Not Quite the Underworld

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by I_Eat_Children, Dec 29, 2012.

  1. The cement was wet, indicating that it had rained during the past hour. But in a city as large as this not even the rain could douse the awful stench. To those who lived there the stench was part of life and the fresh country air was poison. Patrick was a city dweller. He was used to the dreary darkness. The pitiful scene of rat infested alleyways. Only now he was part of the scene itself. Hunched over in one of those alleys, puking his guts out because of his inability to be who he wanted to be. Always conforming to the mould that was laid out by his parents twenty years ago.

    This nights drunkenness began with a party. One that he had gone to with his best friend, Luke. Luke was what you could call, a ladies man. He had striking features and the money with which to accentuate them. Hence the fact that he was invited to parties like this one. Everyone seemed to like him. The only reason that Patrick ended up at these parties is because Luke seemed blind to the fact that they made him uncomfortable and that, generally speaking, nobody really wanted him there anyway.

    This being said makes it completely understandable that when Luke forgot that he had driven Patrick to this party and left him there to be with an exceptionally beautiful woman, Patrick found the need to drown himself in alcohol. Although that wasn't really the reason. Patrick didn't mind being left at the party because he lived close enough to where it was taking place that he could easily walk home. What he minded was Luke leaving with a woman he barely knew. Or, well, a woman at all.

    Over the last seven years of their friendship Patrick had obtained feelings that weren't quite mutual to how Luke felt. So jealousy took him over and he drank to release the pain of the words he couldn't say. This is how he ended up in that dismal alleyway.


    "HOW COULD HE DO THIS TO ME?!" Patrick's voice rang out through the desolate street. His outline lengthened against the red brick of the building. The light causing it flickered on and off. He fled around the corner into the dark alley while using the wall for stability. As he fell to his knees, the contents of his stomach spilled around him.

    He got back up and stumbled across the alley, falling against the wall on the other side. Tears ran down over his flushed cheeks. "Why couldn't you just love me?" he whispered to himself. The world around him grew blurry and faded away.
  2. It had been a rather uneventful night in the new city Ian had recently relocated his 'operations' too.
    The scent of rain hovered in the air with a thick misty promise of more soon-to-come but the rest of the city's putrid smells took firmer control on the scents he took in, causing the man's sensitive nose to wrinkle slightly in disgust.
    Exhaust from cars and cigarette smoke took over the soft comfortable smell of the oncoming rain and had Ian's stomach constricting in agitation.
    He had just gotten out of a rather long and boring meeting and was itching for some good food, too bad this city was lacking in that department severely.

    As he moved past a club Ian noticed several girls suddenly turn to stare at him, a cocky smirk forming on his lips.
    He was handsome and he knew it, and used it, to his advantage when doing his 'job'.
    Wearing a pair of strong black buckled boots, a long black trench coat, black torn up jeans, and a blood red long-sleeved shirt that showed hints of muscle around his shoulders he was definitely what humans might call 'eye candy'.
    His shaggy pitch black hair was mussed up from the humidity and the fact that he tended to run his fingers through it at every opportunity, his body having developed the habit for stress relief.
    As he walked past an alleyway Ian's feet suddenly halted, stopping in a puddle of water and god-know's-what-else.
    The abrupt scent of alcohol slammed into his senses forcing a sneer to contort his features as his eyes fell onto the cause.
    A human?
    Normally they weren't stupid enough to go into the cliche dark alleyway.
    Things did normally go 'bump in the night' around this place, or at least that's what he was told.

    Male's weren't really his interest for his job since they were a pain to train and much less in demand then females...but this one didn't look too bad besides the fact that he'd vomited on himself.
    Turning slightly Ian sauntered down the dank passage, stopping only when his boots were mere inches from the half-digested food and beer.
    The scent was much stronger and he was having trouble not becoming dizzy but Ian quickly got down to business.
    Crouching he grabbed the guy and quickly tore off his shirt, sharp claws having extended to make the task easier.
    Then he lifted the human and brought him to a spot without throw up and checked his pockets.
    Finding his driver's license Ian smirked.
    "Patrick eh? Not bad I guess but..." He easily shredded the piece of paper before destroying whatever else was in the wallet besides cash, that was slipped into his own back pocket. "Your new 'name' is twenty eight, you shall learn it well."
    With that he leaned forward and easily scooped up the unconscious man, then vanished into the darkness.


