Zevran's Gift

[Nathaniel]

"I can demonstrate ballroom if you prefer, ma'am," he says, with a small bow. 

[Phoebe]

"Tell ya what, you show me some ballet, then we can do some ballroom together," the kitsune replies easily.

[Nathaniel]

Neither of his next two performances are quite so enrapturing as the pole dance. On stage, he pulls of a lovely triple pirouette, leaps as high as any female ballerina she's seen, and only the lack of toe shoes stops him demonstrating further. With her in his arms, he is attentive, tailoring his steps to match hers, making her feel doted on, cared for, safely held. But he doesn't engage in small talk, nor does the shadow quite leave his eyes when he meets hers. He is not the equal of the Madam, for all that he knows dance and the art of seduction. There's just something... missing.

[Phoebe]

Phoebe sighs a little as she lifts her head from Nathaniel's shoulder. Reaching out to gently cup his cheek, she smiles weakly. "You were hurt pretty bad, weren'cha sweetie?"

[Nathaniel]

"No ma'am. I always belonged to very kind masters." Well that probably answers that. 

[Phoebe]

"Oh sweetie," Phoebe says, eyes a bit wet. She leans up on her tip-toes to press a kiss on his forehead. "Well, you're in safe place now. Ain't nobody dumb enough to try and enslave one of Madame's Zevvy's."

[Nathaniel]

"And why is that?" Nathaniel asks, his voice dropping to a hint above a whisper. Mistress Isabela talked about him like he was different, too. I want to know what kind of man I am serving, so I can please him better.

[Phoebe]

The kitsune looks a bit surprised. "You don't know then? Zevvy was a slave. Pleasure slave, among some other even worse uses. Our own Champion, Sage zi'Hawke, was the one that freed him, oh, more than five years back I reckon."

[Nathaniel]

"He was?" Nathaniel looks surprised. "I was freed only recently. I... am not certain I approve."

[Phoebe]

"...ya mean that is was only recent, right?" she asks with a wince, knowing the answer, but hoping she's wrong despite herself.

[Nathaniel]

Nathaniel shakes his head. "I am what they call," and he here recites a term in a breathy language she might recognize Zevran as having spoken. His accent and dialect are different; his is less like a whispered prayer, more throaty, with higher pitched vowels. But it's recognizable as the same language. "I was born to a live of servitude, and I wear it with grace. Indeed, it is my natural state. Were I born free, I would likely have sought out bondage."

[Phoebe]

"Uhh... okay? That's... a bit much, I'd say, but I can't really speak much on the matter. Never been a slave mahself, and all that," Phoebe says slowly. Still though, I don't think I have to have been a slave to get the impression it's terrible. Poor guy's utterly fucked in the head... 

[Nathaniel]

He nods. "There are many who find servitude to be a hardship. I am not among them. I really, truly, desire to serve. To please."

[Phoebe]

"Wait a minute- are you trying to say you're submissive? 'cause that's fine! Totally not the same as slavery though." Phoebe nods firmly. Two of my best friends are subs, ain't nothing wrong with it.

[Nathaniel]

"Please, I do not know the meaning of this word?" he says, blinking.