Not my enemy

[picturethat]

YOU ARE NOT MY ENEMY
A slave/reluctant master romance(?) meme


The seed of the idea has existed for ages, perhaps as long as there has been the concept of enemies among humanity - so, a long time. It goes as follows:

You are in an unfamiliar and dangerous territory, most likely the home of your enemy. Whether there is a war raging in the background or just barely-bandaged hostility is irrelevant. Your safety does not depend on that. Instead, you are an example. Your freedom is forfeit. A prisoner is what you are...no, you're a slave. And you're given to someone for service or for entertainment.

You're prepared to hate your new "master." Who wouldn't? Slowly, however, you realize that things aren't as they seem. Your master is no cruel owner; in fact, they don't even want to own you. But they are as much of a pawn in this scheme as you are. Still, they show you kindness and their subtle rebellion fans the flames of your own. Over time, your feelings towards them begin to change. It may be some sort of Stockholm Syndrome or it may be a true emotion, yet either way, something fragile and perhaps even beautiful is growing between the the two of you. Could this be love? If it is or if it isn't, there's one certainty: if you are found out, it will be the end, most likely, of you both.

This is the situation your character finds themselves in. Are they master? Slave? How do they accept their fate? Their new feelings towards their "master"/"slave"? All of this is up to you, as well as how this all ends for the pair.

Of course, there's a precedent for it ending badly and bloody, for obvious reasons.

HOW TO PLAY

• Comment with your character, preferences, and other information like any character info, what position your character is likely to fill, or smut/lack thereof preferences.
• Reply to others.
• Feel free to use the below prompts and ideas.

POSITIONS

1. Slave
2. Reluctant Master

ATTITUDE

1. Willing: You'll take the past of least resistance and try to keep your head down.
2. Unwilling: Well, "unwilling" is sort of implied in general, but you are especially rebellious and refuse to be tamed. You throw any kindness you receive back in the giver's face. When you begin to feel something for your "master," you reject that as much as you possibly can.

ENDING

1. Good: The idealized, happy ending. You both get away from the system that keeps you chained and live freely together.
2. Bad: The realistic ending. Your little affair is unearthed and your heads end up on the chopping block.

Comments

Rey | SW:TFA | OTA

[thesefirststeps]

[ooc: Either / or, but lbr, probably the slave. Endings can be discussed.]

Re: Rey | SW:TFA | OTA

[supoepilot]

(I was thinking Poe would be an unwilling master? Just let me know what you would like to do?)

[thesefirststeps]

[ooc: Works for me! Let me know if you'd like me to change anything.]

This life was the only life that Rey had ever known - no, she'd never excelled at taking order quietly like a good slave, and she'd passed from owner to owner more than most, argumentative and loud, and difficult in every way that a person could be difficult, and yet, somehow, she'd wound up under the care of a man who was so unfailingly kind that she couldn't quite believe that he was real.

They certainly hadn't fallen into any regular rhythms at first - she was still as troublesome as she'd always been, still just as troublesome, but he never lost his temper. He never threatened her. He never hurt her.

And although she was still wary of his intentions, eventually, she settled. At least enough to actually do as she's told without bristling and pushing for a fight. And she didn't know exactly when her respect for him had shifted into something more, but she knew that she couldn't imagine a life lived anywhere else. She couldn't imagine serving anyone other than Poe.

And she wished - well, that didn't really matter, did it? It's not like they could ever be anything more than what they are. It's not as though she thought that he harbored any fond feelings for her. Why would he? She wasn't anything special.

[supoepilot]

(ooc: I love it, you have no idea. Now watch as I take bits and pieces of canon and just warp them into this kind of AU and probably fail, but I had fun trying. If you need me to fix anything, let me know!)

"Rey, mind coming over here for a moment?"

He never expects her to just do what he asks for her, he had taken her knowing that she was "a handful", more independent and much more of a fighter than most knew how to handle. He had expected the fights and arguments to happen. Even to be entirely ignored. He just would take a breath and let her cool down. If it was something particularly serious or important, he would either just do it himself or he would try to have a discussion with her to reach an agreement. He praised her for a job well done and even tried to carry conversations with her while they worked. It had not taken long before he noticed that she had shown interest in ships and piloting - it was simple enough to ask her to tasks related to care of his ship. He began there and let the pieces lie where they would fall.