    Several hours later and Ian was back at his home.
    It was a giant mansion built into a hillside just out of town. Before he moved there it had been almost what humans would call a 'tourist attraction' but now it was gated and fenced off with electricity and no one was permitted to come and go as they pleased.
    Ian had purchased the property right before coming to town and now it was the perfect place to store his 'merchandise.'
    Walking through the large double front doors Ian was greeted by several bowed heads and quiet whispers of 'welcome home, master' as he made his way up two long winding flights of stairs and down a hall with more doors then one would ever think to find in such a place.
    Most had numbers on them indicating occupancy but as he stopped at the eighth one there was only a blank slate hanging.
    "Welcome home indeed...28."

    Ian quickly maneuvered the door open and brought his new catch inside.
    The room was very sparsely decorated but what was there was decent looking.
    There was a large bed at the far side against the wall, a small dresser opposite it, one very small window that was barred with steel, and another door that lead to a small private bathroom.
    Right above the bed hung a set of obviously well-worn chains.
    Quickly setting the man in his arms down on the black comforter of the bed Ian got to work chaining up his hands to the wall.
    Once that was finished his eyes roved over his new catch with satisfaction.
    Of course it hadn't been his usual chase-down and terrify bit...heck, 28 didn't even know what Ian really was, probably the first human every caught to be spared that little gift of information.
    With a sly smirk he chuckled at that and plopped down in the only chair in the room, which happened to be right next to the bed.
    Crossing his arms over a decently muscled chest Ian closed his eyes, resting until his new human awoke.
  3. Patrick opened his eyes. The smell of a man's cologne embraced him. Sitting up he looked around. The bed he lay on was floating in mid air. Beneath this a good 10 feet down was a chequered black and white marble floor. His head throbbed and his face felt warm. His eyes tried to focus on the rest of his surroundings, but only the floor remained clear and substantial. With nowhere else to go Patrick took a leap of faith down onto the marble. Except it wasn't marble. When his feet hit it felt like grass and the impact itself was almost non-existent. Collapsing to his knees he ran his hands through this grass like material. When he brought his hands back up to his face they were covered in blood. The grass had sliced deeply into them but they did not hurt. A kind voice rang out above him.

    "Please, the shilers don't like to be stepped on. Come up to the stairwell and I'll bandage your feet and knees," they said.

    Patrick stood and looked down at his feet and knees. The grass has pierced right through his feet and his knees were covered in blood like his hands. In a trace like state he walked to the stairwell. A young man lifted his seven year old body out of the grass and carried him to the first landing on the stairwell.

    "Please stop screaming. You'll be all fixed up real soon little boy," the man comforted him. His face looked like Luke's. Chocolate eyes and soft features. But his hair was a shaggy black and his arms were strong.

    "I'm not a little boy," Patrick tried to tell him, "And I'm not screaming."

    The man took out a white cloth and wiped away the tears that were swelling up in Patrick's eyes. "But you were, you've stopped now that I've bandaged you up," he explained.

    "I'm still not a little boy," Patrick insisted.

    "But you were, that day that I found you in the shilers patch. You've grown so much in the past few years."

    "It hasn't been a few years, it's been a few minutes!" Patrick said in an agitated tone.

    "You've always been such a kidder Twenty Eight," the man smiled and turned to smoke.

    "What do you mean Twenty Eight? What are you....."

    Before Patrick had a moment to think about the whole thing the right side of his body burst into flame and his wrists froze over. His left hand cracked off and tumbled down the stairs to be devoured by the grass below. He couldn't breath. The world around him was melting and he couldn't even scream.


    Patrick was jolted awake by the sound of his own screaming. His hands were clenched around the soft bedding beneath him and a cold sweat covered his frail body. He tried to pull away from the bed but his hands were chained to the wall behind him. In a panicked frenzy of kicking and lashing out Patrick failed to notice the man sitting calmly next to him. After the initial shock had finished setting in he curled himself up into a ball and began to process his surroundings.

    The bed was nice. It was more comfortable than he imagined a prison cell would be. Other than the chains. Nice little dresser......HOLY SHIT! How long has that guy been sitting there! .....?

    Patrick's heart was pounding in his chest. Fear gripping him once again. If that was his captor who knew what he was going to try?

    "W-Where am I?" Patrick stuttered. He began hyperventilating.

