Star Crossed

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Jezibell, Sep 4, 2013.

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  1. -OOC/Signup is at

    Two dark brown eyes flicked open and took in the blinding morning light, A new day. Levi thought to himself enthusiastically. He stood up, stretched his tired body, and slowly made his way downstairs to find his slaves already had his hot breakfast on the table. Levi made a sick face and walked past the table, completely ignoring it. "I think I'm going to go out to eat this morning." He said throwing on a black denim jacket and heading out the door.

    It was a nice warm day outside, the sun shone bright through a few clouds that covered the sky. Levi didn't worry about taking his car, the cafe was only a few blocks away and he enjoyed the morning air anyways. He made his way down the side walk, taking his time without a care in the world.


    The morning was long and busy as usual. The chores were hard and everyone was running around making sure that their owner would be happy when they got up, nobody wanted a mad owner. Fay was doing her normal routine, cleaning and setting the table with the food the cook made and washing dishes. She was what you might call a house keeper for her owner, she mainly cleaned all day and for an hour or two she was allowed to go outside for fresh air.

    Everyone quickened their tasks as footsteps were heard coming down the hall to the kitchen. Fay had almost gotten everything set on the table, she still had to set down her owners orange juice, a simple and fast thing to do. She pour the orange juice in the glass and quickly hurried over to the table where her owner was sitting. All of a sudden she found herself tripping and falling, the juice flying all over her master and herself landing on the ground, her mind filled with fear, the room went silent.
  2. "No mother, I do not see the point of owning one of those....detestable creatures."

    It was well before noon, and already Matthias wanted to rip someone apart. His mother had come to visit him, and that always rankled him. Out of all the high society traditions and standards, Matthias disliked this one the most. As a point of status every member of his family, and others in his social circle owned one or more human slaves. It was a sign of wealth, even though the middle class could even purchase them. The only difference was that these slaves were treated much, much, differently. There were rumors of the vampiric houses using them as a lazy way to keep a food source around, and the ghost clans were notorious for enjoying a forced possession on slaves.

    But Matthias was different. He didn't like to dirty his hands with even having to set eyes on a human. They were a pitiful sight, so downtrodden and dirty. It made his stomach threaten to rebel against him even to think about it. Matthias had gone even so far as to keep them out of his diet. He had avoided them for nearly 30 years, but now he could no longer escape the very society he thought was his own.

    "Well, my darling son, I do not care if you see the point or not. You are getting one today, if I have to drag you to the market myself. Am. I. Clear, Matty?" Matthias groaned at the mention of his mothers pet name. If he had hair on his nape in this form, it would be standing on end now. He saw the dangerous glint in his mothers gold flecked eyes and he knew he would have to acquiesce.

    Putting his hands up and shaking his head, Matthias sighed. "Very well. I give. I will go to the market after lunch, and purchase One slave. No more. I will not have them infest my home with their stench." His mother inclined her head, a smile of triumph on her aged lips, and turned to leave.

    Nearly two hours later, Matthias was in the market, his nostrils filled with the stink and the dirge of countless humans being sold, bartered for, and confined in cages. It was almost ironic. The high society clowns and fakes used these filthy creatures to keep their status. If he wasn't so upset, he would laugh.
  3. Shackled, and dirtied, Seraphinn Brimm knelt on the hay covered flooring of her cage. Many eyes gazed at her, if not for her beauty, for the cold look in her stormy eyes. She was, as titled on her cage door, "Hellcat" which most of the slave traders assumed would draw in a lot of attention to the werewolf clans. Most weres seemed to enjoy a slave with a bit of life, being as wild as most of the wolves were. They often bored of a slave that is tamed, and Sera was, by no means, a tamed woman. She glared at every wolf that approached her cage, but she didnt much understand the thrill they all got when they saw her ravaged appearance, and the fire in her eyes. It was apparent that she would be a handful, and by the end of it all, she would be battered, bruised, and beaten until she was tamed. Then she would be sold once more to a more subtle house. Vampires perhaps.

