bakerstreet | The Slave Auction Meme

Entry tags:

The Slave Auction Meme

❧ 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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

The Emancipation Proclamation had been issued well before even Steve Rogers was born, but slavery was still a very real fact of life in some parts of the world.

You couldn't save everyone, but you had to do some good where you could. Especially at the sight of a girl being beaten and whipped in the streets for dropping a can of food. It had taken some persuasion - probably not entirely civil persuasion - but her master had finally been "convinced" to part with the sobbing girl, and she'd been shoved over to him before her former master had gathered up the rest of his retainers and swept away.

It infuriated Steve that anyone thought this was okay to do to another human being. He wasn't here for this, no they were investigating rumors of Hydra, but he couldn't just walk by and ignore it. Even if it was something that was done here, it wasn't something that should happen.

Thankfully, being Captain America made it a little easier, even if it'd devolved into an argument. An argument a SHIELD agent had quickly smoothed over, like Steve was suddenly going to whip the shield off his back and hurt somebody--which he wouldn't, but he wasn't going to give up on this either.

It left him awkwardly standing with the woman he'd saved. He was dressed to the nines in the red, white and blue, something even the leather jacket he was wearing didn't exactly hide. Now what?

"Hey, uh, I'm Steve," he murmured, watching the man leave.

The woman was busily trying to stop sobbing, wiping furiously at her eyes and hiccuping weakly. Half her face was bruised. Other old injuries were visible, half hidden by her clothes. She was shaking and trembling to the point that even standing upright might have been an issue. Her gaze kept darting back between Steve and the SHIELD Agent, but Steve certainly had her attention...or, more precisely, the costume did. Red, white, and blue...

"...d-do you w-want to know my name?" she finally stammered, her words interrupted by another hiccup.

"Yes... but only if you want to tell me," he added hastily. Steve was not a slave owner. He wasn't going to have her think that she had to do anything. His brow furrowed as he watched her and he dug into one of the compartments on his belt, pulling out a handkerchief to offer to her.

"Here, take this," he tried for a reassuring smile. "You're safe now."

He eyed her worriedly, afraid she was going to fall over and while he wasn't sure if he should actually touch her, he kept his arm raised to catch her in case she fell. "We should get your injuries looked over," he glanced to the SHIELD agent, who disappeared silently, hopefully to find a medic.

She eyed the handkerchief warily, as though it were going to bite, her gaze ticking from it to Steve and back again. Searching for angles or traps, even in such a simple gesture.

Finally, however, she took it tentatively, and set to work scrubbing at her eyes and wiping her nose. Trying to make herself presentable. Honestly, it's such a disgrace, the scene she's made, and she must look awful and ugly...

"T-Tara."

He'll call her whatever he wants to, of course. She's been called a lot of different names, depending on the owner, depending on what they decide "suits" her. But, if there's a chance that he'll use her proper name, she'd like it. She likes her name. Her mother gave it to her.

She laughs, at his assurances, although it immediately turns into a wince and a hand pressed to her bruised cheek. Safe, yes. She's heard that before, as well. Sometimes it's true, for a while, until they get used to owning another person. Then it all starts up again. At least her old owner hadn't been rich enough to own people to beat her for him. He's probably an American. She's never seen anyone else wear that particular combination of colors quite so...proudly. Some of her fellow slaves had been bought by Americans. She didn't know why one would be interested in her, though - they had plenty of blondes back home.

Tara nodded in the direction the SHIELD agent had been, and wasn't now.

"W-Where is he going?"

And then, after a beat: "C-Can I ask questions? And...m-maybe sit down?"

If he couldn't see the bruises marring the back of her legs under her skirt, he could obviously see that she wasn't too steady on her feet, and Tara was grateful for that much.

Edited 2012-07-10 00:53 (UTC)

He was patient, holding it out until she decided to take it and he nodded at her name, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Tara." He hated how and wished it wasn't this way but if he could help just one person have a life again then he was going to do it.

Steve glanced towards where she pointed, "To find a medic so we can get you patched up. He'll be a few. I don't know if there are any in the area."

The bruises on her legs go unnoticed because he wasn't looking there. His eyes only stray to proper places and especially to her face, worriedly as he eyed the bruise. Another glance around, the uniform stood out more than he liked and the shield worn proudly over his back didn't exactly help. So much for a covert op, Hydra would be all over them if they lingered.

