Vessel cringed when he heard the words from the wolf-master's throat. Nothing his lord said had been misplaced ; it was merely an assessment of the situation, and of the character of this master, who was not much like his own. He shook his head, slightly, as if to protest the words that were being spoken, while his mutilated hands still fumbled as they attempted to pull together the braid. He managed to get his hair into some semblance of order, but the imperfections were obvious. Vorath did not have time for imperfections. He would suffer for his failure to look the way that his master so desired him to look. He had been punished for that before. That was how he had lost his last finger. Vorath rose any eyebrow - Vessel recognized his look of disdain. The corners of the vampire's mouth tugged down, and the edges of his nostrils twitched. That was the look of a vampire who was debating whether blood was pure or impure - if food was worth eating. His master pressed a hand deep into Vessel's very askew hair. The creature responded with a low whine, and then, Vorath tugged upwards, making his pet yelp like an injured dog. The vampire's mouth was set in a hard, thin line, and his fingers were tensed, rigid and cold, amongst the hairs of Vessel's ashy head. He wanted to do nothing but comfort his master, but he was being addressed once more. Did the wolf-master not know that he was just a creature? Did the wolf-master not understand that he should speak to his master with respect, and not at all to him? He was telling him that he should not enjoy the times he spent with his master - and had incorrectly assumed that Vorath came to his bed.
He was wrong, of course, this wolf-master. This wolf-master was wrong about so many things. Lord Vorath never came to Vessel's bed, the slave always was brought up to him, by one of Vorath's serving staff - a maid who had told the slave her name many and many a time, but he could never recall it. Lord Vorath would not tolerate doing the act deep within his cellar, amongst the bones of previous occupants and the two thousand eyes of the albino rats. The vampire would not stoop to that - and there was no reason that he should. The girl came to fetch him, with her starched white apron and her silken black uniform. She helped him up the stairs, when he was hurting. She was kind to him, and that was because she pitied him. She was a vampire herself, some distant relation to Vorath - but her family had owed him a debt, and he had made her into a serving wench to suffer through it. He never touched her though. Perhaps it was because she was a vampire, and she was family - she deserved that courtesy. But the maid-with-a-name helped the creature up the many flights of stairs to Vorath's chambers. He was always waiting in different places; contemplating his funds at his desk, studying the letters from his important investors, languishing in bed, already started without his toy. Vessel always came willing, to the warm room at the top of the stairs. The bed was soft, and Vessel was past the point where he felt degraded by whatever his master made him do. He existed solely to make his master happy, and that was enough. Not only had this wolf-master threatened to deprive his master of him, but he also insinuated that his master slept with him, a creature, amongst the dirt and filth. Yes. The wolf-master was wrong about so many things.
Vessel raised his eyes to the wolf-master. He had addressed him, though. That meant that there was a response that he wanted, something to be heard. How many times had Vorath told him to never speak - unless he was spoken to first? Maybe it was two-thousand times, or maybe it was only seventeen. Could it have been forty or fifty? The slave was not certain, but he knew it had been many. His master would not speak, not now. He could only hope that he would not be punished for answering the question of the wolf-master. He was always told to address his betters with respect, and to always answer their questions. Not that many questions had been ever been asked of him. There were the usual questions, of course. Who he was (Vessel), where did he come from (The Vorath estate), who he had been before -- no. There had never been anybody before. There was only a vessel. He opened his mouth, and a handful of muttered words creaked out from his chapped and battered lips, the flesh on his lips appearing peeled and blistered, "He duh-doesn't cuh-come to my bed, suh-sir." After his words were spoken, he felt a force pushing his head down. Vorath was pressing his hand harshly against the back of his head, and the vampire hissed a command to him, "Be silent, pet." The tone in his voice was not unkind. It was the sort of tone that a woman chided a child with - or the way that a beloved family dog was told to stop snapping. So, Vessel was silent, and bowed his head, and stared down at the ground, studying the asphalt.
