bakerstreet | The Slave Auction Meme

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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.

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This time her smile was bright like sunlight. "You have," she confirmed. "A lot. And you were there when I fought a duel and ended up with this stripe of blood across my nose--" She traced the same movement across her face that he'd just done. "--that became this whole thing for a while, and it was ridiculous, and I'll tell you all about it. But later."

Teo bounced in place, ecstatic to see that look on her face, and licked her hand, then Varric's, then moved around and butted the dwarf in the back to start moving him along, clearly tired of standing around in a hallway foyer for conversations like this. Hawke laughed. "Fine, fine, old boy, we get it." She looked back at Varric. "I'll see you soon. No more than an hour or so, I promise. Unless you're still in the bath then, which is entirely possible, knowing you."

Easy, teasing, a complete contrast from the anger and grief of a few minutes ago. They weren't gone, far from it.

But he remembered her eyes.

This felt better. More natural. The blood stripe information slotted neatly into his mind, accepted as easily as breathing: a duel, yes, that fit. That made sense. Her easy attitude complete with teasing: that, too, felt right. That was how this woman was supposed to be.

Maybe there was something. Maybe he wasn't totally adrift after all- the eyes he'd been dreaming about for years were real, and belonged to someone, and she was here.

After taking a dog-assisted step or two, he stopped and looked at her. Opened his mouth, closed it again. Seemed to screw up his courage, then spoke.

"What- um. What's your name?"

"Hawke." She noticed the 'um', how much effort it took him before he could ask even that most basic of questions. And ruefully kicked herself a little for not having told him before. She just hadn't thought about it. "Marian Hawke."

"Hawke..." he repeated slowly, looking thoughtful and then suddenly stricken.

Hawke. Hawke.

Marian Hawke.

He fell to his knees as pain flared white-hot behind his eyes, layers and layers of blood magic locking away one of the most important things in his entire life behind countless walls of agony.

Hawke?! HAWKE! Inquisitor I swear to Andraste's hairy tits, where is she-

Hands in his hair, fisting, pulling.

What do you say we put an end to all this waiting around, and go meet destiny?

Everything's noisy, someone is shouting, it can't be him, can it?

Right behind you, H-

Hurts, it hurts, comes pouring through in great bursts-

-what, and miss seeing you make these motherless nug-lickers cry? Not on your l-

-Fits and starts, scraps of memory, shreds of a life-

How many have you got, Hawke?

She was moving towards him the instant his face changed, before his hands went to his head, before he fell to his knees, before he screamed, shouting, Someone get Riva right fucking now, Teo bounding off in search of help, and both of those things were probably pointless because the way Varric was screaming would bring people running without any effort from her or Teo.

Her arms were around him, holding hard, clinging, to the Void with all the times she'd sworn to herself that she wouldn't touch him until he let her, holding as though she could keep all the broken parts of him together and stop them exploding and hitting the walls, metaphorically, (oh Maker, they can't have put sick blood magic spells inside his mind to make it actually explode, can they?), Riva!, and she held, and held, and held, repeating over and over: "I've got you, Varric, I've got you, I'm here, I'm here, I'm here--" Couldn't say he was safe because she knew now it was a lie, the traps were in his head. "Varric!"

Edited 2018-02-25 00:28 (UTC)

He could have fought off her touch but he didn't. He could have reacted with panic but he didn't. He held onto her like a lifeline, like the only thing keeping the blown-out pieces of himself together and a comforting anchor through the pain.

It hurt, it hurt more than anything he'd ever felt in his life, but he had to hold on. Had to push through. He wanted more than anything to keep screaming, but something was breaking through- something important, something wonderful.

His eyes opened, teeth ground together to bite back a scream. Eyes locked on hers, hands clutching at her, seeing her for the first time.

"Hawke."

She put a hand on the side of his face as he looked at her, as he saw her, not realizing (or caring) that there were tears running down her face. "Varric?"

He covered her hand with his, giving her a pained, difficult stare through the starbursts going off in his head.

