Post by Trevor Williams on Dec 14, 2010 16:30:03 GMT -8
29/07/2011
3:59 p.m.
It may have been over a month since Patrick, better known in these parts as Leo, had received his reprimand for somehow missing out on the fact slaves had been planning an escape, but it had only been a couple of hours since he'd had his value challenged yet again. After all, he had yet to report any useful information since two slaves had escaped the morning of Damien Noland's "execution" (or should he say escape?), but it wasn't his fault. Slaves weren't stupid. They knew better than to ramble on to just anyone about their plans, and while he had made a few friendships, people here seemed skittish or, at the very least, reluctant to spend too much time sitting about conversing. Who could blame them?
With great force, Patrick pushed the rag forward. He had spent the past couple of hours cleaning this foyer, and now was time to mop it. Why did he have to sign up for this blasted undercover position? No one knew about his real identity save for a select few, so he was treated just like everyone else with no real special treatment, and every failure on his part hit him hard, making him loathe his job and himself even more as the time ticked on by. He hardly knew who he was any longer. Once he'd been a respected healer in Mungo's, had been able to voice his thoughts and opinions, but now? Now, he was nothing but a slave despite the fact he wasn't truly one. He received the lashings if he didn't obey. He received the foul treatment, the name calling. And he couldn't do a damn thing about it.
Bringing the rag back towards him, Patrick sat back on his feet, bringing his hands up. His fingers were prune-ish, and his knuckles were bruised from scraping against the stone floor multiple times over the past couple hours. He was tired and moody. It was time for a nap, but he couldn't have one, could he? Of course not.