stock the shelves

Absinthe's words brought her some surprise, though Citala knew better than to question further. The only outward display of her curiosity was the subtle lifting of her brow, though the well-mannered slave quickly slipped back behind her mask of neutrality. Wolves died, she supposed. Whether Augustus' handmaid had passed on naturally or something.. else.. had happened to her, it was none of Citala's business. She spent the majority of her time with the 'lower status' captives, those unlike Absinthe who belonged to someone like Augustus. "I see." She commented, as if he'd mentioned a shortage of soaps rather then the loss of a slave. "I'll help in whatever way I can, sir."

She took a moment to think back on the voyage, though the trip was not much more then a continual swirl of nausea in her memory. Dissent? Citala's black head shook. "Everything went as well as could be expected." She decided on finally. Of course there were always the newer captives who hadn't quite gathered an understanding of their predicament, sometimes at night Citala could hear voices weeping. She grasped for more information to give, settling upon a happier shift. "Idalia did well, she's adjusted quickly." The obsidian servant praised softly.

"Speech"