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Awry (Vulgmaster X Ishu)

V

Vulgmaster

Moon
Joined
Jul 20, 2010
Tristan was ambling down the street, he had just been fired...Again. He simply couldn't understand it, he was a capable worker both at hard labor (he'd had six different construction jobs so far) and with papers (he was a paralegal for a little while) even with people (he'd had a job as a nurse's aid at a hospital for a whole month). But every time there were cuts to be had it was Tristan who would get the boot. It wasn't that he wasn't likeable he was a nice enough guy, and good looking to boot; standing at 6'4" with lean muscle gained from his odd labor jobs, dark hair and eyes, a fine jawline (without being too pronounced) he couldn't puzzle out why he always got the short end of the stick.

This time now was especially bad for Tristan, he had inherited his Grandfather's estate, a large darkwood, three story house at the edge of the city. It would have been nice to get some money too, but his Grandfather had specifically put it into his will the the money he had left go to paying the bills until such a time as the money ran out. Which of course would be in no less than two years. Greeeat Thought Tristan I'll have a roof over my head while I starve to death with no job.

He had already considered stealing money, mugging people, or robbing jewelry stores, but it seemed so high risk he couldn't bring up the nerve to do it. Instead, for now, he was walking back to his Grandfather's place. He had a car, a black '66 Ford Anglia (another gift from his Grandfather for when he'd turned sixteen almost nine years ago now) it was kind of beat up, but it got him from 'A' to 'B' when he couldn't just walk there.

This time, Tristan decided to take a short cut through one of the fancier neighborhoods, where lived the rich people in the country.
 
It was early in the afternoon and, with the windows open, the sun was able to shine in without glinting against glass and causing a glare as she worked on scrubbing the floor with a sponge and warm, soapy water. She wiped the top of her wrist across her pale forehead, light blue eyes looked drained bu persistent. This was her job- cleaning the house from top to bottom; which even included the ceilings. The family was out, as far as she knew, and she was tasked with sweeping, mopping, scrubbing and eventually waxing all of the floors in the house. There were no carpets, only the occasional decorative rug. The floors were, for the most part, made of marble or other expensive flooring materials. She had to take great care not to scratch anything and, because of this, she was barefoot.

Her outfit looked similar to that of a waitress; short sleeved with the bottom of the dress cut off just above the knees. Normally, she would be wearing stockings of some kind with none-slip shoes but she removed them and folded them into the corner of the room to keep dry. Even though she wore an apron over her dress, it was not enough to keep her from getting a little bit wet. Her hair was pulled back, long locks of white hair. It looked as if it had been dyed blonde but not kept up very well. Without looking up, she continued to scrub that section of the floor until she heard a tumbling sound end and a beeper go off. The girl stood up and leaned down by a bucket of warm water to drop the sponge into it.

After wiping her hands dry on her apron, she hurried through the kitchen and into the laundry room. The machine popped open when she touched it and she stuffed her arms inside, grabbing a massive pile of sopping wet clothes and staggering out to the door near the open windows. With difficulty, she was able to open the door without dropping anything and carefully moved down the steps and into the grass. The house was set higher up that the street and sidewalk below, the tops of the hedged wall unable to cover the view of the side of the house. She dropped the clothes into a basket on the ground and started to hang them up by clothespins on a long string. Normally, she would use the dryer for clothes but these ones were not handled well by machines and, as they did not belong to the head of the household, dry cleaning was not a demand to be met.
 
As he walked seeing all the wealth in the houses around him, Tristan felt envy surge. He hated them for having what he had never known. They had so much and he had so little, how was it that they couldn't spare even just a little. He wasn't specifically thinking of a handout, but wondering how it was that he couldn't get any kind of job; surely people this rich needed someone to do SOMETHING for them. He sighed and continued walking, glaring at the houses.