    His thick wavy blond hair fell into his ice blue eyes while his arms were wrapped around his shuddering figure. His lack of shirt let the cool air around him absorb his warmth and goose bumps cover his skin. Shivers danced up and down his exposed spine and all he really wanted was to be home again. He regretted the anger he had felt at Luke, if only time could be rewritten.
  4. Weary eyes slowly blinked open to peer at the newly awakened human.
    Ian had been having a rather entertaining dream and even though that loud scream at the end had been the best part he knew it had come from Twenty Eight and not the person being tortured in his lovely nightmares.
    Moving in slow motion the young werewolf stretched out his back and arms, head spinning on his shoulders lightly as a few cracks were heard.
    "Mmmmn, always the same questions..." Ian growled quietly, his voice deep with the sleep he'd just been awoken from.
    His mop of shaggy hair fell to mask his left as he eyed the shivering human with slight disinterest.
    "Shall I answer all the typical questions? Thus you will spare me the boredom of hearing them repeated."
    Clearing his thought a moment Ian steadily spoke;
    "Where; You are at my holding facility.
    Why; Because I'm going to sell you.
    When; When I feel like it.
    How; Cause your human police are idiots and can't stop me.
    Your new name is Twenty Eight, I suggest you remember it, boy. Also, you will stay here until I can fully understand your personality, then you'll be put up for auction to whomever fancies one such as you."

    Reaching over to the nightstand Ian snatched up a cigarette and calmly lit it, sucking in a poisonous breath of smoke before expelling happily.
    "So, did I miss anything? Oh yes.
    Escape is impossible and just in case..." Leaning back over to the nightstand Ian reached into the drawer at the top and pulled out a metal collar, then quickly snapped it around Twenty-Eight's neck, then nonchalantly sat back down.
    "There we are.
    If you go anywhere outside of this home without me you'll be electrocuted. Pretty nice security neh?
    I find them quite fun, especially if a human has misbehaved. If you lock them out too long though they tend to get crispy...kinda like a vampire who was stuck in the sun..."
    Shrugging his shoulders Ian smirked and stood up in one languid motion, bright blue eyes staring down at the human.
    "Mm, be lucky the dungeon is full at the moment.
    I hadn't planned on hunting tonight because of that fact but you made yourself such an easy target I couldn't help myself."
    Leaning over near the bottom of the bed Ian grabbed a large plush black comforter and pulled it up over Twenty-Eight's shoulders.
    "If you complain about your accommodations I'm sure I can make room for you in the basement chained to another."
    Before giving Twenty-Eight a chance to speak, or if he had, ignoring him, Ian paced right out the door, vanishing around the corner as a young man no older then sixteen came in with a huge tray of food.
    His expression was one of surprise as his master briskly walked out.
    A few words were exchanged as Ian walked away and it ended up with the young boy shutting the door to his room and walking over to set the tray next to Twenty-Eight on the bed.

    "Master says he's not hungry...It is very odd but he said to make sure you eat instead."
    The boy was skinny with messy light brown hair and matching brown eyes. He wore a pair of old black pants and a slightly dirty white shirt.
    Around his neck was a collar much like the one Twenty-Eight had just been given.
    His eyes stayed away from the food as much as possible but he couldn't help glance every once in awhile.
    He knew better then to touch food meant for another and even though there was easily enough on the tray for two or three humans he would only wait, then take away whatever was left.

    On said tray was half a chicken, a bowl of beef stew, and a large helping of mashed potatoes with butter.
    Honestly the boy, named Twelve, had never seen his master feed a slave such food.
    They always got bread and vitamins...
  5. The man seemed gruff and there was a dark nature about him. When he spoke it was to the point but what he spoke was less than lovely.
    A holding facility. That meant that they didn't kill people here, at least not on a regular basis. That was good. Very good.
    Selling him. Not as good, but if it was to the right people that might not be too bad. Took care of all of the college payment concerns and poor job market issues, that's for sure.
    When he feels like it... Let it be that if he is kind and fair that he never feels like it and that if he's cruel and mean that that feeling hits him very soon.
    Human police? There aren't really non-human police but sure. If you want to go ahead and eat people's lives, why not? Gives you something to do and Patrick's life isn't the best right now so he can't really argue over that one.
    Twenty Eight. I suppose it's better than he really could have hoped for.
    An auction? Yeah, that sounds like a good way to be bought. They'd have to have at least a bit of money so the house would be okay to work in.
    All in all the whole deal doesn't seem as bad as first imagined. No violent killing and raping. No beating. A nice bedroom.