    The auction for slaves would begin all too soon for The Hellcat's liking, and she would soon be taken into the den of some wolf here in this market. The damned creatures seemed to be all to excited about it. She stirred on the cage floor, the rustle of hay, and her disgusting, grey clothing sounding out above the cries of other men, and women, and the feral growls of the creatures that prowled through the aisles of cages surrounding her own. She huffed, but dared not look upon the other slaves. She didnt want to see how miserable they had become. Knowing that some were fresh children plucked from their mother's care, and others were veterans of the slave trades. Dammit...

    She then heard the announcers gruff voice. No doubt a wolf of some middle classed clan. With his voice, he would herd the rest of the canines to the auction area, and bring out the slaves one by one. Unfortunately, she was first in line for the picking. A man, plump for his species, and greying in his mane, opened her door, pulled her from its odd comfort, and then tossed her upon the stage.

    "Bidding will begin at 50!"

    She gazed out at the crowd, hand still shackled behind her back. Her lips curled in disgust at the sight before her as the bids were shouted out.
  4. So far, Matthias of the Stonepaw clan had yet to find his slave, and he was running out of them. Too many were under fed, looked near death, or were just plain undesirable. He had been here nearly forty minutes, and no one had caught his eye. Meandering over to the bidding center, Matthias thumbed his pocket-watch as he checked the time. His attention was suddenly dragged to the stage as he saw what appeared to be a young human female, decent as far as weight, and looks, while not on par with his own females, were not unbearable to look upon. he raised his eyebrow in amusement at her look of disgust she so blatantly threw out to the crowd. She was not like the other broken, malnutrition ridden slaves he had browsed prior.

    As the bids sprang forth, he noticed no one of his caliber was present. Mostly middle class clans, some vampires and even the faint scent of a specter. You could always tell a body was possessed by the faint smell of sulfur emanating from the host. 75, 100, 135. The bids kept getting higher, and although he had at one time been an auction fanatic, those days had passed. He no longer cared for the fast action or the patience required to trap his prize. At least in the hunt for antiques and art. checking the time once more, he found it was nearly one in the afternoon, and his meeting with an investor in his brothers company was at two. "I don't have time for this nonsense...." Matthias mumbled. As the auctioneer spoke, saying, "going once, going twice...." Matthias raised his sign and yelled "2000!"

    A silence crept over the crowd at the over indulgent price for a slave. Matthias merely grinned a wolfish grin, for lack of a better term and watched the other participants. This rabble would not even be able to cobble enough together to even match his price. The now recovered auctioneer gave Matthias an avarice filled grin as he spoke. "Going once, going twice.....Sold, to the man in the nice suit! Next in line we have...." Matthias lost interest as the next slave was brought out. He just wanted to pay for his merchandise, and leave. He was led aside so as to finalize paperwork, pay, and collect his slave. Whatever her name was, he didn't know of course, she was now his. The thought of it nearly made him gag.
  5. A man walked through the Slave market. He wore a thick, black coat, that billowed around his ankles like a cloak, and he looked perfect. His pale skin glimmered like freshly fallen snow, hidden beneath the wide brim of a proper, felt black hat. His long-fingered hands clutched at his sides, clinging to his fabric of his coat, and they were masked in beautiful gloves encased in the most elegant of rabbit-leather gloves. His neck was tied with an elegant, starched white cravat, pinned with a tie-pin that was tasteful, but showed true wealth; a silver bar set with a small red-stone. The uneducated might think it melted plastic in the pretense of wealth, but in truth, it was an agate, lovingly polished and maintained. His hair was long and black, and gathered around his shoulders in an elegant sheet. It had been meticulously brushed. The man's eyes were curious, however, a strange blood-orange that did not speak to any sort of human nature. A smile stretched across his thick, full lips, causing his round cheeks to raise ever so slightly. Trailing behind him, raising the hem of his coat from the dirty ground, there was a man.

