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The tragedy that had rocked the house had also shamed and inconvenienced it. The men of the Jaffe house had not celebrated their servant’s public stoning. They had not enjoyed it. Amiti could not pretend he wept over it either, though. Thieves could not be tolerated. How much had she stolen and for how long? It was impossible to tell. What he did feel was the bitterness of betrayal by a woman they had entrusted with their house and their secrets. A woman who had looked him in the eye and smiled prettily whenever he gave her the day’s wages. It was galling.
He could still see her, standing in front of him, her palm held out for the money. How was he to trust another servant? Preferably he’d have hired a man to fill the vacancy but the work was menial and no man would take it. Only women seemed to want it. He’d set up a fairly grueling process - interviewing them one by one in his office, asking them questions that didn’t seem related to anything in particular but were meant to tell him more about their habits than they realized.
Sitting behind his desk now, he was looking at the last name of the day. There had been two others whom he had passed over almost immediately. This one had been recommended and he had already sent out inquiries about her, asking about her character and her state of cleanliness. All had come back favorable and so he waited for her to be shown into the room and to sit in the single chair on the other side of the desk.
The room was not his alone. It was also where his fathers or brothers would come if they had business, but so far, he made the most use of it. Bookshelves of dark, glossy wood lined the walls. Two windows, one directly behind him and one to his left, let in pale white sunlight, illuminating the room better than the candles burning in the corners were able to do. A rich red rug lay on the floor - something that had been purchased by his great grandfather and cared for, intensely well, since. No one wore shoes in the house and certainly not in this room. Before anyone entered this room, their feet must be washed.
Amiti was waiting for the new potential servant girl to finish with her foot washing before she was shown in here by their manservant. He was quietly reading a greek poem. While he did not like the Greeks being in Judea at all, he did respect some of their ideas and it was best to know the language and thoughts of those one was not friends with. That would allow for knowing their mind.
Once the door opened, Amiti looked up and offered the smallest, tightest of smiles.
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The tragedy that had rocked the house had also shamed and inconvenienced it. The men of the Jaffe house had not celebrated their servant’s public stoning. They had not enjoyed it. Amiti could not pretend he wept over it either, though. Thieves could not be tolerated. How much had she stolen and for how long? It was impossible to tell. What he did feel was the bitterness of betrayal by a woman they had entrusted with their house and their secrets. A woman who had looked him in the eye and smiled prettily whenever he gave her the day’s wages. It was galling.
He could still see her, standing in front of him, her palm held out for the money. How was he to trust another servant? Preferably he’d have hired a man to fill the vacancy but the work was menial and no man would take it. Only women seemed to want it. He’d set up a fairly grueling process - interviewing them one by one in his office, asking them questions that didn’t seem related to anything in particular but were meant to tell him more about their habits than they realized.
Sitting behind his desk now, he was looking at the last name of the day. There had been two others whom he had passed over almost immediately. This one had been recommended and he had already sent out inquiries about her, asking about her character and her state of cleanliness. All had come back favorable and so he waited for her to be shown into the room and to sit in the single chair on the other side of the desk.
The room was not his alone. It was also where his fathers or brothers would come if they had business, but so far, he made the most use of it. Bookshelves of dark, glossy wood lined the walls. Two windows, one directly behind him and one to his left, let in pale white sunlight, illuminating the room better than the candles burning in the corners were able to do. A rich red rug lay on the floor - something that had been purchased by his great grandfather and cared for, intensely well, since. No one wore shoes in the house and certainly not in this room. Before anyone entered this room, their feet must be washed.
Amiti was waiting for the new potential servant girl to finish with her foot washing before she was shown in here by their manservant. He was quietly reading a greek poem. While he did not like the Greeks being in Judea at all, he did respect some of their ideas and it was best to know the language and thoughts of those one was not friends with. That would allow for knowing their mind.
Once the door opened, Amiti looked up and offered the smallest, tightest of smiles.
The tragedy that had rocked the house had also shamed and inconvenienced it. The men of the Jaffe house had not celebrated their servant’s public stoning. They had not enjoyed it. Amiti could not pretend he wept over it either, though. Thieves could not be tolerated. How much had she stolen and for how long? It was impossible to tell. What he did feel was the bitterness of betrayal by a woman they had entrusted with their house and their secrets. A woman who had looked him in the eye and smiled prettily whenever he gave her the day’s wages. It was galling.
He could still see her, standing in front of him, her palm held out for the money. How was he to trust another servant? Preferably he’d have hired a man to fill the vacancy but the work was menial and no man would take it. Only women seemed to want it. He’d set up a fairly grueling process - interviewing them one by one in his office, asking them questions that didn’t seem related to anything in particular but were meant to tell him more about their habits than they realized.