It was a known fact to the rest in his class that he was a "bleeding heart" and tended to avoid ownership and even had the nerve to step in and intervene when he felt he was seeing something entirely unfair happen in front of him. It happened often enough. Most lacked the sense to keep their affairs private and very few were able to see when they were out of line in their behavior. That was partly how he ended up with her in his care. It had been a meeting - one of many involving the emergence of a new power in the galaxy and the planning of many missions to discover what they were, what they were up to, and how to possibly stop things from growing worse (oh how they were becoming worse by the day) - and she had been ordered to tend to the guests as they were entering and her owner (a high ranking official) had been growing steadily agitated before trying to raise a hand at her refusal "to listen" and "obey". He had stepped in before much more could happen and was quickly backed up by a very irritable General Organa who later pulled him aside to tell him that she wanted him to take care of the girl instead, though offered little explanation. It was an order, though she also gave him the chance to back out if he wanted.

But when he had been told about this particular girl being passed around, he knew that he would have to go against his ideals and accept the offer, because it was better that she be somewhere where the chance of her getting hurt or worse was nil compared to being handed off into the unknown. Of course, it was not meant to be anything more than that. But as time passed he had found himself growing fond of her, though he had warmed to their disagreements even more quickly than he predicted (sometimes even a nice guy had to argue and debate) and as she warmed up and even began to settle, he felt a sort of warmth towards the progress he was seeing. He had enjoyed trying to talk to her, even if he did most of the speaking, but it was nice to have company that did not try to kiss his ass or act too formally towards him.

[thesefirststeps]

[ooc: Aw, no, it's great!]

If her disgruntled little huff of a breath was any indication, Rey did indeed mind having to put what she was doing on hold in order to do as she was asked.

But if the way she barely hesitated to do so is any indication, she really didn't mind very much at all - at least, not as much as her put-upon groan she heaved next would lead anyone to believe.

Poe had been very kind to Rey - much kinder than the masters she'd been traded to time and time again - and although it had taken a lot of work on his part to earn her trust, a lot of patience, a lot of talking (mostly out into the ether, as it took quite some time for her to want to answer), she had eventually begun to warm to him. It was easier, she thought, after he allowed her to work on his ship - his beautiful, sleek ship that she treated as reverently as if it was a sacred artifact from a time long gone.

He never hurt her - never tried to lay a finger on her, didn't even threaten her. And he is leagues different than any other master she'd had before. Still still grumbled and argued and pushed her luck, but for the first time in her life, she felt like she truly belonged somewhere.

With him.

And so, she found herself by his side, curious to see just what he'd called her over for the in the first place. "Sir", she started, paused, sighed. "Poe - what can I assist you with?"

She paused again, and reached out, as natural a gesture as breathing, to brush thick, stray hair out of his face. "Much better."

[supoepilot]

(Aw, thank you. I hope I can keep up now.)

A laugh escapes Poe when he hears her huff. It was amusing how certain things never really changed all that much, but he was actually touched at how she barely hesitated to put what she had been doing to the side. The man finds himself laughing more when she He found himself shrugging as he answers, "It's not anything really important in the grand scheme of things..."

He frowns slightly almost as if he's internally going "Right" and it almost sounds under his breath. He would be going away in a short while unless something changed. That would mean leaving Rey to her own devices for a few days, at the least, a week or more if something bad happened. He had tried to bury his concern over the thought, but it bubbled to the surface at her question. The pilot, who was normally brave and perhaps even brash on occasion, had to go over how he was going to try to bring up going away and what that would mean.

It wasn't exactly that she was incapable of taking care of herself and he knew that, but he still didn't have to like the idea, especially since there was a chance he wouldn't be coming back, though he knew he would. He would have to. No matter what. But, if he left, he knew he would have to try to talk Rey into going with him to the base for the duration of the trip. That was going to be difficult since a couple of the higher ups were previous owners of her and he knew that it would bring up painful memories, but he would miss her.