    Well, it could not be said that the creature that lurked at this elegant figure's side was precisely a man. At least, not anymore. The creature with sallow cheeks and and the strange, hunched posture could not be a man. The creature wore a heavy, iron collar around its neck, and held up the edges of its Lord's cape with its mutilated fingers. It only had seven. Seven fingers on a hand where they had once been ten. But had there really been ten, ever? The creature could not remember having more fingers, but there were scarred, blackened stumps where the memory of fingers remained, the dream of fingers. But those hands served a new purpose now, clutching at the edge of this lord - for how could this beautiful man be anything but a lord? The creature stared at the ground with its deeply sunken eyes, an ashy braid hanging over one of the skeleton-in-skin's shoulders. Perhaps, in shape, if nothing else, the sad little sack of skin and bone could be considered a man, but only the ignorant would ever believe that this creature was anything deserving of name and rank. He was clean, though, unusual for human slaves. His skin was perfectly scrubbed, in fact, should somebody get a look at him; stared and the ground and stumbled to keep up with his master's lengthy, impressive gait.

    The creature, who was not quite a man, but not yet a beast, was Vessel. He could not recall how long he had been in the Lord Vorath's employ, but he had been there long enough for the good Lord to give him scraps from the table - warm scraps. When he had first been Vessel, he had only had rats to eat. He had torn out their lungs with his teeth - teeth not half as sharp as his masters. But now he had earned the right to warm scraps, and they sat warm and safe in his stomach. Vorath - no, Lord Vorath - had been very good to him. Vessel was very grateful to have been given the opportunity to lift his lord's cloak off, up the ground with his mutilated and scarred hands. No, he musn't think of them as mutilated. He had to think of them as little gifts from Lord Vorath, because the man loved him so dearly, dearly enough to feed him scraps from the table. Vessel was so pleased to be his - to be his Vessel. There had been other Vessels he knew - but he was this Vessel. And he did not wish to be replaced. He loved Lord Vorath. His Lord loved him. They needed one another to survive.

    They walked through the streets, and some looked at them. It was unusual that there were two figures like this, wandering through the slave market. Though Vessel was not uncommon - his condition was. No slave was so well-kept ; his hair was glossy and well-kept, but he was emaciated and thin and clearly had lost his fingers and flesh to his master's kindness or request. Never before had a slave been so well kept and so ill-kept at the same time. Vessel was not smiling, but his lips were parted, slightly - in the executioner's version of a smile. His mouth peeled back, it revealed bright red gums, and broken and missing teeth, all snaggle-toothed in his mouth. He kept a good pace with his master, before coming to rest infront of the large crowd and the auctioneer's stand. The master, waved a rabbit-skin clad hand at his pet, who swiftly dropped his master's robe, and scurried infront of him - more like a swarm of mice than any sort of real man. He could not stand properly - perpetually hunched over. Perhaps he could stand properly if he so chose, but Vessel knew he could not. He could not go against his master's will, and his master had always told him to keep himself lowered to his betters. As he stood at Vorath's side, perfectly parallel to him, it became obvious that he was much shorter than Vorath.

    Vessel's head was ringing with the call of activity. Two-thousand! The number rang in his ears. Two thousand was the number of eyes in Vorath's cellar, eyes that belonged to little rats. Two thousand was the amount of money that had paid for Vorath's suit and coat - two thousand was the amount of souls that worked in the operation that Vorath was a leader of - even if they were not quite aware of the fact that he was a leader at all. Two thousand was the number of cries that Vessel had let out - but no. It hadn't been Vessel. Who had that been? Not him, surely. Surely not him. That boy - that man - had eyes like summer and smiles like sweet wine. But he was gone now. Vessel did not know what happened to him. So Vessel looked down at his mutilated hands, and bowed his head at his lord's side, the loose braid unfurling slightly. That caught Vorath's attention, for a moment. The Lord glanced at his pet, and he spoke to him. His words were soft, but cold, predatory. Vessel recognized the danger in those sharply articulated syllables.