"Of course you can," Steve replied firmly, without question. "Look, you don't have to ask me to do things. I just wanted to get you out of here and this was the easiest way to do it." There was a pause as he considered; Hydra constantly on his mind and her safety was important.

"I have a room in a hotel not too far from here. We'll be safer there if you think you can make it with my help. Otherwise," he scanned the square they were standing in, frowning. "There's a bench over there."

A hotel room. Tara visibly paled at the words. She shook her head, trying to banish the look of fear, because she shouldn't feel fear at the idea after all this time. She should expect it, at least, even if the idea of sleeping with a man would always repulse her.

"I-I can make it." If she gritted her teeth, Tara knew she could. She'd done more work with worse injuries, after all. She'd had to.

Her eyes, when she could bring herself to meet his gaze, were intense and focused. It was why the habit of looking at people directly had been so thoroughly beaten out of her by past owners. Tara had the sort of eyes that worried the sort of people who kept slaves. They were eyes that sized people up. The bruising on her face was already blossoming to deep black and purple. There was a small cut along her jaw where the lash had caught her face.

"...it's, i-it's the best way to find out. W-What you like. Asking, I mean. S-So you don't get angry."

She still thought Steve was just a man off the street with enough power to steal her away for himself. She'd heard rumors of such things happening before.

Edited 2012-07-10 04:18 (UTC)

"No need to push yourself," he murmured, but he wouldn't stop her if she wanted to try. Steve wouldn't put hands on her. His movements were steady but obvious as he shifted to gesture in the direction of the hotel. His own eyes are warm, friendly but still concerned. "Take all the time you need."

The life in her eyes was reassuring. He didn't want a slave and he would free her as soon as he could, but here wasn't the place. It would only end up with her back where she started and that was the last thing he wanted. Her eyes made him think that she would be alright, not immediately, but eventually.

"I won't get angry," he promised, but he was beginning to realize that words were likely meaningless. He didn't know how long she was a slave but he hazarded a guess that it'd been awhile. How many promises had others made her only to break them? "But ask whatever you like. I'll answer anything you want to know."

Clenching her fists at her side tightly enough that her already pale hands went white around the knuckles, Tara turned where Steve indicated. She saw the hotel. And, slowly, more slowly than she would have liked, she started walking towards it.

That, in and of itself, was a good sign. Her past owner had been the sort to make her wait for orders before so much as taking a step. Or perhaps she was just trusting to how utterly awful she knew she looked to avoid anything too harsh.

"...are you from America?" she finally asked. He sounded American. So did she, under the layers of cobbled together accent she'd picked up from all her years under different owners. He didn't seem like he was about to get angry now, at least, and so she knew she should take advantage of the opportunity.

Steve matched her pace and kept his attention on her, just in case she were to trip or her legs would give out. He wished he could do something, anything, that would make her trust him but things like that were earned and not simply given. It took time and he was patient.

"Yeah, Brooklyn. In New York," he nodded. "I was born there. I travel quite a bit for work but I still keep an apartment."

Well, 'work', being his duties as Captain America but that was an explanation that could probably wait. He tipped his head, "Where are you from? And you don't have to answer, just making conversation."

"...California."

Said with just the faintest note of wistfulness. Tara hadn't left much in the way of things or people behind her in California, but she missed it.

After a few more seconds of slow proceeding, she added in a much softer voice, her gaze taking on a faraway look:

"I-I was a student."

"Never been there, but I hear it's nice," he offered a smile. He'd heard that from Tony who seems to own a house everywhere that's sunny and gorgeous or just important places. When he heard the wistfulness he added, "There's no reason you can't go back when we get to the states."

Steve nodded in encouragement, "Studying anything in particular?" He knew this was supposed to be about him but maybe if he took real interest in her she would relax around him a little.

"...no. I, I-I never made it to college. I-I'd only just graduated high school."

It probably wasn't hard to figure out events from there. A celebratory trip, getting turned around in the wrong part of town or catching the eye of the wrong person and...well, never being seen again. Or at least, never being seen again under that particular name.

"But, um, that's...th-that's a lot more than a lot of us have. I-I can do a lot with that. Math, and, and and reading."

Or she could be stupid. Sometimes people preferred a stupid slave over an intelligent one, and it was good to be able to know how to act the part. Besides, even if he'd apparently extended the offer of college...

"I, I can't pay for it."

