The Slave Auction Meme

[seachilde]

 

❧ Leave a comment with the character's name, fandom, and whether your character will be playing the part of 'slave' or 'master', plus preferences for scenarios if you have any or set up the scene yourself in the comment.
❧ Respond to others with one of the scenarios below or feel free to make up your own.
❧ Please remember to be respectful of others while you play

Warning:  Be aware that this meme deals with dark subjects like slavery and may also contain non-consensual/dubiously consensual sex, violence, and kink.

SLAVES

1.  The Newbie - This is your very first auction and you don't quite know what to expect.  Hopefully you remember your training and don't disgrace yourself in front of your new master.  Hopefully someone thinks you're worth buying at all.

2.  The Oldtimer - You've been bought and sold and bought again so many times.  You've seen it all before and don't think this time is going to be much different.  In fact, the only real anxiety you've got is whether or not someone's going to pay for a more than slightly used slave.

3.  The Pet - You're a pleasure slave.  A bed warmer.  A decorative piece of artwork.  You're meant to look pretty and be pleasing and not much else.

4.  The Guard - Your master hired you because of your ability to swing a sword or shoot a gun, not your looks.

5.  The Escape Artist - Somehow you always manage to squirm out of your master's chains.  Too bad you seem to get caught after a while.  Maybe your next daring escape will be permanent.  Then again, maybe your next master has special ways of keeping you locked up.

6.  The Undercover - You aren't a slave at all, you're just pretending to be one.  Why?  Well that's up to you.  Either way, your cover is blown if you don't act the part.

7.  The Specialist - You have a skill that no one else has.  Something rare and valuable.  Something your master needs more than anything else.

MASTERS

1.  The Customer - You've owned slaves before and this trip to the market is nothing new to you.  Still, you're hoping to find something worth your while.

2.  The Gift - Someone bought a pet for you, isn't that nice of them?  Or maybe it isn't so nice.  Did you even want a slave in the first place?  Well you're stuck with one now.

3.  The Giver - You're selecting a slave for someone else, and they need to be perfect.  Perhaps you'd better test them out first to make sure you're getting your money's worth.

4.  The Trainer - You specialize in taming unruly slaves and making them over into perfect, obedient, well-trained pets.

5.  The Rebel - You hate the idea of slavery, but the system isn't going to go away any time soon, so the next best thing is to buy up any slave you can get your hands on and free them, right?

6.  The Companion - You want someone to be with you always, someone you can talk to and depend on, someone who will never leave your side.  It's a good thing that money can buy that these days.

7.  The Undercover - You're not actually a Master.  You're at the auction for an entirely different reason.  Maybe it's special policework, maybe you're trying to hunt down a certain someone.  Either way, your cover is blown unless you act the part.

As always, feel free to use a combination of scenarios or make up your own if you have other ideas.
 

Comments

[exploitations]

[ it's very tempting to give in and roll his eyes at this announcement. while a trip to the crane celestial might have its benefits, he's far more the type to accomplish his goals as soon as he can. but if he intends to use the crown prince for his uses, he'll have to relent. and as he considers his options, he figures he can always go about his original plan in the event one is faster than the other. ]

To Krasarang, then. Which is hardly any less dangerous than Kun-lai.

[whitepawn]

Dangers are always present, but I have faith and the skills nessecary to see me on my way.

[He imparts, fingers twisting the square game piece one last time before he sets it down to rest in the center of the board. He's much happier to have found some common ground to speak with the black dragon and as much as he is loathe to break this more peaceful conversation he is forced to remind Wrathion of their goals.]

Passage to Krasarang will be easy enough through the Valley, it is a community of farmers and families. I'm certain your agents have better things to do with their time then to see me to the borders.

[Not to mention he doesn't want to give the villagers and the Celestials any reason to mistrust or be concerned over his presence.]

[exploitations]

[ an attempt to sneak out of his grasp, he assumes. but this is a footing he can easily take hold of. his lips curl in a smirk as his gaze flickers between anduin and the game piece. he's certain this agents might cause a fuss if they were seen. but they wouldn't be is agents if they were. strict guidelines had to be met to be one of his blacktalons. and he has the utmost faith that they'll follow any orders given. ]

Never fear, my prince. You won't even know my Blacktalons are there. And they'll have the utmost respect and decorum for the Celestials.

[whitepawn]

Wrathion.