Sitting behind his desk now, he was looking at the last name of the day. There had been two others whom he had passed over almost immediately. This one had been recommended and he had already sent out inquiries about her, asking about her character and her state of cleanliness. All had come back favorable and so he waited for her to be shown into the room and to sit in the single chair on the other side of the desk.
The room was not his alone. It was also where his fathers or brothers would come if they had business, but so far, he made the most use of it. Bookshelves of dark, glossy wood lined the walls. Two windows, one directly behind him and one to his left, let in pale white sunlight, illuminating the room better than the candles burning in the corners were able to do. A rich red rug lay on the floor - something that had been purchased by his great grandfather and cared for, intensely well, since. No one wore shoes in the house and certainly not in this room. Before anyone entered this room, their feet must be washed.
Amiti was waiting for the new potential servant girl to finish with her foot washing before she was shown in here by their manservant. He was quietly reading a greek poem. While he did not like the Greeks being in Judea at all, he did respect some of their ideas and it was best to know the language and thoughts of those one was not friends with. That would allow for knowing their mind.
Once the door opened, Amiti looked up and offered the smallest, tightest of smiles.
It had not been a quiet affair.
But they could have made it to be. All the 'could have's and 'would haves' circled and swam in her head, as they had been over the last few days ever since she has witnessed her sister's death right in front of her very eyes. A sight Gwyneth could never forget. That she had not even been preempted or told of the affair made it all the more shocking. She had merely been out to get the supplies needed for her father's daily needs, when the crowds gathering in the market drew her there, and the next thing she knew, she saw Ayala's bound and tied body upon a platform.
And after, Ayala was dead.
Her sister had been the last sole breadwinner in the family, ever since Qiana's death and her father's deteriorating mind meant that they could no longer open the usual merchant's stall her parents had always opened to supplement the family's income. Ayala's wages were the only thing that kept her father and herself going, and now that too was gone.
She knew who had taken it from her, and Gwyneth did not intend to take the slight to her sister lying down. She had known Ayala her whole life, and she had serious doubts that her sister would ever, and was even capable of even stealing as she had been accused of doing. It had to be a fault of the Manheeg house, and Gwyneth intended to see that wrong righted, at least to her family. Being of power did not mean one could wield that power with no consequences.
Should one hear that Gwyneth was interviewing to be part of the very Manheeg that killed her sister, they would have thought her crazy. But Gwyneth had thought this all out carefully. The Manheeg was a powerful house, which meant a nobody like herself had slim chances of getting the revenge she wanted against who she saw as the murderer's of her sister. But she was determined to see it through.
Which meant whatever she planned or wanted to do, it could only be attained if she gained internal and great knowledge of the Jaffe Manheeg, and what better way to do so then to work for them.
So cautioning her neighbors and friends to not mention her relation to the very servant girl he had just executed (for Qiana could be a common name for any woman who had birthed her), Gwyneth headed for the interview when she was summoned, careful to dress in the clean pressed simple outfit that had once been her mother's. She had gleaned quite some information regarding her sister's employers whenever Ayala returned home for a visit, enough for the young girl to know that the men of the Manheeg valued character and responsibility, and Gwyneth intended to pass it all.
If she was nervous, she did not let that show. Instead, the girl held on to the beige headscarf over her dark locks as another servant washed her feet, giving her a meaningful look with a whispered 'good luck', before she was allowed to step in.
Gingerly, Gwyneth pushed open the doors that had been gestured for her, entering and waiting for the doors to close behind her with a silent 'click', before clearing her throat and returning the tight smile offered with a hesitant one of her own. "Good day, my lord." Gwyneth greeted with a small curtsy, exactly as propriety suggested. "Thank you for agreeing to consider me as a prospect to work under your esteem Manheeg." The last few words felt like sand in her mouth, on her tongue, but for her plans, she had to make it work. She had to.
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Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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It had not been a quiet affair.
But they could have made it to be. All the 'could have's and 'would haves' circled and swam in her head, as they had been over the last few days ever since she has witnessed her sister's death right in front of her very eyes. A sight Gwyneth could never forget. That she had not even been preempted or told of the affair made it all the more shocking. She had merely been out to get the supplies needed for her father's daily needs, when the crowds gathering in the market drew her there, and the next thing she knew, she saw Ayala's bound and tied body upon a platform.
And after, Ayala was dead.
Her sister had been the last sole breadwinner in the family, ever since Qiana's death and her father's deteriorating mind meant that they could no longer open the usual merchant's stall her parents had always opened to supplement the family's income. Ayala's wages were the only thing that kept her father and herself going, and now that too was gone.
