Koganusan stared across the table, into the Lanista's eyes. She was aware that this was a fight she'd lose. Even her calculated mercantile stare was having little effect against the hook-nosed human. Humans were tough nuts to crack, even to dwarves. Elves were quick and dextrous, beastmen and orcs were untamed and ferocious, dwarves were resourceful and smart, but nothing beat a human in sheer dogged endurance and persistance. They could run without stopping for days. Anything done by human hands was done efficiently and repetitively, to a degree of skill no other race could hope to manage. The man in front of her, clasping his hands in front of his face and giving her the silent treatment was starting to make her nervous. It didn't help that her stumpy little feet were dangling from the human-sized seat. Nobody could look menacing or formidable with swinging feet. His mouth moved, and it took a long time before she notice he was talking.
"I'm a busy man, so i'd like to make this quick. You say you're looking for a down payment, is this correct?"
"Y-yes sir."
"A lump sum?"
"As i said, sir."
"And in exchange, you'll...? "
"Enter contractual slavery, sir. I do believe that's a custom around these parts?"
"The Nexum contract, certainly. I'm afraid my current rate is some thirty thousand dinars, but you will remain my jurusdiction until you earn me double that. Based on current going rates, especially considering how my business is going, this would keep you with me for some... five years?"
"I don't mind, sir."
"And you're okay with that?"
She nodded. The man uncrossed his legs. A resolute thunk sound as his peg leg hit the stone floor. He pushed himself up from the desk with both palms, and handed her a thick scroll of parchment. She took it, and unrolled it - The professional way, too. She knew her way around the written word. She held the stylus and dipped it in the inkpot in one fluid motion, and signed at the bottom in one fluid motion. A far cry from the Lanista's usual clientèle, who usually signed with an x. He took the stylus from her hand and curled the parchment back into it's tube. He'd file it with the others later. That was it, as much as he was concerned. But he decided to relieve his curiosity.
"Miss Hawlaestic-"
"My mother was Miss Hawlaestic. Please, call me Cog."
"Very well... Cog. I understand you've just came from the mountains, and-"
"Really sir? What gave it away?"
"Your chin. And more accurately, the fact that I can view it. I must say, if it weren't for your statement to my secretarium, i would not have guessed you for a dwarf at all."
If she was hurt by this accusation, she didn't show it. Best not to bite the hand that fed you.
"I understand, sir. I gather that braids are the fashion around these heights. I'm afraid that where I come from, beards are considered something too, mmm, important to leave up to nature. We use wigs. I had to sell mine for safe passage here, as a matter of fact."
"Is that so?"
"Yessir. I'm afraid I had to up sticks rather quickly, erm, due to unusual circumstances."
"You aren't a wanted dwarf, by any chance?"
"Of course not, sir!" She lied. "...but it would be fair to say that i'm not exactly welcome in the old country."
"As I thought. Believe me, you won't be the first nor the last. But i must ask that you keep your personal and professional life separate."
"I don't believe that will be a problem."
"I see. Now, get yourself to the barracks. I assume some of my men will be along to handle... things." He waved a hand, dismissively. "Clothes and beds, training, and so on. Is there anything else?"
"No sir, thank you sir!"
She jumped off the high chair and bowed, graciously, walking backwards. She bumped into the doorframe, bur recovered and slipped out of his slight.
---
The dwarf stood at the back of the line, at one end, blinking the sand out of her eyes. To dwarves, that wasn't a metaphor. She'd slept with her eyes open in the darkness, and every morning when she woke, her thick and bushy eyelashes were coated with the dust and spackle of sand and grit, which took several minutes of high-maintenance eye-digging to remove. She barely caught the exchanges that passed somewhere to the right on her, even though she managed to get the gist of it. Her lord master had come down here, and rattled off a series of demands, nothing she hadn't already heard. After he'd left, people started talking. It was far too early in the morning to be talking. She'd had enough of that last night, with the tall human she'd been fighting with. He thought himself clever by jumping and leaping out of the way of her sword swipes, and she'd brought him down with a tackle and sat on his chest watching his ribcage slowly crack under the strain. It'd been pretty fun, in a turning-tortoises-upside-down-to-see-them-struggle kind of way. She'd taken the time back then to look around at her compatriots. Or at least the ones who weren't bright blue and gasping under her feet.
A few had caught her attention. Chief amongst them was the bear, who had appeared to be halfway through a nice meal of raw Scorplion. An elf in one corner (A round building, but you get the idea) had been knee-deep in python guts, and an Orc at the far end had been trying to shake boarbrains off of a wooden sword. All the blood and guts everyone else was fun trying to spill all over the place, and here she was with a miserable man-animal she wasn't even allowed to kill. She remembered getting a little bit pissed about that.
She fished the last of the silicates out of her sclera, and blinked in the dirty brown light. Some people were talking, now that the master had been and gone. Even in her half-asleep state, she caught a few words. "Secure our freedom." "Unite." and similar. Sounded like socialist rebel talk. She held no truck with them. Don't bite the hand that feeds you. (Translated from the original dwarfish: Don't knock over the mineshaft supports. It sounds a whole lot better in dwarfish.) She kept her mouth shut, contributing nothing to the bunch of dissidents who suddenly came over all nervous to argue against the elf. She took the time to memorize his skin discolouration. Maybe if she reported him to the Lanista, she'd get some sort of reward. On top of the already sizable reward she was getting just for being here, of course.
Mixtape Ghost N