bakerstreet | The Slave Auction Meme

The Slave Auction Meme

â§ 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.
â§ Respond to others with one of the scenarios below or feel free to make up your own.
â§ 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.

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Stark Tower is looming in the windows when Tony finally finishes whatever it is he's working on. He looks up. "Perfect timing."

The limo slips out of traffic and into the garage. Tony shuts off his tablet and chugs the last of his Perrier, then turns his attention back to Temugin. "Hope you weren't bored." Whoops. Little late to be worrying about that, Tony. "Anyway. Here we are."

The chauffeur opens the door, and Tony steps out. Once he's sure Temugin is following, he walks over to a pair of glass doors that lead to a tasteful but unassuming lobby.

"Welcome back, Mister Stark," a melodious female voice says. The doors don't open. "Please confirm guest access."

"Guest access confirm. Add biometric print to permanent access list, security level Euler Four." Nerd. "Temugin Khan."

"Please enter palm print and retinal scan," the AI prompts, and a security pad on the wall lights up.

As soon as Temugin complies, the doors slide open, and the AI speaks again. "Welcome to Stark Tower, Mister Khan." Tony smiles, raises his eyebrows, and steps inside.

This is obviously the private lobby. A secretary (ostensibly) smiles at Tony as he walks in, and then sweeps her gaze to Temugin. Assessing. Memorizing. Not all the security in Stark Tower is automated.

"Good afternoon, Mister Stark."

"Afternoon, Bethany," Tony answers, giving her a friendly wave.

He leads Temugin to the elevator, which opens, closes, and moves in almost complete silence. The only evidence that it's actually going up is the tug of acceleration.

Tony leans against the wall of the elevator and sticks his hands in his pockets, watching Temugin, wondering how he'll react to all this.

The way that Temugin is doing all of this without even the slightest hesitation, one would think he's been doing this all his life. And some of his masters had been rich, true. But not this rich. And they'd never dared to give him security access.

He notes the way he's being watched, and is sure that cameras he can't see are watching him, too. They're not the only ones observing. He's taking everything in, though whether to escape or to acclimate is anyone's guess. A gilded cage is still a cage.

"What am I doing here?" he asks as the elevator takes them up. It's not asked pleadingly, or with wonder: the intonation is completely flat. He wants answers, and if he suffers consequences, then so be it. Stark's as much of an enigma to him as he is to Stark.

Temugin's demeanor remains subdued, but it's an intense, alert sort of quiet - not submissiveness.

His question isn't unexpected, but Tony doesn't have an answer. He rubs the back of his neck, looking almost awkward, and replies, "Not sure yet. I wasn't... I didn't really think this through." He gives Temugin a sheepish smile.

And Stark becomes even more of an enigma with that answer.

There are at least thirty things Temugin thinks of to say, and all of them are completely out of line. Granted, he's been completely out of line before, but he doesn't want to start yet.

His gaze sweeps over Stark, continuing to assess him and his demeanor. Nobody had ever shown this kind of hesitation and uncertainty in front of him before.

"...I see."

No, he really doesn't."

"I bought you because you're interesting," Tony admits, giving Temugin that curious little cock of his head again. "I like interesting people." His smile and his confidence return. "I'm sure I'll come up with something equally interesting to do with you."

The elevator reaches its destination. The door opens onto a foyer, all sleek minimalist glass and metal and concrete. The view out over the Manhattan skyline is spectacular.

A small spiral staircase leads them up to Tony's... well, his entire floor. Two of them, actually. His living space is a split-level, open plan loft, with the main area looking out on an even more spectacular view of the city through a two-story wall of glass. It's, you know. What you'd expect of one of the richest men in the world.

"Here we are," Tony says lightly, apparently uninterested in impressing Temugin by showing off his sweet crib. He lives here. He forgets sometimes how ridiculous it is. "Your suite'll be down the hall." He gestures in the appropriate direction. He usually uses it as a guest suite, not... servant's quarters, but he doesn't know where else to put Temugin. "Bedroom, bath, kitchenette, study, all that. Should be fully stocked. If your stuff's not in there already, they'll deliver it soon." He glances back at Temugin. "I guess you'll have to get some new clothes, huh? I can call my tailor in tomorrow."