She knew who had taken it from her, and Gwyneth did not intend to take the slight to her sister lying down. She had known Ayala her whole life, and she had serious doubts that her sister would ever, and was even capable of even stealing as she had been accused of doing. It had to be a fault of the Manheeg house, and Gwyneth intended to see that wrong righted, at least to her family. Being of power did not mean one could wield that power with no consequences.
Should one hear that Gwyneth was interviewing to be part of the very Manheeg that killed her sister, they would have thought her crazy. But Gwyneth had thought this all out carefully. The Manheeg was a powerful house, which meant a nobody like herself had slim chances of getting the revenge she wanted against who she saw as the murderer's of her sister. But she was determined to see it through.
Which meant whatever she planned or wanted to do, it could only be attained if she gained internal and great knowledge of the Jaffe Manheeg, and what better way to do so then to work for them.
So cautioning her neighbors and friends to not mention her relation to the very servant girl he had just executed (for Qiana could be a common name for any woman who had birthed her), Gwyneth headed for the interview when she was summoned, careful to dress in the clean pressed simple outfit that had once been her mother's. She had gleaned quite some information regarding her sister's employers whenever Ayala returned home for a visit, enough for the young girl to know that the men of the Manheeg valued character and responsibility, and Gwyneth intended to pass it all.
If she was nervous, she did not let that show. Instead, the girl held on to the beige headscarf over her dark locks as another servant washed her feet, giving her a meaningful look with a whispered 'good luck', before she was allowed to step in.
Gingerly, Gwyneth pushed open the doors that had been gestured for her, entering and waiting for the doors to close behind her with a silent 'click', before clearing her throat and returning the tight smile offered with a hesitant one of her own. "Good day, my lord." Gwyneth greeted with a small curtsy, exactly as propriety suggested. "Thank you for agreeing to consider me as a prospect to work under your esteem Manheeg." The last few words felt like sand in her mouth, on her tongue, but for her plans, she had to make it work. She had to.
It had not been a quiet affair.
But they could have made it to be. All the 'could have's and 'would haves' circled and swam in her head, as they had been over the last few days ever since she has witnessed her sister's death right in front of her very eyes. A sight Gwyneth could never forget. That she had not even been preempted or told of the affair made it all the more shocking. She had merely been out to get the supplies needed for her father's daily needs, when the crowds gathering in the market drew her there, and the next thing she knew, she saw Ayala's bound and tied body upon a platform.
And after, Ayala was dead.
Her sister had been the last sole breadwinner in the family, ever since Qiana's death and her father's deteriorating mind meant that they could no longer open the usual merchant's stall her parents had always opened to supplement the family's income. Ayala's wages were the only thing that kept her father and herself going, and now that too was gone.
She knew who had taken it from her, and Gwyneth did not intend to take the slight to her sister lying down. She had known Ayala her whole life, and she had serious doubts that her sister would ever, and was even capable of even stealing as she had been accused of doing. It had to be a fault of the Manheeg house, and Gwyneth intended to see that wrong righted, at least to her family. Being of power did not mean one could wield that power with no consequences.
Should one hear that Gwyneth was interviewing to be part of the very Manheeg that killed her sister, they would have thought her crazy. But Gwyneth had thought this all out carefully. The Manheeg was a powerful house, which meant a nobody like herself had slim chances of getting the revenge she wanted against who she saw as the murderer's of her sister. But she was determined to see it through.
Which meant whatever she planned or wanted to do, it could only be attained if she gained internal and great knowledge of the Jaffe Manheeg, and what better way to do so then to work for them.
So cautioning her neighbors and friends to not mention her relation to the very servant girl he had just executed (for Qiana could be a common name for any woman who had birthed her), Gwyneth headed for the interview when she was summoned, careful to dress in the clean pressed simple outfit that had once been her mother's. She had gleaned quite some information regarding her sister's employers whenever Ayala returned home for a visit, enough for the young girl to know that the men of the Manheeg valued character and responsibility, and Gwyneth intended to pass it all.
If she was nervous, she did not let that show. Instead, the girl held on to the beige headscarf over her dark locks as another servant washed her feet, giving her a meaningful look with a whispered 'good luck', before she was allowed to step in.
Gingerly, Gwyneth pushed open the doors that had been gestured for her, entering and waiting for the doors to close behind her with a silent 'click', before clearing her throat and returning the tight smile offered with a hesitant one of her own. "Good day, my lord." Gwyneth greeted with a small curtsy, exactly as propriety suggested. "Thank you for agreeing to consider me as a prospect to work under your esteem Manheeg." The last few words felt like sand in her mouth, on her tongue, but for her plans, she had to make it work. She had to.
He was a little astonished and uneasy that the girl in front of him was beautiful. Really, he’d been hoping for someone excessively plain, dull even. Someone who would not attract the notice of anyone; not himself or his brothers. Beggars cannot be choosers, as the saying went and so he was being forced to consider the fair faced young woman standing across from him. Her clothes were appropriate to her station; simple and clean. His eyes fell to her nails and he noted there was no dirt there either. Auspicious beginnings, he felt.
