Gallows of Transgression (ON HIATUS)

n i n e

Remi knew it. She covered her mouth with her hand, chuckling quietly to herself. Killure's eyes snapped to hers in confusion, clearly not understanding what was going on.

"Soren is a model—of sorts," Remi explained for his benefit, glancing at her cousin and shaking her head at his antics with a smile. "He poses while artists paint or draw him, and his pictures usually sell for quite a high price. And while he can't paint or draw to save his life, he is quite the model, and can scout someone suited to the same line of work from a mile away. I'd say that at least half of the models under his manager have been recruited by Soren."

Soren turned towards her, as one track mined as ever. "I know he's not your slave anymore, but can I have him drawn?"

Due to Shaam's connections with the Dome—a distant island that supplied the rich with unheard of technology, shrouded in a veil of mystery—Soren was the one that got Remi a very specific slave chip, the very one she used to fry the hold Killure's identical slave chip had on him. Though Killure was no longer her slave, he had been one for many years—first, as a gladiator and later working for Madam Lementine before being sold to Remi—and wasn't used to being free. He had left her for a while right after being freed from his life as a slave, but eventually came back, showing that he cared for her by choosing to stay by her side out of his own free will. For a while, Remi had thought that he might only be staying around because he had nowhere else to go and wasn't sure how to go about creating a new life for himself. However, he'd shown time and time again that this was the life he wanted, no matter how dangerous it might become.

Remi grinned and raised her eyebrows at her cousin. "That's a question he can answer for himself."

Soren jutted out his bottom lip, pouting at her dramatically. "But he'll say no if I ask him! If you ask him, he might reconsider."

Killure cleared his throat loudly, scowling as he crossed his arms. "I'm standing right here and can hear you both as clear as day."

Shaam cut in suddenly, clearly not over brooding. "And I'm standing here as well, waiting to get on with our business!"

Soren ignored his father entirely, leaning back against the wall and wincing slightly at the Icix. "Then, your answer?"

Killure pressed his lips into a thin line. "No. And that's the answer I would give to anyone who asked, no matter who they were. I'm not a specimen to be put on display."

Remi went over to Killure and took his clawed hand in her own, squeezing it comfortingly and leaning into his side. "Okay, Sor, enough teasing him. We've all been through a lot today."

Soren pursed his lips, though he didn't seem overly saddened by Killure's refusal. "Fine! But at least come in and see my most recent piece. Perhaps its magnificence will change your mind."

"You mean my most recent piece?" a light, feminine voice called out from the room. A young girl stepped out from within, perhaps only fourteen or fifteen years old, with paint splatters and smudges dried on her hands and staining her fingertips. She was dressed in an elaborate, baby blue dress fringed with frilly, white lace, with a sparkling bodice that was embedded with gorgeous sapphire, lapis lazuli, and aquamarine gemstones. The dress was long, nearly reaching her ankles, and a giant, matching bow was tied in her golden hair, complimenting the ringlets that fell down around the delicate features of her face.

The girl tightened the wide, royal blue sash tied around her waist, then looked back up at them with a sharp smile that didn't quite look entirely friendly. "Come on in and see," she invited, backing up against the open door and gesturing for them to walk in with the sweep of her arm. The sleeve of her dress, wide and flared until becoming cinched at her wrist, which she had pushed up her arm to avoid getting paint on it, billowed with the motion.