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1088. 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.


Ben Lockwood | werewolf OC | slave | no smut please

[Ben has lived a long time and seen a lot of societies come and go. This one's probably the worst, however. He's got a brand scarred onto the back of his left hand, courtesy of liquid aconite and powdered silver, that tells anyone in the vicinity he's a slave. Every time he escapes -- and he's done it so many times he's lost count -- he tries and fails to cover the thrice-damned thing up. Some kind of magic keeps it there, though, no matter what he resorts to or how he tries to scar it in new and interesting ways.

Janni is dead, twenty years gone. She'd put herself between him and a silver bullet, and he hadn't even had the chance to say goodbye before they ripped him away from her body. They didn't tell him where they buried her. Or if they had.

Werewolves are valuable, as pets, as soldiers, as bodyguards, as pit fighters... he's been all that and more, controlled by the shock collar and electric shackles that can put him either down, convulsing on the ground, or completely out for the count. One thing he's discovered is that the mating-for-life thing is only valid if there's consent. He thanks God for small favors.

He's got ways of escaping the shackles, but the auction house is the wrong venue for it. He plays the docile slave, eyes downcast, shoulders slumped. Several buyers stop and stare, noting the old, old scars, the tattoo on his chest surrounding the hand-shaped clawed scar over his heart and surrounded in its turn by a circular scar filled with runes. His sword cane is a memory, but he doesn't need it anymore anyway; a previous Master fixed that, getting him surgery that corrected the limp left by the Hellhound so he'd be a better pit fighter.

He's as whole as science can make him, and not nearly as broken as decades of slavery should have seen to. A tiny flare of Wrath burns in his heart, just waiting for the right stimulus to kindle it to bright, awful flame. He doesn't unleash it often -- it's saved for especially brutal Masters -- and he's always ashamed of himself when he does. He remembers the days where he kept it under better control, the days where he was his Father's Hound, the days where he was teamed with angels and watched demons repent.

Those days are gone. And he stands there on the auction block. Waiting.]

Anne is a familiar face in the markets, a tall pale woman that some slaves draw away from instinctively. Her cold blue eyes sweep the auction block before landing on the wolf. Not one of the demons she tended to gravitate toward, but he looked...interesting.

She's not sure if she wants to break him or rebuild him. She's not sure whether she'd make him love her or hate her. But she wants to play with him. See what makes him tick.

It's an impulse, but he is the best offering on the block today. She's already decided to make him hers.

Ben gazes at her from hooded eyes, carefully keeping his head down in an acceptable beaten-slave attitude. Something about her sends an unpleasant shiver down his spine, and the attendant has to give him a shove between the shoulder blades to make him step forward so she can see him better. He clenches his fists behind his back, although his expression doesn't change from the blankness he wears like a mask.

"He's well-trained, Mistress," the attendant says, turning Ben this way and that like a carney on the midway, showing off the muscle definition. "Bit banged up, but some likes 'em that way, and there's nothin' physically wrong with 'im."

Speaking of muscle definition, the ones in Ben's jaw jump as he clenches his teeth. He hates this, with every fiber of his being.

"Nothing physically wrong, right. What about mentally? Emotionally? Is he a loose cannon?" She runs her eyes over him in a slow elevator gaze before nodding her acknowledgment of how true the attendant's words are.

She folds her arms over her chest, closing up as much as he is, not showing her thoughts blatantly where he can see them, any more than he's letting his be known. Let's play statues, or ice sculptures--see who lets their hand show first.

Ben loves being talked about like he's not standing right there. It's the best thing ever. His eyes start a slow smolder. The attendant shifts uneasily from one foot to another. Ben's history is in his papers, and there's no hiding that. "He's a bit of an escape artist. And, ah. His last owner disappeared under mysterious circumstances."

What he means is that they never found the body and Ben set the house on fire. That guy had been a piece of work. A corner of Ben's mouth curls up, involuntarily, at the memory. It's not at all a nice expression. The attendant hastily adds, "But I'm sure ye could take 'im in hand, Mistress." His voice turns to an oozing wheedle, buttering her up. "Ye seem plenty capable."

"Oh, snarl at me. It's not the first time I've seen a wolf's teeth." This is addressed to Ben, accepting the dark blaze in his eyes as something she deserves. Something they all deserve for caging him and all the other noble beasts. "What is your name?"

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6 with a shade of 5?

