bakerstreet | the slave auction meme

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 or set up the scene yourself in the comment.

❧ 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.

Originally taken from here.

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John arched his brow a bit, unable to stop himself from being a little interested. Another doctor, then. He didn't comment on how bad his lot was, being sold to slavery as a thank you for his service. It was what it was.

He did listen to her, slave or not, because she wasn't like the other slave owners that had been by. They had looked at him like he was just property, and most had turned his noses up. They were interested in younger, more attractive slaves. Not that John wasn't good-looking in an unassuming sort of way, but he was, again, damaged. Wounded. Joan didn't seem like that. Either that, or she was a really good liar. It really wasn't his choice, whether or not he wanted her to buy him, she could... but he could think of quite a few other scenarios that could be much worse. Having her buy him didn't really seem so bad.

John finally nodded, his expression not quite as hard and cool was it was before. It would take some time for him to really open up to her, of course, but this wasn't a bad start.

She nodded in return with a smile.

"I'll be right back."

She went to the trader and talked price with him. In the end, she probably wound up paying more than she had to, since she found haggling over a human being to be more than distasteful. Still, considering the fact that her parents were subsidizing this, she could afford it.

When she returned, it was with the trader, who unchained John from the wall and handed Joan the keys to his shackles. She nodded curtly at the man in dismissal, and once he was gone she unlocked John completely, and left the shackles with the chains, having no intention of using them. She took his hands gently to look at his wrists, to see if the shackles had hurt him.

"You can call me Joan. Or Miss Watson, if you prefer. Oh." She looked up, smiled again. "That's my name too, by the way. Joan Watson."

John watched her talk to the trader, and surprisingly, it didn't take very long. When they returned, he didn't say anything to the trader, mostly kept his eyes averted, or on Joan. Once they were alone, he eyed her warily, not wincing away when she examined his wrists. They were a little bruised from the too-tight shackles, but it wasn't bad - nothing in comparison to his shoulder.

John didn't smile or smirk when she mentioned the coincidence of their matching last names. It was a fairly common last name, after all. But part of him was still waiting for her to turn, to show her true nature, and to treat him like a slave. He didn't trust her completely, not yet, anyway.

"Sure you don't want to keep me shackled?" he asked quietly, his voice a bit hoarse from disuse. "I might run." It was unlikely now, of course - there were still armed guards nearby.

"You might," she admits, with a nod. "I'm hoping you won't, though. For one thing, right here and now, it would be dangerous. But even afterward. I wouldn't like you to have to live like that."

She steps back, and extends a hand.

"At least give me a chance."

John considers this for a moment. He could keep being stubborn, and just not talk or interact with her altogether. He could run, when it was less dangerous, but then... where would he go? He wasn't married, he hadn't left a girl behind. The army would not take him back, and there would be no pension. It would difficult for a runaway slave to find work, even if he was an adept doctor.

So, finally, he sighed, then shook her hand. Briefly.

"So why me?" he asked bluntly. "You don't need a doctor. I'm 'damaged goods.' "

"You're different. You're not broken and empty like them."

She can't explain beyond that. How she saw him, and thought he looked kind and intelligent.

"Can we talk somewhere else? I can take you home. Or we can go somewhere else first."

John wasn't sure he agreed with her. Since being shot and discharged from the army, he had felt broken and empty inside. But he didn't argue the issue, and nodded to her question.

"It... it doesn't matter," he shrugs a shoulder lightly. "Your... home, that would be fine." He's not comfortable calling it his home yet.

"All right."

She tilts her head toward the exit, and begins to walk, trusting him to walk with her.

"I live in a two bedroom apartment. It's comfortable. If a little lonely for one person."

She gives him a faint smile.

John does walk with her, and he tells himself that it's because it would be suicide to try running now. Listening to her, he nods, cocking a curious brow over at her.

"No offense, Miss Watson, but I don't think it would be that difficult for a woman like you to get company," he said neutrally.

"Mmm. That's sweet of you. And no offense taken. I guess that's not the sort of company I want."

She always had her tutor by her side, ever since she was a girl. Someone who was devoted to her, and to whom she was free to be devoted to in turn without fear of abandonment. She's sufficiently self-aware that she can recognize that the dynamic probably stunted her emotional growth. Still.

"Besides. Otherwise you'd still be back there. Bought for god knows what."

John hadn't meant just a relationship of a sexual nature, but he didn't comment on it. Joan seemed quite intelligent, so it shouldn't have been hard for her to find someone who would enjoy conversation with her. That she was attractive helped too, of course, and used to be a doctor. He wonders why she isn't anymore, but doesn't ask why, not yet, anyway.

"I suppose so, yes," he agrees slowly, following at her side. He doesn't want to think about what sort of slave owners could have bought him instead of her. This still feels a bit awkward and uncomfortable to him, but at least he knows she isn't going to make him do anything sexual, or demeaning. "... thank you."

