[log] this is the time and this is the place to be alive

[errantknights]

With some of Martel's current projects limited by his own limitation while the stitches in his (right, damn it) hand heal, he's mainly retreated to his finally-organized study. This very likely has a lot to do with recent downswings in mood and unexpected displays of emotion, and his general reluctance to admit to either of those. (But god forbid

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[beyondtherhine]

Eirene approaches, having turned a corner nearby; she slows, however, when she sees her employer in conversation, and regards Ewar thoughtfully. These Arums and their traditional apparel can be a bit strange, but really, not any more than the Gauls. And they're definitely cleaner than Gauls. For her part, Eirene has found some clothing more suitable to her tastes--long, flimsy dresses with scooped necklines and no sleeves, tied at the waist with rope. Nothing pricey, and she hasn't got many, but it's enough.

Mostly she tries not to think, and just work harder, but despite it she wears her sadness like a quiet cloak around herself, near-tangible. People seem to think she's a widow. She doesn't correct them. It's close enough to the truth, and a little less awful.

She waits, patiently, to be noticed. Not the wordiest woman around, this one.

[errantknights]

Martel, left thumb pressed into the palm of his bandaged hand, doesn't notice her at first. He's not altogether surprised by Ewar's 'request', but it still bears thinking about. "A more permanent arrangement."

"Just so, my Lord." There's a beat. "You'll need all hands when you start teaching."

"Yes, I'm aware." It's about then that he catches sight of Eirene. "We'll discuss this further, but I have a few things to take care of first. Come up to my study in the morning."

[beyondtherhine]

Eirene studies Ewar for a second longer--she's mentally gaging how well they'll get along. She thinks they'll be fine, in the long run, she just has to manage to get up to a sort of sternness she never needed to employ when her husband was the most intimidating brute in all of Rome.

She strides forward a few more paces, hands clasped in front of her, eyes lowered. It'd be subservient if not for the serene, quiet pride in her eyes--survivor's pride. She'll carry that aura with her for a long time, even though she is technically dead. She nods, politely, to Ewar, and then inclines her head deeper in Martel's direction, as is only appropriate when greeting one's employer. She thinks. The varying customs sometimes confuse her.

Servitude is very different from slavery.

[errantknights]

Ewar excuses himself politely while Martel observes Eirene for a moment, just thoughtful, and then tips his hands. "I have a few small things to discuss with you," he says, smoothly, as if he did not spend significant parts of yesterday in his idea of hysterics.