Window Shopping

The slave master gave his spiel and tried to sell his wares, or slaves, in this case. He wasn't used to a tough sell and was usually incredibly persuasive. Compliments and the idea that he was showing a patron his 'prize stock' usually stroked their egos enough to have them buying one or more slaves. Today... this was not the case. The harsh words of the striped brute brought  much sputtering and stammering from the slave master. From beneath dark lashes, Lyre watched the exchange, though she didn't make it obvious. Just the faintest turn of eye, though her head still pointed away.

The pair of men went back and forth, the slave master trying to make up for his mistake in selling tactic by complimenting the intelligence of his possible patron. "You have a fine eye, sir! These other slaves are rubbish, beneath a king!" Lyre almost laughed inside as the bastard tried to backtrack. There was no proof that this man was a king, but the slaver had to take his word for it. If the man believed that he was a king, then he was a king.

"The woman with the stripes. Fit for a kings service," he assured the man. "Good breeding. Raised to serve. Very skilled, obedient." He proceeded to push all of Lyre's good points on the man, hinting at seedier skills as well, but never saying it outright. Something like this may have made another woman feel dirty and worthless, but Lyre knew what she was. She knew what she was capable of and what she could potentially be used for.

The slaver banged on the edge of the corral, calling Lyre over. The woman rose and obediently moved towards the pair, seating herself just inside of the corral. She kept her eyes downcast respectively. "Tell the man," the slaver said simply, reaching through the slats to grasp Lyre's chin, forcing her pale green eyes to look at the man. "I served as handmaid to a queen until her demise." The woman's tones were smooth and practiced. She would not offer more information than was necessary unless directly asked. Lyre also didn't move to extract her chin from the slavers grasp. She would stay in his hold until he decided to release her, staring straight ahead, eyes visible, but not fixed on either man. "What do you think?" the slaver asked of his potential patron.

"Lyre"