[He warns in almost a fond way as his blue eyes roll upwards. He leans forward just enough so that his arm can hang over the edge of the wooden chair as he motions between them.]

I mentioned earlier that we both had our own paths. This is mine and while I have no doubt that your Blacktalons are capable of being discrete I can not allow anyone to jeopardize such a delicate mission. We are strangers here and these people deserve every ounce of respect we can offer. I can not deceive them by leading rogues into their sacred temples unaware.

[He pauses, only for a second as he reaches out to catch the dragon by his wrist and squeeze.]

Please.

[He pleads now.]

Try and understand.

[exploitations]

[ gleaming eyes blink rapidly as he regards the hand on his wrist, taken by surprise how warm anduin's hand is on his own. it's so different from their high-energy discharge earlier, when anduin had only seen him as someone out to use him. while he still is, the aura seems to have changed and he isn't sure how or why.

what is it about this prince that continues to surprise him. ]

Will you keep your word to return to me after speaking with the Great Crane?

[markedbeloved]

Soubi just nodded and walked over to Duo. He took the sketch book and put it someplace safe before coming back and tucking him in. "Well, perhaps if your a good catholic boy I'll buy you one." Grinning playfully.

[duo_maxwell]

"Can't be a good Catholic boy if I don't believe in their fancy god," Duo quipped back. If Soubi was going to use that nickname for him, he was going to play right back.

[markedbeloved]

"God isn't really your problem right now." Soubi just pet Duo's head before standing up again. "I'm in the next room if you have a nightmare about god smiting you for that."

[duo_maxwell]

Snickering, Duo snuggled down into his blanket to go to sleep. "I'll keep that in mind." Though knowing his background... he had more than enough nightmare fuel without dreaming about imaginary gods.

[avengeful]

Then you know going off to fight with them should be off the table, too.

[He shakes his head, thinking about this last long few weeks, about how it derailed everything, how even with his desire to get revenge for Jess, even for mom... He doesn't want this. He doesn't want to rush into things with the promise of revenge. Why does it even matter anymore? This is all Sam has to hold onto anymore. This is it. Part of him, some embarrassing but logical side, just wants to grab them both and drag them to the cabin, lay them down and wait until everything's calm.

He misses the cabin.]

Not over some piece of shit gun. I don't care if it cures cancer.

We -- should call Bobby. See what we can do. Maybe there are some hunters you can go along with... I don't know. Better than blindly running in.

[whitepawn]

[Wrathion isn't the only one who is surprised how the conversation has shifted, even the dragon's tone has softened like Anduin's features at the request.]

If the Wilds are anything like I've heard a soft bed and warm food will be quite a welcome treat before I venture out to the Summit of Kun-Lai.

[He lets his lips and eyes say more, further words that he at this moment can not vocalize: I promise.]

[ramble_on]

I care.

[Dean stands, walking over to their bags. He takes out a couple of things - his knife and gun - and then stops.]

This is what dad - what we've been working for all this time. We can't just walk away from this.

[Because they owe it to mom. Because Dean knows that his father wouldn't be able to forgive himself for missing out on this opportunity. And because Dean wouldn't be able to forgive himself for letting down his dad.]

Yeah. Alright. I'll call him.

[He steps outside and does just that.

He knows a few hunters who are here already, waiting for the big hunt, but he's wary about putting them in touch, because he doesn't know what has everyone so geared up about Sam - hasn't heard about it on his end. They talk about other possibilities, and in the end, Bobby decides to come himself to help them out since everything is slowly going to shit.

Dean goes back inside, takes his knife, and slides it under what's now his pillow.]

Bobby's gonna come help out. He'll be here tomorrow afternoon, before the hunt. We gotta get Dad somewhere safe in the morning.

[Dad and Sam, but they can discuss that more tomorrow.]

We need to try and catch a few hours of sleep first.

[avengeful]

[Sam grits his teeth, because honestly, Dean? That goddamn loyalty to Dad's cause is going to get you killed. He doesn't argue back, but the slow-cooking anger is radiating off him the entire time he's up. At the mention that they needed to sleep, Sam finally let some of the tension in his shoulders go.

Just a little bit.]

You still too old to share a bed?

[Because Dad's kind of taking up one.

Not that Sam's too worried. Knowing him, he'll migrate to a corner or the tub or something within a few hours, unconsciously.]