Indicating that he’d like her to sit, he waited until she’d done so to begin. “Your name is Gwyneth?” he asked, by way of ensuring that this was, in fact, the correct person sitting in front of him. That out of the way, he proceeded on with, “I do not believe I need to tell you that our Manheeg is one of propriety. We value Yahweh in this house above all else. You are expected to see to your prayers, wherever you happen to be.” Obviously he didn’t need to outline to her that she was to pray morning, noon, and night, facing Jerusalem, but he was doing it anyway. Just so that no one could accuse him of leaving anything out that should have been said.
If she was a good girl, then she would know that this was not only expected of her here, but at home as well. This should be second nature. But people, being what they were, did not always do the right thing. Rising from his desk, he moved over to the window and affixed his hands behind his back as he looked out at the people milling along the stone street below. His gaze lingered on a few stones that were uneven. They bothered him immensely and he was thinking of asking the senate for funds to see to this particular stretch of road. He had to look at it, after all.
Turning back to her, he said, “The position is a simple one. You would live in this house, in the servants’ quarters. You would share in the duties of cooking meals for family and staff. Laundry, would be one of your tasks, as well as general upkeep of the house. I am intending to get married soon, so that will ease your burden somewhat. When that happens, you would leave this house and come with me and my wife to our new one. You’re expected to be one of the first up and last to sleep.”
He turned to her then and looked her over, his brown eyes softening a fraction. “I understand that this task is not desirable but I assume it will be one to keep you housed, clothed, and fed until your family finds a husband for you? And it will keep you out of trouble. Idle hands are not the friend of humanity. Added to this, we like to think that servitude is a lowly, yet important vocation. I am prepared to pay you more than you can expect elsewhere, if all of that suits you and your father.”
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He was a little astonished and uneasy that the girl in front of him was beautiful. Really, he’d been hoping for someone excessively plain, dull even. Someone who would not attract the notice of anyone; not himself or his brothers. Beggars cannot be choosers, as the saying went and so he was being forced to consider the fair faced young woman standing across from him. Her clothes were appropriate to her station; simple and clean. His eyes fell to her nails and he noted there was no dirt there either. Auspicious beginnings, he felt.
Indicating that he’d like her to sit, he waited until she’d done so to begin. “Your name is Gwyneth?” he asked, by way of ensuring that this was, in fact, the correct person sitting in front of him. That out of the way, he proceeded on with, “I do not believe I need to tell you that our Manheeg is one of propriety. We value Yahweh in this house above all else. You are expected to see to your prayers, wherever you happen to be.” Obviously he didn’t need to outline to her that she was to pray morning, noon, and night, facing Jerusalem, but he was doing it anyway. Just so that no one could accuse him of leaving anything out that should have been said.
If she was a good girl, then she would know that this was not only expected of her here, but at home as well. This should be second nature. But people, being what they were, did not always do the right thing. Rising from his desk, he moved over to the window and affixed his hands behind his back as he looked out at the people milling along the stone street below. His gaze lingered on a few stones that were uneven. They bothered him immensely and he was thinking of asking the senate for funds to see to this particular stretch of road. He had to look at it, after all.
Turning back to her, he said, “The position is a simple one. You would live in this house, in the servants’ quarters. You would share in the duties of cooking meals for family and staff. Laundry, would be one of your tasks, as well as general upkeep of the house. I am intending to get married soon, so that will ease your burden somewhat. When that happens, you would leave this house and come with me and my wife to our new one. You’re expected to be one of the first up and last to sleep.”
He turned to her then and looked her over, his brown eyes softening a fraction. “I understand that this task is not desirable but I assume it will be one to keep you housed, clothed, and fed until your family finds a husband for you? And it will keep you out of trouble. Idle hands are not the friend of humanity. Added to this, we like to think that servitude is a lowly, yet important vocation. I am prepared to pay you more than you can expect elsewhere, if all of that suits you and your father.”
He was a little astonished and uneasy that the girl in front of him was beautiful. Really, he’d been hoping for someone excessively plain, dull even. Someone who would not attract the notice of anyone; not himself or his brothers. Beggars cannot be choosers, as the saying went and so he was being forced to consider the fair faced young woman standing across from him. Her clothes were appropriate to her station; simple and clean. His eyes fell to her nails and he noted there was no dirt there either. Auspicious beginnings, he felt.
