A Master/Slave Meme

[fishbox]

Congratulations! You are now a slave/master.


Master:
What kind of master are you?
What brought you into possession of a slave?
What will you have your slave do for you?


Slave:
Why are you a slave?
How easily will you adjust to this new situation in life? ie, what kind of slave are you?


Run wild and have fun! RNG is not needed~

Comments

[godfreyupir]

[ ooc: At all interested in something with Irene as Master? Very much okay with Dominatrix things. Roman here is from a supernatural-based canon, but I have a realistic version I play, too, seeing as that might mesh better with Sherlock. ]

[herrin]

ooc: I'm not familiar with Hemlock Grove beyond the fact that .. you know, it's a thing that exists, haha. But I'd be happy to give it a shot, and a realistic version might work better! Do you have a list of your preferences / limits anywhere?

[godfreyupir]

[ Roman Godfrey wasn't the sort that most people would have expected to go poking at shadows. Heir and recent inheritor of Godfrey Biotech and associated enterprises, he'd grown up with a silver spoon between those suggestive lips. It was all because of a gypsy, a fact his mother would have mocked, told him it served him right -- if she'd still been alive (her death had been suspicious, but eventually ruled an accidental overdose; her name had never been in the will, and Roman inherited everything on his eighteenth birthday, so he had no incentive to kill her).

They'll steal the rings from you fingers and the love from your heart, she'd said. She'd been right, but Roman hadn't been able to help himself. Two boys who first spoke over the police tape of a girl's murder, each accusing the other -- of course it had been love. Of course Roman had to look for him when Peter left Hemlock Grove, left like gypsies will. But Roman needed him.

The problem with poking at shadows, of course, is that sometimes it is not so easy to escape their grasp. His thin wrists were handcuffed tight, and he was gagged when they brought him to her -- Irene Adler. There was something in his green eyes, something magnetic about Roman that when he made demands, people tended to listen. He'd almost escaped once, getting one of the thugs they'd had watching him to loosen his handcuffs. Roman doesn't hold himself like a prisoner, like a captive. He holds himself like a prince.

Roman is one of those boys for whom the term too pretty isn't quite out of place. He's slim, slender and tall, six feet four inches of jagged grace; sharp cheekbones that could cut like glass, long lashes and green eyes that contrast to the red of pouted lips. ]

Miss Adler, I presume?

[ Said as if he's entertaining a guest, and he arches one brow as he looks at her. He's not sure if he's a gift, or if she's supposed to keep him quiet, or which is worse. He shrugs thin shoulders, watches her, refuses to play prisoner. Even if sometimes he wants to. ]

[herrin]

[Distasteful business, slavery. Strictly speaking, it wasn't her area of expertise. Slavery was an aspect of her work, to be sure, but it was make believe; if any of the pampered men and women who came to her for her services were sold into actual slavery, they wouldn't make it one day. It made one wonder how she came into the business of acquiring slaves.

They did serve as another form of protection, no matter how distasteful she found it. ]

Mister Godfrey.

[ She spared a glance over her shoulder, raising one delicate eyebrow in return, lips pouting slightly. This one had fight. Pity, really. She did adore breaking people, but they always ended up so boring once they were broken. Once broken, he wouldn't be trainable, either. Perhaps it would have been better if he had no spark, no fire; she could have used another simpering, crying idiot. ]

I won't bore us both by assuming you have no idea why you're here. [ Her words were punctuated by the smack of her riding crop against her hand as she turns to face him, head tipped slightly to the side. ] The question is - what would you do if I unhandcuffed you right now?

[godfreyupir]

[ There's a slight way his body tenses at the crack of the riding crop in her hand, but it's not fear. He's not afraid of her -- at least, not yet. His mouth curls in amusement at the question, and his head tilts. He is glad they can skip the formalities, the part when she likely expects him to be wide-eyed and trembling-lips and what are you going to do to me?; he wouldn't be, of course.

He is a Godfrey, after all. ]

Well, that depends.

[ He takes a few steps, looking around them room, taking in the decor, and from the corners of his eyes: her. Roman thinks that he likes her eyes best of all, not that her body isn't well worth attention. But, it's rare to find people with eyes like hers, unflinching and hard. She reminded him a little of Destiny, except less temple whore, and more something rougher. ]

Could you find someone who doesn't want to be found?

[ There's a flicker in his voice when he says someone. Quickly glossed over and easy to miss, but there's a flicker of something soft and vulnerable that he's trying to hide. But he needs to know, because he needs to find him. ]

[herrin]

[ Her eyes narrow slightly and the corner of her lips tug into a smile. So, she couldn't resisting thinking to herself, I may have a masochist on my hands. Interesting to note, but not interesting in and of itself; she knew all too well how common it was in the general public for a person to have masochistic tendencies. But in such a proud man .. it was notable. ]

Are you in the position to be making demands?

