As a young boy, Sebastien hadn't really had a place. He was only a son set to play with the other children. They were often brave soldiers with sticks and bark for swords and shields, and he thought that maybe he'd be one of those when he grew up. His daddy was a strong soldier, after all, and he wanted to be just like his daddy.
That was the case up until his father's death. Life had taken on a whole new meaning. He had less and less time to play with his friends. He had to stay home and help his mother, deliver this or that. Food became more scarce. Life became pure survival.
In the latest stage of his life, he was just alone. All of the money he had came from his own effort. Blood, sweat and tears forged his path through life. He had still been a child, but completely misplaced in his generation. There was a disconnect between himself and the young men that danced at the bars. Casual conversation was simple, but meaningful relationships eluded him. He enjoyed the company of a pretty woman, but only for so long. Then he returned to work, to the older men who ordered him around, who didn't really give a damn if he wanted to be a soldier or a merchant or a trader like his boss. He was a body, not a peer. He was a thing to be worked until it bled, then worked some more. He was not even like the other men, because he had no friends and no family. He was accountable only to the head of the business and went home to a dusty hovel shared with just more people who didn't care.
It was different now.
His boss, though noble, had taken pity on him and taken a chance with him. Sebastien had been initially set to work unloading supply carts and winding rope. It had been a simple, physical job. He was good at it. The difference here was that the men patted him on the back and thanked him for his labor. They asked him for a particular tool, and they'd look him in the eye when he returned with it. It was the first time the young man had felt a part of something in a long time. The first time they'd called him "Seb" his face lit up. Nicknames were not given to the forgotten.
As his work continued on, young Sebastien began to express interest in the other facets of the business. He sat and watched trainers work to break wild animals, to teach them this or that required task. At night he would come out to visit the beasts, to pet and admire the more domesticated creatures and bask in the wonder of how a man could bring such a thing being. The Obans needed these trained animals for any number of reasons, from pets to farming to travel, and someone had to provide. Their clients would never understand the work that went into creating an ideal creature, one that worked without resistance and trusted the Oban race enough to continue in their training. It was difficult. It took time.
He needed to be a part of it.
Considering his lack of paid rent, it wasn't long after this decision that Sebastien had saved enough coin to purchase himself a whip. He didn't know how to use it, not yet. He had only watched his work-family utilize the weapon but never truly held one himself. The first night of practice as a miserable failure. The whip would not crack, some fling of the wrist was not precise enough, and so the next day he had sat on the fence and watched more closely. Night after night he practiced and trained, too proud to ask for help and too private to share his desires verbally.
The first crack of the whip was met with a triumphant yell in the darkness. Somewhere on the compound, a creature startled from sleep and hooted back.
It took two more days for Sebastien to gather the courage to show off his new skills. Where he was sometimes allowed to enter the pens and assist in herding, his tasks generally consisted of feeding and cleaning. This time a great beast trumpeted from within the fence-line, not quite domestic, not quite broken. One man stood at either end of the pen, meant to watch the other and make sure no one was trampled while they worked to train. Sebastien had hopped into the game unbidden and cracked his whip. The other men seemed nervous; what was the boy doing here? Something brought them to give him a chance, though. An extra set of hands was never a bad thing and Sebastien had often watched them working. He had observed body language and the sounds the trainers used in their work. He knew that he was risking his limbs, perhaps even his job to lend a hand, but when the work was done and the beast heralded back into its stable, one of the men approached:
"You could have gotten yourself killed, Seb."
Sebastien nodded. "But I didn't."
The man sighed. "I suppose not, but this business isn't something you can just jump into. You'll need training."
"I can't afford training."
It was the next day that the same man took Sebastien into the pens and began a sort of casual coursework. Although it never showed in his face, the young man was ecstatic. He enjoyed the work. He relished it. The sense of power one held over beasts was intoxicating. Some day, he thought, he could truly be something here.
That was all two years ago. Sebastien was now trusted to work alone with beasts of steadily increasing size. He was allowed to assist in the breaking of wild animals. Come the time for the army to mobilize, Sebastien had been chosen as one of the workers to follow with them and care for the creatures required for the various hardships of battle.
