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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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?"

"Neither," Temugin said. "Some of the other slaves taught me. So my range is a bit geographically limited. If you're looking for Cordon Bleu, you'll have to look elsewhere."

Apparently the curry has made him a little bit spicy, too.

But at least Stark seems to like the food, which is helping to relax him a little. He'd had no idea if his tastes were similarly geographically limited.

"I eat anything," Tony cheerfully assures him. "If it's all this good, I don't care where it's from. But you'll have plenty of time to practice, now, if you're looking to branch out," he points out.

He thinks Temugin has other talents aside from cooking still left to discover, but for now, Tony's happy to be fed a real meal once or twice a day and have a few sandwiches shoved at him when he's been in the lab too long.

Temugin almost says 'Are you asking me, or telling me?' again, because he's known too many masters who couch their orders in apparent requests. But Stark seems so cheerful, and...genuine about it.

Again: weird.

"I'll do that," he says anyway, to be on the safe side. And it can't hurt.

"Great. Never hurts to have a marketable skill, right?" Being able to bill himself as a personal chef with a Stark on his resume my help Temugin move up in the world - into the hands of gentler masters, and perhaps eventually to freedom.

If his value is in a specific skill, it might also keep him from being purchased for other, less savory uses. Tony wouldn't feel right selling one of his slaves knowing that they might end up being purchased as little more than a warm body.

"I agree." A marketable skill - one that would actually be able to be shown on his history - would help him in the future, when Stark eventually became bored of him. He's one of those slaves who changed hands often, and knows this would be no different. Temugin gives it six months at the outside before, like all of them, Stark gets bored.

And being handed off like a hot potato isn't exactly the fast track to freedom.

He'd end up doing what was necessary to survive. Freedom, he knows, is something he shouldn't waste his time pining for. Either plan or don't. Dreaming will get you nowhere.

Tony gives Temugin a wry smile. "Still not feeling very chatty, huh?"

Tony's a social person, and doesn't much like the idea of spending a lot of time with someone who's allergic to conversation, slave or not. But Temugin's flashes of attitude give him hope. He may be better company once he's adjusted and loosened up.

Wow, Stark seems really interested in talking to him. Not just at him, but to him. Like he's actually a human being instead of a piece of furniture.

Huh.

"I'm not used to it," he admits. And I'm still trying to figure out your rules.

"And I'm not used to having live-in servants, so this'll be a new experience for both of us," Tony replies.

It's true: the Starks have fleets of staff at their disposal, of course, but they don't tend to hang around. Howard is a private man, and domestic chores are usually performed in the Starks' absence.

Temugin thinks the situation's rather like comparing apples and oranges, but he doesn't say so.

"So - just to be sure I'm understanding this right - you don't actually want me to be seen and not heard." He's pushing his luck, he knows, since he's using a tone one would normally use to speak to an equal. But it'd be a good way to get the measure of the man.

"I didn't buy you because I need someone else to grovel and kiss my ass, and if I wanted a decorative houseplant I would have gone to a florist," Tony answers bluntly. "So." He waves his fork in a dismissive little circle, as if the whole matter is trivial. "Yes. You have my permission to not do all that." Decree delivered, he returns his fork to his plate and polishes off the last of his curry.

Scraping up the dregs of the sauce, he raises his eyebrows and adds, "Also, if I was looking for some meek little house slave, I wouldn't have bought the guy who looks like he could kick my ass and has 'troublemaker' written all over his records."

And Temugin gives him the ghost of a smile at that. "Well, 'troublemaker'...I wouldn't know anything about that." He pauses for effect, before adding, "sir."

It's going to be a game of pushing the boundaries for a while, but Stark has just opened up a whole new frontier.

Goodness gracious, was that a smile? Finally, some progress.

Tony's smile widens into a grin. "I think I'm going to enjoy getting to know you, Temugin. Mind if I call you Gene? Temugin's a bit of a mouthful." He's sure he's not pronouncing it correctly. (He could take the time to learn the correct pronunciation, but... yeah, he's still kind of an asshole.)

Temugin - the newly-christened Gene - shrugs with some indifference. "Not the worst nickname I've ever had." The worst'd curl your hair, laddie buck.

"And, funny. I was about to say the same to you."

"Well, now I'm curious." Don't say things like that and expect him not to ask about it, Gene!

"And flattered, I think. Maybe you'll be one of the half-dozen people who can stand to put up with me on a regular basis." He gives Gene a self-deprecating smirk.

"I'd prefer not to talk about it." Setting a boundary. Let's see what happens.

"So far, you've actually been one of the least intrusive masters I've had. But then, we barely know each other." A smirk right back. "Sir."

"...Fair enough." Now he's even more curious. But he doesn't need to know, and it's not his business, and if he's honest with himself the story would probably be both depressing and disappointingly mundane anyway.

Tony gets up and dumps his silverware and empty plate in the dishwasher. "Like I said, this is a new thing for me. Don't really know the expectations, don't really care. And you don't have to call me 'sir' when we're alone, by the way. Tony's fine."

He hears 'sir' and 'Mister Stark' too often to find them grating, but he doesn't really find them necessary, either.

But he does catch that cheeky little smirk, and he continues with more humor, "Unless you're just doing it to be cute— then I'm going to find a more annoying nickname to call you." Probably something punny. You've been warned.

"There are very few people who would call anything about me 'cute'," Gene deadpans. "But, noted. Tony it is."