    "You did not tie your hair properly today, my vessel. Do I have to remind you of how to do it?" Vessel remembered the last time that he had been taught how to tie his hair. That was why the toe on his left foot was flayed to bits, a scrap of gauze strapped around the flapping flesh. It would get infected soon, Vessel knew. The skin would crack, and bleed anew - the bones would show. And then, like all the others, he would cry long and loud until Vorath cut his toe off and devoured it. His master was nothing if not merciful. Vessel shook his head, and the braid only began to unfurl more. He clutched at it with his maimed hands quickly, trying to hide it from his master - but he knew that this effort would be in vain. The lord would see - Vorath always saw. Words came trembling and shaking from his lips, "I-uh-I'm sorry, muh-my Lord..." His voice trailed off, dying in his throat. It was a reedy voice and scratched and strained from the effort of speaking. The man smiled in response to his pet's words - and his lips parted, revealing the sharp, white teeth that lurked behind his lips. They were perfect teeth - and thus, a perfect contrast to Vessel. But the Vorath's attention was drawn to the crowd, and the werewolf that had bought this slave with such expense. Vessel followed his master's bloody gaze, and soon, both orange and green-grey eyes were upon the werewolf's back.

    And his master spoke to him. "Two thousand, eh? Do you remember what I paid you, pet?" The vampire reached down to stroke Vessel's chin. Vessel whined like a good dog, like the good little pet he was, and leaned into the touch. For those watching the scene - it would look as if the creature who was not quite a man enjoyed it. He responded softly, "Nu-no, my luh-lord." He then leaned gently against his master's leg. For some, this would look like the mark of affection of a cat has for its feeder - for another, they might realize that the man's legs were giving out beneath him, and he required support. Vorath did not catch him, but instead, letting him teeter, awkwardly, clinging to his master for support, but failing. Vorath continued to speak; his words clear as chimes on a Sunday - a Sunday ritual that Vessel was not sure he had ever seen. He must have. Hadn't he? "He must want to fuck her. I wouldn't buy a whore for two thousand." Vorath grasped the top of Vessel's head, tugging harshly at his hair. The slave let out an animalistic yelp. "After all, I only had to pay seventeen silver to have you. You're good as any whore, aren't you?" The slave could do nothing but reply in a stammer; "Yes my lord - yeh-yes."

    There were seventeen teeth that he could still feel with his tongue. There were seventeen whip marks across his back from the seventeen lashes he had been given when he had first tried to escape. Seventeen was the number of cracked tiles on the west-wall of the cellars, the ones that were covered in thick black mold. There were seventeen skulls that stared back at him when Vessel tried to sleep at night, hung on the hooks in the wall. He did not know to whom they belonged, and he dared not guess. There were seventeen notched marks on Vorath's cellar door; notches that Vessel knew he had not made. Seventeen was less than two thousand. Vessel didn't have much, but he had numbers.
    #5 Sir Basil, Sep 5, 2013
    Last edited by a moderator: Sep 5, 2013
  6. Levi could hear voices echoing down the empty streets as he walked past the auction. That's where pretty much everyone was today, but not him, he already had enough slaves, more then he needed actually. He walked in the cafe that was nearly empty besides another man, a shapeshifter. The air smelt delicious, full of the smells of different fresh foods being cooked. He could feel the hunger in his stomach as he took a seat at a table near the window. A young girl, about 19, hurried over to him and set a menu at the table.

    "Oh no thanks, I already know what I want." Levi said in a smooth voice and gave the girl a stunning smile. The girl's cheeks turned a dark red color and stayed that way as she wrote down Levi's order, some biscuits and gravy with a coffee.


