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Tellmi_Moore
Planetoid
- Joined
- Sep 7, 2011
- Location
- San Francisco
Flea was lingering too long at baths. She knew it, but luxuriated in the hot pool nontheless. Master would snap at her if he found out - IF he found out, she reminded herself. Periodically she finished her work far ahead of her estimates in order to give herself plausible deniablility for the time it took to transition between products. Still, the Prince wanted the new rifle by the end of the week. The water pump for the city garrison was waiting to be packed, there were a solid dozen pocket watches to be repaired and Master still wanted her to go through about a month's worth of scaveneged electronics parts.
Flea sighed and took another breath before easing herself under the water up to her eyes. She blew some bubbles before lowering herself completely under the water. Her blood-red hair was getting long, no longer short and spiky, it was long enough to tickle her ears as the water brushed it across the side of her face. She held her breath for as long as she was able before pursting out of the water with determination, standing and pulling her hairback. She stepped out of the hotpool and onto the cleanly brushed stone courtyard. The stones were cold under her bare feet, not having yet had time to bake in the morning sun. She shivered slightly in the cold morning air before unfolding one of the fluffy white towels and wrapping it around herself, drying off and using it to keep herself warm in the brisk morning air. Her brown leather dress, her boots and her belt were on a table next to another stack of towels.
The dress was a gift from Master: "Now that your 19, maybe you'll stop growing out of clothes so often," he had half joked while watching the leather-smith measuring her for it. In Flea's opinion it was her first truely adult garment, and the first to adequetly complement her adult figure. It was tight but not corsetted, so she could climb and run and stretch without having being too constricted. It had a fairly high neckline, and short sleeves, but it had a shapely bust area that she was proud of being able to fill out nicely. The skirt was short, pleated leather, and she loved the flow of it around her hips and upper thighs. The dress was the only garment she wore - the leather-smith had tried to sell her some silk panties he said his sister, a caravan mistress, had purchased in a far away land. Master has suggested she consider them as "that's what humans wear". Flea had told him, out of the leather-smith's hearing, "if I wear these they'll just get in the way, every time I pee I'll have to step out of these, without I just need to squat and spread my feet."
Flea had spent most of her life without clothes, and had practically been forced to wear the, when she was younger. She still didn't like to wear more than her dress. Shoes were something else she had to get used to. When she was twelve, and she and Master had moved to the city to live among other humans in a regular basis, Flea had already taken to wearing sandals from time to time. Now she had a sturdy pair of knee high black leather boots that had been a partial payment by the Garrison commander for work she had done on his personal rotary pistol. The boots were custom made for his daughter, but she had outgrown them. Flea was probably never going to get any taller than she was now, standing at a respectable, but not truly impressive, 5'4".
Flea finished lacing up the front of her dress, buckled her heavy leather belt, laden with tools and pouches. She carried her boots under her arm. She paid the bath house a week in advance out of her own money - it was a luxury few could afford, but Master's skill and knowledge of ancient technology was such that their services were in great demand by the city's elite, and coin was the least of their worries. The Prince and his advisers kept asking her to take on apprentices of her own, and Master had already consented to the idea when she felt ready, but she was worried about the idea of teaching others to do her job. Of allowing others into the private practice, the private world, that she and Master shared. To share her secrets and Master's knowledge with strangers? To show strangers how to salvage parts from the ancients? It wasn't something she was comfortable with, and her Master, bless him, understood, at least she guessed he did, because he didn't push her.
She walked down the cobble stone street barefoot. The city was old, but not as old as the ruins they salvaged for corrosion resistant and plastic tools to either use or recreate. After they had moved to the city, and had access to smiths who could recreate simple parts to build into larger machines, she wondered how they had ever gotten anything done.
