smiled regardless as he made his way through them to the further part of the park where he had never seen anyone else. There were only a few scattered benches with peeling paint there, and a single gazebo supported by metal spirals topped with a decorated finial.
A refreshingly soft breeze passed by, tousling a single long lock of ebony black and the fabric that had been held in place until now. He had reached his destination, and so Yazad did not need his cover any longer. Just like the increase in warmth and illumination from the sun, Yazad felt his eagerness building up. The long cloak was quickly removed and folded neatly to sit on the closest bench, revealing a form clad in garb that would be quite at home--perhaps at a street entertainer’s corner in Hesse, rather than in Anaxas.
It was a very odd feeling to feel the wind against his exposed skin, in public no less. Yazad braced himself against the strangeness of it, allowing it to pass -and it did so quickly- before he took in a deep breath of the morning’s air, opening his arms widely in the process. Gold-colored jewelry that was certainly anything but genuine gold still gleamed and sparkled as they reflected fractals of sunlight, and the white article that stopped shy of the passive’s feet allowed a clear glimpse of the anklets surrounding his ankles. Never before had he been wearing this startlingly low amount of clothes while outside the house, but that should hardly matter if he is the only one around. Social proprietary was an amusing thing. A servant wearing such an outfit would be nothing but the target of ire and disdain, but if it were a street performer, people might be more accepting of this unusual display of uncovered flesh.
"Hurte above, bless me with your grace." The soft utterance left the man’s rose-colored lips as he exhaled gently, eyes closing momentarily and opening slowly.
What started as a slow, almost theatrical couple of steps gradually escalated into something much more. Yazad disregarded his thoughts, the alien sensation of wind against the skin of his midriff, and even the cheerful chirpings of birds he did not see nor know the names of. His mind was fully immersed in his deliberate motions and movements; most practiced behind closed doors only to the rhythm of his own humming. Arms moving with the fluidity of a wave, hips that dipped in tandem with the music that only he could hear inside his head, shoulders shimmying when the fast melody slowed down. Once, twice, thrice-- his hips locked in precise and abrupt motions that caused the piece of tassel cloth wrapped around his waist to flick. The entire time, his sugary smile never wavered. There was only him and the imagined tunes of lively ups and downs now.
This entire idea was far too daring to be a good one. Yazad was not a daring man-- he was a traditionalist who held the principles of manners and customs at such high regard. And yet...strange as this all was, new and potentially improper for a manservant as it was, it felt just--right. If anyone existed in his temporary private world where a passive man can freely dance his heart out under the clear Roalis sky, it would be visible enough to them that the green-eyed passive was completely enjoying himself to a great extent, perhaps for the first time ever since his time at Old Rose Harbor started.
For No One’s Eyes
