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bakerstreet2016-09-27 06:18 pm
toastysocks) wrote in bakerstreet2016-09-27 06:18 pm
The Slave Auction Meme
>The Slave Auction MemeThe 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.
⧠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.
no subject
She supposes that it's almost ironic that she's found herself in a market, surrounded by people who want slaves as status symbols or worse. And Sharon, if she's to complete her mission, needs a slave.
Normally, she would send her bosses a note, and they would send over an undercover agent to play the part. But she's already seen the cabal kill two people under suspicion of being duplicitous. The two had been accused of being spies. Sharon would have said it was paranoia, but they were right; she'd recognized one of the spies from a joint mission with MI-5 years ago, and the other had carried himself with military precision while pretending to be a house slave. He should never have been given the mission.
Sharon isn't sure if the cabal is onto her yet. Maybe they are and intend to feed her false information. Maybe they want to make her death entertaining and painful to see how others in their midst act.
They haven't tipped their hand yet, though, and Sharon isn't going to tip hers.
So she dresses like a businesswoman who kills people in her spare time for fun - admittedly, a rather enjoyable cover, except for the heels - and goes down to the slave market. She feels out of place among the people there, though she passes it off as feeling superior to them. It should worry her that it isn't more difficult, but her makeup and hair are immaculate, her white, form-fitting dress and killer heels are spotless, and the wide-brimmed hat she wears do most of the work for her.
She meanders down the rows of slaves before the auction begins, watching them in their cages or shackled to the ground. She takes the time to read some of the bios, seemingly at random. She knows she isn't being followed, but that doesn't mean she isn't being watched. The cabal could have people waiting in the market, watching for any misstep.
There's one file that intrigues her. A name she hasn't heard in years, a face reminiscent of one almost forgotten.
She isn't certain, of course, but if she's looking for someone she can use, someone she can hold something over, this boy might not be a bad start. He might die, of course, but she'll give him the option of following through. Besides, anyone she purchases today may die.
She's wealthy enough to sit at one of the tables in the back, where the drinks are free and wilted flowers and candles form pathetic centerpieces. She bids on some of the slaves, always backing out before she can win. It leaves a bad taste in her mouth, but she doesn't have enough money to purchase them all. Not if she wants to complete her mission and undo the cabal. She has enough money to flaunt; she doesn't have enough to be a bleeding heart.
It takes ages for the boy to be brought up, and Sharon lets two men bid before lifting her own number. Two more raises of her hand, and she has purchased a human being. He's taken away, and she continues to sit and bid and lose until the auction is over.
A slaver comes over with a form to fill out. The whole process of buying a person is oddly civilized, she thinks, filling it out and handing over the cash. She smiles sweetly at the slaver. "I have more errands to do, and I don't want some filthy creature smelling up my car. Do you think he might be delivered to my suite at, say, four this afternoon?"
It costs extra, of course, but in Sharon's experience, there's little that can't be bought.
She heads out again, buying the boy some clothes and shoes, some toiletries. It's only an hour or two before she returns to her hotel. The suite on the top floor is paid for by the agency, or else she would never be able to afford her. Four bedrooms, a kitchen, a dining room, three bathrooms, a large balcony, all decorated in creams and gold and sweeping flourishes. One of the lamps is a in the form of a naked woman. She hates it, but the people whose company she keeps are fond of that sort of thing.
She puts the boy's things in the bedroom without a connected bath and glances at her watch. She still has half an hour left.
With an impatient sigh, she orders tea from room service and makes herself comfortable on the balcony to wait.
no subject
But it pisses him off when she doesn't even come pick him up, just sweeps out of the auction room and expects him to be delivered to her, like he's a piece of furniture. That kills the last of his already limited inclination to play nice.
When he's delivered to her doorstep, he waltzes out to the balcony like he owns the place and flops down on one of the fancy lounge chairs, all carelessness and insolence.
“So, how's this gonna go? You some kind of cougar?” He gives her a very rude and obviously appraising look, then shrugs. “I guess you're pretty hot. I can handle that.” Before giving her a chance to respond, he plunks his (dirty) shoes on the prissy little drink table and looks around the balcony and out across the lovely vista. “Pretty swanky place. I could get used to this.” He grins.
He knows he's probably just earned himself a sound beating (or a trip straight back to the auction block), but that's fine. It's not like he hasn't been knocked around before.
He can never resist pushing - patience, propriety, his luck. It’s what got him where he is in the first place. A more practical person might take that as a sign to tone it down, but toning anything down isn't in Tony's nature. He wants to see what kind of woman his new master is. He's found that the best way to get the measure of a person is to really piss them off.
no subject
And then he opens her mouth, and she corrects herself. This isn't a child; this is a teenager.
Knife-wielding psychopaths, she's good. But when it comes to teenagers, she'll just have to hope she doesn't make things worse.
She takes the chair beside him and sits right on the edge, letting him talk. Letting him look her over. It won't come to anything. Her eyes follow his feet as he sets them on the table, but she doesn't comment about it. If he thinks it upsets her, it doesn't. The hotel has maids. It doesn't take a genius to see that he's testing her. She is not so easily baited.
