'Actual work' is apparently 'doing the laundry'.
Which, okay. Fine. I get that. It's a chore. It's necessary. It's not hard. But...
The laundry room is the size of a warehouse.
And there are no machines.
"There are no machines." I state, staring at the mountains of dirty clothes, linens, and other fabrics.
"Well, obviously." Llywelyn says, as if I'm being stupid. "We can't have machines do everything. What would be the point of having servants?" He picks up a basket, and starts sorting through the piles. "There's machines for the washing and drying, though. I suppose humans might not-"
"I know what a washer and dryer is." I cut him off, annoyed. "I'm just saying, this is a lot of laundry. For us to do by hand."
"We don't have to do everything, it's just a... way to quietly spend some work hours." He glances at me, and then shrugs. "Most chores are far more annoying. There's people. You have to talk to them. And sometimes they try to be friendly. Disgusting."
I roll my eyes, and walk over to a pile of clothes. It's... mostly robes, and dresses, and other fancy things. I pick up a silky robe, and run my fingers over it. It's smooth, and soft, and... expensive. I can't imagine wearing something like this. It's too... much. And yet, it's just laundry. It's just another piece of clothing to be cleaned, and folded, and put away.
"So we just... sort everything, and then put it in the baskets?" I frown, glancing over the baskets lined up along the walls. "Which ones?"
"Don't care." He says, not looking up from the shirt he carefully folds.
"Llywelyn."
He sighs and looks up. "The colors. Sort them by the colors. Someone else will handle things like which person the clothes belong to. It's too much trouble to do both at once." He explains, exasperated.
"Ah." I nod, and start sorting. It's... mindless work. Repetitive. Boring. But it's not... terrible. I can do this. I've done worse.
We work in silence for a while. I wonder how many clothes there are, and how many people live here. I wonder what they do, and who they are. I wonder if any of them are like me. Trapped. Unhappy. Resigned.
I glance over at Llywelyn, who's humming softly as he folds a pair of pants. He doesn't look trapped. Or unhappy. He looks... content. As if this is just a normal day for him. As if this is his life, and he's fine with it.
It's... a strange thought.
After all, by the laws that somehow made excuses for slavery, he's not even supposed to be a slave. Except for... whatever it is he's not telling me about why he is one. But still. He should be...
More like me.
Angry. Frustrated. Helpless.
Desperate to find some way home.
But he's not. He's just... here. Living his life. Doing his chores. Taking his baths.
Maybe...
Maybe he's just given up. Maybe he's accepted his fate. Maybe he doesn't even want to go back. Maybe he's just... adapted.
Maybe I'll end up like him. And... the idea scares me.
"Stop staring at me." He says, glancing up at me. "It's disturbing."
I look away, and focus back on the clothes. "You're disturbing."
"Then don't look at me."
I huff, and toss a robe into a basket. "Fine. I won't."
"Good."
We go back to silence. But it's... tense. Uncomfortable. I don't know why I'm so annoyed. I guess I just... don't understand him. I don't understand how he can be so... apathetic. So indifferent. So... okay with all of this.
It's infuriating.
"You know, I can hear you brooding." He says, breaking the silence again. "It's very loud."
"Have you tried not listening?" I shoot back.
"I can't help it. Your brooding is like a fis'ia fog." He shakes his head. "It's oppressive."
"I'm so sorry, I'd hate to interfere with your relaxing enslavement. Maybe I'll be a good slave and stop thinking."
He stiffens, and his collar lights up. "Don't talk about things a stupid sub-sapient wouldn't understand." He says, his voice low and sharp.
"Better an enslaved sub-sapient who 'deserves' it than a pathetic 'sentient' who's just in the same position as me and doesn't even want to escape." I retort, unable to stop myself. "At least I'm fighting."
His eyes widen, and his veins start pulsing violently. "You want to fight? Go on! Grab a knife and free yourself from the Great Xilukulkas you worthless, mindless brute! Maybe you'll even get a quick death. It'll certainly spare me! I won't have to listen to your endless whining!"
"I'm not whining!"
"You've done nothing but whine since you arrived! This isn't good enough, that's not good enough, I want to go home, I want to fight, I want to die! Well maybe you should! Hurry up and find a way to die! It'll be better for the rest of us who want to live in peace!"
"You mean rot away in a bath and hide like a coward? It'll be better for you if the inferior subsapient dies because that means you're right to give up and be a worm?"
The clothing in his hands tears. And then he throws the basket across the room, spilling the folded clothes everywhere. The speed and strength that he manages to hurl it with, despite his slight form, causes me to jump.
"Nishi'an reh! I don't care! Not about your fis'ia home, not about your delusions, and certainly not about your nishi'an opinion of me! I'm not your keeper or your friend! If you want to die, fine! You'll be food for the gillworgs tomorrow! No one will miss you! Not here, and not anywhere else!"
I'm on my feet, my fists clenched, my heart pounding. I want to hit him. I want to scream. I want to...
I don't know what I want.
He glares at me, his chest and collar flashing brightly, his hair a mess, his eyes blazing. Finally, he growls, and looks down at the spilled laundry. "You. Are the most unpleasant, unbearable creature I have ever met."
"Well so are you! You smug, arrogant, lazy-!"
"Enough!" He shouts, cutting me off. "I'm done. I don't need take this from you. I'm going to take a bath. You can shadow someone else" He turns, and stalks out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
I stand there, shaking, my breath coming fast. I'm... furious. And hurt. And confused.
What the hell just happened?
I don't know. I don't understand. Why did we fight? Why did he say those things? Why did I say those things?
I... I just... I don't...
I look around the room, at the piles of clothes, at the spilled basket, at the door. I feel... alone.
And I hate it.
I sit down on the floor, and bury my face in my hands. I try to breathe, to calm down. But it's hard. It's so hard.
I don't know what to do.
I don't know what to think.
I just... I wish...
I wish I were home. I wish I were with my friends. I wish I were anywhere but here.
I wish I weren't...
I scream into my hands.