Then, all of a sudden, everything snapped shut. Nothing he'd remembered left, but the new memories stopped coming. Varric flinched, bowed his head for a second and grimaced against the pain, before coming up for air again in her eyes.

"Hawke." Now his eyes were tearing up, too. "I don't- I don't have much, but-"

His hands fisted in her shirt.

"It's okay." She rested her forehead on his, covering his fisted hands with one of hers, the other still around his shoulder. "It's okay." Sort of a lie, nothing would ever be okay again, they'd never get back everything they'd lost. Three years that should have happened so, so fucking differently. But it was sort of true, too. "We'll do whatever's needed to help you, anything, I will do anything." The hand on his shoulder went up to his head, stroked his hair. "I'm here. I came for you." She let out a sob of a laugh. "You had to know I would, somewhere in that head of yours, whatever they did to you. Maker's arse, Varric, I missed you so much."

Hawke. He couldn't remember everything, couldn't hold onto much, but he remembered friendship, remembered fighting at each other's backs, remembered a fleeting almost-kiss and a real one (when? when? timelines, shit-), moments of blood and booze and love and fear, of following into hell.

She came for him.

She says he must have known, but the truth-?

He shakes his head. "I didn't know. They- they wiped everything away, I..."

Nobody was coming for him. Ever. He never even had the chance to forget what hope felt like- he never had any at all.

"I still came. They couldn't stop that." She brushed a few stray hairs away from his forehead. "I don't know how much they've got locked away in there, how much you can get back. I don't know if you want to try, if it's going to hurt like that. But whatever the answers are, we'll figure them out. Both of us, together."

Varric nodded, both a little reassured and rapidly becoming overwhelmed. "Yeah. Yeah, Hawke, whatever you say."

His knuckles whitened from their grip on her shirt. There was so much. A whole life, a city, a people. A woman, a life, a life. He'd never had one, never even been allowed to wonder, and now here it was all at once, in a surge of agony and memory and pain.

She was close. She was so close. He knew her, it was Hawke, but- but. Heart stuttered. Something tightened around his chest and it felt like a fist, like an almighty fist squeezing, but he couldn't see anything like that, couldn't- he couldn't.

This was rapidly becoming overwhelming for her, and she had the easy part in this. Gently, carefully, Hawke loosened his white-knuckled grip on her shirt and put his hands in hers instead, not caring how hard he squeezed them. She was still resting her forehead against his. There were the sounds of footsteps running, but Teo forestalled whoever was there, a living canine barrier. "You don't have to rush this. It's going to take time." She had no clue what she was saying, she was just babbling. Fenris' advice wasn't going to be enough. "Just...Just breathe."

She meant well. Every word was lovingly chosen and kindly spoken, empathy and understanding both woven into her soft voice. Every touch was kind and gentle- the first kind touch he'd ever known.

She meant well.

But he couldn't breathe. It was Hawke, it was Hawke and he'd loved her and he couldn't remember much, couldn't see much, didn't have more than scraps to hold onto, but he knew that this woman was one of the most important people in the world, and he'd lost her. Three years. Three fucking years of him being alone, of her being alone. Three years without a kind touch or a laugh, with only orders, with silence and cruel hands and-

Fuck. Fuck. He couldn't breathe. Every word she said drove like spikes, the touch to his forehead seeming to hold him in place like blood magic. Too hot- the air was too warm, too thick between them, like-

Finally he twisted his face away, took a gasping breath of cold air, and held it for a few seconds. Trying, desperately, to hold onto oxygen any way he could, even if it was as unwise as holding his breath.

A large, furry head pushed its way between them, followed by a large, furry body. Teo batted his head against Varric's face, then more forcefully against his chest, knocking him to the ground and driving the wind out of him briefly. He put his paws on the dwarf's chest and licked his face, though less frantically than he had earlier.

Edited 2018-02-25 21:23 (UTC)

Varric almost wasn't aware of what was happening until he was on the ground with a dog on him. A tongue lapped at his face, paws went to his chest, then before he knew it Teo was laying on top of him, weight pressing down on him like a ten-ton bronto.