Tour accomplished, Tony starts heading for his bedroom, shucking his suit as he goes. Shoes kicked off, jacket shrugged off, tie undone. He thinks he'll change into lab clothes and try to get some work done; give Temugin some time to settle in.

Edited (the number of times I've had to correct Gene to Temugin is frankly embarassing) 2016-10-01 08:21 (UTC)

Okay. This is impressive.

Temugin doesn't stand there in slack-jawed amazement, but he almost wants to. Only his years spent cultivating his cool demeanor stops him. He nearly snorts at the idea that he has 'stuff'. Possessions had been...discouraged, was a word for it, and nothing he'd had - a change of clothes - would compare to the life he would now be living.

Again, he asks himself, What am I doing here?

He's not sure what Stark means by 'something interesting'. He's not sure he wants to. But he knows he has to do what he has to do. No matter what. Again, a gilded cage was still a cage, and the life of a slave was one of obedience.

Tony disappears into his bedroom for a moment, and then returns a minute later in jeans and a t-shirt. There's an odd circular bump on his chest under the shirt, but the fabric is too thick to show any details.

"I'm gonna hit the lab for a few hours. You can use the exercise room if you want, and your TV and computer'll be hooked up. You need anything to eat?" Tony meanders into his kitchen and grabs a pocketful of energy bars (mmm, lab fuel). "You can order delivery, or cook, if you want. You said you cook, right?"

That odd circle doesn't go unnoticed, but Gene doesn't say anything. He's known for a long while not to question any odd physical attributes of his masters - at least, out loud.

"Yeah, I cook. I'm not...hungry right now, though." Mostly he just wants to lie down on his new bed and stare at the ceiling.

Your TV. Your computer.

That, more than anything, is what's making his head spin. He'd had his own quarters on rare occasions, but he'd usually bunked with other slaves. And now - his own TV? His own computer? His own room?

Madness.

"Okay." Awkward pause. "Well, if you want anything later, help yourself." Longer awkward pause. This is new territory for Tony. "Yeah. So. I'm gonna go. Make yourself at home, I guess."

Tony looks at Temugin expectantly, giving him a chance to speak up if there's anything else he needs. Otherwise, he'll make his way down to the lab and leave Temugin to his own devices.

Edited 2016-10-02 16:58 (UTC)

Temugin stares at him for a moment - more impertinence, but he's honestly never dealt with this before. Nobody has left him to his own devices. Ever. Or told him to make himself at home.

"All right."

Awkward pause.

"Thank you."

He watches Stark leave, and once the other man is gone, he heads towards his room. His room.

This is going to take a lot of getting used to.

It's a relief to go down to the lab and lose himself in work for a little while - this whole situation is very strange, and Tony's not sure what he's gotten himself into. He needs to clear his head.

In the windowless lab, time seems to stand still. There's no day or night, no meetings or business deals, no mysterious slaves to occupy his attention: just the meditative complexities of engineering.

When he emerges several hours later, he feels much steadier. It's night, now, and past dinnertime. Tony has devoured all his protein bars, but his stomach is grumbling for something more substantial.

As soon as he steps out of the elevator, his stomach growls - something smells incredible.

He trots up the stairs, following his nose like a dog. "Oh, wow. What did you make? That smells amazing." He wonders if there's anything left. He should have told Temugin to cook for two.

Temugin had gone to lie down on his bed for a while, but found it too soft compared to what he was used to. It was an odd situation, and he was unused to being idle. Perhaps he ought to have gone to the lab with Stark. Being left alone and idle seemed too much like a trap.

He decided to cook after a while instead. He found cooking to be a calming exercise, which was why it was his least-disliked task as a slave. Something complex, something that would take his mind off of things.

When Stark comes up the stairs, he's almost finished with the curry he's been working on. "Kaeng kari," he says. "Yellow curry."

"Mmm." Tony walks into the kitchen and peers into the pan. "Is it too late to double that order? I was just gonna eat pizza, but that looks way better."