[Maria doesn't care one way or another about slavery as an institution. This mistreatment of individual slaves is another matter; that she is bothered by, and opposed to. But the institution? She hasn't the energy to commit to hating or supporting anything as sweeping as the institution itself. She has no particular attachment to its abolition, nor to its advancement. It just is what it is, and she has never examined it with any sort of close scrutiny.

This is still a first for her, actually perusing a market on her own behalf rather than as part of an unrelated project or errand. But she's not so young as she once was, and the sort of people who are taking notice of her little corner of the city has gradually gotten to be a more violent and pushy sort as the years have passed. She could do with a little security, and someone who is strong enough to lift a body when needs be.

Which is why she's here, making her way from trader's stall to trader's stall with a curious half-rolling gait, leaning on her forearm crutch and eyeing the merchandise with an unreadable expression.]

\o/

[Ben is watching the patrons with a rather bored and detached air. For the most part, it's same-old, same-old: wealthy bastards trying to impress airheaded bimbos, hard-faced pit trainers looking for their next meal ticket, lonely or predatory souls looking for someone who can't say "no." Most of them don't give someone like Ben a second glance, although one savvy pit trainer favors him with a hard stare and makes a notation on his list before passing by. Ben bares a fang at the man's retreating back.

The lady with the crutch, though. She stands out, definitely not the usual clientele they get around here. Ben keeps his eyes downcast, but he's eyeing her hard, with his head slightly tilted and his nostrils flaring.

She's not normal. That makes her dangerous. He's not afraid, but he is wary as he watches her watching the stock.]

[It's the scars that catch her eye first. Most of the male werewolves have them, to varying degrees, and so do many of the women, but his are particularly hard to miss, especially the elaborate one on his chest. And once the scars have caught her eye, the fact that he's watching her keeps it. It's not the come-hither or the pleading looks some of them have given her; this is wariness, caginess, cleverness.

She stops and leans on her crutch, patently ignoring the slaver who moves over to address her and speaking directly to Ben.]

So tell me, Volchok, how you feel about doctors.

[The question comes out of nowhere, and Ben blinks, a little nonplussed by it.] I. Uh. [Don't hesitate, idiot. The slaver glares at him and picks up the remote control for the shackles.] They're fine. Patched me up more than once. I like doctors. I mean. I don't like going to them, because who does. But I like that they're there. [At the last second, he remembers to add the honorific.] Mistress.

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Here we go loop de loop...

[It's a cornucopia of food, and for a second he's a bit overwhelmed. But they have a half-pound cheeseburger with guacamole and bacon and curly fries, and that's the one he keeps coming back to.] This hamburger looks really good. I mean, really, really good.

[Maria smiles and inclines her head.]

Red meat, as you said, yes? The cook here is also very good at knowing "medium rare" from "cooked to death," it's worth knowing. Not every place understands the distinction.

[Ben is practically salivating as the waitress brings him his Mountain Dew. He gives Maria a look of pure gratitude, but he doesn't forget himself so far as to take a sip of it before she takes one of her tea.

"Have you decided?" the waitress asks.]

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Loopin' to save the page!

. . . Ach, Volchok.

[Her expression softens, and for a moment she contemplates reaching out to pat his shoulder before deciding that no, that isn't really quite appropriate.]

You're welcome, and I'm sorry it should be the case that you've had it so hard. But. No reason we can't be decent to each other. Nicht wahr?

[Touching him never goes over well, not anymore. In time, with her, he might not mind.] Yes, Ma'am. Maria. I'd almost forgotten what it was like. [This is a lie. He had forgotten what it was like, for someone to be kind, for someone to take his preferences into account, to have permission to just be himself.

He's not sure who he is anymore, honestly. His goalposts have been moved and his Rules of Engagement have been utterly destroyed. He murdered his last Master in cold blood, set the house afire, and never thought twice about it.

This Master, though? At this point, he'll cheerfully kill for her. No questions asked.]

Well. I hope you shall remember, presently.

[And she lapses back into silence, paying attention to her tea. It's more a shift of attitude than posture, exactly, but it serves the same purpose as the turning-away she did earlier; giving him a little space to recover himself before they go any further.]

[Ben takes a shuddering breath, grateful for the opportunity to pull himself together. He wonders, for an awful second, if this is some kind of sick game she's playing, if she's lulling him into a false sense of security so she can bring it all crashing down on his head later -- and then he ruthlessly shoves the notion away. He was an optimist, once upon a time. It'd be nice to get that back.