Yet, somehow, it wasn't bad. Varric's hands went to the dog's head where it lay on his chest, and found anchor there. Somehow it calmed him, and he was able to find breath again.

He couldn't have said how long they laid like that. Eventually Teo moved back a tiny bit, letting Varric sit up and hunch over him, with the dog's weight driving comfortingly into his lap. Oh, it was good. It was so, so, so good.

Hawke just...waited. She'd almost cried out when Varric's hand was pulled from hers, but it was Teo, and his instincts were good, whenever they didn't involve telling him it'd be great fun to go piss on that thing over there. It was Teo, and there was no one and nothing in the world she trusted more. The hand that had been holding Varric's clenched as though she could keep the warmth of it trapped there, evidence that this was all real, he was found, even if it was all balls-up and they were all so out of their depth they might as well be at the bottom of the Waking Sea.

She took her own advice and breathed. Just breathed, stayed still, didn't smother Varric with...anything, actually, Teo had him well in hand. She reached for her dog's back and stroked it lightly, and his tail wagged in response so she'd know she wasn't forgotten even if someone else had his attention temporarily. "Good boy," she whispered, and his tail wagged again, and after a few minutes Varric managed to get himself upright, still bent over her dog's head, stroking his ears.

It made sense, when she thought about it. A dog's affection was so much less complicated than a person's, much easier to accept without question or context.

Breathe, breathe, breathe. She counted the breaths in her head, his and hers, something to concentrate on, and waited, afraid to say or do anything. She'd faced ogres and dragons and demons without ever being this hesitant. It was so much easier when the problem was something you could stab.

It was simpler than affection. It was simpler than questions or context. For a good ten minutes, it was as simple as the heavy, warm pressure giving him an anchor, and the deep, regular breathing giving him a focus. Varric timed his breathing with Teo's, until he found a calm and peace that he hadn't known was possible. He bent over the great hound, wondering, internally, if all mabari were so sensitive. Wondering if this came from centuries of bonding with jumpy, battle-scarred warriors.

Wondering if that bump behing his ear was a tick or just a bump.

Simple. Easy.

Eventually, Teo looked up at him, amber eyes meeting gently. Varric bent low over the dog, their faces almost touching. In that animal, he found a courage he couldn't yet find with other people.

The courage to speak. He whispered to him, "Do you think you could come with me? I'd appreciate it."

Teo wagged his tail gently.

She heard, and she knew that was a good thing. Slaves didn't ask for things for themselves, that much she remembered from the early days with Orana. Not even little things.

Someone cleared their throat, and she turned her head to look. One of the servants stood there, looking intensely uncomfortable and apologetic. "Serah? The, ah, bath..." The kid's voice died away and he swallowed hard.

Hawke groaned inwardly, got to her feet, groaned a little less inwardly as her muscles protested. "Right. Thanks."

Teo pushed his head under Varric's arm, rather forcibly encouraging the dwarf to get to his feet. That managed, he looked at Hawke, silently asking permission, and she nodded. He kept looking, a silent, almost admonishing You're sure? Because I know you're upset and I know how you get in trouble without me, and she chuckled. "Go on, mutt. I'll be fine." Her eyes flickered to Varric's, and she tried a smile. It came out a little wobbly.

Varric took a deep breath, fingers wound into Teo's collar.

Then he met her eyes, feeling more steady. More secure.

"Hawke." Said as if he knew who she was, really knew. "I guess "thanks" doesn't really..."

To say it outright, without any sarcasm, would invite another flood of emotion. This was his first glimmer of the old way, of using sarcasm to keep visceral feelings at arm's length.

"Oh Maker, don't, we're shit at sentiment." Her smile wobbled a bit more. "You'll ruin your reputation if you try that. And if you don't go take a blighted bath."

This was all...too much. She needed a few minutes.

"Al- alright." He nodded. After so long with silence, even that little burst of loose, easy speech sapped and quieted him.

