Another slave girl.
Lars raised an eyebrow in amusement at the sight of the new girl. His mother was practically shouting at her all the rules of the household while the girl cowered beneath her antagonizing gaze. He, however, was comfortably sitting in a plush armchair poring over a book with spells that he would use when he would grow up to become a raging hot sorcerer who was the wet dream of everyone. Including men.
She looked to be about the same age as Lars, around fifteen. Her hair was an odd shade—lavender. Lars was amazed by the utter stupidity of light purple hair, and decided that anyone with such outlandish features deserved to be insulted until they cried.
The Mother left the girl in front of the fireplace, where she looked bewildered and afraid. So then Lars, being the chivalrous person he was, got off his armchair and walked up to her.
"Slave, what is your name?" he asked.
She looked up and glared at him. Lars was scandalized by the impudence in her eyes.
"It's common courtesy to give your name before demanding to know someone else's," she responded. Lars' mouth twitched in annoyance.
"If you must know, I'm your new master from now on and you have to follow whatever I say, and you will call me Master Lars." He said it like she was mentally retarded. "Do. You. Understand?"
"I know very well that you're a bratty little tyrant who isn't weaned yet," the girl retorted. "I'd rather call you Baby Lars. It's much more fitting." Lars was about to say something very worthy of getting his mouth washed with soap, but then he just had to be interrupted.
"Lars, dear, I see you've met our new slave," his mother butted in with her annoying voice and big butt. "Her name is Rhen and she will tend to all your needs and follow all your commands." But she seemed to be directing it at the girl.
"I'm going off to have tea with the ladies." She was so embarrassing. Even in front of this slave!
Adorned with heavy foundation, bright red lipstick that stained her teeth, fake eyelashes and painted eyebrows, Lars' mother left the house towing her purse which probably held loads of money.
Lars cleared his throat. "So then, Rhen"—she sneered at him—"the first thing I want you to do for me is to cut my toenails."
A few minutes later, he was lounging on his armchair again while Rhen was holding a toenail clipper and doing what he told her to do. Of course, the amazing Lars wasn't girly or anything. He just liked to make his slaves go through torture. But then again, they were getting long; he once absentmindedly scratched his legs with his toenails, and the white of the scar still remained.
"Why is your hair purple?" Lars said, staring at her messy mop of lavender. "It's so unnatural and it makes you look like an attention whore. I mean, who ever heard of dead lavender cells sprouting out of anyone's scalp? It's madness!"
Rhen looked up and glared. "At least I don't have green hair. Did you dye it that way or did you fall in a vat full of green mold when you were born? And what does the hair on your forearms become when it grows thick?"
Lars grit his teeth but she added, "People will think you covered yourself with hairy leaves!"
He kicked Rhen in the face. "Go clean my room, you bitch!"
"Oh, and you have green hairs on your toes, too. Care for a plucking?" She winked and held up a pair of tweezers.
The weeks that followed consisted of Rhen irritating Lars to the extent that he actually hit her. It was a glorious moment; he'd had a glove nearby and he slapped her face with it, like how the men who manage whore houses slap the women. That was the only time she actually ran away. Other times, whenever they argued, she treated Lars like one of those children who say, "When I grow up, I want to be famous, I want to be a star, I want to be in movies!" Children can wish for the most outrageous things, like a flying pink pony, but ninety-nine percent of the time when they want something that is out of their league, it never comes into their grubby little hands.
The way Rhen carried herself annoyed Lars. Whenever she was around The Mother she acted all respectful and obedient, but with him, she treated Lars like he was a baby under her babysitting service. As in really sitting on him. One of their arm wrestling contests actually escalated into a real wrestling match and Rhen ended up sitting on Lars in triumph.
It was frustrating that she never got into any trouble. Many times Lars tried to make her temper come out like the horrible demon it was when other people were around, but it was too hard.
Lars complained to Ylitta and Hector about Rhen and they promptly agreed with whatever he said. However, it wasn't enough to spread gossip about her in Ghalarah, because everyone else liked Rhen, especially that wretched seamstress who often gave that slave food that would only suit nobles such as the Tenobors.
Lars couldn't believe he actually did that. He took off Rhen's slave bracelet. And oh my god he didn't know why.
Probably he did it on a whim, under the guise that he wanted to try out some magic he'd learned while educating himself the basic spells for starter sorcerers. But Lars knew one thing for sure: it wasn't to impress Ylitta and Hector. He could go ahead and perform a cheap coin trick and they would literally kiss his butt. Or, at least, whatever he sat on. Ylitta would constantly throw herself at the young sorcerer while Hector was willing to bury his face in a puddle if it meant keeping Lars from dirtying his shoes.
