Re: At the Picnic Table
“You seem very fond of them,” Alcuin took it as a good sign that the boy seemed so very content with his lot in life. It would not have boded well for him to have been purchased by a master that instilled fear and anxiety in their slaves and the boy demonstrated neither of these qualities. Perhaps the werewolves were not so ferocious as to savage their own slaves after all? Scott certainly didn't seem the type to hurt a fly if it could be helped, but he wouldn't dare presume the others were anything like his current master.
“I should have known,” he murmured softly, more to himself than to his companion. Things were beginning to make much more sense than they had previously about Scott. “You have been very kind to me, the both of you,” he explained. “Those born with power and privilege are not always so inclined.”
“I grew up with my –“ Alcuin chewed his lip briefly to keep from referring to them in more intimate terms than was appropriate and began again. He would need to get better about it over time. “I grew up in my masters' respective households. Master Rolande was frequently consumed with wanderlust, you see, but he mostly kept to his estate in France. I stayed with him for, oh, about six years before Master Anafiel shipped me across the pond when he... passed away.”