[ Someone. Oh, she knew that tone well enough. It was the same way she spoke out Sherlock Holmes, if she had to. Crossing the room, she settles herself in an arm chair, lazily draping her legs across the arm as though the conversation were of little importance. In the grand scheme of things, it was. ]

I could make a few inquiries. The average person who doesn't wish to be found isn't overly difficult to find. [ Irene's eyes sharpened slightly. ] Now, now, darling. This isn't just the average person, though, are they?

Who is she? -- No. Someone like you, it's not necessarily a woman. Who are they? Lover, fiancee, maid, employee? They must be terribly important if they're the first person you'd think of after being released from servitude.

[godfreyupir]

Maybe not demands, but I'm always in a position to see if we can bargain a deal we both like.

[ There's a curve of those full lips that gives him away; spoiled and proud, and too accustomed to getting what he wants. He has money and power and he still thinks he can talk his way out of this. ]

No, he's not average. We're.. friends.

[ That word is a lie. It's a lie in his heart, but he doesn't have anything else to call it. They hadn't been lovers. Not really, not anywhere except for dreams that left him sweaty and aching, imagining hands that held him down, flesh that shoved into his body. Dreams left him running a razor over his thumb and jerking himself off in the morning before slipping into the shower. ]

Only reason I'm here is because I was trying to find them; of course they're the first person I think about. My beautiful gypsy..

[ He shakes his head, runs a hand through his hair, trying to hide the conflict, the emotion, cling to that persona of Roman Godfrey, heir to the Godfrey Companies, and who definitely wasn't lost and alone and chasing the shadow of a wanderer he'd fallen in love with. ]

[herrin]

Is that so?

[ Her raised eyebrow hints otherwise. No, Mr. Godfrey, you're not in a position to bargain, you can not talk your way out of this. Money and power are all very well, but neither can manifest themselves in a physical key to the handcuffs around your wrists at the moment. ]

Friends. But you don't want to remain so. [ It's not a question. She can see it in his eyes, the lust there. How fascinating, this one. Was he even trying to hide it, how much he wanted this other man? So naive. No wonder he'd fallen to slavery, if that was why they'd left home. ]

Your situation now is regrettable. You won't be able to look for your gypsy, not any longer. [ She cracks the riding crop against her palm again, more to gain his attention than anything. Sitting up in the chair, she leans forward, attempting to meet his eyes. ] You're mine now. Do you understand what that means, Mr. Godfrey?

[godfreyupir]

[ Roman isn't used to not being able to talk his way out of things. Peter really the only person he'd ever met where wealth and privilege meant next to nothing. If anything, it had been a liability.

His slender wrists shift in the handcuffs and he looks at her through fluttered lashes at that remark. He shrugs thin shoulders because there's nothing he can say. It's not a question, but there's still that kneejerk reaction to want to deny it. Peter makes him vulnerable, insecure.

For all his wealth, his power, for the fact that he could have almost anyone with a look, the fact that Peter had left chipped at that smooth exterior. He wasn't pretty enough, he was ugly; feelings that curled acidic and bitter inside him. Damaged, despite how cool and in control he tried to seem, even under pressure. ]

You seem like a professional, so I'll assume it involves more than just handcuffs and pleasant conversation.

[ He arched an eyebrow as he met her gaze. He refused to be scared. He'd faced a monster that hid in the guise of a teenaged girl before. And, he was fairly sure that Irene wasn't going to kill him. That should make her less terrifying.

It didn't. Roman was quietly sure she was going to try and break him. And he wasn't nearly as controlled as he pretended. ]

[herrin]

[ Irene laughed, comfort evident in the gesture. It didn't bother her that he was so obviously uncomfortable, or that he was in handcuffs while she was able to roam free. Or at least, if it did, she was keeping that part of her well under-wraps while dealing with Roman.

After all, this was just another part of her job. It came with the territory. ]

A professional, oh yes. You have that correct. But a professional what? [ Her customary smirk is well in place as she strides closer to him, before walking a careful circle around him, just outside of his range of motion. A game, she was playing a game with him and surprisingly .. she hadn't had this much fun in ages. ]

Shall I tell you? Or shall I make you guess? [ Crack! She slaps the riding crop against her hand again, before resting it gently on his shoulder, completing her circle around him. Caressingly, carefully, she moved the leather up and down the side of his neck, tilting her head to one side to admire the contrast against his skin. ]

Come now. Surely you must have a theory.