His mind began to wander, I bet you could take a million from most of these people and they wouldn't even notice. They probably wouldn't even count it as a loss. He scowled, something he didn't usually do, it didn't look natural on his face. Then his face brightened If I could find a way to get into one of these houses I could probably get my hands on something that would sell for a lot, they might not even notice it was missing! But, he frowned suddenly I bet they have all sorts of fancy high security systems to keep people out though. (Someone looking at his face would probably think that he was having a fit)

As he mused he passed a house with all the windows open, and looked up with a gasp. This was his chance! He took off running, careened down the street in an effort to get to his Grandfather's house, he could get his car and come back then load up on SOMETHING and take off before anyone noticed! He might not end up rich, but at least he'd have enough money to eat for a little while.

Reaching his house, he dove into the car, started it up and drove back to the house, parking just around the corner from it, in view of one of it's windows. He sat for a while making sure no one was watching. The kids would probably be in school and the Families should be at work, he might be spotted by a maid or butler but he hardly thought about that in his excitement.
 
The window overlooked the grassy side-yard where the clothing line stood, a long wire reaching from one pole to the other. A young woman was standing outside, adding more clothes to the line so they could dry under the sun. Their positioning was meticulous, each garment placed so it could dry straight and, hopefully, without wrinkles. Without wringing any of the material she gave them a light swing in the air, water droplets splattering onto her legs and apron, and hung each piece from the wire with wooden clothespins.

The door to the kitchen was open as she had to come back and forth. The hedges were tall and solid but there was a gate set so you could open it and walk right up the stone path to the backdoor and into the house. There was no way he would be able to pass her without her noticing.
 
Tristan crept around the house, trying to plan out how to do this and get away with it; he could feel his resolve slipping; if he didn't go for it soon he was never going to do it...
 
The rest of the three story house had been completely shut off, though another window had been left open on the second floor. The room was a bathroom that she had waxed earlier and had hoped would dry faster if she let the cool breeze work on it for an hour or two. The girl finished filling up the first line and moved to the second one, carrying to basket a few feet to get there and setting it down at her feet. She continued the meticulous assembly of clothing, keeping completely quite the whole time.
 
Tristan walked around the back of the house and glimpsed someone there hanging clothes. He didn't get a good look at the girl, because he immediately stumbled back and began running.
There are still people in this fucking house!! His thoughts screamed out as he pelted down the sidewalk to his car. He was going to have to find another way to make money, it seemed.



A few hours passed after Tristan left, and a Rolls-Royce Phantom (drophead coupe for those interested) pulled up.
 
After she'd finished hanging up all of the wet clothes, she left the basket outside and went into the kitchen. She finished scrubbing the floor down with the sponge and kept the window open to dry it. Once it had dried, she spent about twenty minutes applying and cleaning stripper from the floor until it was ready to be waxed. This process was the most difficult as she had to apply multiple layers to get the right sheen her owner, master, er, boss wanted. It took her almost two hours to complete, the kitchen now dazzling and ready for... anything.

The undeniable sound of the familiar vehicle that belonged to the young master of the house purred up the driveway and around the house to a nice garage. She automatically felt uncomfortable and moved to the corner, quickly putting her stockings and none-slip flat back on before he entered the household. She also made it a point to get him a drink and a snack, a bottle of water and a small bowl of grapes set on a small platter. The girl, the housemaid, hurried over to the backdoor where he would come in and waited for him.
 
Galad strode arrogantly into his house, he could easily see that the floor had been freshly waxed, good. He snickered as he ground the toe of his italian leather shoe into the floor leaving an ugly black scuff mark.
"GIRL!" He called, he knew her name but never bothered using it, "GIRL, why have you left my father's house a mess like this! Don't you care? We keep you here, in clothes, with food on your plate, instead of out in the street, the least you could do are some minor chores!" Galad always raged like this, today he was in a particularly good mood, or he might have actually destroyed something.

He watched with a gleam in his green eyes as she came running to his call.
 