He internally found himself backing up a bit when that thought entered his mind. Well, he would miss her. A lot. Besides, he knew that he would have to explain to her that he joined the Resistance and that would mean he might be gone for long periods of time. The ranch would be empty, emptier than it already was without BB-8 or the ship or even with him running around. It also meant that tensions in society were growing worse by the day. He worried about that would happen to her if he was gone for too long, if something happened and he couldn't get back fast enough...

He paused again. It was weird how automatic those thoughts were. He knew she was more than capable of handling herself in a bad spot. He had accidentally ended up on the floor the first night she had stayed and he had not yet learned the telltale sign to back off with her. In any case, he had learned that she definitely was a fighter.

"I need to go on a mission soon, so I was thinking we should take the next few days and really give the ship a looking over, make sure she's more than ready to go. I figure with two sets of eyes - we won't have any trouble at all if we gotta replace parts or if some new problem's shown up. We'll figure it out in no time."

Just as easily he was able to push his feelings away and show the smile he had on his face earlier. Nothing was wrong. Nothing at all.

"Though, it's more like I should probably be asking you if I could help out with the ship, but well...there's another thing I need to ask..."

But then his words had cut off by her reaching out.

Poe found himself pausing as she reached out and brushed a stray hair out of his face and then his grin turned into a more subdued but into something also very warm and gentle. Peaceful, perhaps. Like this kind of moment just felt "right" - good, even. He feels himself growing warm and then tries to play off the fact that now his face is a very, very slight shade of pink and when he becomes aware of that happening, he glances down for a moment and a soft chuckle sounds.

"Better, huh?"

[thesefirststeps]

Thank goodness he can't see her expression just yet, because there is no helping the tiny smile that turns her lips up at the edges to hear his chuckle. Just because she didn't hate him the same way she'd hated previous owners doesn't mean that she's the least bit interested in appearing too soft, like she's too comfortable in her position with him.

(She is, though. Comfortable. Happy, for the most part. As happy as a person in her situation can be.)

If it's important enough to call her away from her repairs, it's important enough for her to devote her full attention to. She wasn't unaware of those tensions brewing, even if it seems like they're unfolding a long way away from home, and the life that they've learned how to live together. If there was any danger of that having to change, she'll want to know. And although there was always the chance that Poe might not come back from whatever mission he's been assigned, Rey doesn't want to think of that possibility.

She nods and huffs out a softly amused breath, all too aware that ever since he'd allowed her opportunity to take care of his ship, she's become protective of it, taking care of it as though it was her own. "She's in perfect running order. But putting her through her paces can only be a good thing."

Rey doesn't mention the first part of the statement - the having to go away part. If she does, she might end up doing something completely stupid, like blurting out how much she'd miss him, or the plea to stay safe, or, even more humiliating, asking him to make sure that he'll return. To the ranch, to their life, to her.

Her expression is curious - he's got something more to ask, but he pauses, holds off on doing so, quiet and smiling so beautifully, and his cheeks darken, and she thinks that she's never seen a lovelier sight, and she wonders ... well, she wonders just what has caused that reaction, if it's her, although that's a ridiculous thought to have, because it can't be her. She's nothing. A nobody. A servant - and she shouldn't hope for anything else.

"Relatively speaking. You've still got oil on your nose."

Matt Murdock || Daredevil

[blindstrike]

[Either role, if he's master, he'll be heavily aued/vampired out]

Re: Matt Murdock || Daredevil

[sacrificeyourfreedom]

[oh my gosh Vampire Matt is the perfect dream I hadn't even realized I wanted. What do you think about one of the Hell's Kitchen gangs giving Steve to this vampire vigilante as a protection offering, and his mindset as Hydra's Asset means that he totally just rolls over and accepts Matt as master?]

[blindstrike]

[I think Matt would be vastly underprepared for that and it would be the exact kind of speedbump to slow down a vigilante. :|a Go for it!]