Instead, she merely says, "This is only a temporary residence. I'm here on business. The people I work with tend to be dangerous. They've already murdered two people, and they will likely murder more." She pours him a cup of tea before topping off her own cup. She hands him his and continues.
"I remember the Stark name. What it used to mean." Vaguely, admittedly, but enough to know she can try to use it. "I thought we might help each other."
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Then she starts talking, and all Tony's plans go out the window.
His expression shifts from insolent to wary when she tells him about people being murdered - he's not sure why she's telling him about it. So she does some kind of spook work, or maybe something illegal, but what's it to him? What exactly is she expecting him to do? What did she buy him for?
When she mentions his name, though, his face shuts down. His hands clench around his teacup. "What do you mean?" His voice is tight, hard, uninflected. He's angry.
no subject
She supposes it's natural that he might be upset.
It is bothersome, though. The mission is all that counts, not how they feel about it.
She pours some more tea, feeling along the bottom of the pot for a bug. She tinkers with the rest of the set, doing the same with each piece. "Your family was wealthy once. Powerful. Like some of the people you'll meet if you stay with me." She's read his file; if he doesn't run, he'll find a way to get sent back.
"I can't help but think there are some notable differences between these people and your family, though. Perhaps in their view of slavery?" About that, she doesn't actually know. She'd never met the Starks. But Tony is a slave. He can't approve, surely. Maybe he thinks well enough of his family to think they wouldn't think well of it, either.
"I need your help. When we're done here, I'll give you your freedom. And maybe we can make sure you're set up well enough that you never have to worry about being a slave again."
no subject
He doesn't believe for a second that the comment about his family is anything other than a calculated play for his emotions. "I guess you'd know better than I would. Since, you know, my parents died when I was six and I barely remember them." A gambit of his own. If you knew my family, if you know anything about them... prove it.
He leans back in his chair, his air of nonchalant arrogance returning (except that his eyes are still hard, and his hands are still clenched around his cup. He hasn't drunk any of the tea yet.)
"What makes you think I need your help?"
no subject
She sets the tea down carefully, not looking at his still-full cup.
"Because if you're a runaway slave, you'll be on the run for the rest of your life. You will never know for sure if someone is hunting you. You will never know for sure if you are safe. I propose that we find a way to secure your freedom."
She studies him for several moments. He still looks upset, but she can't blame him. He'd just been bought, and he has no idea how bad things are going to get.
"I have a meeting in two hours. I'm not certain they'll feed you. Would you like to look at the room service menu before getting ready? I've got some clothes that ought to fit you in your room."
no subject
He looks interested in the offer of food and clothing, but it's a calculating, dispassionate sort of interest, born of a life where good food and clothes were not always easy to come by. If she's hoping to bribe him or gain his trust with that, she's barking up the wrong tree.
"What am I supposed to be getting ready for?" He asks. Emphasis on the 'supposed to.' He's never made a habit of doing what he's supposed to. "Who are these people? Who do you work for? What do you need me for? Because so far you've talked a lot, and told me pretty much nothing, and you're going to have to spill a lot more before I decide if I feel like helping you or not."
That's an audacious way to address any master, but she's put up with a lot of sass already, and he's not afraid of pushing the envelope. She's made it clear that this is an... unconventional situation, and he's going to push that as far as it'll go.
no subject
"It's best if you see for yourself," she says instead. She sets her tea cup on the table and gets to her feet.
"I realize that I seem lenient to you. And you're right. I am being lenient. But I am working on something larger than the both of us. I would like your assistance in this." She walks to the doorway and stops to turn and look at him. "Give me tonight, at the very least. I understand that you probably want to leave. If you don't understand what's at stake after tonight, we will discuss terms for your freedom."
She glances at her watch, a thin, gold watch that looks expensive. "You're running out of time to eat. The kitchen here isn't known for its speed."
no subject
"...But I'll take some lobster in the meantime. They have lobster on the menu?" He's never had lobster before, unless you count the suspicious gloop in 'lobster rolls' from street vendors.
He finally takes a sip of the tea. He doesn't much care for it (he's never understood the appeal), and he sets the cup down. She's standing, so he stands too. "So, you'd really give me my freedom? Just like that?" Tony knows 'too good to be true' when he hears it, but he's starting to suspect she thinks he's kind of stupid, and that can be its own advantage.
no subject
Then she shrugs, stepping closer so that she can speak more softly. "But all I'd really have to do is arrange for safe passage for you and then fake your death." She steps away and speaks at her volume. "By all means, order your lobster. But be ready to go soon. These are not people to be kept waiting."
no subject
Disappearing and changing identities had been his first plan anyway, so it's all the same to him. This whole business is obviously super shady, and if she prefers to make her new acquisition disappear rather than freeing him the easy way, Tony's sure she has her reasons. Her sneaky, crazy, paranoid reasons.
Anyway, the fastest way to have his questions answered is to go along with whatever she has planned. And there's some new clothes and a lobster tail calling his name.
