The Slave Auction Meme

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>The Slave Auction Meme

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.
❧ 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.


Snagged from here.

Comments

Alek Reyne | A Song of Ice and Fire [Blood of Dragons OC] | OTA

[lesserlion]

[Open to both, but preference for him being the slave. He'd rebel so hard... Info in journal]

/casually AUs Sera into ASOIAF canon

[omnipresently]

[ The tall, black haired and black-robed woman moves through the crowd like it's nothing but an eddy of water. No House marks adorn her clothing, but two servants follow her at a respectful distance, already bearing some of the market's earlier purchases. She's come to the slave auction with a particular need in mind, but rather than waiting with the rest of the crowd out front, she's slipped a coin to the gatekeeper and is let in to the holding areas where she can get a look at who is going up on the auction block later in the day.

Her servants wait outside the gate, obviously knowing better than to voice objection to her entering such a place unsupervised. She strides unhesitating through the dimly lit, dirty corridor, peering into the wooden holding areas one at a time. ]

[lesserlion]

[ A red lion rampant regardant with a forked tail, armed and langued gold, on silver.

The sigil of House Reyne of Castamere on Westeros, a noble house to the west of the continent, and a relatively powerful one. It would be a sight to see the sigil in a place as dark and dingy as this.

And, yet, here it is, on the surcoat of one of the men for sale. The fabric is torn, dirty, bloodied, but still everpresent on the man in the cage. As for the slave in question, he looks older, but solid. A man-at-arms, perhaps? One who has fought for his masters in Castamere all his life.

But then there's the hair; blond, albeit slightly dirty from his conditions, messy, framing his head like a lion's mane, going well with the beard and mustache to complete the look... Then there were the eyes. Green, but cold, fixing on the tall, dark figure as she passes his cell.

It didn't look as though he's had the will beaten out of him just yet.]

[omnipresently]

[ It's the green eyes that catch her, bright and vivid as her own, inherited from her mother rather than the golden hue of her father. Her gaze then travels to the dirtied emblem on his outfit. ]

Your tunic fits too well for you to have stolen it, but there are few who wisely cage that lion. Why would a man of Castamere be in this lot?

[lesserlion]

[Lion... That he is. A Red lion of Castamere, no doubt someone bearing the name Reyne itself.

A lesser lord, perhaps? Or had they simply gotten lucky?

The reason he's here? It's relatively plain. bandages wrap his knuckles and upper forearm, but could do with changing and cleaning. It's clear he was taken in a struggle.

Alek's gaze never leaves the woman, cold and solid, defiant... Proud. But he does not speak.]

[omnipresently]

[ She ponders for a moment, silent and studious of everything about him: the bandages, the emblem, the steel in eyes, and the lack of steel in hands that were obviously used to it. The problem was that she had been seeking someone familiar in combat -- not just being in it, but properly learned in it. True, she had expected to find some disgraced bastard child, pawned off to the slavers for whatever reason, but it would suit her purposes.

But this Castamere man, while likely suiting her original need, might complicate things more. There was a fine line between someone not being broken, and someone still defiant enough to cause her trouble where she wanted only order.

Eventually, she seems to come to a decision. Reaching into the deep folds of her robes, she withdraws a small and string-tied sachet, placing it on the ground just inside the bars. The smell of herbs, both dried and fresh, drift with her movements, epporry and blue caraway, noblesyew and phoddiasia-- all rare, all distinct. The satchet itself contained oche petal, to keep infection in his wounds from festering while he waited in such grimy conditions.

But beyond that, she simply steps away from the cell. It seems that she's decided he's not worth the potential trouble. ]

[lesserlion]

[After a moment, there's a shifting noise, the cracking of joints unused to moving, and a hand reaches out and takes up the pouch.

After confirming what it is, he looks up to the retreating figure.]

Thank you. [His voice is low, hoarse, a sign he hasn't used it in a while.] ...Why?

[omnipresently]

My House has no quarrel with the red lions.

[ It's an easy answer; yet after a moment's thought, she elaborates where she likely would not have, if he were someone else. ]

I've need of a particular role to be filled, and it's no fault of yours that you are too proud for it.

[lesserlion]

The role of a slave is one that my pride cannot bear.

[A shift as Alek re-adjusts his position to become more comfortable. This may be a long shot.]

Free me, and whatever role you desire, my lady, I will do it gladly. The Lannisters aren't the only Westermen to repay their debts.

[omnipresently]

Gladly, I assume, is a stretch of term.

[ Seraphina turned back, continuing to study Alek, an internal debate carefully weighed. Then she approached again, an intense look (that, unequivocally, she had inherited from her father) fixed on him. ]

Then will you swear to me, on your name and the name of your House, that you will agree to a term of service in my employ? And that, should you fulfill that, I will release your debt when my condition has been met, and the service rendered is no longer needed?

[lesserlion]

[There is no real reaction to Seraphina's change in demeanor, however, he bows his head after a mere moment of consideration.]

On my name as a knight of House Reyne, you have my fealty, my lady.

[The pact, a verbal one, is wrought in Westerosi Honour. No Knight would violate an oath of fealty, least of all a man as prideful as Lord Bertram's brother.]

[omnipresently]

Then I, as the Lady of House Pitchiner, do accept you into my service, upon the terms of my word and the honour of my House.

[ The name should be familiar to anyone who has studied the Westeori families. A relatively small House, bound to the Targaryens, and a holding to the south. What they were known for was an uncanny ability to grow herbs that were used all over the continent, particularly rare ones, difficult to find in the wild or to grow. They were also known to trade these cultivations outside the borders of their sworn fealty; largely, they were regarded as being as neutral as one could be, while still sweating loyalty to the Targaryens.