    The collar that was placed around Twenty Eight's neck was cold. He shivered again, his eyes trained on the man. So maybe it's not beating, just a little torture, but only if you misbehave and really, who would do that when the description of how it will turn out for you is a crispy vampire?

    While weighing these pros and cons Twenty Eight decided the whole event could have been much worse.

    Easy target? Perfect, now he had a good way to blame the whole thing on Luke.

    The comforter that was wrapped around him was warm and soft. It smelled of the lavender softener his aunt used to use when he stayed with her during his parents divorce when he was six. There was really nothing to complain about. Even before he knew he wouldn't be killed Twenty Eight had been admiring the fairly decent accommodations.

    His captor left swiftly without so much as telling Twenty Eight his name. He supposed that this was just how things worked in this place. A young boy entered the room with a large tray of food. Apparently it had originally been intended for his captor who had instead ordered it to be given to him. (Never feels like it, that's definitely the better option at this point.)

    The tray was overflowing with chicken, a stew of some sort, mashed potatoes, and a wide variety of fruits and vegetables. The boys thin arms indicated that a meal like this was more than just odd to be given away to a captive such as him.

    "I am grateful. But a growing boy like you needs obviously more than you're getting and there is no possible way I could eat all of this. Please, eat what you would like first," Twenty Eight offered.

    "I have a few questions, if you wouldn't mind answering them that is," he explained the motive behind his offering of food, not that if he had no questions he wouldn't still have given food to the boy, he just thought that while he was at it the boy might be inclined to help his growing knowledge of this place.

    "To start, what's that man's name? And who exactly are we being auctioned off to? If you don't know, that's okay. I just figured since you seem to be working here you might know a little inside information. What's your name, anyway? He said I was to be called Twenty Eight, does every one around have a number? And if you're sold is your number then passed on to the next captive they get off the streets? I hate to think that there's been a long line of Twenty Eight's that I have to live up to. And what exactly did he mean when he said 'human police'? Is there any other type of police but human? I mean, that's silly. Monsters and things are just myths. And one really wouldn't be a police officer it they did exist," Twenty Eight asked.

    He pulled a bunch of grapes off the plate and began eating them. A confused look still smeared across his face as he waited for his young friend's answers.
  6. Twelve's eyes widened in fear as he was offered the food, his head quickly shaking from side to side to decline.
    "N-No thank you. I have already eaten my meal for the day."
    Yup, they usually only get one meal as well unless their health is deteriorating too quickly.
    Normally Ian gets them in and within a month they're already gone, no need to waste good food on such a short stay.
    Twelve was a bit apprehensive about giving out any kind of information but he was never spoken to by any of the other prisoners because he worked for Ian and wasn't shipped off to some other fate so he relaxed just slightly, wanting to talk a little.

    "M-Master's name is Master Ian..."
    He had never actually been told directly but whispers through the other captives had gotten to his ears, giving him the name.
    "Everyone who comes in gets auctioned off within a month to random people, anyone who contacts master and wants a specific type of slave...he goes and finds them.
    It's odd though. He wasn't contacted again between the last one he'd picked up a few days ago but he brought you back..."
    To the number question Twelve fidgeted a little.
    "My name is Twelve...and no. There are only one of you, Twenty-Eight.
    He doesn't use a number again but master doesn't need many of us because he makes so much off of each. So you are indeed the only twenty eight."

    At the mention of human police Twelve froze, face paling slightly.
    "I-I have no idea."
    He said the words in such a way that the question was closed for discussion.
    If he let out that his master was a werewolf he could kiss his life goodbye.
    Not that it was a good life but he was still alive and that was something Twelve was glad for everyday.
    "Wh-when you're done eating I'll take your tray awa---"
    Gasping quietly Twelve turned to see Ian walking back through the door with a bag over his shoulder.

    The young boy stood abruptly and bowed his head in respect until Ian grunted in acknowledgement.
    "Throw out whatever he doesn't want, then go back to your room."

    Turning his harsh gaze on Twenty-Eight Ian raised an eyebrow and gave a partial smirk.
    "Do you have questions he hasn't answered, Twenty-Eight?"
    His bag had been set down on the ground. It was a few changes of bland clothes for his new captive.