He saunters off to his room, calls room service, showers, and tries on his new clothes. They fit well enough. Definitely nicer than anything he's ever been able to buy for himself.
Looking a little bit more like a put-together adult and less like a scruffy teenager, he returns to the main area of the suite. She'd said the room service was slow, so his food probably isn't ready yet, but there's nothing in his room to entertain him, and there's nothing Tony loathes more than being bored.
no subject
Seeing Tony, she holds the gun lower and nods to him. "Be a dear and get that, would you?"
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"Jesus!" he mutters, trying to put a lid on his overactive fight-or-flight response (fight, it's mostly fight). Come on, Sharon, it's not nice to startle a neglected orphan like that. "Where did that come from? You're, like, shrink-wrapped into that dress. What else have you got stuffed under there?"
Nevertheless, he complies with the request (order?). Shaking his head, Tony moves to the door and cracks it open. "Yeah?"
If it's somebody else with a gun and not his lobster, he is so outta here.
no subject
"Give this to him." Her tone is firm, and, despite not lifting her head from the article she's reading, obviously intended for Tony. She holds up a twenty dollar bill, welcoming Tony to take it from her. Why should she have to get up, after all, when she has him around?
no subject
Fortunately, expensive seafood is a way better motivator than intimidation. Tony sighs and walks over to grab the twenty, rolling his eyes at her for good measure.
"Thanks, man." Tony gives the hotel employee his first genuine smile of the day, and trades him the twenty for the tray of food. The kitchen wasn't as slow as she'd threatened - they probably fast-track orders from the penthouse suites.
He seats himself in one of the other lounge chairs and digs in.
"Do I get any kind of orientation now, or am I walking into this totally blind?" he asks, dunking a chunk of lobster tail in the melted butter.
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She flips another page in the magazine. "If it matters, I won't punish you without good reason. And use a napkin. And don't eat too fast - you don't want to throw up lobster."
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"I don't get scared easily. Whatever Mission Impossible crap you've got planned is better than being a boy toy for one of those other creeps who bid on me, so I'm on board." He takes another defiant bite of his lobster. "I'm eighteen, not eight." He can handle himself, and he doesn't need to be talked down to.
Of course, she's his owner - she can talk down to him if she wants. It just means he'll probably ignore her.
no subject
She pauses, her thoughts elsewhere as she plays out possible ways tonight could go. "You really don't want to eat the lobster that fast," she says at last.
no subject
Anyway, what's she gonna do? Take it away from him? (Maybe. His body language becomes just a shade more defensive.)
"Did I say I wasn't taking it seriously? This is me taking it seriously." An understandable confusion, since he sure acts like he never takes anything seriously. "You said you'd free me for just one night of shadowing you at Fight Club or whatever. I'm taking that really seriously."
He still doesn't actually believe that she'll do it, but, hey, he'll try anything once. Known factors are safety— but unknown factors are opportunity.
no subject
She, on the other hand, is ready to go and has been for a while, so she gives him a meaningful look that says, "Get going," and turns back to her magazine.
no subject
Since she won't tell him what they're going to be doing and he's already dressed, finishing his meal seems to be the only thing on the "get ready" checklist, and he completes that item with great satisfaction. The hype is justified after all: lobster is pretty damn delicious.
He still has a few minutes to spare, and she's ignoring him, so Tony goes to wash his hands and does a quick pass of the kitchenette while he's in there. There's a bowl of complimentary snacks on the counter: some fruit, three little squares of expensive chocolate, and a couple of fancy hippy granola bars. Nice. He eats the chocolates and pockets the granola bars.
Then he returns to the living room. "Okay, Boss, ready when you are." (The 'Boss' is definitely sarcastic.)
no subject
By the time Tony is back, there's a man standing at the door, dressed as a chauffeur. Sharon is still sitting, looking for all the world as if neither of them are there. Once Tony announces his arrival, she sets the magazine aside and strides toward the door.
"Come along, then."
She doesn't wait, instead following the man to the elevator. She doesn't speak along the way; neither does the man. Nor do either of them speak outside on the way to a limo waiting at the curb.
The man holds the door open for her, and she slides in. She still hasn't so much as glanced at Tony; she doesn't seem inclined to start now, either.
no subject
He settles in, patting the leather seats appreciatively. "Not a Lamborghini, but it'll do." He grins. "So, what's your name? Or, your cover name, right?" After all this cloak-and-dagger crap, she's surely not going to tell him her real name.
no subject
"My name is Sharon Carter. I work with SHIELD." She smiles thinly. "The cloak-and-dagger crap, as you call it, was to get you to make less of a fuss. I hate dealing with tantrums. Not many people are appropriately afraid of me when they first meet them, and it's easier - and oftentimes more entertaining - to manipulate them into doing what I want. I trust, though, that I won't have to worry about you at all after tonight."
She doubts he'll do it, but nonetheless, she mentally yells at him to play along, to shut up, to at the very least keep his damned mouth shut.
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It's the oldest established permanent floating crap game-- uh, illegal gladiator ring-- in New York