"You don't have to thank me," she says with a gentle smile.

As they exit the building, Joan steps to the curb and extends her arm to hail a cab.

"I should tell you about my...TAXI!" That one drives by. "About my last slave. My only other slave, actually. He...TAXI!"

That one stops, and Joan opens the door, motioning for John to enter.

John just nods, listening as he follows at Joan's side. He raises his brow curiously, trying to wait patiently enough for her to explain whatever it is about her other slave. He's surprised to hear that she already owns a slave, although he supposes he shouldn't be. Joan is a slave owner, after all, no matter how kind of one she may be.

Once inside the cab, he waits for her to give the driver the address, then he looks to her expectantly to continue explaining to him.

She gives the address to the cab driver, then sits back and turns to John.

"Simon," she says. "He was my tutor when I was young. And when I grew up, he stayed with me. That's why I live in a two-bedroom apartment. One of the bedrooms used to be his."

She turns her head to look out the window, clearly sad.

"He was technically my slave, but much more than that, he was my friend."

John realizes his mistake about the slave as John continues. At first, he'd thought perhaps he wouldn't be the only slave living with her, and he winced a bit when he heard that wouldn't be true.

"I'm sorry, for your loss," he says quietly, glancing over at her. "May I ask... how he died?"

He says he's sorry, and she nods. He's doubtless used to saying those words. She certainly was, as a doctor. Still, it's appreciated.

"Cancer," she says, glancing back at him. "Pancreatic. One of those things where we didn't know anything was wrong before it was too late."

She looks out the window again.

"That was a couple years ago."

It was instinct, of course, to express condolences to the family of a lost patient. They'd practiced and roleplayed such situations while in medical school. They had to learn how to be sincere and sympathetic, while not letting each situation get to them. If that happened, they'd never make it as doctors. This situation was slightly different, of course, as John still wasn't quite sure how he felt about Joan and the fact he was going to be her slave for God knows how long. But she seemed like a decent person, who had lost someone she cared about.

He nodded, moving his gaze away from her so he wouldn't come across as staring. "And you haven't had another slave since then?

She shook her head, looking back at him. "No. My parents wanted to give me one right away, but I wasn't interested. They were trying to replace him, like he was a dog or something. Not a human being. I finally let them help me to pay for someone else, mostly because I was lonely. Which is where you come in."

She gives him a faint smile.

John considered this, figuring her parents more the typical slave-owner type. But Joan seemed different, and truth was, yes, he owed her some gratitude. After all, he could be enslaved by someone very cruel, or someone who wanted him only as a sex slave. She was being honest about only wanting a friend, and already, he could tell being her friend wouldn't be a difficult thing. In a different situation, were they doctors working together, he could see them socializing. Hell, he could picture himself wanting to date a woman like her, in another time - she's lovely, after all.

So he nods in return. "Thank you for being honest."

"I figured I at least owed you an explanation. Some idea of what I was looking for and why."

He's very sweet, kind and considerate, the sort of man Joan might date, if she weren't so typically wrapped up in her work to make dating difficult if not impossible.

"I'm sure you have questions. You can feel free to ask me anything. Or you can tell me more about yourself."

Her apartment building is across town, they probably have at least ten minutes.

John had been hardened from the war, from being sold into slavery, but his better qualities did still exist under there, somewhere. It might just take him a while to really open up to Joan. It's still hard to trust her completely, this early on, even if he is feeling grateful. It's a difficult position for him to be in, really, and confusing.

He nodded, glancing out the window a moment, at the world passing by. His London. It had been his home, once, although he wasn't so sure anymore.

"Why are you no longer a doctor?" he asked bluntly, looking back at her calmly.

Fair question. She didn't often tell people about the fact that she used to be a doctor, because usually it wasn't pertinent, and usually she didn't want to have exactly this conversation. With John, though, it was of course entirely appropriate, even necessary, to let him know that commonality. And seeing as he was going to be with her for a long time (assuming they worked well together, and that nothing happened to either of them), this conversation was bound to happen eventually regardless.

"I was a surgeon," she began, facing him. "I was performing an operation on a man's injured calf. A sports injury, totally routine. Except that he had endocarditis. I should have recognized the symptoms, had him tested, but I didn't, and he stroked out. Died on the table."

She takes a breath, glances away.

"It was my fault he died. I was... suspended. But at the end of my suspension, I just... I couldn't do it anymore. Even the thought of picking up a scalpel made me freeze. So I let my license lapsed, and I moved on. I'm an addiction counselor now, working with recovering addicts."

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the slave auction meme

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I'm sorry for the delay. Tags may be a bit slow off and on this week.

No worries :)

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