Certainly he was going somewhere, working toward a goal. His determination continues to this day. word count- 1029
Posted: Tue Dec 30, 2014 4:17 pm
Of Whips and Warmth.
The day had been particularly pleasant taking into account the midday visit from Naevius. It had been a nice little distraction to break up the monotony of his usual days caring for ungrateful little creatures that often tried to kick or headbutt him. Pack animals were often the hardest to deal with because you could train them to carry your stuff, but not to like you. He had his fluffy friends, of course. There were beasts he could pet and play with and sit and chat with, but without a whip it became more difficult to make the disinterested masses behave. Luckily he was not the only designated beast-keeper or trainer available so there were breaks and other Obans with the proper equipment.
It was after his friendly visit and a bit of grunt work that he received his next break, and by then the sun was setting. Soldiers wandered and mumbled during the day; there was still laughter, but it was interspersed with the sounds of clanking swords and officers' shouting. There was a feeling of wakefulness and hard work while the sun was up in the camp, as with anywhere else. When the sun was sinking, though, the training stopped. Weary travelers left their tents and traveled in practiced paths like ants. There were gatherings throughout the camp of friends and family, comrades and lovers. Sometimes they went to the same meeting spot and sometimes they had to seek each other out, but there was always companionship when night fell.
Sebastien didn't have many friends, though, and he certainly didn't have a lover. The soldiers were most often willing to accept a new face into their nightly escapades, but only when they were joyous. Some had lost loved ones in the battle and surrounding chaos and were less excited, and he couldn't blame them. He hadn't felt like dancing lately either... well, at least not until lately. He mostly left them be. On the other hand, his coworkers were glad to see him, but they existed in an odd stasis between "friend" and "stranger." They saw and spoke to Sebastien more than any other, but that didn't mean that they really knew him, never mind the fact that he was the baby amongst them. They weren't strangers either, and strangers were the easiest to get along with, to drink with, to dance with. There was less awkward silence.
He liked to think that he was a people-person. Really he enjoyed the company of others so long as it wasn't uncomfortable, and it took a lot to make him uncomfortable. Some days, though, he wondered. Sometimes he just felt like sitting alone and watching the stars or huddling in the corner of his tent with a warm drink. He had come close to the latter, retrieving his nightly booze from the nearest keg and retreating. Everyone was happy to be almost home. Good spirits flowed readily. This was an alone-time night, though, unless Naevius should decide to visit him again. He was feeling introspective, although not about anything in particular.
The young man ducked into his tent and plopped down on his bedroll, barely noticing his unfamiliar companion. He did a double-take, eying the wrapped bundle from the ground. Well what in the world was that? He highly doubted that it was going to explode or bite him considering its flat, vaguely-round shape, so he simply grabbed it by the side and dragged it over. Half of it unfolded, but the object itself was still obscured. What caught his attention was the slip of paper that now lay face-down by his side. Ah. At least whoever had left it had given an explanation as well. He crossed his legs and snatched the paper up to read its contents.
I know you said you couldn't accept it, but I also know that that doesn't mean you don't want it. Sebastien, this whip was made for you, I hope you keep it and use it. You've done so much for me, and I appreciate every bit of it.
Love, Naevius
All of a sudden it struck him what the package must contain and he smiled broadly. Had she really? He flipped the remaining half of the fabric over and saw that, yes, she had. At some point she must have sneaked into his tent to deliver it, for there lay the whip she had tried to give to him earlier. It really was a gorgeous weapon, and it handled so well. He picked it up to feet its weight again.
It had been made for him specifically, had it? He lifted the whip to eye-level and admired the handle.
So Naevius hadn't fought him in the moment, but she had made her decision. If she had gone through all of this work, how could he not keep it? To deny her gift would be like a cold shoulder and she was a good friend. The last thing he'd want to do was offend her, and it wasn't like a new whip was going to somehow be a detriment to his occupation.