There was her family, yes, her father and her brother and her cousin, maybe, but...well, they'd probably been relieved, to hear she'd dropped off the map.

"Don't worry about it," he waved a hand and smiled again. Even without seventy years of back-pay sitting around collecting interest, there was always Tony and he knew Stark Industries sponsored billions of dollars in scholarships. "I'll make sure it's taken care of."

Steve wasn't just going to toss her out and send her on her merry way when they got back to the states. He would make sure she back on her feet and would likely keep tabs on her in case she needed anything. She deserved a chance to make a good life for herself.

He'll hold the door open for her when they get to the hotel and shoot his sternest 'I am Captain America, you say anything and we're going to have a problem' look at anyone that glanced their way.

"Before that, let's get you cleaned up."

The deference and the wariness he receives on the way to the room isn't lost on the girl. She is observant, after all, it's been a skill that's saved her life over the last few years.

It only makes her more nervous. Just how important is this man, to be this well known even this far away from America?

Escape is going to be impossible. She still hasn't accepted the fact that it isn't going to be necessary. Yes, doubts and questions are starting to itch at the back of her mind, but...nothing ever changes. Not this time. Right?

Her mind racing, Tara steps into the room, and looks quietly around her as Steve closes the door. She flinches slightly, at his question, and before she can stop herself a question she's obediently asked so many owners so many times before leaves her lips:

"Do you want to do it?"

At her question there's obvious confusion on his face--do what? "Help you clean up? No, uh, I," a faint blush colors his cheeks. "There's a bathroom through there. You're welcome to use it. If, you need help, I can but otherwise, take all the time you need."

He tips his head as his communicator crackles to life, shifting from awkward into Captain America as easily as breathing. He nods when he's told the medic will have to wait until tomorrow even though the person on the other end can't see him, "Understood. I have a kit if she needs it. What about Hydra?"

There's another pause as he listens and nods, "Another day to dig up information won't hurt. I'm taking the night off. Only bother me if it's something important. Forward any relevant data to that tablet thing Tony gave me. I'll look it over and come up with something. Rogers out."

"Sorry, work," he apologizes, turning back to her. "There should be towels in there. I'll, uh, find something clean for you to wear."

There's a moment where she just looks at him, as all the terms that sounded important in that get filed away in her mind. "Tony", "Hydra", "dig up information", "kit"...

"Right."

Apparently putting the chance to get into some clean clothes over any future dangers, she steps into the bathroom and shuts the door. Ten seconds pass, before Steve will hear the sound of a lock clicking into place, and then the sound of a shower running.

She sets the water as hot as she can stand, and then just...stands in the tub, and thinks, and remembers, staring down at her bruised and scarred body as the water washes over her. Then, with fumbling fingers, she turns the water even hotter, and finds a scrub hanging over the nozzle, and some of the hotel's free soap, and sets to work cleaning herself. Her motions become increasingly frantic as the minutes drag on, as the dirt fades to leave bruises and old cuts that won't, and eventually she realizes that exhausted, angry tears are trickling down her cheeks.

It's the first time she's let herself cry in years, and even after she's finally turned the water off, Tara finds herself just sitting in the tub, knees drawn up to her chest and sobbing tiredly. It will be a while then before she can bring herself to stand up, wrap a towel around herself, and step back into the room.

Once the door is shut and locked, Steve realizes he has no idea what size she wears and he's not exactly stellar when it comes to women. Instead, he makes another call. He thanks the agent that comes to the door and lays out the clothes on the bed. He'll give her as long as she needs, though he'll worry the whole time she's in there.

When she comes out, he's sitting at the desk. There's a holographic model of a building raised above the tablet sitting in front of him and he's stripped off the heavy Kevlar top of his uniform, opting instead for the thin blue shirt he wears underneath over his leather pants and bright red boots.

His shield is resting on his lap, a polishing and repair kit opened next to the tablet on the desk and he's working a cloth over it. As soon as he sees her, he wipes the building blueprint from the tablet with a hand.

Steve stays sitting, but gestures towards the bed where three sets of generic, SHIELD casuals are laying in different sizes. He keeps his eyes on his shield as he speaks. "I, uh, didn't know what size you wore. Those should do until you're steady enough to go out for something better."

"Thank you."

The clothes are snatched off the bed. For a moment, Tara looks as though she's considering changing right here in the room. But then, with a ghost of a smile as she imagines Steve's probable reaction to that, she ducks back into the bathroom and closes the door to change. Her old clothes are tossed into the trash can.