The other thing which a Reyne would recognize of the name is that it also belonged to a prominent general in the Targaryen forces: Kozmotis Pitchiner, a skilled warrior and Lord, who led his own forces at the front of the line, rather than commanding from the normal post.

Seraphina withdraws momentarily, a word with the gatekeeper and an additional bribe of coin, and Alek's cell is opened. The records of him being on the list to be auctioned will simply disappear, no trace of his being here remaining.

She returns with both her servants in tow, and one of them hands Alek a cloak, drab and brown, but relatively clean. Partly for warmth, for the day is overcast and chill, and partly to cover that tunic emblem of his. ]

We have several hours ride ahead.

[lesserlion]

[Pitchiner... Yes, the name does sound incredibly familiar. On the border between the Crownlands and the Reach, on a seam of ground that is exceptionally fertile... House Pitchiner has had to defend it's borders from all sides...

...With help from the royal family, of course. The Pitchiner's seat could not be budged.

How very interesting.]

You are far from your lands, my lady. [Alek remarks, idly, accepting the cloak and wrapping it around himself.] Seems the rule of gold applies here in Dorne, also.

I can't believe I'm basically breaking her in with this garbage meme...but here we are

[dataflow]

Cassandra had a distaste for the slave markets, but she knew it was just a part of being a CEO. One needed to have labor, and reliable labor at that. DataDyne had a reputation to maintain - and rebuild. Beck-Yama made no secret of its labor force on the bottom tiers being entirely comprised of slaves; that was just how things were.

And now to prove her mettle as the new CEO of dataDyne, she had to go and pick one for herself. A personal slave. A body man, someone who could be there when Anita could not. (The Head of Security could not always be by her side, after all.)

She inspects the holding pens, with forcefields as fronts rather than bulletproof tempered polymer. You could never be too careful.

A man catches her eye, grizzled but obviously tough.

"You," she says, doing her best to sound authoritative. "What's your name?" The slaves up for auction don't have nameplates on their cells; only alphanumeric designations. It keeps the auctions impersonal.

[lesserlion]

Said man's posture instantly straightens. One may call it a defiant posture. His green eyes fix on Cassandra, a steel to his gaze.

Alek Reyne, of the, now extinct, Reyne family, refused to let this injustice harm his pride. And he wouldn't willingly submit to being a slave. Unseen beneath his plain clothing are numerous scars on the older man's body, trophies for his continued disobedience.

Regardless, he does not speak, but his expression gives the indication he understood, and can.

[dataflow]

She smiles at him. Her security detail doesn't.

"Your name," she says again. She knows he can understand her, and she now knows he's stubborn. Good. If she's in the market for a body man, she doesn't want someone meek and servile. Then again, she also doesn't want someone who'll kill her first thing.

Ah, choices. But he's the most capable-looking one she's seen so far.

[lesserlion]

Alek's eyes narrow. He's not going to be forthcoming, Cassandra.

[dataflow]

Don't be rude, Alek. You're not-talking to one of the most powerful people in the world.

Actually, she finds that refreshing.

She turns to the salesman who had accompanied her. "I'll take this one," she says.

"Miss de Vries, are you certain? He's been nothing but a problem–"

"Are you questioning my judgment?" She says coldly, putting on her CEO voice.

"N-no, Miss de Vries."

She scans the barcode under his alphanumeric designation, taps a few times on her d-PAL, and the transaction is complete. The salesman, the guards, and a few heavily-armed members of her detail go in to fetch him. Just in case.

[lesserlion]

He has to be dragged to his feet, but otherwise, he offers no resistence. The Reyne family were once rather powerful, themselves, after all.

Alek's posture is straight. As he's led out past Cassandra, He looks down at her, his gaze still cold.

[dataflow]

Well, well. He's proud, certainly. Proud and stubborn.

That's interesting. But she's beginning to wonder, in the back of her mind, if she hasn't made a mistake after all.

She goes to her limo, surrounded by her detail, and indicates that she wants her new purchase with her. After a bit of arguing with her detail - and an agreement is reached to have one sitting across from them, ready to stun him if he tries anything fishy - they settle in and take off. Daniel Carrington was a bastard, Cassandra reflected, but his antigravity technology was genius.

"You really aren't going to talk, are you?" She asks with a bit of humor in her voice. "Cat got your tongue?"

[lesserlion]

Alek climbs into the limo, sitting straight, posture immaculate. His gaze does not leave Cassandra for a moment, but he does slightly tilt his head at her words.

Cat got your tounge... amusing, considering what his family is known as.

But, no. He's not talking.

[dataflow]

She glances at her d-PAL. "Very well then...Alek Reyne. You don't have a history...a recent acquisition. Taken as prisoner in the recent South African conflict." She looks back at him, her gaze softening. "I'm sorry." She means it. Jesus, that had been a mess.

Sentiment was something she could ill afford most of the time, but it would probably help to show him a little humanity to crack through his shell.

[lesserlion]

A slight twitch of his right hand, a slight narrowing of the gaze, but, other than that, Alek Reyne remains silent, still.

His shell is a tough one to crack. A trained soldier, in a family of soldiers. The Reynes were quite well-known once upon a time.

[dataflow]

Cassandra smiles a little to herself. The stone man cracked - just a hair, but he cracked.

"Good. I'm in the market for a bodyguard, Mr. Reyne. You have a choice here; I won't force you. But believe me when I say that being the CEO's personal bodyguard has significantly more perks than just being just any facility guard. If you'd prefer the latter, however, I can be accommodating."

[lesserlion]

And there's a chuckle from the older man. No words, just a low chuckle.

Surely this woman sees the absurdity of trusting a slave as a bodyguard?