Good little slave girl

-The Cartagan Orchard. Earlyish morning, 2 DSTR-

Cordelia continued to pull at the ground with purpose; occasionally picking up a tiny flower and pocketing it. With the occasional glance towards the house, she continued to pick up apples while her and Tyreth made the momentary visual contact. Waiting until he closed the door to stand, she yanked her basket off the ground by the center point of the handle, mumbling to herself, “Oh, so now you need me,” walking towards the front deck, while she continued her rant, “I hope Cartwright gives you a run for your money- oh, wait, you don’t have any.”

Placing her basket next to the steps towards the front door, she turned to begin her walk towards the slave entrance.

“You betta’ watch yoself, girl,” Susan called out in warning. “You cain’t chaum yous way to him.”

Cordelia paused, her back facing the Susan. Looking over her shoulder, her hat tilted downwards, she corrected Susan before returning to the future task at hand. “Better, yourself, can’t, charm, and your.”

As she was walking around the side of the house, she could hear the faint mutterings of Susan practicing her small speech: “You better- better- better, watch yoself- YOURself, caaaannn’t, chaum- charm, your, way to him.”

Cordelia stood at the back kitchen door, looking for a small bucket to rinse her feet and hands in. Finding one not but two steps to her left, she yanked the dirt stained rag off the side of the wooden wash bin, and cleaned off her hands as she stepped inside the wash bin. Stretching legs to step onto the clean brick steps, she shook off what water she could from her hands and feet. Upon entering the kitchen, one of the women tossed her a dry rag to finish the job.

She could hear the male mutterings through the kitchen door. Placing her hat on the small wooden table to her right, she smoothed back the wisps of her curly hair to the best of her abilities. Grabbing a cool pitcher of water from off the counter, she pushed the swinging kitchen door open as silently as she could. It would be at this point that the men would be making the small voyage from foyer, to dining room. Cordelia stood against the wall, in between the kitchen door and the table with a multitude of different glasses.

Cordelia could pick out the antagonizing tone dripping from Tyreth’s lips. She blew out a sigh before they could make it into the room, and she thought about what Cartwright’s take on the man would be. Seeing as how Cartwright took his time to free slaves, Tyreth’s approach on earning what only Tyreth would claim to be respect would be interesting. Taking a bit away from the Two Kingdoms current history, and dipping into reality, so far Tyreth would fall in line with Machiavelli’s line of thought. ”Better to be feared than loved, if you cannot be both.” (OOC: If you don’t know who this is, I would suggest reading up on him asap)

Her posture was straight, her eyes leveled, and the pitcher held perfectly still at the center of her chest. The dress was hardly stained from the beginnings of her work, and the light scent of apples kissing her porcelain skin. Cordelia’s face completely blank of any expression.