[exploitations]

[ it takes a moment longer for him to respond, gaze still shifting from the hand on his wrist back to anduin's features. his darker instincts tell him not to trust this prince on his word. tells him not to rely on anyone but himself. but another, softer part of himself—the part fascinated by anduin wrynn—wishes to concede so he might see what will happen.

eventually, he lifts his other hand, hesitating but then slowly settling it atop anduin's. he hears the promise in the other prince's tone and figures it wouldn't hurt to take a gamble on him. if anything, he'll continue with his regular plans and if anduin does keep his word... all the better. ]

The Inn will certainly be open.

[ramble_on]

[Dean knows Sam is angry. It's obvious, but he's going to stay firm on this. They've all come too far to give up now, and Dean has already done enough fucking up in the past few weeks. He isn't turning back now.

He sits on the bed, thinking about how much he could use a few beers. Or a few shots. Or both. It isn't like he anticipates that he'll be getting much sleep out of the rest of the night. But he needs to try if he's going to be worth anything in the morning.]

Yeah, and you're still too damn big. But we'll make it work.

[He forgoes a second pre-bed routine and just climbs in, laying on his side and facing the wall.]

[avengeful]

[He scoffs, lying down, back-to-back, shoulders rigid for a few minutes until they finally relax with sleep. As angry and on-edge as he is, there are times when he's just too tired -- his nocturnal activities aren't really helping. And once again that's made obvious in the way that his body twitches, shakes faintly, making the mattress shiver under his big frame. A low, hurt moan aches his throat before he does the same old song and dance he's been performing: sits up slowly, barely lucid, ditches the sheet after one lame tug, and wanders into the bathroom, where he curls up in the tub with his arms over his head like he's protecting himself.

The nightmares fade, this way. But it doesn't make it any less lonely.

Between the lulling pangs of awakeness and sleep, he has brief nightmares that are set aside from the usual, where he shakes his father's arms and demands that he talk, or how he bangs on a door and screams for Dean to let him out, let him go, and Dean just apologizes and says there's something wrong with him and he needs to be in the dark.

Dean said he was still good, that he was the little nerdy brother. The yellow-eyed thing haunting his vision clicked his tongue. "Sammy, Sammy, Sammy, you know there's something wrong with you. You're a little freak of nature." Was that the demon talking, or him? He wasn't sure.

A shiver passes through him and he makes himself smaller in the already too-small tub.

Images of Sam, covered in blood, staring down at dead guards. Sam, punching an innocent man's face in. Sam, going down on the man who'd raped him, running his hands over his thighs, foreign fingers combing his hair, blood wiped sensually over his cheekbone while Sam closed his eyes and pinched tears from his eyelashes. "Little slut."

Dad, pulling him away, shaking him, screaming too loud in his ears. "What the fuck is wrong with you?! How could you let this fuck with you?!"

"Liability."

Dean, broken up and sad, shaking his head.

"'M sorry, Sammy."

I am, too.

A few stubborn tears slip through, dripping down the side of his nose.

I know you are.

He knows you are. He's sorry, too.]

[ramble_on]

[Dean tries to sleep, but he can't. He thinks about the mansion, about Dad, about how Sam being wanted by hunters undoubtedly has something to do with his ability. He runs through his concerns, that unfamiliar bundle of nerves that reawaken whenever he thinks about the hunt. Sam's faith - his belief in him even now, even after everything.

Sam twitches and moans in his sleep, but Dean knows he can't really help without spooking him, so he lies there and listens until Sam shuffles into the bathroom.

Then Dean gets up and limps to his father to shake him awake.

Even bleary-eyed and in pain, his father is a light sleeper - wakes up ready to move. Dean keeps an arm on his chest, and whispers to him.]

I don't know exactly what's going on, but you gotta get Sam out of here. I'll get the Colt.

[He isn't going to let his father down, but he also isn't going to let Sam down. It isn't his style - Sam's the one whoop leaves, not Dean. But he said he'd protect Sam - and he isn't going to screw that up again. And if that means having to force separation, then fine. Dean will be the one to run away - to more than a salt and burn this time.]

Get a cab. Drag him out of here if you gotta. Just don't let him do anything stupid.

[It's an appeal, rather than a command.

His father looks up at him - still concussed, still in pain, but aware. He nods, because it's the safest plan they've got. Because he needs that gun.

"Dean. Earlier, on the road..."]

It won't happen again. My head's in the game. Sir.