Indicating that he’d like her to sit, he waited until she’d done so to begin. “Your name is Gwyneth?” he asked, by way of ensuring that this was, in fact, the correct person sitting in front of him. That out of the way, he proceeded on with, “I do not believe I need to tell you that our Manheeg is one of propriety. We value Yahweh in this house above all else. You are expected to see to your prayers, wherever you happen to be.” Obviously he didn’t need to outline to her that she was to pray morning, noon, and night, facing Jerusalem, but he was doing it anyway. Just so that no one could accuse him of leaving anything out that should have been said.
If she was a good girl, then she would know that this was not only expected of her here, but at home as well. This should be second nature. But people, being what they were, did not always do the right thing. Rising from his desk, he moved over to the window and affixed his hands behind his back as he looked out at the people milling along the stone street below. His gaze lingered on a few stones that were uneven. They bothered him immensely and he was thinking of asking the senate for funds to see to this particular stretch of road. He had to look at it, after all.
Turning back to her, he said, “The position is a simple one. You would live in this house, in the servants’ quarters. You would share in the duties of cooking meals for family and staff. Laundry, would be one of your tasks, as well as general upkeep of the house. I am intending to get married soon, so that will ease your burden somewhat. When that happens, you would leave this house and come with me and my wife to our new one. You’re expected to be one of the first up and last to sleep.”
He turned to her then and looked her over, his brown eyes softening a fraction. “I understand that this task is not desirable but I assume it will be one to keep you housed, clothed, and fed until your family finds a husband for you? And it will keep you out of trouble. Idle hands are not the friend of humanity. Added to this, we like to think that servitude is a lowly, yet important vocation. I am prepared to pay you more than you can expect elsewhere, if all of that suits you and your father.”
He was stoic, not unlike the descriptions Ayala had given to her before. She remembered her sister saying how strict the household had been, the members of the Manheeg even more strict with their prayer times then her father had been with theirs when he had been in his mind. Of course, Gwyneth had never skipped out unless it had been an ailment disturbing her parents which required her attention, but even so, his precise need for detail was unnerving, and Gwyneth had to work hard to try and not let it show it affected her.
Instead, the girl merely tightened her slipping headscarf on her head, and nodded in confirmation of her name. "Of course, my lord. Yahweh's name shall not be in vain, nor shall prayers be omitted in my daily tasks." Gwyneth reassured as docilely as she thought was necessary to appease this man who was now appearing more and more cantankerous to her eyes. Exactly who she assumed would flippantly cast someone to their death with nary so much as an extra thought as to who else may be harmed by her death.
Someone like her.
She would not be allowing him a chance to find fault with her, not yet. Amiti of Tzephaniah put up such a show of propriety and proper manners, yet Gwyneth found it hard to believe that he was perfect and free of any errors. And that was why she was here, to find these errors and unmask them, and him, for who he really was - in her opinion, not at all this proper man he put up to be.
Listening intently (for she would need to if she wanted to fault to be found by him), Gwyneth made a mental note of it all, but it would not be far off from her duties she had had when her mother had been sick, and the homekeeping duties had fallen on her shoulders while Ayala sought employment.
Marriage? Someone actually wanted to marry this stodge of wood? Gwyneth had to hold back a snicker, but curiosity sparked at who could actually withstand a marriage to the man she now stood before, for she could barely stand being in the same room as him without glaring at him. Only the thought of her large grand plan was helping her in resisting the need to snarl at him, and Gwyneth clenched her fists by her sides as she nodded humbly. "It is a task I am ready for, my lord, of course. If you would accept my offer of services." She tilted her head downwards, in hopes that this would translate as her accepting his position of hierarchy above hers.
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He was stoic, not unlike the descriptions Ayala had given to her before. She remembered her sister saying how strict the household had been, the members of the Manheeg even more strict with their prayer times then her father had been with theirs when he had been in his mind. Of course, Gwyneth had never skipped out unless it had been an ailment disturbing her parents which required her attention, but even so, his precise need for detail was unnerving, and Gwyneth had to work hard to try and not let it show it affected her.
Instead, the girl merely tightened her slipping headscarf on her head, and nodded in confirmation of her name. "Of course, my lord. Yahweh's name shall not be in vain, nor shall prayers be omitted in my daily tasks." Gwyneth reassured as docilely as she thought was necessary to appease this man who was now appearing more and more cantankerous to her eyes. Exactly who she assumed would flippantly cast someone to their death with nary so much as an extra thought as to who else may be harmed by her death.
Someone like her.
She would not be allowing him a chance to find fault with her, not yet. Amiti of Tzephaniah put up such a show of propriety and proper manners, yet Gwyneth found it hard to believe that he was perfect and free of any errors. And that was why she was here, to find these errors and unmask them, and him, for who he really was - in her opinion, not at all this proper man he put up to be.
Listening intently (for she would need to if she wanted to fault to be found by him), Gwyneth made a mental note of it all, but it would not be far off from her duties she had had when her mother had been sick, and the homekeeping duties had fallen on her shoulders while Ayala sought employment.
