Remain silent and passive until it is time to work again

There was little other course of action but to wait for the **** driver to shout the slaves back to work. He kept his peace and his gaze lowered to the ground from where he had sat himself down astride his broom, counting the summer insects that matched along unceremoniously on the floor. The goings on of the courtyard continued all around him, joined by the clang of striking steel from the training pair on the far side and the dozen or so guardswomen mulling about their courtyard patrols and personal business. Being raised from young to be obedient to his station, Weevil says nothing and sees nothing to or about what they did, as is what it should be for a lowly man like himself. Just as he felt like his break time was up, a looming shadow suddenly darkened his vision of the stone pathway beneath him. He felt a strong tap of a boot upon his upper right thigh, which felt much more like a kick to his side from the added ****. Being strong in the upper body, he barely felt the pressure or the sting of pain, but he immediately considered that it was a very good idea to see who was trying to get his attention. The sharp and menacing female voice that called directly above him expedited his gaze to look upward.

"Oi there. Meat puppet."

The face he was looking up to was a brunette of a woman in guardswoman's plate, her hair pulled back into a long ponytail and her steely green eyes glaring down at him. He do not recognize her face, for there had been many he had seen and unconsciously wished to forget, but he knew full well not to ignore her.

"On your feet."

His legs obeyed and he was up right within a moment's notice, never looking away nor making a sound. He knew that he should only speak if given permission to speak, and so far, it did not seem like she was interested in conversation. He could see behind her was a wooden table laden with gears of war, playing cards, some gold coins and several mugs filled with unknown beverage. A gambling table no less. All around it were 3 other guards, seated on wooden stools, all looking in his direction. The fallen stool on the far right suggested that the guardswoman might have come from there.

"Ey, Melina," The one on the far left called out while spreading her arms open in a mocking gesture, likely addressing the one he was facing, "What is the matter? Can't handle a loss that you have to beat up a ****?"

"Got tired of cards," The guardswoman named Melina replied with a loud, exasperated huff, clearly stressed. She addressed him again while motioning aggressively to a spot on the dirt some distance away from her, "Step over there."

He obeyed without question. Abandoning the broom, he did as he was told, feet planting themselves step after step into the sunlight and momentarily breaking his look from his master. The moment he reached the spot he was told to go to, he turned around quietly, awaiting his next instructions with dread. Just as he was in sight of the guardswoman once more, an object sailed through the air to clatter onto the ground in front of him. His eyes trailed its passage, and immediately noted that it was a wooden longsword. All he could do was gawk.

"Pick it up."

His heart began to race. Blinking several times, he returned his gaze towards the one named Melina and the others at the table. They were all watching him, their faces smug and condescending. He swore he could have seen some of the more intoxicated ones giggle, whisper and nudge each other. Several of those further away had stopped what they were doing to witness the new spectacle that was suddenly unfolding. Even the slaves had turned to watch, their bearings low and defeated, a common expression while witnessing another of their own about to be despoiled with ridicule and humiliation. Weevil thought they were right to assume. It was no small gesture for a **** to arm himself with anything that resembled a weapon, even an object made of wood. Then again, defiance led to heavy punishment, cursing him to be damned with either choice he was to make. It was no mystery that the agony and dread of making such a choice was for the twisted, sadistic entertainment of all that may be watching. If he did not choose carefully, he might lose his life, regardless if he was a favorite of the Duchess, a shield he had thought he could rely upon to no avail.