The smile remained on his lips as he admired the handiwork of whatever man or woman had crafted such a whip. It was so well-maintained, but then Naevius would know what she was doing. She was bold, and looked to be a trainer just like him. There had been a great deal of bond formed with even that simple similarity, and they had moved from there. He was comfortable in the presence of this woman who by all social conventions had every right to kick him in the dirt and demand he bring her grapes. She was a noble, and not only that but his boss' daughter. By logic she was untouchable, and yet she came to visit him often and they shared in meaningful conversations. It was as if they were peers, even though he had once been assigned to protect her. It was a wonderful feeling to find with another person. In fact, he was feeling a little warm right now. It was a spreading feeling that traveled down each limb to the tips and tingled in his chest; it was new and unfamiliar but entirely welcome. Nobody had ever given Sebastien such a gift, nothing but food or drink to keep him alive or sate his hunger. This was one object he would hold dear for the rest of his life, he knew it, just as he would cherish Naevius.
He would have to thank her, although he wasn't certain how he could express his gratitude and the emotions the gift had caused to rise in him. Not now, though. He could not wander into the noble camp without being noticed, and nobody else should be involved in this, just him and his friend. Just him and Naevius. word count- 1142
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bobaTJ
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Posted: Tue Jun 16, 2015 6:35 pm
Taming the Beast.
It had been a trial of several days to even capture the wounded janarim, and then bringing him back to the compound had been a struggle in and of itself. The beast was reasonably unreasonable at being led by the neck an Sebastien found himself struggling at times against a weight he could barely manage. In the end, though, they had been able to find their way home.
It wasn't quite usual for Tamers to return with creatures meant for personal use, but Sebastien had been able to convince one of the higher-ups that it would benefit his experience, having never been fully in charge of the breaking of a janarim. He didn't share that this was a carnivore particularly disinterested in killing Earthlings or anything like it, or that its wound was his main concern. Either way, Latti was nursing kittens and knew better than to run into or even through a strange animal's pen.
Sebastien couldn't quite decide of the wound inflicted to the sickly janarim had been by a blade or another creature's claw. It could have been either. Had the thing that inflicted it survived? If it had been a fair battle, certainly the creature now dubbed "Adaman," would have had more wounds. Maybe it was just a failed battle, then. He hoped the other had run rather than fell, but wild creatures did what came naturally to them and he knew Adaman had not been raised vegetarian.
Adaman had not much liked the muzzle, but he was only able to wriggle and flail his head once it had been put on. He was weakened by blood loss and beginning infection, and that was why Sebastien had made his way to a healer's shop with some spending money to retrieve some salves and potions. Hopefully a janarim could be healed by the same magic as an Oban because he was certain he couldn't get a home visit by any practicing healer. The poor woman (or man) would undoubtedly head for the hills at the sight of a rumbling janarim. So he had made up his story; his brother had been wounded tending the animals and has a bit of an infection. He described the wound and the blackened flesh and went home with what he hoped was enough product to keep Adaman healthy. It'd be a darn shame if he lost the beast he had become so fond of in recent weeks.
It had begun in a less than friendly way. Adaman would rumble and twitch and try to escape or bite when Sebastien cleaned the wound or applied poultice or bandaged him up. After the twelfth day, though, the beast was wandering his pen more confidently and simply watched as his master assisted. Was he aware somehow that Sebastien was helping him? Adaman was definitely growing stronger, and Sebastien worried of he wouldn't become more aggressive at the peak of health. Day in and day out, though, the beast barely rumbled his dissent as if he were obligated to do so rather than in actual interest.
Training was more of an exercise than a breaking... mostly, anyway. When it was Sebastian alone in the pen Adaman listened fairly well. He had to learn what each word and cue meant and sometimes grew aggravated when he didn't understand, but it was easier than any wild janarim Sebastien had met on the compound. They said they were near impossible to break and truthfully most ended up back in the wild, but there was something different about this one. Sebastien assumed that they had been building trust during Adaman's healing, after the initial meeting during which he had spared the Oban's life. Strangers were still a bit of a problem, though. Adaman would rush toward them as if to attack and Sebastien was glad for the muzzle at those times. He scolded the janarim each time, and when it didn't seem to be helping he began taking Adaman on walks like an anxious quhar. It must have looked ridiculous, a young man like him walking with a harnessed and muzzled janarim. It was another week or two before the muzzle came off. Adaman still wasn't very pleased when new people approached his pen, but instead of trying to attack he began to pace, and would eventually allow them to come near. He began to accept pats to the neck and unwounded side as affectionate. He walked where led, came when called, and began to understand basic commands.