She was late catching him at the door and, once close enough, she immediately bowed her head and shoulders to him, raising the plate above her head as if to signify that she was below anything he could possibly need. She was upset by the fact that he had destroyed the floor meaning she would have to redo the processes all over again. But the housemaid did not dare complain as it was not her place. She remained in the rigid position, eyes shut tight as she waited and hoped he would take the platter and leave her to restart her work, which had taken her quite a few hours to complete.
 
Galad sneered down at the girl, or maybe he just looked it was hard to tell because he was almost always sneering at something, and grabbed a grape. He popped it into his mouth and chewed, then quickly spit it back out at her. The chewed grape splattered on the back of the girl's head. "What the FUCK do you mean by giving me grapes with seeds in them!?!" He screamed at her, pulling his hand back.
"You dumb bitch!" Galad yelled as his hand struck her across the arms causing her to drop the plate. "And NOW you've gone and made a fucking mess again!!" Spittle was flying from his lips, he truly enjoyed losing control, knowing there was nothing the girl could or would do about it.
 
The girl kept her mouth shut so as to make sure not to make a sound. She'd started trembling and looked down at the mess, then to him. She didn't know if he wanted her to stay still or to start cleaning up the mess- she was at a total loss. The housemaid quickly moved to the floor, picking up the mess and collecting it onto the platter as fast as she could before he decided to kick her around or anything equally or more deeply humiliating. She hurried up to her feet, tripping over herself a bit, and ran back into the kitchen to dispose of the mess.
 
Galad chuckled as he watched her fleeing before him, then calmly strode into the living room; depositing himself on the couch he roared, "TELEVISION!" truly uncaring if the girl had anything else she needed to do.
 
She hurried in the kitchen, scrambling as he yelled another command at her. She dumped the grapes and quickly cleaned the platter, setting it to dry. She put the water bottle into the fridge and grabbed a cold ginger ale, quickly removing the metal cap with an opener on the counter, placing it onto a thick, wooden coaster and hurrying out to him. The maid bowed her head and torso to him, displaying the fresh drink to him before setting it down on the lamp table beside him. Without a word, she hastily scurried over to the massive Tv set up toward the ceiling of the room. A thin finger reached up and tensed as even she struggled to reach it. She was a few inches taller than Galad and even on her tip toes she had troubling touching the-

The TV turned on, blasting a Russian commercial about tall, lean men with ridiculous muscle mass. there were wearing swimming shorts, the short kind that hugged their skin too tight, and had bottled beer in the hands with hot, tan blondes lounging against their sides and being held with another strong arm. She blinked up at the commercial, feet flat on the ground, and she watched it. Russian was close to the language of the country they resided in; Ukraine. She wanted to make sure she could translate the commercial properly, not minding the obvious ads. It wasn't until the men flexed an arm around their women and the women gasped, giggling, that her eyes slowly widened. He... absolutely hated this commercial.
 
Galad was up as soon as he saw the commercial. By the time she realized it, he was already behind her. He punched the back of her head causing her to slam into the entertainment center, then using his hands both to keep her up and choke her he started yelling, "CHANGE THE FUCKING CHANNEL CHANGEITCHANGIT!!!!!!" With each word, his meaty hands around her neck shook her.

Galad hated this commercial, a bunch of muscle bound Tall pretty boys; he would never admit it to himself or anyone else, but he was jealous. Standing at 5'4" weighing 170lbs he would never be in a commercial like that. That's not to say Galad was fat, being able to afford a personal trainer kept that at bay, but a stout body like his would never be as defined, as cut, as those models on the television.
 
She felt the blunt force against the back of her head and she gasped, raising her hands up toward the spot as she started to fall over. She didn't make i to the ground, large fingers wrapping around her neck and choking her. She wheeze and panicked, fingers lightly clawing at his hands as she struggled. His voice finally made sense to her as she came to a brief lucid moment. She stood on her tiptoes and waved her hands across the tv, pressing all of the buttons she could until the channel changed to a news report.
 