    Fay waited for a fit to come smashing down onto her face, but instead she found herself pinned to the ground by a giant cat, its razor sharp claws digging painfully into her shoulders. Her eyes widened with fear as the cat's teeth went in for the kill, but suddenly the cat was kicked off of her. Fay looked up to looked up to find herself looking at a slave boy, he looked just a little older then she was. The boy held out his hand to help her up, but instead he was thrown down by the cat. Everyone just continued their work silently as the cat ripped into the screaming boys throat and killed him.
  7. -New intro for my characters-

    Levi was walking through the auctions, waiting to find the perfect slave to buy, he preferred the younger ones, the new unbroken ones, but he didn't really like the tough ones either, he was too lazy for that kind of slave. His dark brown eyes gazed around the scene, taking in all the action and all of the slaves being auctioned at the time. His attention was caught by a busy auction for a pretty young girl, but she looked a little bit like she would be hard to handle.

    Levi walked over to the crowd, he could feel energy buzzing around as the people shouted out prices for the slaves. He was watching an auction for one of the more 'lively' slaves. He himself wasn't interacting in the auction, no he was simply watching the action. 2000! His mind shouted out to him as he heard the number called out. He watched as everyone went silent at the number, the bidding was obviously over with a price like that! The girl was taken away and a new, more timid looking girl was brought up. That looked more like his type of slave.


    Fay sat quietly in her cage, her heart racing as she listened to the auction for the girl before her. She was surprised at the high price that the girl got sold for, but she doubted she would get auctioned off for that much. The bidding stopped at the high price and she felt her heart begin to race as she realized that she was next. She felt to rough hands grab her and pull her out of her cage and all of a sudden she was stumbling up in front of the crowd nervously. Her heart felt like it was about to leap from her chest and her cheeks burned a bright pink as she stared out into the crowd dazed. This was her first time being auctioned off, and it was just as scary as she had expected.

    "The bidding will start at 30!" a voice rang out. It was a lower starting price then the last slave, but no one knew what to expect from a new slave.
  8. "2000!"

    Seraphinn's head shot up, and her eyes pierced through the crowd falling upon, dare she say it, a handsome wolf. 2000 for her? He must have thought that she'd be a challenge...wolves seemed to love challenges. She huffed, and struggled against the gruff hands that secured each of her arms; the plumps, graying wolf led her from the stage then. It was a wonder why the wolves were so rough, so lacking in the sense of a gentle touch. Seraphinn knew that, by the end of this, she would be the one who was battered, and bruised. She peered behind her as the next slave was brought upon the stage, a slim, timid looking blonde. Surely she'd fetch a nice price on beauty alone. The creatures liked pretty little slave girls to flaunt around.

    The Hellcat was tossed before Matthias as he came to fork over his money, and sign the ownership deeds, and the like. Seraphinn refused to look up at him though. His handsome features might be tempting, but she'd not allowed herself to be wooed into an obedient slave for him. Not so easily. He'd have to work for it if he wanted to tame this fiery spirit.
  9. Signing his name on the last piece of paperwork, Matthias watched as they unceremoniously dumped his newest acquisition in front of him. His disdain was plain as he took her in. The rags, the dirt covering her body, the stench. It was all revolting, but what he could not smell was fear on her. Yes, she did not meet his gaze, but it was not out of fear. Rather, it was out of defiance. This angered Matthias, and stirred some sort of primal dominance in him he had not thought there. "Seraphinn 'Hellcat' Brimm is your name, is it? I had forgotten you humans still held to that tradition. It is not often you hear of filth giving other filth names." When she did not respond, Matthias became even more frustrated. "Do you not have a tongue? Answer me when I speak to--"

    He stopped mid-sentence as his sensitive hearing picked up a smooth voice out from the crowd behind him. Normally, he wouldn't care, but these specific words hit him hard. forgetting his talk with Hellcat, Matthias whirled around, looking towards the person who had said them. Hearing the voice again, it took him a second to find the vermin, and not surprisingly, he caught the familiar scent of a vampire. Locking eyes with him, his own burned with anger. Oh great....One of these pretentious fools. As if my day was not complicated enough, now I have to deal with a Vampire.