But then - his master's hand left his head, as the sounds of a woman's crying filled the air. Vorath folded his arms across his chest, while his pet slowly raised his head, making sure to keep from looking directly at the two masters; his eyes sought out another target. Vessel stared at the slave-woman being lifted, like he had been. His green-grey eyes tracked her movement, the black in the pupils engorged until only the thinnest sliver of colour still remained. He leaned against his master's leg, pressing his fingers gently to the sides of his master's calf. Though the touch to his master was adoring, his eyes were locked upon the girl-slave and the wolf-master. There was no tenderness, when the girl was picked up. When she was lifted, the man did not hold her like a child, he held her like a fish to be suffocated. When the wolf-master held her, there was no care in the action. It wasn't like when his master had held him. His master held him often, in Vorath's - no, Lord Vorath, he must remember that - moments of tenderness. When his feet had been too frostbitten to walk, when his ankle had been broken, to prevent him from ever leaving the place where he belonged, Lord Vorath had carried him from room to room, and then watched him with loving, amused orange eyes when he struggled to go about his chores, with whatever new mangling that had been inflicted upon him. But they were gifts from his master, and he loved and cherished them. Vorath only did these things to him because he wasn't good. He did bad things, like kiss him in public, like break his plates - like running away. But he wasn't like this girl, this girl who had done a very bad thing. Vessel knew what it was, of course. He had been disciplined enough times to know what subtle ticks there were in a person's expression, the things that masters liked. He tried to be a good pet, and please his master, and his master's friends, but there were always accidents, slip-ups ; mistakes. This girl had made the largest mistake of all, when it came to dealing with her new master. She was human, and she was a woman. The secret to surviving as a slave was to abandon humanity, and become something even less.
The wolf-master's slave was held in his hands, but the gesture was not a loving one. He was strangling her. Vessel could hear the choked little sounds that came up from her lips. He knew how much his master liked it when he made those sounds. He craned his head upwards, to see if the wolf-master was as happy as his lord was, when those little gasping, pained noises emerged from his throat. When he moved his throat, it was possible to see every tendon, every muscle, every bob of his adam's apple, was visible beneath the skin. The ripples beneath his thin, pale skin looked like cords of knotted rope. The wolf-master was not pleased, not like Vorath had been. He did not speak to her, while he was strangling her. Vorath always spoke to Vessel when he did - he told him how important Vessel was, what an investment he had made with him. And how good he was to him ; because without Vorath, there would not be any vessel at all. He would cease to exist at all. Would he kill this girl - what would be the point in that? He had paid a good amount for her - and if he were a man, Vessel would have found her pretty. But he was not a man, so she was nothing, save for a girl-slave with dirty knees and an expensive price. His master was right. The wolf-master must have wanted to take her into his bed, just like his master took him. What other reason could he have, for paying such an exorbitant price? Though, he had only paid seventeen silver. It was obvious which master was the wiser.
A thousand! The call rang out across the grounds. There were a thousand rats in the cellar, and Vessel had been told a thousand times to only speak when spoken to. A thousand was the increments of years that Vorath had lived. The vampire liked to play a game where Vessel guessed his age - and for a thousand times, Vessel had failed to guess correctly. A thousand was a king's price - another one. How had this werewolf come by his wealth? What did he do? The slave knew what his master did ; it was complicated and filled with numbers and ledgers. They were very important, and because his master loved him, he trusted Vessel to keep them all straight. Vessel didn't have much, but he had numbers. Vorath, however, straightened his back, and watched the auctioneer with his fiery eyes. A smile began to return to the vampire's face, a dangerous smile, but a true smile, one that reached up to the corners of his eyes. They burned away in his face. His hand returned to Vessel's hand, and he began to stroke both his curls and his neck very softly, very gently. It was a sure sign that the vampire was pleased. Vessel leaned into the touch, and made a soft, pleased sounding mewling ; pathetic, really, for a man. But the vessel was not a man. The vampire merely stood there, a small smile upon his face. He would not take the bait, Vessel realized. There was no other slave for Vorath than Vessel. Somehow, that comforted him, sent waves of relief coursing through him. He leaned against his master, and watched the wolf-master with his own, lightless eyes, never meeting the master's own, but watching him nonetheless. All Vorath had to do to win - was to stay silent. This, Vessel knew.
