The sound of tapping at the door was more thunderous in his ears than the weather outside, it made him start, his tail poofed slightly in what may have been panic but was more likely just a stark irritation. At first, he ignored it, if it was unimportant most of the staff knew to only try once and to come back later if they were ignored, but the sound rattled against the door again and again it jumped on his nerves. Like an animal he whirled, the movement so swift and harsh that it dislodged his usually meticulously slicked back hair and left strands dangling ominously over his face.

“What?!” He demanded at first, sharp and biting, an almost cat-like hiss. But the light from the candle illuminated the strands of hair in his face and he noticed them, paused thoughtfully, and reset his composure, sitting up straight and using one hand to brush those annoying strands back into place where they belonged, tucked behind his ear. He took a long calming breath, sighing almost, before finally pushing his chair back and standing in the center of the darkened room. He padded over to the door and though he hesitated at it, with another calming breath, he slowly reached for the handle and finally swung it open with all the confidence and authority he suspected his people expected from him.

He found Farid standing there in the hallway, lit by the torches on the walls around him. He carried a tray in his hands, some tea and what looked like pork and some veggies all sorted out between his hands. That was when Carjen realized that he hadn’t eaten since yesterday, too wrapped up in his work. His cooks were always so good to remind him. Warming a little, he nodded to the hyena shifter before stepping aside to allow him entrance.

“Farid.” He started somewhat formally before gesturing with one hand to the table on the left side of the room. It was empty, save a few stray pieces of leather and some straps and things on the very end. It was far from the desk and cast in deep shadow, not really somewhere someone would put food that they intended to eat with any sincerity but Carjen nodded to it obviously so it was clearly the place to set the tray. He moved back to the desk to continue working but spoke as he went, paws soft and silent on the stone as he went. His whole lower half was nude but thankfully panther, so any unmentionables were covered by thick dark fur. “How is your wound? I hope Dynrir was gentle, he’s not a doctor by any means but he’s a good man.”

Carjen expected the meek and mild manner of the boy, so small in this big house before a tall man who probably doubled, maybe tripled his age. He expected the soft whispers, the way he gingerly moved to touch his side when the wound was discussed, the way he stood sort of awkwardly in the center of the room. All of the furniture was arranged against the walls so the interior was mostly blank save a rug for keeping the feet warm in winter, he had no place to go, nowhere to turn, and seemed so out of place still where he stood, desperate not to disturb anything. Carjen knew that feeling well, he’d faced exactly the same thing in his time as a slave, several times in fact he’d found himself in castles and keeps just looking for a place to be. So he was not at all offended. The boy would find himself in time, perhaps he’d grow some more and be of use to Dynrir on the farms or, more likely, would find the broom closet and make good work of the stone floors of the castle, whatever suited him better. It was completely up to him and Carjen was more than happy to give him the time and freedom to find it for himself, nothing was worse than pressure to find yourself. It made you panic and panic made you blind, had you make mistakes. None of that here.

What he hadn’t expected was for the boy to not only stick around but suddenly speak to him unaddressed. Immediately confused, Carjen peered up at him from where he’d sat back down at his desk, hand already mid-motion in the creation of another celtic knot in the seamwork of the armor he was working on. Not at all missing the significance of the boy’s sudden if rather small confidence, he sat up, slowly so as not to appear threatening and leveled the little hyena with a thoughtful gaze.

“You mean this?” He held up the small piece of leather with one gentle hand. It was piece of the breastplate, the part meant to cover a woman’s breast, he was decorating it before adding it to the final configuration which sat in a heap on the corner of the desk. He put it down again, slowly, thoughtfully, clearly mulling over whether or not he wanted to press. One had to be careful with the meek, let alone one as fragile as Farid. He’d seen a lot and it had drawn deep cracks and lines across his surface, one wrong word and the whole thing could shatter. Sometimes, Carjen was interested in that, in teaching lessons about interrupting a lord’s work and learning respect for other, more powerful, men’s spaces. But in this moment he was only intrigued, curious, and wanted to know more. He turned in his chair to face the boy, tail flicking in interest.

