The Pretender Chronicles - Me Yussef, You Sawsan
From the archives of the Gondorian
Sawsan (Menawa) and Yussef interact in Umbar
Last connect was from cpe-65-189-242-145.woh.res.rr.com on Thu Mar 19 15:58:17 2009.
Embassy Lobby
A blazing fire from the large brick fireplace greets the guests of Umbar upon entering the lobby from the double glass doors. The dim lighting adds a certain warmth and charm to the ambiance of the room. Large, comfortable sofas are arranged in a pattern suitable for small discussions and allow its components to soak up the heat and light from the fireplace. A small bar is positioned against the western most wall. Several leather-bound stools align the refreshment oasis and a small window allows for the guests to gaze out into the harbour. A stairway can be seen in the northeastern most corner leading up to the floors above. The deep reds and blues of the room adds to the drowsiness the night causes. Several paintings of present and former Lords of Umbar hang from each wall of this room and their figures appear almost ghostly in the dim illuminataion.
Contents:
Yussef
Statue of Ar-Pharazon
Obvious exits:
Stairs and Double Doors
Most of those that are there with her are sleeping. Sawsan has been visited by a Umbarian healer to help with her leg. Though the healer had been professional, it was clear that Sawsan was not liked. Now, she stands by a window, looking out wistfully, her hand lifted to fan her cheek, all her weight on her left leg.
There is a quiet exchange about the door as the one guard -- for there is always at least one present here, holding vigil over the inner doors -- is relieved by another.
As the tall double doors swing shut with a creak about the massive hinges, Yussef, for he is a guard indeed, glances about the room. Noting the hearth with the flames that crackle and hum, his black eyes wander about the emptiness, and halt then on the northern girl.
He approaches that there window after a moment steady footfalls echoing in the hushed silence that settles in such late hours as this lifting a chair from the fireplace as he passes it by, carrying it forward.
Sawsan turns her head as she hears those massive doors and glances, a bit used to the changing of guards by now. But when the steps come towards her, she stares. It is not untill he draws closer that she recognizes the man who had brought her knapsack to her. When he reaches her side, she dips her head respectfully to him. \"Sir.\" She greets very, very quietly.
A light shake of the head, and a crease on his brow is the responce to her greeting that and a word -- or rather several. \"Here,\" he says, the chair\'s feet scraping on the floor as it is set down so that Sawsan need but bend her knees to occupy the cushioned seat. \"I thought you were a healer?\"
His use of the common tongue is awkward, and the next question makes that odd quality all the more prominent: \"What is the meaning of that word?\"
\"Sir?\"
Sawsan knows when she\'s being told to sit down, even if the words are not used. She dips her head greatfully to him and then settles gracefully on the stool, smoothing her skirt down over her knees. Once she\'s folded her hands in her lap, she looks up at him and says quietly. \"Sir is a show of respect. If your captain is male, you call him Sir.\"
A nod, in which the widened black gaze pass from Sawsan, \'ere briefly meeting her glance, to the window and what passes whitout under the night sky.
\'We say \"
\'How is the foot?\'
Sawsan tries her hand at that word, then nods slightly. When he asks of her foot, she smiles very faintly, \"My foot is well.. and thanks to some help from one of your healers, my leg is moving towards healing.\" She reaches down to lift the hem of her skirt up just enough to show the oilskin wrap on her lower right leg. Presumably it covers the wound there.
\"You should not stress it,\" affording a momentary glance on the wrappings \'ere he looks away, a faint redness on his slightly hollowed cheeks.
\"Even I know that.\"
Sawsan drops the hem of her skirt that small bit to the ground, covering her ankles again, toes of her boots still peeking out from under. She once more folds her hands in her lap. \"I know, too, Sir. It is just.. this is not the time for faint hearts and weak bodies. There is a need that must be filled, and I am the one to do the task.\"
\"I am not your captain,\" Yussef says, and there is movement on his cheeks in the intermission in between his words -- teeth ground against eachother, persumably. He does not cease his vigil on the outdoors, however. \"What then, is that need?\"
Sawsan bites the inside of her lower lip as he grinds his teeth. She does not squirm, nor cower, but she does look a little worried. Her voice remains quiet and calm, though.
\"No, you are not my captain..but you are my captor. You are one who has dominion over me here, and so I give you respect.\" Saw pauses for a moment, then continues.
\"As for what is so important to bring me here.. I have hope that I will be permitted to search scrolls for possible cures to poisons being used by the enemy against our soldiers. Against our people.\"
The hushed silence settles then, broken by the low sound of the fire akin to the crashing of waves on the beach -- and that sound too reaches these halls, but quietly indeed -- muffled in the distance, but not quite the same. Yussef considers this.
\"It is proper to respect your captors,\" He determines finally. \"But not meekly, else they will deem you weak and useless.\" It is spoken as a stray thought, a matter of theory and not practice, as is here the case. But his glance fleets to meet Sawsan\'s by his latter sentence, a brow raised, perhaps to convey a hidden meaning.
\"By whose order? Is he so cowardly that he sends his students?\"
Sawsan remains calm through all of that, then stiffens her back at his last words. Her eyes flash a momentary fire, though she blinks to slightly bank it. \"I come of my own free will to this land, for it is /my/ desire to search for possible help.\"
A faint smile at that, but devoid of mirth -- a strange thing to see in such a young face -- graces Yussef\'s lips for a short while then. \"Free will is one thing. By you did not say you come by your own designs, did you? It is no secret how your folk treat their women.\" And the smile then fades.
\"Don\'t lie to me.\"
Sawsan blinks oh so slightly, then dips her head to him. This is not the respectfull nod he has likely come to know from her, but a concedance to his words. \"You speak true. But I was not ordered here. In fact, like as not I condemn myself to die a spinster with each thing that I do, each decision I make to fight for the lives of our people.\" She smiles oh so gently, \"Again, it is the choice I make of my own free will.\"
The black gaze lingers on the grey for a time. Again silence punctuates the coverse.
As he looks away then, on a note cut short: \"Very well.\"
Pivoting towards the bar, Yussef asks: \"A drink?\"
Sawsan blinks, a tiny bit surprised by the acceptance and subsequent change of topic. \"Yes, please.\" Is her automatic response. She shifts on the stool to watch him, her expression open and curious.
(the end)