[sacrificeyourfreedom]

Don't fight it,they tell him, and he struggles not to scream as they force his arms back, lock his wrist together and then bend him backwards, forced into an arched pose, chains looping from his body to the pipe behind him. It's not as painful as anything his handlers regularly did, but it's been a month since they crashed the helicarriers, his mind is cracking, and he's cold, so cold. They found him when he was sleeping rough in the alley, they think he doesn't understand the Russian they speach above him, but he doesn't need that to know the buzz of sedatives burning off in his veins.

It is a familiar feeling, the false weakness, and he hangs his head, breathing softly. Wait it out, wait it out. Wait for the drugs to burn out of his veins. Wait for them to realize their mistake.

One of the men runs his hands through the Asset's tangled hair. "You sure the devil will like this....thing?"

"It will distract him for a little while. Buy us time." The hand in his hair pulls his face up, and he winces, tries to struggle away. "Be good for your new master."

He is left alone, cold, the wind blowing onto his skin as he struggles, twisting in his bonds. The roof seems to grow in darkness.

[blindstrike]

Tonight's one of the bad nights. The thirst is stronger than it's been in months as it aches deep in his bones and every fiber of muscle and he can feel his gums sore against his fangs. Before he took up the mask and the whole "beat up assholes" thing, he'd fed by sneaking into blood banks and hospitals when he could, calling in sick or overplaying the hangover from a night at Josie's. These days he alternates between a good, old-fashioned asskicking that splits the knuckles on his wrists and cracks scum's bones and feeding on them, leaving the anemic victim to bleed against asphalt. If he's feeling charitable he'll call 911 after the fact.

Matt's thirsty enough that he follows the thud of Steve's heart from several blocks away, keying to the clink of chains against concrete and brick. Hard to miss. It's also hard to miss that they've picked up on his tastes and they started stringing up "meals" for him like they're living speedbumps, as if he'll drink himself stupid and forget the bigger picture. Some he feeds on. Others he interrogates and there's been the low-level junkie who was in the wrong place at the wrong time, the pickpocket who was just doing it to cover bills.

He wonders who this one is.

Matt materializes out of the darkness dressed in black clothes that are functional and that's about it. He suspects he'll have blood soaking them soon.

"Struggling makes it worse, you know," he says quietly. He stands there listening to the chain links, trying to get a feel for his food, trying to tell himself he won't drain this one dry. This one seems pretty motivated from how much he's moving around despite everything. "You don't want to bleed out."

Right now he plans to drain and leave and hope he doesn't go too far. Taking Steve with him after this isn't even a blip on his radar yet.

[sacrificeyourfreedom]

The Russians had said master, and then this man comes out, speaks to him with that firm tone. He goes still. This is not.... He can't move, his breathing is even and his mind still. The bits of his mind that had risen up as Steve in the past moments free from Hydra are sliding away, the Asset is coming together out of the fragments, and he gives a hiss of breath.

Kneeling on the cold tiles of the roof, he lifts his head and looks into the dark eyes of the man. Master, provides the programming. Obey. Handler, master. Be still, you must be still. He breathes in and out, and the chains don't clink anymore, his arms and legs still.

In and out, his chest moving with his breath, and he lifts his chin, his neck exposed. Designation: master. Mission: unknown. His voice is a rumble of his chest, low and devoid of emotion.

His mouth speaks in Russian, even as the prompt is in english. "Orders." It's barely a question, he can't even give it that much inflection, just a simple word in the night as the man who has been Steve Rogers and Winter Captain and Asset waits for the new mission, from this new handler.

The gang may or may not have known of who he was when they pulled him from the alley. His face has been plastered over the TV and newspapers since SHIELD fell, but his hair hair grown out and his clothes hife much of his muscles. But intended or not, the long fled Russian gang has created an offering to the devil who can't fight the instincts to obey the orders to listen to the man above him.

Peter Quill || Guardians of the Galaxy

[volumeone]

[Either role: if he's master, he'll be aued out to be a spoiled system overlord. Slowposting/assumed cr preferred]

Re: Peter Quill || Guardians of the Galaxy

[sacrificeyourfreedom]

[hope you don't mind if I jump in on this. We can keep this intro period short, but since this is an AU, I figured it might be helpful. We can make it short and skip ahead if you would prefer that]

"It's an earthling."