[His father is quiet for a moment, but finally nods. And then Dean collects his stuff and leaves quietly. He goes to a bar, makes it before last call, and drinks. Then he parks somewhere inconspicuous and sleeps for the few hours before he needs to meet Bobby, the familiar interior of the Impala finally offering him enough comfort for him to rest.]

1/2

[avengeful]

[Sam doesn't take it well. But he also doesn't go roaring out there. He mostly paces back and forth in the motel room, every fiber of his being straining, telling him this is a bad idea, that this isn't going to work out, that he's letting Dean down just going along with this. John's sitting up, watching him silently, surprisingly accepting of his almost violent gait. Because he knows his boys well enough to know this has got to really hurt both of them.

"Sam," he says, once Sam is sitting on the bed, the energy thrumming in the way he taps his foot. "I'm sorry for what I said before."

Sam looks up at him, mildly surprised, before looking back down.

"We have to go. I'll tell you more -- I'll explain more, okay? But we have to get some distance."]

You just let him walk out. It's dangerous. And you just let him...

[He works his jaw, and John sighs, slowly moving to sit up with his feet over the edge of the bed. Neither of them seem to find much to say after that, but John's eyes are dark and thoughtful. John, admittedly, doesn't like it, either. His son's in danger, and even if he gives Dean his space to be independent, believes in his ability a bit more than he does in Sam's (he hunts better, he just does)... John hates to think Dean could get hurt, and they'd be out here, twiddling their thumbs. They're all built from the same mold. This isn't easy for anyone.

He hates it, too. Just like Sam.

But...

'Get a cab. Drag him out of here if you gotta. Just don't let him do anything stupid.'

John gets up.

"We're going."

He can at least get Sam away from here. He can't get grabbed. Not after all this. Not after how much he's done to keep this boy out of their clutches. And of course Sam doesn't want to go; why would he? Even threatens to go walking, because that's what Sam does -- that's how he operates. But inevitably, as the noon soon approaches, he and Sam are in that damn cab, on their way backward. Away.

Sam wants to scream.

Instead, he has a vision.]

tl;dr plot plot plot shoos it away

[avengeful]

[Next thing Sam knows, the cab is pulling over and Sam's spilling out of the door, gasping, because sees it -- a chair, blood, chains -- wrestling, he's wrestling, and there's guts and skin and bones flying, splattering, he thinks Dean's voice (and Bobby's?? They're freaked) -- and he retches hard into the dirt. Johns hovering over him in pain but alert, his heavy hand on Sam's back.

"--am?! Sammy??"

He's not even sure how to say it. How to explain 'oh, no worries, dad, it's just a vision'. And to be honest, he's not sure what it was. A man exploding in a gory shockwave, a dimly lit warehouse... What he hell was that, exactly? His head is swimming, and when he can finally drag himself to his feet he's breathing heavy. John demands answers, wants to know what's wrong with his youngest boy, and Sam honestly has no clue where to begin. The cab's not exactly a place to explain, so John makes a deal -- they get to another motel, pay cash, stay low until Dean reconnects, and they tell each other what the fuck is going on with each of them.

It seems like a decent enough compromise.

"... Then -- you've been having these powers for a while now."

Sam nods. They're sitting apart from each other, John on one mattress, Sam on the other, hands squeezing his knees. There's something maybe nervous about John's features... worried. And then sympathetic. Sam doesn't know what to make of the reaction.

"... So you knew your girlfriend was -- you saw it. And you've seen Dean die. Is that what your vision was? Earlier?"

Sam shrugs.]

Honestly... I don't know. I heard Dean -- so... maybe...

We have to call him. Call this whole thing off. It's gonna go south either way. Maybe he's gonna get jumped -- or, fuck, I don't know, Dad. But we can't leave him to deal with this alone.

[John nods.

"I'll call Bobby and Dean, warn them."

Sam gets to his feet, shaking his head.]

We gotta go. We go right now, we can get back before it's dark. We'll think of something else, Dad. We just -- we just need to focus elsewhere, think of something else.

[Visions always make him on edge. John rises up with a wince, putting a hand on the duffle beside him.

"... I already told them I'd get you away from there, Sam. You're not going."]

Like hell I'm not! Dad --

["Sam."

He rises up, inches shorter but all the more daunting.

"Alright. We'll go. But you're following my lead, you understand?"

An eager nod, something sparking in Sam's eyes.

"Get your things; we'll hotwire something."