Marriage? Someone actually wanted to marry this stodge of wood? Gwyneth had to hold back a snicker, but curiosity sparked at who could actually withstand a marriage to the man she now stood before, for she could barely stand being in the same room as him without glaring at him. Only the thought of her large grand plan was helping her in resisting the need to snarl at him, and Gwyneth clenched her fists by her sides as she nodded humbly. "It is a task I am ready for, my lord, of course. If you would accept my offer of services." She tilted her head downwards, in hopes that this would translate as her accepting his position of hierarchy above hers.
He was stoic, not unlike the descriptions Ayala had given to her before. She remembered her sister saying how strict the household had been, the members of the Manheeg even more strict with their prayer times then her father had been with theirs when he had been in his mind. Of course, Gwyneth had never skipped out unless it had been an ailment disturbing her parents which required her attention, but even so, his precise need for detail was unnerving, and Gwyneth had to work hard to try and not let it show it affected her.
Instead, the girl merely tightened her slipping headscarf on her head, and nodded in confirmation of her name. "Of course, my lord. Yahweh's name shall not be in vain, nor shall prayers be omitted in my daily tasks." Gwyneth reassured as docilely as she thought was necessary to appease this man who was now appearing more and more cantankerous to her eyes. Exactly who she assumed would flippantly cast someone to their death with nary so much as an extra thought as to who else may be harmed by her death.
Someone like her.
She would not be allowing him a chance to find fault with her, not yet. Amiti of Tzephaniah put up such a show of propriety and proper manners, yet Gwyneth found it hard to believe that he was perfect and free of any errors. And that was why she was here, to find these errors and unmask them, and him, for who he really was - in her opinion, not at all this proper man he put up to be.
Listening intently (for she would need to if she wanted to fault to be found by him), Gwyneth made a mental note of it all, but it would not be far off from her duties she had had when her mother had been sick, and the homekeeping duties had fallen on her shoulders while Ayala sought employment.
Marriage? Someone actually wanted to marry this stodge of wood? Gwyneth had to hold back a snicker, but curiosity sparked at who could actually withstand a marriage to the man she now stood before, for she could barely stand being in the same room as him without glaring at him. Only the thought of her large grand plan was helping her in resisting the need to snarl at him, and Gwyneth clenched her fists by her sides as she nodded humbly. "It is a task I am ready for, my lord, of course. If you would accept my offer of services." She tilted her head downwards, in hopes that this would translate as her accepting his position of hierarchy above hers.
If only he could have felt the hate radiating off this woman. If only her thoughts could be made visible. Then he would have known that she had presented herself to him and his family as a trap. She was exactly the kind of woman he tried to avoid; one full of her own impure and evil thoughts.
Yet, all he could see was her outward appearance, what she she presented to him. What she allowed him to see was a pretty girl who was meek and obedient. He could tell she was listening to him closely by the incline of her head and he liked the deference she was showing to him. Yes. She would do.
"It is a task I am ready for, my lord, of course. If you would accept my offer of services."
“I accept your services,” he said briskly, sitting back down behind the desk and withdrawing another scroll from a drawer. It was a contract, as yet unsigned by anyone. Briefly explaining to her what it was and that it would bind her legally to the Manheeg, he slid it across the desk for her to read and then got up again, heading to the door.
He called into the corridor for the manservant and also for the man to bring Shiloh. They needed two witnesses. While he waited, he interlaced his fingers and said nothing to Gwyneth. He was not a man for idle chatter and really, he wasn’t very interested in a conversation with her. They had very little in common and she would never be more to him than a servant. Therefore, logic dictated that they remain silent, unless she had some need to speak.
From somewhere in the house, Shiloh was found. He and the manservant breezed into the room, both barefoot, knowing about the carpet. Shiloh smiled at Gwyneth and the manservant did nothing but look at Amiti. Once they were there, Amiti handed Gwyneth the writing implement for her to sign her name.
“We expect you tomorrow morning,” he said. “Do you have any questions?”
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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If only he could have felt the hate radiating off this woman. If only her thoughts could be made visible. Then he would have known that she had presented herself to him and his family as a trap. She was exactly the kind of woman he tried to avoid; one full of her own impure and evil thoughts.
Yet, all he could see was her outward appearance, what she she presented to him. What she allowed him to see was a pretty girl who was meek and obedient. He could tell she was listening to him closely by the incline of her head and he liked the deference she was showing to him. Yes. She would do.
"It is a task I am ready for, my lord, of course. If you would accept my offer of services."