The fishmongers and fruit sellers were already about and hocking their wears. She smiled pleasantly at them, her yellow eyes glittering in the early morning light. Most of the way to their house, a corner building of a city-block spanning warehouse they also owned, she saw a city sewer grate and squatted over it, one foot on the curb, one on the cobble stone street and relieved herself, peeing into the sewer. She didn't get privies - doing her business inside seemed so... disgusting. People in the country at least made little outhouses for doing their business. The idea of using an indoor privy was just gross as far as she was concerned. It was not the way Master had raised her. City people tended to look at her funny when she peed outside, and the City watch had cited her several times for doing more than peeing outside on the curb, so she had begrudgingly started to use the indoor privy, though she kept the window open to at least smell the park and gardens across the street from their house. If she closed her eyes it wasn't so bad. Of course, no one minded that Master did his business in the park across the street, but then, Master's status gave him certain privileges.
Wiping herself under her skirt with her hand, and wiping her hand on the curb in turn, vigorously, she stood up and hopped back on the sidewalk, jogged the rest of the way, trippingly, to their house. She ran her hands through the fountain's jets as soon as she reached the property proper, and then padded her way through the open doors and up the adobe stairs, her feet, now dirty of sole from the walk home, slapping against each step. On the second floor, in a room filled with pillows, many small, some gigantic. upon one such nest of gigantic pillows, piled high with several smaller ones, Master was sleeping.
Master was a great-hound, a little larger than a horse, a little smaller than a dyre wolf, his soft beautiful brown coat with black patches, his wedge shaped head and gigantic clawed paws. He was curled up, breathing steadily, his side expanding and contracting with each breath. She put her boots down gently, slipped out of her dress and belt and set them down equally gently, and crouches down to the ground. She crawled over to Master's nest of pillows and crawled into bed with him, moving up onto his side and nuzzling against his soft tummy, curling up beside him, running her fingers through his soft fur, taking handfulls of it and holding on to him. He was a solid, comforting constant in her life. She was in her earliest memories, the giant dog that protected her in the forest, that brought her meat and bread and fought off the monsters in the night. This close to him she could hear the thoughts that he transmitted in sleep, like a sleep talker. They were really little more than little growls of contentment and pleasure at his comfort and relaxation, but even when his words in her head were not speech, they were comfortingly familiar.
She sighed as she felt him coming to wakefullness, and was glad she could be here for him when he awoke.
Flea sighed and took another breath before easing herself under the water up to her eyes. She blew some bubbles before lowering herself completely under the water. Her blood-red hair was getting long, no longer short and spiky, it was long enough to tickle her ears as the water brushed it across the side of her face. She held her breath for as long as she was able before pursting out of the water with determination, standing and pulling her hairback. She stepped out of the hotpool and onto the cleanly brushed stone courtyard. The stones were cold under her bare feet, not having yet had time to bake in the morning sun. She shivered slightly in the cold morning air before unfolding one of the fluffy white towels and wrapping it around herself, drying off and using it to keep herself warm in the brisk morning air. Her brown leather dress, her boots and her belt were on a table next to another stack of towels.
The dress was a gift from Master: "Now that your 19, maybe you'll stop growing out of clothes so often," he had half joked while watching the leather-smith measuring her for it. In Flea's opinion it was her first truely adult garment, and the first to adequetly complement her adult figure. It was tight but not corsetted, so she could climb and run and stretch without having being too constricted. It had a fairly high neckline, and short sleeves, but it had a shapely bust area that she was proud of being able to fill out nicely. The skirt was short, pleated leather, and she loved the flow of it around her hips and upper thighs. The dress was the only garment she wore - the leather-smith had tried to sell her some silk panties he said his sister, a caravan mistress, had purchased in a far away land. Master has suggested she consider them as "that's what humans wear". Flea had told him, out of the leather-smith's hearing, "if I wear these they'll just get in the way, every time I pee I'll have to step out of these, without I just need to squat and spread my feet."