- - -
Sebastien approached the pen with a smile and ordered Adaman to stay back. He was able to enter without a face full of janarim and approached the beast at his own will, hugging him around his muscular neck an receiving an affectionate whuffle to the shoulder in return. He rounded the creature and inspected his wound, no longer blackened or festering. In fact, it was healing rather nicely. The janarim would undoubtedly live with a rather large scar but it didn't seem to impede his movement at all, so who cared? He patted the beast's flank and pulled out a harness.
"Alright, this is the fun part," Sebastien said sarcastically, "Let's see if we can make you a riding janarim." Would he ever see battle? The Oban hoped not, but having a good mount never went unappreciated on errands, and it being a janarim certainly spoke well for the king's compound and its staff. He put the harness around Adaman's face, kept hold of the rope, and climbed up. Adaman immediately began jogging, half trying to dislodge his rider and half trying to escape the unfamiliar sensation. Sebastien grinned, holding on tight and patting the janarim's neck. "It's okay, boy, it's okay," he said soothingly, as one might to a frightened xaraan. Adaman bucked once, shook himself hard, and pulled at the reins, but Sebastien wasn't going to give up tat easily. Adaman was his pet project...maybe even just his pet by this point, and he knew that, given time, his bestial buddy would grow used to even being ridden. word count- 1013
Posted: Fri Apr 29, 2016 1:09 pm
The Wrong Delivery.
It was four days’ travel to the drop-off location, at the mercy of the deserts of Oba. Sebastien had grown up here, of course, but extended exposure never made for a happy person. He looked like a nomad with a scarf wrapped around his head to help prevent sun stroke, although it did very little to keep the sun or the sand out of his eyes. That wasn’t bad enough, though. No. It wasn’t even bad enough that he was headed back toward his old stomping grounds—it was the very last place he wanted to be seen, considering the destitution of his youth. No, he was also on assignment with two young xaraan. They were sturdy, strong-willed creatures and while one was quite content to obey, the other had a habit of getting distracted and determinedly rushing off toward something shiny, fast, and/or tasty. It also seemed to have a certain dislike for Adaman, the janarim on which Sebastien rode. Adaman couldn’t care less about the feathery things, not while he was being fed and cared-for. He was a well-trained little man, if Sebastien could say so himself, but Xaraan Number Two didn’t seem to be all that used-to predators’ ambivalence. Sebastien doubted that Number Two had been hatched and hand-raised as had Number One.
Pit stops were frequent. Any oasis was taken advantage of and each settlement meant another few hours’ rest for the traveling crew. Sebastien, of course, had to sleep in the stables or near the posts his charges were tied to, but that was nothing new, just something he hadn’t done in a while. He didn’t mind it. The rest was the least irritating part of this journey, even if he had long since ranked out of stable boy status. He’d had to convince himself that Naevius would be too busy to entertain him over this week because thinking she might be idle without him caused a little pang in his heart. She was often taken up in the business aspects of the compound while he worked odd hours on the physical facets. Their treks out for training were some of the best days lately, aside from those times when Naevius’ kind handmaiden, Varinia, allowed them some private time inside the manor itself. Nothing untoward had occurred, of course, save a few kisses here and there, but it was still a brilliant way to spend an evening.
When he did finally see the manor rising up the street, his blood ran cold. He knew this place. He had done odd jobs for the master of the ranch as a young boy when he’d needed every spare penny he could get. How odd to go from the place you had risen highest back to serve the place you had lived your lowest. He swallowed hard and Number One ruffled its feathers and cooed.
“Oh, you feel it too?” he asked the beast, ”This is your new home.” Hopefully the owner had retired and handed the business over to his son or daughter or someone entirely unrelated…
Sebastien ordered Adaman to remain by the road and approached the door, rapping strongly. The sooner he could get in and out of here, the better. He shifted uncomfortably and tugged at Number Two’s reins as it tried to investigate a hole in the ground nearby. Sebastien sighed. It was fine. He’d be fine.