“I accept your services,” he said briskly, sitting back down behind the desk and withdrawing another scroll from a drawer. It was a contract, as yet unsigned by anyone. Briefly explaining to her what it was and that it would bind her legally to the Manheeg, he slid it across the desk for her to read and then got up again, heading to the door.
He called into the corridor for the manservant and also for the man to bring Shiloh. They needed two witnesses. While he waited, he interlaced his fingers and said nothing to Gwyneth. He was not a man for idle chatter and really, he wasn’t very interested in a conversation with her. They had very little in common and she would never be more to him than a servant. Therefore, logic dictated that they remain silent, unless she had some need to speak.
From somewhere in the house, Shiloh was found. He and the manservant breezed into the room, both barefoot, knowing about the carpet. Shiloh smiled at Gwyneth and the manservant did nothing but look at Amiti. Once they were there, Amiti handed Gwyneth the writing implement for her to sign her name.
“We expect you tomorrow morning,” he said. “Do you have any questions?”
If only he could have felt the hate radiating off this woman. If only her thoughts could be made visible. Then he would have known that she had presented herself to him and his family as a trap. She was exactly the kind of woman he tried to avoid; one full of her own impure and evil thoughts.
Yet, all he could see was her outward appearance, what she she presented to him. What she allowed him to see was a pretty girl who was meek and obedient. He could tell she was listening to him closely by the incline of her head and he liked the deference she was showing to him. Yes. She would do.
"It is a task I am ready for, my lord, of course. If you would accept my offer of services."
“I accept your services,” he said briskly, sitting back down behind the desk and withdrawing another scroll from a drawer. It was a contract, as yet unsigned by anyone. Briefly explaining to her what it was and that it would bind her legally to the Manheeg, he slid it across the desk for her to read and then got up again, heading to the door.
He called into the corridor for the manservant and also for the man to bring Shiloh. They needed two witnesses. While he waited, he interlaced his fingers and said nothing to Gwyneth. He was not a man for idle chatter and really, he wasn’t very interested in a conversation with her. They had very little in common and she would never be more to him than a servant. Therefore, logic dictated that they remain silent, unless she had some need to speak.
From somewhere in the house, Shiloh was found. He and the manservant breezed into the room, both barefoot, knowing about the carpet. Shiloh smiled at Gwyneth and the manservant did nothing but look at Amiti. Once they were there, Amiti handed Gwyneth the writing implement for her to sign her name.
“We expect you tomorrow morning,” he said. “Do you have any questions?”
She stood dutifully still, knowing that at this moment, her emotions vibrated within her. Any slip on her part, could mean the end of her plans. Gwyneth was not someone who made rash decisions. Thoughtful and brooding, she had come up with a plan that required a prolonged amount of time and effort to see to fruition. But Gwyneth was nothing if not resilient, and a slip up now would be foolhardy on her part.
With hands folded demurely in front of her, she curtsied shallowly when her interview was deemed a success by the man himself, albeit briskly. Gwyneth watched his movements from the corner of her eye, slowly calculating and gauging how much her plan would take to work. He seemed to be someone who took great care in his items, but that meant being a servant of his Manheeg would see the need for her to clean. And cleaning meant she had access to private information, hopefully.
Gwyneth would see to it that her sister was served justice, for she did not believe Ayala capable of the crime she had been committed for.
Silently, Gwyneth waited till the manservant the man summoned entered, with yet another brother to this testesterone heavy manheeg. The smile she returned to Shiloh was tight, for Gwyneth held much resentment to the whole family, and not just Amiti himself. "No, sir." her soft voice did not betray the roll of emotions with her. It was a good thing the room was not brightly lit, for the shadows would hide the distaste she held for the man she now stood afore, a man Gwyneth believed to be unfair and unjust. Not with his actions to Ayala in Gwyneth's mind all the time. "I will be on time, and see to my duties as expected."
Picking up the reed brush handed to her by the manservant already dipped in ink, and clumsily scrawled out her name. Having not learned how to properly read and write, Gwyneth's attempts were passable for hiring at least, and legible to the naked eye as she returned the reed pen and turned her focus on the man she had just gotten into employment with. "Thank you for your trust, sir." It was a bitter pill to swallow, but Gwyneth knew she had to show deference, at least for now.
With another bow, Gwyneth waited till she was dismissed, before backing out of the room. Only when she had left the grounds of the Jaffee Manheeg residence, did the tense feeling in her shoulders dissipate as she took the route back home. This evening, she would discuss with her neighbor on the care of her father, before she packed and took up her place in residence of the Manheeg. Whilst her family's small home may not be too far from the Manheeg, her duties would require her up far too early to remain with her father, so it would be best for her to take residence in the servant's quarters.