The blue man's voice is a sneer, and he tugs on the chains, pulling the Asset forward, his bare feet stumbling. Stripped of his armour and weapons, left in only the simple shirt and pants that had been beneath all of it. He hadn't touched a knife in over a month; his fingers missed the feel of the hilt underneath his muscles.

"An earthling gift for you, on this special day."

They had wanted him complacent, wanted him dull and accommodating for the one he was to smooth things over with. The gift of a captured earthling to please a tyrant. His flesh hadn't even been bought and sold. No money changed hands for the Asset, it never did. He'd been taken while on mission, pulled from the battlefield into a cell, and that had been the end of earth, end of Hydra, and the beginning of his forced journey to here.

The leader of the aliens kicks him in the back of the shin, but he refuses to go down, growls at the blue man instead, growls at all of them, jerking on the chains.

Then the blue men leave, bowing and grovelling for the one who controls systems, who he heard the whispers of when the guards thought they were far enough from his cell on the ship, the man who would be given Hydra's Asset as a present. It's not that much different from any handler, any exchange between Hydra leaders to repair debts with their Asset. This moment is as close he's been to his missions since the beam of light pulled from earth.

"You are.... Starlord."

I'd be down for some time skippage

[volumeone]

The special day is his birthday, not by Terran standards because no one here cares about Earth other than him, but by Spartoi standards.

It's basically a week of getting wasted with diplomats, his generals, and whoever wants to grovel and kowtow an excuse to shower Star-Lord with gifts, try to get on his good side. Some of it is because they actually like each other, some of them are friends, most are "friends" and others are there because they're too scared to reject the invitation to celebrate. It isn't worth Star-Lord bringing the hammer down.

Yesterday's gift was a new cruiser, armed to the teeth with pulse carbines. Day before it was several dozen concubines, most from species he recognizes, a few who weren't. Today it's a live human, the very first he's seen since he was abducted as a kid. They drag Steve into one of his more private chambers, the ones he retreats to when he gets tired of having to act like he gives a shit what the Ultini empire is doing this time or what peace treaty they want him to sign (or at least look at). Peter straightens from where he'd been looking out the window over a garden and the waterfall in the distance he owns just like he owns everything else on this planet. Because he isn't in public, they catch him with his mask off, looking as human as their prisoner if it wasn't for the way he looks down his nose expectantly, waiting for the blue bastards to bow like he deserves.

He doesn't make a move to inspect his prize until they leave.

"That's right," Peter steps forward now, one hand resting casually on his holstered quad blaster. There's ornate scroll work in gold and silver along the barrels but they'll still drop most aliens if he shoots. Just because this guy's human doesn't mean he trusts him to behave when he's already resisting. "And you're mine, as of now. Are you gonna give me trouble? Don't make me ask twice."

Because he has no issues at all tossing his latest birthday present into the detention cells to cool off. Hopefully he remembers he's still there.

understood :) I'll try and ensure this intro scene is kept short then

[sacrificeyourfreedom]

It's been a while since he's had a shave, the growing beard on his chin hasn't been any sort of focus for the men who brought him. The basic clothes he wears, simple black pants and a loose black jacket, may be the same that he wore when they picked him up from earth, but they've been washed, and though he looks less than he was, there's still a sharpness to his eyes as he locks gaze with the other earthling. Sharp blue eyes, above a messy beard and an expressionless face to set it all. It's a mask, of sort, though his own is long since gone. He doesn't bend down, his body standing straight up, his eyes the only thing that shifts as Starlord approaches.

"I belong to Hydra."

The truth they had ignored bringing him here. The Asset with no name, and he's so far from his handlers and the mission and the freezer. There's the tickle of thought in his mind, behind the certainty that he will have a very hard time going back to earth after how far he's been brought, that this might be the time he's taken to a new form of chair, a new mission given to him. It is not Hydra's mission, it is not accepted, but it is this teasing thought that has him clenching his fists at his side, his jaw clenching.