The man who answered the door was all too familiar. He was a little older, a little more wrinkled, his eyes a little more wise, but there was no doubt in the beast charmer’s mind that this was the same man he had worked for in the past. He was a wealthy man and dressed as such in the finest textiles and jewels. Sebastien swallowed hard and offered a smile. ”Hello, Sir. I’ve come to deliver your order from the king’s ranch?” My, that still sounded mighty odd to say. He had known the man personally before he had become king and now he ran all of Oba. It was very, very odd.
“Ah, yes, thank you,” the rancher said, his lips turning up into a cordial smile. Thankfully, it didn’t seem as if the man remembered him. “Not that big beast out by the road, I hope?”
”Ah, no,” Sebastien replied, giving a polite chuckle, ”That’s my ride.”
“Ah, I see,” the rancher said. Sebastien reached into his bag and pulled out the order on stiff parchment, pinned to a thinned plank of wood. He offered it to the man and gave Number Two another tug, this time backward as it tried to enter the manor garden, presumably to peek in a window. He was a little startled by the rancher’s sudden question.
“Excuse me, young man, is this paperwork correct?” he asked, brow furrowing.
”I… yes, sir. I checked it myself before we headed out. Is there a problem?” The rancher had, after all, been very specific about the color and size of the specimens to be chosen, and a range of acceptable markings. It had taken quite some time to separate out the two best candidates by formal letters and vague descriptions alone. In the end they had chosen two emerald xaraan; both were a rather gorgeous emerald color. Number One boasted some pretty blue dappling by its eyes and Number Two had more complex teal patterning. Dread began to seep into Sebastien’s veins. Was one not perfect? Was he going to have to go back with even more vague descriptors and spend another week delivering stubborn creatures to unapologetic reminders of his past. He took the paper back from the rancher and studied it. ”Why, is something not to your liking?”
“Well, these xaraan are both listed as male,” the rancher said, taking on a defiant arm-fold and a bit of a glare. Sebastien suddenly wasn’t so sure the man didn’t recognize him.
”Uh… yes, Sir. I… I also checked that before we left, yes.”
“How in the world am I meant to breed two males?!”
Oh. Oh no. Sebastien hadn’t been a part of the actual order-taking process. If someone hadn’t taken down the proper genders… if someone had flubbed so badly as to waste four days of his time with the wrong damn animals. The charmer’s mouth fell open. It must have been one of the trainees, those good-for-nothing pieces of—No. No. Everyone made mistakes. Of course that didn’t make it any less annoying.
”I’m sorry, Sir. Someone must h—I.” Proper customer service meant taking care of the customer’s needs. A man’s honor involved not throwing the newbies under the bus. He sighed to steel himself and nodded. ”Yes, Sir. There appears to have been an error on our part. I’m very sorry.”
“I’d like to think you are! I spend all this time waiting for theses xaraan to start a new bloodline, and you bring me two males!”
”Sir, again, I’m very sorry. I’d be glad to go back and find you a fe--“ Glad to go back and get him a female, he nearly said. To go into the herd and specifically lift every feathery rear-end until he found a glistening emerald female. It was the last thing he wanted to do, of course, but it didn’t really seem as if he had the choice. He wasn’t going to lose a customer on Naevius’ report, not for the king who had taken him in and treated him so well.
Something was up, though. Something was wrong. The rancher had dropped his arms and was leaning forward. Sebastian instinctively looked toward Number Two, who was staring at the people walking by and then with some dread to Adaman, who was laying down in the dirt waiting patiently. The passers-by were giving him some berth, but he clearly hadn’t mauled anyone recently.
“Boy?” the rancher asked.
Sebastien arched a brow. ”Sir?” What in the world? The other man reached out and pulled down Sebastien’s hair covering, then let out a single bark of a laugh.
“Pardon me for being so forward, but have you any family in this area? Your face is so familiar. You almost look like a boy I knew. He was very young, alone with his mother…”
Oh, gods. Sebastien grimaced and nodded. ”Sir. Yes, Sir. That was me.” So what now? Was he going to demand a refund? Another courier? Blame his upbringing for the error he’d had nothing to do with? Ask again for someone to shovel his grounds of poo?