Teo led him up the stairs, following Riva and the servant. Riva began to explain how the tub worked, and the servant interrupted him and said I'm sure you know exactly how it works, to which Varric nodded. The servant once again cut across the well-meaning altus to tell him that the biggest difference was that being the one actually taking the bath meant he had to be careful not to slip. Riva went quiet after that, realizing he didn't know the first foggiest thing about Varric's perspective, and the dwarf was grateful for the servant's no-bullshit manner.

The servant had a mark on his cheek that Varric had seen before, on the faces of a certain magister's slaves. Before leaving the bathroom, the kid brought in clothing and food, and Varric thought he knew why- nobody could take it away if he ate it alone. The servant also left a key, pointing out significantly that the bathroom door had a lock, and that the heavy cabinet over there could be moved if he wanted. Shit, that servant needed a raise.

Once he was alone with Teo, Varric followed the servant's implications: he locked the door, pushed the cabinet in front of it, and dove into the food like a man possessed. Some part of him wondered how long the servant had been free for, and how he remembered the insecurity of the first free day. Once the food was gone Varric turned to the bath, adjusting the hot tap and trying not to remember attending to the Sullas when they bathed. This- this was nothing like that. He was alone here, behind a door both locked and barricaded, and nobody could get to him. A glance at Teo reassured him; if anybody even tried to get in here, they would see the might of the mabari in force.

Once he actually managed to get to it, the bath was a goddamn revelation. He reached for Teo more than once and Teo reached back, cold nose nudging at his hand whenever his breathing sped up or fingers clenched. Slowly, by degrees, he relaxed, and found a kind of peace he had never been allowed for even one moment.

Even coming out, shocked and shivering in the cold air, was its own kind of nice: to be bare of his own free will, to be moving about without worry, to be taking care of himself. He took his sweet-ass time getting dry and dressed, but couldn't work the necklace and didn't know what to do with his hair. It was washed and brushed, he'd learned that much about hair, and while he knew how to tend long hair he couldn't help himself to anything else in the bathroom.

So eventually he pushed that heavy cabinet out of the way, unlocked the door, and wandered downstairs, Teo still at his side, hair looking clean but scraggly.

Hawke was waiting in a downstairs room, a library, unoccupied except for her. There was a fire burning, and a table with a couple of chairs at it, and a stack of books by various authors, in various languages. She was resting her arm on one in particular, a large, thick tome, and drinking a glass of wine, staring into the fire as though she might find instructions in there for what in the hell she should do next. There was an open bottle and another goblet on the table, and pitcher of water.

Teo led Varric straight to her, of course, bounding ahead to place his head in her lap and demand cuddles (which he got). She'd had a bath or something too, evidently; her hair was still wet and she was dressed different. No armor, no weapons. Well, no obviously visible weapons.

She looked up as Varric walked in and a faintly ironic smile flickered across her face. "Have a seat?" she asked. "I'm wishing I could get smashed and aware I don't really have the luxury just now, which is always something best done in company."

Varric had to take a moment to just look at her. Maker’s breath, he hadn’t seen her in three damned years, and while he hadn’t had the ability to miss her, the return of some memory let him miss her retroactively. It wasn’t even fair, how beautiful she really was.

After a moment, he realized he should... say something. Answer her. Have a seat, at least, which he did a little awkwardly. Nobody ever asked slaves to take a seat just because. He’d have to get used to that.

Her question prodded something in him; a familiar, a safe. An urge to speak that he had to remind himself to not fight. “Getting smashed sounds like either a great idea or a really, really bad one.”

He looked faintly surprised at himself for saying so much. He almost entirely suppressed his near-wince at having said something impertinent.

"It's a really, really bad idea," she confirmed ruefully, rubbing her forehead. "Which doesn't make it any less tempting. Here--"

She poured him a glass of wine and handed it over, then pushed the water pitcher over too. He probably would want to dilute his. Chances were he hadn't had any alcohol in years, or nothing good. "Your alcohol tolerance levels are probably shot all to hell by now." A grin flickered across her face. "And much as I'd like to take advantage of the chance to drink you under the table for once, I have too much integrity for that. Maybe another night."

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