And Sam gets his things, not even unpacked. In his excitement to actually go back, he doesn't really think too hard about it, about how his father had snuck around telling him his side of the story. He just thinks Dean's gonna be in trouble. Or at least, he might be. Why else would he and Bobby be in his vision, albeit voices? Something bad would happen, they'd help avoid it. But that's about as far as Sam thinks, before something hits the back of his head and he's collapsing against the floor.

John looms over him, frown apologetic, and then he flips Sam over with some effort.

"I'm sorry, son. I can't let you go into the lion's den... but we need that gun."

And, perhaps, part of him is mildly horrified. Because Sam, his Sam, having powers... demonic powers, as far as John knows... Goddamn that yellow-eyed son-of-a-bitch, poisoning his son like this. Making him...

No, don't think like that.

He can't drag Sam without popping stitches, so he sluggishly puts Sam's hands behind his back and handcuffs him before he leaves to find a decent car to steal; maybe carjack someone. Desperate times, after all.

"Sorry, Sam."]

[whitepawn]

I'm glad to hear it.

[Words that he accentuates with one last squeeze of his hand before he draws his hand away and returns it to rest in his lap. He has no reason to lie of course and he's certain that while on some level distrust my still linger between them it pleases Anduin to know this is at least one promise he can easily keep. With that thought he smiles to himself as his attention falls away and his mind shifts to the meal which he hopes will be served shortly.]

[exploitations]

[ falling silent as well, he doesn't look as nearly comfortable with this current arrangement as anduin does. he's still wondering if he's made a mistake somewhere, if he can trust anduin, and if this prince is even worth the time and money he's thus far put into him. he supposes he won't know until the time comes when the vale opens. if it opens at all.

at least dinner comes, providing him with a decent enough distraction. the meal is simple enough, though it smells as if whomever cooked it spent hours in over an oven. for anduin, a bowl of fresh valley stir-fry with sauteed carrots and a twin fish platter. for him, however, he's more pleased by the nearly raw tiger steaks. with a nod towards tong as their dishes are served, he eagerly digs in without much thought to how he might look with steak juice dripping down his chin.

he is a young dragon, after all. but at least he's using silverware. ]

tl;dr is the way to my heart man you know it

[ramble_on]

[Dean gets a phone call around noon. Bobby is ahead of schedule and wants to meet at a local diner.

Dean feels like shit. He doesn't know if it's the fact that he left Dad and Sam behind, or the alcohol consumed at all hours of the morning, or if he is happening to come down with something at a really crappy time, but his stomach is in knots and his head hurts and his voice won't work right and he can hardly look Bobby in the eye. And Bobby knows — can see through him better than his own father. One look, and he's asking about Sam and giving Dean the disapproval stare — not that he needs to, because Dean knows. He knows he fucked up in leaving Sam behind, in leaving him to Dad, of all people. It's fucked, and Bobby can see it, and Dean can feel it, and if he's too still, Dean feels like he might break down and go find Sam and tell him that they should haul up in the cabin again. His saliva tastes like bile and his head hurts and his body aches, and fuck, it feels like the flu. But maybe it's just guilt. Force-fed through bad decisions and worse life choices — the manifestation of everything he has done wrong, which he can see in the way Bobby looks at him, and says, "You sure you want to do this?"

He isn't sure about anything, anymore. Not since the mansion. Not since he took down two hunters without even thinking about it. Dean can't even recognize himself, anymore. Not without Sam — and Sam isn't even here to keep him grounded.

So they go.

They work out a game plan and shove in together — Dean with a limp, Bobby with age and alcoholism taking a toll. But the vampires don't expect them. Maybe the hunters were meant to take them out, or maybe they vampires just plain didn't expect Dean to want to protect his brother so intensely that he'd take out anyone who stands in his way.

There's something in him, Dean realizes, as he hacks away. Something violent and ugly. Something that can get covered in vampire blood without flinching — and when Bobby turns to look at him, Dean can almost see his reflection in Bobby's closed expression.

It makes no difference, because in the end, it's Bobby and Dean in a dimly lit warehouse with vampires closing in, and Bobby calling out, and Dean hoping that Sam is safe, and John busting in before either of them can even consider alternate possibilities —

and then Bobby is being stabbed and Dean is crying out, and Where's Dad, is running through his mind, and he feels searing hot pain in his side that he can't pinpoint to hunter or vampire — he just hacks and moves and hacks and moves until there is a gun — the gun — in his hand and he points and shoots and —

a vampire goes down.