Much to the charmer’s surprise, no. The man reached out to shake his hand, and Sebastien switched Number Two’s reins to be able to shake it back.
“Well I’ll be! Working for the king now, are we? I’m glad to see you!”
What.
A smile spread across Sebastien’s face. What? …what? ”It’s good to see you too, Sir. I’m forever grateful for the assistance you selflessly gave for my family.” So… was he going to make some demeaning comment about still working with animals or about his mother’s passing?
“Oh, pff. ‘Assistance.’ Boy, you worked the hardest of half of my full-time hires and never complained. I’d hire you myself if I’d known where you’d gone off to!”
”Orrod, Sir.” Sebastien’s small smile had stretched into a grin. Really? Was this really happening? He had shoveled the man’s pens, he had painted his house, he had even shined his shoes on occasion and this was their reunion?! People in the streets had gossiped about him and his mother, and this man only had thanks to give? Sebastian actually laughed. ”And it was assistance, Sir. Not many people are willing to take on a boy for such good money. Besides, if it weren’t for you I might not have gone down this path.”
“This path? You’re still working the pens?”
”Well, in a way,” Sebastien replied, and he couldn’t resist a tiny prideful swell, ”I’m a Charmer. I trained that big brute out there.” He gestured to Adaman. ”I shovel less. I train more.”
“Ah, delightful!”
”I, uh… I’m a senior trainer! The king… I mean, the princess. She wants to be a Beast Tamer, and he’s assigned me the task of training her.”
“You surely have come up in the world, Boy. What was your name?”
”Sebastien, Sir. Then and still.”
“Well then, Sebastien. Why are you the one bringing me these beautiful beasts?”
Beautiful? Just a minute ago they had been completely wrong, and the noble’d seemed as ready to get into fisticuffs as any noble could.
”I do what I’m asked to do, Sir. Also I have my own mount, so I could get to you in better time than one of the newer trainers.”
“Good, good.”
”So, about the xaraan, Sir,” Sebastien said then, jiggling the critters’ reins. ”Is there one you’d prefer over the other? I’m sure I can find a good female upon my return, and I can bring her right back.”
The man waved his hand dismissively. “Pfah. And have you come all this way to go back for one piddling creature? It must have taken days. I’ll take them both, and have your men send me two females to match. They’ll make a glorious brood.”
”Sir! I… thank you! Sir!”
“You handled it well, Boy. I would have been as angry as a hungry janarim. I know I’m no easy customer.”
Sebastien just chuckled and handed the papers back, watching in disbelief as the man actually signed off on the incorrect order and motioned to the side fence. It had been updated since, probably a few times, but it still struck familiar. He might have danced through the gate with this old friend if he wasn’t so determined to remain professional. He let the xaraan into the male pen and watched the others come to check them out. Number Two ran off to investigate the others, but Number One stayed nearby. Sebastien gave him a good pet and a pat on the rump. ”Go on, boy. You’ll like it here.” It was always nice to know the animals you delivered were going to be living a good life. He turned then to the noble once more and offered his hand. They shook hands and exchanged grins.
”I’ll see you in about a week, Sir. I’ll be right back with some pretty girls just for you.”
“Oh, I’m too old for pretty girls,” the man teased, “just the xaraan are fine.”
”Two females, Sir. Yes.”
The two parted happily and Sebastien was almost gleeful to hop onto Adaman’s back and head back for home. That had gone better than he had ever imagined!
Seven days later, Sebastien had returned with two glistening female xaraan, politely refused an offer to come in for tea, and received a tip on top of the fee for the two female beasts. When he finally came home for good, it was with pride. Even if he lived in a back room on the compound, he had come a good long way, and there was no reason to hide it. Progress from nothing was nothing to be ashamed of.
Sebastien has learned through this experience that he should not be ashamed to have come from where he has (essentially nothing and nowhere) and that those above him may not necessarily hold his status against him. He had earned some real pride outside of the arrogant front he'd developed to protect himself. His walls have become thinner. He feels as if he has truly done something with his life now and, on the lesser side, learned that professional conduct is the best way to go and that connections are something to keep tabs on. All of this will be very important for his future plots. >D