As Temugin's master, he could just take it without asking, but that's a dick move. Tony had told him to cook for himself, not for both of them. He's not going to start out this relationship by being an unpredictable, passive-aggressive jackass.

Stark wouldn't be the first unpredictable, passive-aggressive jackass Temugin has had the dubious pleasure of serving under. And that was the most mild of them.

And he knows what he needs to do.

"This is for you," he says.

"Oh." Tony looks up at Temugin, pleasantly surprised. "You ate already?"

It doesn't immediately occur to him that Temugin might be offering his own meal; his first assumption is that he has merely taken the initiative to make two meals.

Temugin has two options.

One. He could lie. Bad choice, usually. It's saved his hide before, but it's also gotten it flayed.

Two. He could tell the truth. It's actually right and proper for the master to eat before the slave.

So he tells the truth. "No, I haven't."

"Oh," Tony says again, now looking slightly disappointed. There is yet another awkward pause. This is becoming a theme.

There appears to be only enough food for one, and there isn't a second dish in the oven. "So what are you going to eat?" Tony can't believe that he's not hungry this late in the day.

"I'll make more."

It's not particularly complicated to make, after all. He'd be more up-front, but he's still trying to get the measure of Stark. Exactly what kind of master is he? Temugin has a sneaking suspicion that he's entirely unique.

Ah. Now Tony gets it. "No, no, you go ahead. I'll take the second batch. Can I just—?" He dips a spoon into the pan and grabs a mouthful. Rude, Tony.

He nods, looking very impressed. "That is amazing." He claps Gene on shoulder. "How do you like the sound of personal chef?"

The inside of Temugin's head is a series of question marks. Telling him to eat first? Asking him if he wants to be his personal chef?

Yes. Most definitely a singular man.

But a better position than he'd expected than when he'd woken up this morning.

"...are you asking me, or telling me?" He's really not sure.

Shrug. And a smile. "Asking. If you're not going to talk much about yourself and your record isn't any better, I'm just going to have to figure out what to do with you the hard way, huh?"

You said you're a jack of all trades, Gene, so I hope you're ready for some trial and error.

"...sure," he says, a little nonplussed. Well, more than a little. He's so nonplussed, he's minused.

Though you probably should have figured out what to do with him before you bought him, but no use shutting the stable door after the horse has bolted.

"I think I'd like that." Better than a lot of the other duties he's had, actually.

"Great." Tony beams, like he's found a brilliantly clever solution to an intractable problem. "Take your time; I don't keep to much of a schedule. Always plenty to do." He chuckles.

And that settled - at least for now - Tony meanders off again to continue his nightly routine. (To the extent that he can be said to keep to any kind routine.)

He hits the exercise room, and then the shower, and then returns to the kitchen, now in boxers and another t-shirt. And he's very hungry. He hopes Temugin has finished the second portion of that curry stuff.

Temugin eats fast. He's always done so - to keep his food from being stolen, and to keep himself from getting in trouble. So being told to take his time was once again baffling.

He's known Stark for all of a few hours, and he's been trusted more than he ever has been in his life.

He's not sure if or when he should fetch Stark for dinner, but he's barely finished cooking when Stark comes by, hair damp from the shower and in boxers.

"Good timing," he says.

Tony grins at Temugin, and sits down on a bar stool at the long island counter. The plate of curry is piping hot, but it looks and smells so delicious that Tony can't help himself, and digs in right away. At least the heat keeps him from inhaling the entire plate all at once.

He nods appreciatively as he chews. "I could definitely get used to this," he says around a mouthful. "This was a great idea." As if buying himself a personal chef was the plan all along, and not an ad hoc solution to an impulsive decision. "Where'd you learn to cook like this? One of your masters pay to have you trained, or did you pick it up yourself?"

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tony do you ever think things through

literally never, why do you ask

LIFESTYYYYLES OF THE RICH AAAAND FAMOOOOUUUSSSSS

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I'LL FOLLOW MY NOSE! WHEREVER IT GOES! TO THE FLAVORS OF FRUIT! WHEREVER THEY GROW!

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