But remaining on the grounds served a dual purpose, for that meant Gwyneth would be able to know their daily patterns and habits, for her to properly snoop and get the information she wanted.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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She stood dutifully still, knowing that at this moment, her emotions vibrated within her. Any slip on her part, could mean the end of her plans. Gwyneth was not someone who made rash decisions. Thoughtful and brooding, she had come up with a plan that required a prolonged amount of time and effort to see to fruition. But Gwyneth was nothing if not resilient, and a slip up now would be foolhardy on her part.
With hands folded demurely in front of her, she curtsied shallowly when her interview was deemed a success by the man himself, albeit briskly. Gwyneth watched his movements from the corner of her eye, slowly calculating and gauging how much her plan would take to work. He seemed to be someone who took great care in his items, but that meant being a servant of his Manheeg would see the need for her to clean. And cleaning meant she had access to private information, hopefully.
Gwyneth would see to it that her sister was served justice, for she did not believe Ayala capable of the crime she had been committed for.
Silently, Gwyneth waited till the manservant the man summoned entered, with yet another brother to this testesterone heavy manheeg. The smile she returned to Shiloh was tight, for Gwyneth held much resentment to the whole family, and not just Amiti himself. "No, sir." her soft voice did not betray the roll of emotions with her. It was a good thing the room was not brightly lit, for the shadows would hide the distaste she held for the man she now stood afore, a man Gwyneth believed to be unfair and unjust. Not with his actions to Ayala in Gwyneth's mind all the time. "I will be on time, and see to my duties as expected."
Picking up the reed brush handed to her by the manservant already dipped in ink, and clumsily scrawled out her name. Having not learned how to properly read and write, Gwyneth's attempts were passable for hiring at least, and legible to the naked eye as she returned the reed pen and turned her focus on the man she had just gotten into employment with. "Thank you for your trust, sir." It was a bitter pill to swallow, but Gwyneth knew she had to show deference, at least for now.
With another bow, Gwyneth waited till she was dismissed, before backing out of the room. Only when she had left the grounds of the Jaffee Manheeg residence, did the tense feeling in her shoulders dissipate as she took the route back home. This evening, she would discuss with her neighbor on the care of her father, before she packed and took up her place in residence of the Manheeg. Whilst her family's small home may not be too far from the Manheeg, her duties would require her up far too early to remain with her father, so it would be best for her to take residence in the servant's quarters.
But remaining on the grounds served a dual purpose, for that meant Gwyneth would be able to know their daily patterns and habits, for her to properly snoop and get the information she wanted.
She stood dutifully still, knowing that at this moment, her emotions vibrated within her. Any slip on her part, could mean the end of her plans. Gwyneth was not someone who made rash decisions. Thoughtful and brooding, she had come up with a plan that required a prolonged amount of time and effort to see to fruition. But Gwyneth was nothing if not resilient, and a slip up now would be foolhardy on her part.
With hands folded demurely in front of her, she curtsied shallowly when her interview was deemed a success by the man himself, albeit briskly. Gwyneth watched his movements from the corner of her eye, slowly calculating and gauging how much her plan would take to work. He seemed to be someone who took great care in his items, but that meant being a servant of his Manheeg would see the need for her to clean. And cleaning meant she had access to private information, hopefully.
Gwyneth would see to it that her sister was served justice, for she did not believe Ayala capable of the crime she had been committed for.
Silently, Gwyneth waited till the manservant the man summoned entered, with yet another brother to this testesterone heavy manheeg. The smile she returned to Shiloh was tight, for Gwyneth held much resentment to the whole family, and not just Amiti himself. "No, sir." her soft voice did not betray the roll of emotions with her. It was a good thing the room was not brightly lit, for the shadows would hide the distaste she held for the man she now stood afore, a man Gwyneth believed to be unfair and unjust. Not with his actions to Ayala in Gwyneth's mind all the time. "I will be on time, and see to my duties as expected."
Picking up the reed brush handed to her by the manservant already dipped in ink, and clumsily scrawled out her name. Having not learned how to properly read and write, Gwyneth's attempts were passable for hiring at least, and legible to the naked eye as she returned the reed pen and turned her focus on the man she had just gotten into employment with. "Thank you for your trust, sir." It was a bitter pill to swallow, but Gwyneth knew she had to show deference, at least for now.
With another bow, Gwyneth waited till she was dismissed, before backing out of the room. Only when she had left the grounds of the Jaffee Manheeg residence, did the tense feeling in her shoulders dissipate as she took the route back home. This evening, she would discuss with her neighbor on the care of her father, before she packed and took up her place in residence of the Manheeg. Whilst her family's small home may not be too far from the Manheeg, her duties would require her up far too early to remain with her father, so it would be best for her to take residence in the servant's quarters.
But remaining on the grounds served a dual purpose, for that meant Gwyneth would be able to know their daily patterns and habits, for her to properly snoop and get the information she wanted.