75 Godiva Road, Saturday Morning

[geniuswithasmartphone]

Noah often didn't want to get up in the mornings when that arrogant overseer, Cato, rang the bell calling the field hands to work. Being a blacksmith was easier than picking cotton--no worries about getting whipped if he didn't make weight, for one--but it was still long hours and hard work, making sure that all the horses were shoed and the tools repaired and every bit of metal on the plantation was bright and shining.

Waking up this morning was even harder. His bed felt soft, like a cloud, and his blankets like the gentlest cotton, wouldn't scratch a baby's naked ass. His sheets felt clean and crisp and the soft breathing from behind him--

Sheets?

Breathing?

Noah's eyes snapped open but he made himself lie perfectly still. Sure, last night had been one of Bareback Shaw's parties, but that didn't explain why he was asleep in one of the white folks' rooms! He didn't even wanna guess what kinda punishment that would entail if he was found here. Never mind the one he'd get for not being back in his quarters by sunup.

Another muffled noise behind him. Noah wasn't sure he wanted to look over and see who it was. He was praying that it would be another slave. Getting caught in a white woman's bed would result in something far worse than just more stripes on his back.

Maybe he could just...eeeeease on out of this bed and be out the door and on his way back to Macon before anyone was the wiser.

[For thems that live here! Also TRIGGER WARNING! Hardison is Noah from WGN's Underground and is a slave from 1850's Georgia. That means there will be references to slavery, beatings, lynchings, sexual assault and rape/coercion and pretty much every other horrible topic that comes up in conjunction with treating humans like chattel.]

Comments

[vdistinctive]

"Ain't a kidnapping either way," Eliot said. "I don't want you here anymore'n you wanna be here." He gave her a slow once over, then nodded once and moved to the dresser, putting the gun bits away -- in a lock box -- and pulling out a a cheap, old school flip phone. He tossed it over to her. "If you can't contact 'em, don't hold it against me. Fandom ain't likely to want you wandering off."

[whoisalicewhite]

What the hell did he mean, if she couldn't contact them?

She found out within minutes, calling Broots, Sydney, her father, the Center... and finding all of those numbers either out of order or belonging to someone else.

"NO! I do not want to know what your pizza special of the day is, you pinhead!" Miss Parker shouted as she paced. "I want to talk to the Director-- goddamnit. You are the cherry topping on the crap sundae of my day, kid, just forget it!"

She slammed the phone shut and threw it at the bed, pushing her hands through her hair and counting to ten. Could the phone be a trap, somehow? Could they be, God, somewhere out of phone service from regular-- no, that was stupid. Jesus, what was going on?

She stopped pacing to glare at Spencer again. "So. What happens now?"

Aside from noting where he put the pieces of her gun, yup.

[vdistinctive]

Eliot shrugged. "I was thinkin' I'd make breakfast."

[whoisalicewhite]

Annoyingly, her stomach took that moment to speak up in protest. Miss Parker grimaced. Then folded her arms. Sullenly.

"Coffee?"

Was vital to her ability to function, and might cut her hostility by a quarter.

[vdistinctive]

Eliot nodded. "Coffee," he agreed. "And maybe even some protein."