“From your time as a slave? Did someone teach you how?”

Carjen grinned softly. That was the understatement of the century, Farid could probably learn to be many things, and maybe ‘threatening’ could be one of them, but as he was now, timid and mild-mannered, he was about as terrifying as a dandelion. It was not surprising at all to think that other werecreatures would not only not fear him but then find themselves brave enough, bold enough, to use him for their own devices. The thought was troubling to the jaguar. In his day, to be used was to be bought and toyed with, tossed around, thrown about, fucked raw and torn apart. The idea brought back bad memories that he had desired to keep buried so he moved on from the thought quickly, sought immediate distraction in his work but also considered, for a moment, Farid.

Swiftly, he stood, forgetting his desire to seem passive in his urgency to run from the darkness tickling at the corners of his mind. He paused to settle himself, looking down upon the hyena shifter to be sure he hadn’t frightened him too much before slowly, purposefully, moving to one side of the room where a wardrobe type cabinet stood tall against the stone. He pulled open a drawer and rummaged around in it for a few seconds, pulling out scraps and tatters of both cloth and leather, balling them up in one of his large hands, while the other sought out a small box of threads and needles and things. He collected his pieces, held them up in the light for a moment, before finally moving to the center of the room, about half of the distance between himself and the hyena, before plopping down gracefully, sitting crosslegged on the floor in the center of the red rug that took up much of the otherwise empty space. Setting his things down in a line in front of him, Carjen paused when he was ready and gently patted the ground next to him with an open hand, looking to Farid.

“Well come on then. Let’s make good use of you.”

Use of you the right way, he wanted to say, the kind and gentle way all people deserved to be treated. But that was a little to forward, too revealing, so Carjen let it fall silently between them and just waited patiently for the boy to fall beside him as requested.

The jaguar noticed the boy’s fear immediately, understood it, felt the shadow of it in his own mind from memories old and dusty so he said nothing as he waited, jus watched impassively as the boy came over and sat down beside him as he had commanded. It seemed automatic, instinctual, the obedience of a slave, which Carjen did not like- he did not own this boy, he was a slave no more, just a man in debt. But he assumed their time together would reveal that slowly and it was just a matter of waiting for the boy to see it for himself, see with his own eyes, taste with his own lips what freedom was like. It was probably a huge a terrifying thing to him now, Carjen understood and therefore didn’t judge, was simply patient, calm almost, in a tense and terrifying kind of way, his tail still twitching behind them and his paws still flexing where they rested against the rug beneath his thighs. He was still tense, a little ruffled, but he made an effort not to show it, to distract both himself and the werebeast beside him by lifting one of the scraps of leather carefully in his fingers.

“Now,” He started in full on professor mode. “Sewing leather is not like sewing cloth or even like sewing skin and muscle and tissue.”

He paused, waggling his free fingers in the direction of Farid’s still bandaged wounded side. He wasn’t sure what the boy was used to working with, hadn’t really asked, it was possible that he already knew how to work leather. But it was a difficult trade, something really only handled by elves and dwarves so he assumed the slave boy, a toy for fighting dogs, was clueless and would like to learn. The curiosity in his eyes was bright as the sun and Carjen pounced on it. He handed the boy the strip of leather, let him feel it with his fingers and tear it apart with his eyes, while he turned and picked up another.

“It’s harder, more rigid, more resistant to work. You’ve got to be strong and determined to make it bend to your will.” He paused to open the box of needles and threads, pulling out what seemed like a sewing needle but was much larger, thicker, with a thick black thread trailing from it. Demonstrating as he talked, he used the needle to punch a hole through the leather, it took some effort but he made it look easy with strong arms and sure hands. “We use bigger needles, thicker thread, and more thorough techniques to ensure that the seams don’t fall apart. This is especially important when making armor, as you can imagine, but if you want to make good leather of any kind, be it a saddle bag or set of leggings, you need to keep that in mind at all times.”

He held up another needle, passing it to the hyena beside him.

“Now you.”