Tch. Such strange companions.
Later at dinner, Lars sat at the dining table that always had luxurious amounts of food that Rhen had cooked, and in the three months they had her, she could actually cook decently. Not that she cooked like a gourmet chef, but she did prepare the food suitable enough.
Lars picked at his steak, wondering what Shadwood Academy would be like. It was supposedly for gifted sorcerers and sword singers. What kind of title is sword singer anyway? Lars thought. It's not like they serenade love songs to their swords and weapons. This world is screwed.
Rhen ate in a corner with a smaller table, and she was only given scraps from the bottom of the pots. She ate ravenously, and Lars watched in fascination, masking it with a sneer of disgust. Since The Mother was out, she said, "What're you looking at?"
"I just noticed how sloppily you eat and you have the perfect resemblance of an ugly and starving baboon," Lars replied after daintily wiping his mouth and chin.
"Are you saying I have a big butt?"
"What kind of an answer is that? I asked you a 'yes or no' question and you give me maybe?"
Lars shrugged and slowly started eating his steak, which had the meatiest part. He relished the taste while Rhen's eyebrows met and her lips curled downward into a snarl.
"If you attack me," Lars said before she could do anything, "I'm going to tell Mother that you ate supper when you weren't allowed to."
Rhen cocked one eyebrow. "Why did you let me eat some food?"
"Because," Lars said, "envoys from Shadwood will be coming and I don't want them to have a bad impression of me."
"You're a stupid ass-kisser."
Lars felt the sharp pain that seemed to concentrate on his buttocks. He turned to Rhen with the intention of flogging her or possibly using some of his newfound magic and zapping her to crispy bacon. Mm, bacon. Before he could do anything, he was stopped by two people who were dressed in fancy clothing.
Lars was embarrassed when he discovered that the two were emissaries sent from Shadwood. Ghelda and Lorad. Lorad and Ghelda. Sorcerer and sword singer. The sword singer had the freakiest red hair.
"I am free!" Rhen exclaimed when Lorad told her that she had a 'gift' because she shazzanged Lars with a stick she found on the ground while he was beating up a little slave so that he could steal his candy. Then Ghelda took Lars away and they rode a mule express to Veldarah. It was weird because they could just walk the whole way and use the money to buy something worthwhile, like collection of hair dye.
What's she doing here?Lars thought in horror. He had seen Rhen in the headmaster's office, where she was being sickeningly sweet and thankful.
Rhen was studying at Shadwood with Lars. His slave was going to be taking classes to be a sword singer.
Lars liked to loudly express his opinion that sword singers were pansies. They just trot around with their sharp swords and they can cut almost anything they swing at if their cutlass is sharp. Meanwhile, sorcerers needed to refine their art in order to master sorcery. It was difficult, yes, but at least it wasn't anything that anybody could do for no reason. Anyone can just go ahead and pick up a knife and hack and slash at chickens and rats.
Lars happened to bump into Rhen one day. "Excuse me, slave, haven't you learned your manners yet?"
"I'm not your slave, Lars." She scowled at him. "I'm a free citizen and I do have manners, unlike you."
He started with something innocent. "So how is Shadwood for you, Peta?" Lars knew she hated the name that he'd given to her, thanks to Ylitta mentioning her puppy called Peta.
"It's great, Lars. How are you handling your green hair growing all over your body? Are you shaving well? Make sure not to leave any telltale hairs in the shower drains, young man!"
In the end, neither of them won, because they started a fistfight and people held Lars back before he could break Rhen's front teeth and leave her with a permanent lisp. They were forced into a small claustrophobia-inducing room and had to think of what they'd done and make up and accept the amazing powers of friendship.
Lars and Rhen obviously valued their pride much more than their freedom so they didn't speak to each other for a long time. Master Harald kept them in that wretched room for almost a whole week, although they were given food. The teenagers just stared at each other angrily and forcefully, waiting for one of them to break eye contact.
When they were let out the school had been flowing with rumors, and people kept saying Lars and Rhen were lovers fighting for custody over some fried chicken named Peta. There were reports of a planned assassination on Rhen by Lars' fan club, but it never happened. After all, the fans mustheed the wishes of their object of worship.
Author's Note: Hello, hi. I felt like rewriting the few chapters that I have of this fanfiction of mine. I'm a very slow updater and my bursts of inspiration don't happen often. And I am now in university so I shall update on my whims.
The story used to be in first person, but because I am easily disgusted by my creations, I changed everything to third person. I think it reads better.
I thank those who reviewed and followed this so long ago. You are beautiful people!