"Hydra's Asset. Not yours."

Some times handlers forget this. Forget the Asset belongs to Hydra first, then to the men and women who control it. And though this isn't that, this isn't Hydra at all, the words come to him. Who he belongs to.

It is not this man, with his firm looks and his strange weapons.

typo fixes

[quadblaster]

[Let an opening for a timeskip :3a Also I'll be swapping between this account and volumeone]

Peter isn't used to being told no. That's part of the whole perk of growing up J'son's heir: first they don't want to piss off Dad, then he grows up and they realize they don't want to piss him off, either. His eyes lazily flick up and down Steve's body from his human stubble to his hair to the growing bruise against his jaw where one of the aliens decked him.

"Wrong answer 'cause that's not how it's going down," Peter's hand tightens on his quad blaster, seriously debating shooting this ungrateful asshole just to make a point. Let him nurse it off in the rejuvate tank without any painkillers. "I don't know who Hydra is and I don't care."

He decides against shooting his slave on his first day. Call it solidarity between human and half-human or whatever. Maybe he's feeling generous since it's his birthday and he's in a good mood because he isn't like J'son. Whatever the case, he figures cooling his heels in a cell while his royal guards interrogate him will bring him up to speed. Next time Peter sees this man, he wants to see him cleaned up, on his knees with a tracker collar on him and he wants to have a name, first and last and middle and maybe, then, he'll ask again who (what?) Hydra is.

Peter barely has to hold up his hand before one of his guard steps in, materializing from the corner where she had been standing at attention like a statue. Unlike Peter, this one doesn't look at all human: she's all dinosaur and werewolf slapped together in a blender, her mane of fur flattened under a helmet, and easily towering over Steve. Her acid-yellow eyes fix on his, snout twitching like a bird as she grabs the chain in her claws.

"Take him to the Guest House," Peter turns his back on his new gift to lean against the window sill. "You know what to do."

I'm guessing here with what things look like and such, so please correct me if I mess things up all

[sacrificeyourfreedom]

Perhaps the man is not used to no's, but the Asset is, and his shoulders are tight in expectation of punishment. It is not the first false handler, not the first time the Asset has been taken by men who don't know the right way, don't know the right codes. But the drugs are still in his blood, and the chains around his limbs weigh him down, drag out his movements into slow jerks. He steps forward, but that's all he gets; just a step before he sways and the guard is there, strange figures finishing the halt with the shock running through his system. He looks wide eyed at the _{woman? man? creature?} that takes his chains, and that's the final moment to fight back at all, and it's gone.

He's rarely physically out matched, being towered over is something new and strange, and he's weak enough that the chains barely need to be yanked for him to follow. He stumbles a little, and the movement is an undignified moment in what has otherwise been a controlled presentation of himself.

It's a different hallway they move through, and he keeps his eyes open, looking around, marking doors and windows and beings, taking it all in with a soldier's keen awareness. And that's always what it is, keened up and on edge, enough that the guard has to tug again on his chains to keep him moving fast enough.

They leave the building and go to another, and then it's simple rooms and more guards and the snap of a door locking behind him.

A couple of days later, after the end of the birthday festivities, as routine settles back into normal, he's brought again with chains to the same room, his neck hidden under the thick metal of the collar. Washed, dressed in his own clothes, still with the growing beard on his face though it looks far neater, he goes stiffly to his knees. Any marks from rough handling have healed over, far faster than expected, a fact noted by the guards and passed on, along with lack of answers to their questions.

Or rather, the unclear responses to such simple things as, "what is your name?"

But the punches and questions and shifting walls have brought answers from the man's lips, and that's what the guards were ordered to wait for. And there's no hint that he's lying, he spits out in confusion a stuttered name, numbers that sound like soldier's rank, or the time he gives them a different name and then panics when they repeat it back at him. A few more days pass after that, but there's no new names, no new details brought forth, and they have him dress and chain him up to be brought again to his master.

"Your terran, sir."

His hands are locked together in front of him, but his eyes are cold steel when he lifts them to look at the man.