Galad threw her roughly to the ground, "Useless thing." He growled.
Still, seeing her sprawled on the floor, he couldn't help but notice how exposed her legs were, and he could just see her panties peeking out from under her dress.
But, he was still to angry, and opted instead to lay on the couch and watch the news.
"Go do something useful, you revolting thing. And crawl out, I don't want you to block the T.V." He added the last with a smile as he leered at her backside slinking out of the room.
 
She coughed on the ground, propping herself up with an elbow as she touched at her red throat. She swallowed, using her saliva to lubricate the rough inside that led down to her stomach. She didn't look up at him and did as she was told, crawling out of the room and back into the kitchen. She spent about twenty minutes scrubbing out the scuff mark and, instead of redoing the entire floor, she focused on that one spot. When it was complete, she kept to the floor so as not to be noticed and started to crawl up the stairs to check on the second floor bathroom.
 
Quickly growing bored with the television, Galad left the room and went to the House's private gym to work out a bit, he was disappointed he hadn't been able to throw the girl a little farther.

Shortly thereafter, a second car pulled into the Driveway (A Porsche 918), And a tall, cool looking gentleman got out.
 
The housemaid stayed upstairs, putting the final touches on the bathroom floor when she heard another car come up the driveway. She looked out the window to see the man of the household step out of his car with his wife beside him.

She was tall for a woman with long brown hair and lightly tanned skin. She was wearing a skirt suit set and a nice coat over it. She was talking about something to her husband as she walked ahead of him and into the house, commenting on how nice the floors looked.
 
The man followed his wife into the house, "Yes, dear" He said in response to her comment about the floors. But before he took another step he noticed something. One spot seemed slightly different than the others, almost like it had been waxed at a different time, the two coats of wax only noticeable from the sheen of the sun coming in from the door.
"Go ahead and relax dear," He said as she continued up the door. He payed no attention to her slight hesitation as he remained in the foyer.
"Girl." He said in a clear and carrying voice as he cracked the knuckles of his smallest and ring fingers on his right hand.

He stood waiting for her to present herself to him. He was a tall, well built man, a stoic expression seemed imprinted upon his face, and long shiny white hair hung down just below his shoulders. He glared with cold, pale, blue eyes looking for anything else that was out of place.
 
The wife, Rui, reluctantly went upstairs to the third floor to change into something more comfortable... or just remove the large earrings clasping at her lobes.

The housemaid heard the man of the house calling for her and she hurried downstairs, coming to a stop at the edge of the kitchen, her back to the stairs and entertainment area where the TV continued to blare, and she bowed at him, not looking up or moving in the slightest.
 
Without a single flicker of emotion, the man quickly backhanded her. Glaring at the spot on the floor, as if it was an offensive smelling dead animal, he spoke coldly, "I expect you to clean this house, not throw insults in my face, Girl."
With those quick words he ignored her and climbed the stairs to change out of his suit.
 
She crumbled to the floor without a sound, the side of her face burning from the hit. The abuse she received from the two males in the family was not unheard of and it even happened rather often. A few days out of each week, she would be hit or yelled at. Today was a bit worse than usual but she wasn't even allowed to complain. She moved onto her knees, her shins flat against the floor, and she kept low until the master of the house went upstairs. Immediately, she got up and started the entire process over but this time she started the wax removal process first. She had wanted to avoid tainting their cooking area so they would be able to eat and cook without worry, but he wanted this to be redone and she was going to do it right.
 
Across town, Tristan was just putting down a bag of cement; the foreman had called him over. It didn't look good.
"I'm sorry boy," He said glumly, "I know I said we'd be able to keep you until the end of the week..."
"But this is my last day on the job, right?" Tristan finished for him. "Don't worry, I'll still do everything that needs doing." He reassured the man with a grin, "Not your fault there're cutbacks."

Inside, though, his mind was racing. I thought I'd have this for a whole other week. I'll never be able to afford to eat now! I'll have to go back to one of those houses as soon as I'm off the job; it might be wrong, but I won't starve while they live with plenty.

His resolve strengthened, he continued his job and planned what he would be doing later that night.
 
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