The shirt is bit tight across her shoulders and the pants just don't fit quite right, but they're simple and they're clean and she can get them on. Tara leans against the wall just next to the bathroom door.

"...what now?"

He's very thankful she decides to change in the bathroom. It would have led to a lot of blushing and awkwardness on his part. Steve tosses the cloth he's using onto the kit and leans the shield against a leg of the desk, standing so he can offer her a room service menu.

"I was going to order something for dinner, if you're hungry," he definitely is but he had waited for her. "There's an ice pack in the refrigerator. It'll help with the bruising. First Aid kit is on top, if you need anything. It should be fully stocked." He doesn't exactly need a kit but he carries one in case his squad does.

Obediently, mechanically, robotically, she went to get the ice pack, and the First Aid kit, and then sat on the floor by Steve's chair.

Icing her legs would eliminate any further opportunities for movement, no matter how sore they were. Tara finally settled for moving it into place just on her shoulder blade, signing in relief as the cold started to ease away the ache of the injury. With her other hand, she flipped open the kit to check what was there with what might be considered a disturbingly good eye for detail and use.

It was well stocked, and she'd done a lot more with a lot less.

"Um, I...I'm a bit hungry. I guess I could eat. Um, th-thank you."

She took out a roll of gauze bandages and stared fixedly at it, clearly trying to gather her courage together. After a few seconds, Tara added in a voice that was almost a whisper:

"...c-can I ask another question?"

"You don't have to sit on the floor," he offers immediately. Steve almost trips over himself to make sure she realizes that she doesn't have to do anything of the sort. "There's the bed or one of the other chairs, or this chair if you'd prefer." Which is, of course, accompanied by a gesture to the one he's sitting in.

He stares at the room service menu himself for a moment and decides he might as well get one of everything. Leftovers can go in the refrigerator, if there are any, he's been told he eats like a horse. "Alright, anything you want in particular?" Because he will totally order more of that.

"Ask all the questions you want. You don't need my permission," Steve will wait until after she asks to busy himself with actually ordering food.

Tara moved almost immediately to sit on the bed, as though the floor had scalded her. She paled, slightly, apparently upon realizing that she was sitting on the bed, but steeled herself, and made herself look over at Steve.

"Um...I, I know this might seem like a really silly question, a-and, and I'm sorry if it does, but...w-why did you take me? I mean, y-you could have gotten slaves a lot better than me, s-so I don't know...why you're being so nice."

And she was mortally afraid that he would suddenly stop being nice if she said the wrong thing. It tended to be that way, with people.

It's a relief to at least have her on the same level as him. He can't stand the thought of anyone thinking they are worth less than him; all people should be equal. It's just the way it should be.

"I don't want a slave," Steve's brow furrows. He can't even begin to imagine the backlash. There are going to be enough rumors from this he's sure. "The papers are only a formality so I can get you out of the country. I don't own you," he looks appalled by even the thought.

"I would've helped everyone if I could but... I'm not here for that. We don't have the space. You--" were lucky? In the right place at the right time? "Looked like you could use the help."

"You...don't?"

Two simple words, and Tara speaks them like they're in another language. She stares at Steve as though she's never seen anything like him before, like he's the strangest, most impossible thing in the world.

"I'm..."

...free? She's free?

Tara has learned to be good at reading people. It's just that, after so many years, she's come to expect to see a certain thing in them when she reads them. It's part of why Steve has thrown her so badly, because she looks at him and doesn't.

But as she stares at Steve, searching his face for any sign of deception, she sees nothing. She sees absolutely nothing to give her even the faintest hint that he's deceiving her. And the mention of college, and the way he'd spoken to her...

Tara can't stand it. She knows it's a silly thing to do, and unfair to him, and just simply stupid given what's just happened to her, but she bursts into tears again. She'd thought she'd cried all she could earlier, in the shower, but this...this really is just too much to process, all at once. Even her wildest dreams hadn't let her hope for this.

But they're sobs of happiness, and even as she futiley tries to keep the tears from her eyes, she looks up at Steve and smiles a smile of utter happiness. "R-Really? I'm...I'm really free?"

Edited 2012-07-15 03:31 (UTC)

The Slave Auction Meme

Master 5 for him okay?

Yep! Sure is.

\o/

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)