Sherlock Holmes | BBC Sherlock

[desecrated]

[[ooc: either/or]]

[captainwatson]

"I told you, Mary, I'm not interested." John groans. "It's not like we even need the help."

"Says you, darling. I'm the one who has to wash the dishes as you refuse to have someone fix the dishwasher." Mary tuts.

Honeymoon period was definitely over between the two of them.

Still, John was indulging his wife this afternoon as he walked through the market. He'd hoped that buying her something pretty would stop her getting on at him for a couple of days. However he hadn't really had buying human chattel in mind when he'd withdrawn the cash.

He despises such practices. But one would never dare to say so out loud or they would get mocked or, at the very worst, committed.

John eyes the creatures before him. He's grateful at least that child slavery has been banned. It's too late for the rest of these poor sods, standing half-naked, eyes vacant and devoid of guile or hope. Mary really wants someone like that to order around? She really wasn't the woman he thought he'd married.

[desecrated]

Slave shifts from one injured foot to the other. Keen ears hear the husband and wife bickering about it. Buying a slave. He keeps his head down. Maybe no one will buy him, again. And he'll be beaten (again) and the price will drop further or they'll send him off to the factories or a mine to work in darkness until he dies.

He's been a slave to one master before. Used him until he wasn't "fun" anymore. Could tolerate too much.
Get sold, look pretty. The others are shifting and looking a bit scared and nervous. He's scared and nervous too, but - ... what is the point? He finds himself raising his head, while the others know better. This particular couple want someone capable. Hopefully they'll ignore his feet - or are inexperienced buyers to not look. He doesn't have that many scars, in comparison to some of the others.

[captainwatson]

"Oh, darling, look at this one." Mary admires the woman two slaves down from Sherlock. She's tall with dark hair, clear eyes. Poised. Clearly knowing how to present herself. "I'm sure she would be lovely, don't you think?"

John shrugs. He hates this. He should have let Mary come on her own.

The trader approaches; "You've got an eye for good stock, my lady! Yasmine here is obedient, fast and multi-skilled in general housework as well as a linguist, speaks both French, Japanese and Italian. She also has experience in childcare, should Sir and Madame have any plans to start a family?"

Mary laughs, giving John a subtle sideways glare. John ignores it. They've had that discussion as well. Talking about it however isn't the real issue.

"Fine, how much?" He says, not wanting to spend any longer here.

"5,000. I assure you, she's worth every penny!"

"Get out of it. I'm not spending that much." John groans.

The owner tuts; "Sir, I am afraid the price of a slave as invaluable as Yasmine is non-negotiable."

[desecrated]

Sherlock keeps his gaze where it is. He speaks more than just three languages, but some skills - aren't as admired as others.
He winces as he shifts his feet again, as quietly as possible. Fairly soon his owner will notice he's looking where he shouldn't, but ... out of the corner of his eye - the man's hands. He's a doctor. He doesn't seem the sort of doctor to inflict pain, though.

He's cheaper than 5,000. Master just wants to get rid of him, but he also wants to make a profit.

[captainwatson]

"Do you have anything more for...2,000?" John shrugs.

Mary rubs her forehead, looking embarrassed; "My husband the cheapskate. You'll just let any old rubbish into our home?"

"I don't sell rubbish, my lady, I assure you. Some of my slaves are more desirable than others, of course. If the gentleman wants a more affordable type than...well, I guess you can have this one for 2,500."

He tugs on Sherlock's chain and pulls him forward. John blinks at the skinny young man, eyes drawn to his scarred feet as he nearly trips up. He almost rushes forward to help him before remembering that's not how things are done. You don't touch Property until it is officially yours.

Mary doesn't look impressed.

"And what do we get with him? He looks half-dead." she sounds disinterested, not sympathetic.

"His previous owner was rather severe in his punishments, though he assures me it was necessary to break this one's spirit. He is submissive, I doubt you will get anymore fight. He can observe and memorize better than most humans. He tends to speak out of turn, however, and you can see he's rather gaunt, before you ask about the price." the man explains.

John frowns. Why does he make it sound like it's the slave's fault he's ill?