He takes a few sips of the tea, centering himself, and decides to ask what should be a simple question. As a sort of test, of both her and himself.] If I'm not... sleeping with you... then where--?

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(no subject) - werewolf_hacker, 2012-07-14 02:17 am (UTC)(Expand)

Another loop!

[He's huffing like a steam engine and shaking his head.] No, I. I gotta learn to deal. You're a doctor, it's a thing, pleasedon'tsellmeoff I'lldobetterIpromise.

Re: Another loop!

Sell you . . . was ist . . . Volchok.

[There may be a little shock and a tiny, tiny bit of reproach in her tone. Not that she can logically blame him, really, because why shouldn't he expect that? What makes her think that's not exactly what every Master before her has done when he's fallen short of expectations, shown any weakness at all?]

Ben. Look at me please.

Edited at 2012-07-14 02:24 am (UTC)

[Cringing, he does so, but out of the corner of his eye and without moving his head.] Please, I like you, you're good to me and I don't want to go, please. Mistr-- Ma'a-- Maria. [Dammit, Ben, she wants you to call her "Maria," don't screw up more than you already have.] Please?

Hush. I have no intention of doing any such thing.

[Her expression softens, and damn her bad knee, anyway. The best she can do is bend a little, still nowhere near his level.]

This issue with the syringe, you were honest and warned me about it. I could have been so good as to warn you in return, only I didn't. It was I who did badly.

Volchok. I never will punish you for something I've done wrong. You have my promise of it. And I will have no more talk about selling off for something so little as this. You understand?

(no subject) - werewolf_hacker, 2012-07-14 02:55 am (UTC)(Expand)
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Re: Ben Lockwood | werewolf OC | slave | no smut please

A small smirk alight's Willow's face as she walks about this one, eyes trailing past the skin and looking past as docility - there's something there that draws her; perhaps the torture he's gone through; the power hidden; or some sense of the deeper determination hidden behind his docile mask.

Either way, she wants him; wants to break him. Wants to make him hers.

[Ben feels a frisson of uneasiness and flicks his eyes up to see a fucking vampire eyeing him like he's her next Happy Meal on legs. He swallows hard; he hasn't liked vampires since one used him as a live dialysis machine several decades ago, and not many of them since have disabused him of his negative opinion.

This one has the look of someone who'll happily reinforce it and smile while she does. He makes a noise down in his throat, but he's very, very careful not to react otherwise.]

[She hears it, though; hears it and smiles, walking forward, reaching out to touch; she wants him, now. More than ever.]

Can't you talk?

[He shudders at the touch; he can't help it. His voice is low.] I can speak when spoken to, Mistress. [If he dares to speak when he's not given permission, that means pain, he's learned the hard way. Demons never taught him to curb his tongue, but slavery's done a dandy job.]

(no subject) - unweepingwillow, 2012-07-15 06:26 am (UTC)(Expand)
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(no subject) - unweepingwillow, 2012-07-16 12:05 am (UTC)(Expand)
(no subject) - werewolf_hacker, 2012-07-16 12:22 am (UTC)(Expand)
*Fixes* Oops. DX - unweepingwillow, 2012-07-16 04:17 am (UTC)(Expand)
:D - werewolf_hacker, 2012-07-16 02:48 pm (UTC)(Expand)
:D - unweepingwillow, 2012-07-17 04:46 am (UTC)(Expand)
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(no subject) - unweepingwillow, 2012-07-21 10:24 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Who would? D: - unweepingwillow, 2012-07-23 10:27 am (UTC)(Expand)
D: - unweepingwillow, 2012-07-24 08:22 am (UTC)(Expand)
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(no subject) - unweepingwillow, 2012-08-08 11:52 am (UTC)(Expand)
(no subject) - werewolf_hacker, 2012-08-08 05:03 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Wrong post. DX - unweepingwillow, 2012-08-10 09:26 am (UTC)(Expand)
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(no subject) - unweepingwillow, 2012-08-20 11:21 am (UTC)(Expand)
(no subject) - werewolf_hacker, 2012-08-20 03:02 pm (UTC)(Expand)
*climbs tag mountain. DX* - unweepingwillow, 2012-08-25 12:00 pm (UTC)(Expand)
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