But there is a chair and chains, and Bobby is tied and John is unconscious and Dean only has one fucking gun. The gun, but not enough bullets, and his finger dances along the trigger while his god damn ankle hurts and he thinks, this is it, while vampires (no, hunters, they're hunters) close in on him, and he thinks that he's going to upchuck the coffee and pancakes he had that morning...

And he thinks Sammy!, an apology on his lips, on his mind, in his every movement —

Yells for him. Bobby yells something, too. So much yelling, so much chaos, but Dean won't let go of the gun, won't let them get Sam, because he won't let anyone down ever again. There's a bite — on his arm. On his chest. How many? Hunters or vampires? Everything is bleeding together.

He stands in front of Bobby and gets read to shoot a second time.

But there are too many, and there's just one of him, so maybe — maybe the barrel is meant to point inward. He doesn't know.

Dean yells for his father. Yells to see if Bobby, behind him, is still alive. Yells for Sam, who is nowhere —

and hopes that his father pulled through. That if nothing else, Sam is safe. That's all that matters. Sammy and his future and his college and his happy life without hunting and the fact that Dean shouldn't have taken him away month ago...

That Sam is alive.

Because that's their job. That's been his job since the fire. Since Mom...Watch Sammy, Dean. Watch Sammy and make sure he's okay, no matter what.

Dean.

Where's Sammy?

There's so much fucking blood and Dean doesn't know if it's hunter or demon blood, just that it's everywhere, and he can't even feel the fucking colt in his hands, doesn't even know where Sammy is, where Dad is, where Bobby —]

[avengeful]

[The hunters approach in slow motion, slow, blurring in and out, and Bobby growls in defeat against a concrete floor. Hunters. They start taking out the vamps no problem, one of the hunters crack a gun against the back of Dean's head while another drags Bobby to sit upright, blood seeping out of a head-wound and from his thigh. The hunters seem agitated. Like this is unexpected. Like this is a bitter disappointment. They shake their head.

"You think he'll come? He was supposed to be here..."

"The demon kid'll show up any time. He has to, right? We've got his whole family here..."

An older hunter, frowning, apologetic, looks at them. Another, not so kind-faced, kicks Dean in the chest.

"Chains wasn't for you fuckheads."

"Send people to watch the area. He'll come. Who else does he have to go to? Where else?"

John hangs like putty, arms wrenched back and tied, and he shakes his head. One of the hunters — one from the mansion, one of the more rugged ones who'd helped drag the boys, stepped forward to look at Bobby.

"We won't kill you boys. Hell, we're not even killing Sam. Not 'til we know what he knows — Bobby, you had to have known. What he is... John, I don't even know how you could raise him, knowing what's festerin' in there. It isn't natural."

Another hunter huffs, walking in from the back.

"Two birds, one stone. Vamp's nest is cleaned out. The gun'll work on the kid, right? When we're done interr— "

They glare at him suddenly and he's quiet. There's a good twenty of them — twenty — and John's world is see-sawing. He drops his head in misery. "Sammy... fuck..."

The head hunter, hair an unruly patch of orangy red, nods.

"Lock them up. Send out the boys. Bring him in. Don't kill 'em unless you have to. If he runs, we'll just have to re-strategize."

Outside, hours away, Sam's wandering out of the motel room, cuffs picked and discarded, rubbing his wrists and looking around the dark in a muted panic.

Dad?

Dean?]

[whitepawn]

Thank you, Tong. It smells wonderful!

[Anduin is certain that it will taste as good as it looks and before digging into his own dish he glances Wrathion's way as Tong sets down the prince's plate of steaming and barely fire grilled steaks. He watches of course for Wrathion to take the first few bites and the only response he makes in regard to the dripping juice that runs down the dragon's face is a soft amused laugh.]

I take it yours is delicious then?

[The question is asked just as Anduin lifts his own fork up from the smaller tray and begins to break off an ample portion of fish to add to his stir-fried vegetables.]

[exploitations]

[ pausing, with a mouth full of steak, he turns to blink at anduin, ignorant of the juice still dripping. it's only when he hears a subtle cough from left behind him that he hastily lifts his sleeve to wipe his chin. then, with a shake of his wrist, the remainder is magicked away.

he doesn't even look embarrassed as he leans forward and flashes his canines. ]

Indeed, Tong is excellent at what he does. Of course, I don't usually eat in this form, but since we have company...

[ a hand sweeps out in a gesture, obviously referring to anduin. ]