This keeps being weird. Every time he thinks he has a handle on what's going on, Stark...Tony...throws him another curveball.

He really has been keeping a wit in reserve; getting him to let it out a little more will be the hard part. Keeping it to himself has helped him survive this long.

~~Tony thinks your butt is very cute, Gene.~~

"Great." Tony gives Gene another friendly pat on the shoulder. Touchy-feely, isn't he? "I'm gonna head to bed. Got a board meeting early tomorrow. You need anything else for the night?"

~~Ooh Mr. Stark ooooh~~

If Gene hadn't seen that coming, Tony may have gotten to find out firsthand just how much Gene could kick his ass. "No, I think I'm all right." Very, very confused. But all right. "Let me know if there's anything you need...Tony."

He tries the name out. And while it is weird to call a master by his first name - not usually recommended - it's nice to talk to someone almost like an equal.

"Breakfast would be awesome." Despite Tony's natural gregariousness, they're still master and slave, not buddies. "Meeting's at 8am. I'm having dinner with my dad tomorrow, so you're off the hook for that. Trish'll get my schedule to you, and I'll tell you which of that crap I'm actually going to so you can plan ahead."

There's more logistics to deal with - establishing Gene's freedom of movement, ensuring his papers and identification are in order, that sort of thing - but that can all be handled tomorrow after the board meeting.

"If anything comes up, you know where to find me." And Tony heads back to his bedroom.

Gene nods, and begins planning breakfast. He has no idea what Tony will eat, so he'll start with something simple.

Everyone likes omelets, right?

The next morning, he's frying up a ham and swiss omelet, bright and early. There's orange juice on the table, and, upon consideration, one banana. Potassium's good for you.

Maybe not everyone, but Tony sure does! He zooms into the kitchen at 7:45, already spruced up and dressed in an impeccably tailored suit. Sometimes he likes to remind the Board that he can act like a civilized human being, when he feels like it.

"Nice," is his only greeting before he unpeels the banana and eats the whole thing in about two bites (please, contain your dick jokes). As soon as the omelette hits his plate, he starts wolfing that down too. "Oh, man," he mumbles between bites. "I love you. I love breakfast." ~~I love... lamp.~~

The omelette disappears with astonishing speed, and then he chugs the orange juice, apparently determined to finish the entire meal in under five minutes. "Awesome," he decrees, and then he bounces up and straightens his tie and jacket. (The fact that he managed not to get egg all over his fancy clothes must be some kind of miracle.) "I'll be back this afternoon. Need anything before I go? Phone's off in the meeting, god help me." Forcing him to disconnect from the internet? Barbaric!

Good morning to you too, Tony.

Gene's a little amused by the way Tony's wolfing the food down. You'd think he hadn't eaten in days, not just hours. "Good to see that it meets with your approval," he says, smiling a little. Note to self: omelets work.

"No, I don't need anything. Still just getting adjusted to the place." Tony should undetstand; this whole scenario would take some adjustment for any normal person, let alone a slave.

Tony smiles back. "Well, if you do, the AI recognizes voice commands." He gestures vaguely, indicating that the whole place is AI-enabled. "She'll hook you up. Okay— gotta run." He's cutting it close on time. He's lucky he doesn't have to commute.

---

He returns as promised several hours later, looking a little less crisp but somehow still stylish. 'Deliberately tousled business formal' is a good look for him. "I really hate those," he complains, though he doesn't actually seem all that annoyed. Maybe eating a real meal for breakfast instead of coffee and whatever's lying around has put him in a good mood.

He's carrying a small assortment of items, and he waves Gene over to the kitchen island and spreads them out. "Phone, tablet." He pushes the devices over to Gene. They're brand new, top-of-the-line Stark products. "You've got my number programmed in, and Trish. Steven's the guy who runs the fleet, so give him a call if you need a ride. Mina coordinates the household staff. Grocery orders go through her, and if the oven explodes or whatever, she'll get it fixed." He slides over the next item. "ID card." It's Gene's government photo ID, newly issued to reflect his change of ownership.

Two more plastic cards joins the pile. "Credit card, if you feel like hitting the Fulton Fish Market and personally communing with the sushi. Go wild." Tony knows chefs can be incredibly snobby about their ingredients, and he doesn't have a problem with Gene spending a little extra money hand-picking his. "Just don't try anything funny with it, our personal accountant is scary, and might be a mutant with some kind of finance-based superpower. This one's yours," he says, indicating the second card. "Discretionary allowance is $500 a month, to start. Anything you don't spend is credited to your account, so don't worry about stuffing cash under your mattress."

There's one item left on Tony's side of the island - an unassuming metal bracelet - but he leaves it untouched for now.

"You're on for regular meals, minus whatever my schedule says I'm not around for. Other than that, you're on your own. You're free to come and go, just check in and out with whoever's at the desk downstairs. You can take religious holidays," as per federal regulations, "and personal days are on request, with two weeks notice. The tailor will be here at 3."

Phew. That was quite a spiel to run through. Tony smiles at Gene. "Sound good? Did I miss anything?"

Edited 2016-10-08 06:31 (UTC)

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isn't everything tony does an ad hoc solution to an impulsive decision

yes

good thing we cleared that up then

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Give him a million dollars and a dare, and he'll make an orange taste like an apple!

tony doesn't need a million dollars

well it's the principle of the thing

well you can call him anything you like as long as you don't call him late for dinner.

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you must be a level 4 friend to unlock my tragic backstory

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the dick jokes can't be tamed

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