I could take what's apart.

Tic's eyes followed after Larkin and the struggling maid as they left, the girl's soft whimpers still audible through the hallway. A twinge of sympathy pinched him sharply as watched; the maid hadn't said anything too displeasing, had she? He continued to watch them down the hallway, until the door was pressed shut by the older maid.

The woman turned to him staidly, not caring to glance at his eyes, and steadily reached for the garments in his arms. Tic glanced down for a moment, letting his hands fall slowly, then looked back to the shut door. "Wh... what's going to happen to her?" he asked, voice full of worry.

The servant paused, raised her eyes to his, then shook her head with a sigh. As she spoke, she turned him away with a gentle force, and began to undo the fastenings. "She'll get punished, that's what."

Tic tensed as he felt the hands on his back, but remained still as the maid continued. "I knew the day would come that she'd slip. Always sloppy, that girl; never watching herself..." But she didn't do anything wrong, Tic thought. The woman pressed her fingers against his shoulders, turning him back to face her. Her brows furrowed slightly, and she spoke with experience. "You'll be lucky if you ever see her again."

Tic blinked, staring at the servant with an invisible disbelief. Thoughts began to run through his mind, but came to a quick halt as the servant's hands moved to the hem of his shirt, intent on lifting it. He felt himself stumble backward, away from the hand.

"No, I can... " he muttered bashfully, moving his own hands to the shirt. The maid eyed him sternly for a moment, then brought her hands away. He breathed softly, and proceeded to lift the smooth material over his head.

He dressed hurriedly into the new, strange outfit, not taking his time to examine its foreign design or material. He pulled his arms through the sleeves, the pants up his legs, all at a quickened pace, while the maid paused him now and again to fix or flatten wrinkles. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt he should rush; to not be late and upset Larkin. He couldn't help the realization of a null fear; the younger maid's treatment was a sober reminder of the ruler's power over him.

His feet were slipped into the fine white shoes, fitting with an unusual snug. He gazed downwards, to the floor as the servant raised herself, dusting off and flattening his hair. She made a few final adjustments, backed away, and nodded.

"Follow me," she ordered, turning to the door. Tic moved forward, feeling awkward in the new garments, nauseousness suddenly beginning to writhe in his stomach. The door was opened; out into the grey hallway they moved, and headed toward the breakfast hall.