Flea had spent most of her life without clothes, and had practically been forced to wear the, when she was younger. She still didn't like to wear more than her dress. Shoes were something else she had to get used to. When she was twelve, and she and Master had moved to the city to live among other humans in a regular basis, Flea had already taken to wearing sandals from time to time. Now she had a sturdy pair of knee high black leather boots that had been a partial payment by the Garrison commander for work she had done on his personal rotary pistol. The boots were custom made for his daughter, but she had outgrown them. Flea was probably never going to get any taller than she was now, standing at a respectable, but not truly impressive, 5'4".
Flea finished lacing up the front of her dress, buckled her heavy leather belt, laden with tools and pouches. She carried her boots under her arm. She paid the bath house a week in advance out of her own money - it was a luxury few could afford, but Master's skill and knowledge of ancient technology was such that their services were in great demand by the city's elite, and coin was the least of their worries. The Prince and his advisers kept asking her to take on apprentices of her own, and Master had already consented to the idea when she felt ready, but she was worried about the idea of teaching others to do her job. Of allowing others into the private practice, the private world, that she and Master shared. To share her secrets and Master's knowledge with strangers? To show strangers how to salvage parts from the ancients? It wasn't something she was comfortable with, and her Master, bless him, understood, at least she guessed he did, because he didn't push her.
She walked down the cobble stone street barefoot. The city was old, but not as old as the ruins they salvaged for corrosion resistant and plastic tools to either use or recreate. After they had moved to the city, and had access to smiths who could recreate simple parts to build into larger machines, she wondered how they had ever gotten anything done.
The fishmongers and fruit sellers were already about and hocking their wears. She smiled pleasantly at them, her yellow eyes glittering in the early morning light. Most of the way to their house, a corner building of a city-block spanning warehouse they also owned, she saw a city sewer grate and squatted over it, one foot on the curb, one on the cobble stone street and relieved herself, peeing into the sewer. She didn't get privies - doing her business inside seemed so... disgusting. People in the country at least made little outhouses for doing their business. The idea of using an indoor privy was just gross as far as she was concerned. It was not the way Master had raised her. City people tended to look at her funny when she peed outside, and the City watch had cited her several times for doing more than peeing outside on the curb, so she had begrudgingly started to use the indoor privy, though she kept the window open to at least smell the park and gardens across the street from their house. If she closed her eyes it wasn't so bad. Of course, no one minded that Master did his business in the park across the street, but then, Master's status gave him certain privileges.
Wiping herself under her skirt with her hand, and wiping her hand on the curb in turn, vigorously, she stood up and hopped back on the sidewalk, jogged the rest of the way, trippingly, to their house. She ran her hands through the fountain's jets as soon as she reached the property proper, and then padded her way through the open doors and up the adobe stairs, her feet, now dirty of sole from the walk home, slapping against each step. On the second floor, in a room filled with pillows, many small, some gigantic. upon one such nest of gigantic pillows, piled high with several smaller ones, Master was sleeping.
Master was a great-hound, a little larger than a horse, a little smaller than a dyre wolf, his soft beautiful brown coat with black patches, his wedge shaped head and gigantic clawed paws. He was curled up, breathing steadily, his side expanding and contracting with each breath. She put her boots down gently, slipped out of her dress and belt and set them down equally gently, and crouches down to the ground. She crawled over to Master's nest of pillows and crawled into bed with him, moving up onto his side and nuzzling against his soft tummy, curling up beside him, running her fingers through his soft fur, taking handfulls of it and holding on to him. He was a solid, comforting constant in her life. She was in her earliest memories, the giant dog that protected her in the forest, that brought her meat and bread and fought off the monsters in the night. This close to him she could hear the thoughts that he transmitted in sleep, like a sleep talker. They were really little more than little growls of contentment and pleasure at his comfort and relaxation, but even when his words in her head were not speech, they were comfortingly familiar.
She sighed as she felt him coming to wakefullness, and was glad she could be here for him when he awoke.