    It was then that he noticed what looked like a human cowering at the Vampire's feet. It couldn't be though. Fear permeated this being. He wasn't a slave, he was a....container barely held together by the taut skin covering its bones. But as quick as he glanced at the husk, Matthias' attention was ripped back towards the vampire. Striding up to him, Sam put his cruelest smile on and spoke, his voice layered with contempt. "I'm not sure which is more insulting, the fact that your bloodless brain came to the conclusion that I want to even touch a human, or that you brought your....trough with you, to make this place just that more deplorable."
  10. His voice, as all wolf's seemed to be, was gruff to her. Deep, angry, disgusted, and gruff. If he wasnt as detestable to her as she was to him, she may have liked to listen to such a voice for as long as she could. Now, she'd have to listen to it for longer than she'd truly like to. Seraphinn raised her head, tattered, dirty red hair curtaining her rain colored eyes. A storm raged in them as he said her didnt sound right on his tongue. She'd prefer if he simply continued to call her filth, or slave. It'd be a hell of a lot more acceptable among his ranks, and personally...the fact that he now knew her true name was insulting. She'd almost retorted a response to him, but he'd stopped mid sentence, and whirled around on the heels of his all too expensive shoes.

    Her raging eyes followed his gaze until she saw another vile creature. A vampire no the way her Master acted. Apparently the stories were true, and blood suckers, and mutts still didnt seem to get along to well with one another. Its a wonder either race still exists. Surely one would have wiped out the other by now....they were good at being oddly civil in public though. As civil as a vampire, and a werewolf could be towards each other. Seraphinn still knelt upon the ground at Matthias' feet, hands shackled behind her, ankles still chained. They'd given the wolf the keys, but he'd not gotten as far as releasing her bounds. Somehow...she doubted he would.

    The words exchanged between the two masters were nothing more than insults, and she could clearly tell that a civil dispute would break out between the two. Debonair words would be exchanged, civilized insults would be slung, and then, if the auction was lucky, they'd go there separate ways. The creatures werent what caught the cat's interest though. The skin, and bones man clinging to the vamps leg was far more interesting. To her eyes it seemed as if the man clung to him out of affection, and it surprised her that such a high and mighty creature would even allow a human to plagued his expensive clothing. Some monsters must be different from the rest. Apparently this one allowed such things because he wanted a willing blood bank at his side at all times. Unfortunately, it looked as if this one wouldnt last very much longer. She could be wrong never knew when it came to vampires. Maybe he fed the man his own blood to keep him alive. The effects of vampire blood on a human did extraordinary things. Yet, it would be uncharacteristic of a leech to do so, no? Their blood would be a privilege to a human. A gift. One wouldnt stoop so low.

    Her lips curled in disgust as she eyed the leech, and she found herself much more accepting of her current master. She could take beatings. She could take abuse, bruises, verbal harassment, cuts, gashes, and the like. She couldnt see herself willing accepting the blood of a vampire, she willing giving her own to a stalker of the night. The thought almost made her gag. Almost. Sera flicked her head to the side so that her hair would be removed from her eyes, and her native, Irish features now truly showing to him. A dust of freckles dotted her cheeks, forehead and chin. High cheekbones were illuminated by the sun that shown high in the sky,and her small, pointed nose led up to her almond shaped eyes. She gazed curiously at the back of Matthias' head, and awaited him to get on the the spewing of rules, chores, and what she'd be used for in the home of the wolf.
  11. Vessel's grey-green eyes widened, giving him the effect that his eyes were bulging out from his skull - easily accomplished when only a thin layer of skin and blood separated his bones from the open air. There was a girl slave - the pretty girl slave who had been sold for two-thousand, much more than he had ever sold for, ever. But he had only been sold once, hadn't he? He could not remember being sold to anybody else. He had always been his master's creature. There always had to be a vessel. She was fair, he supposed, in face and features - but he could see defiance shining in her eyes He knew what happened when you tried to resist - he remembered trying to escape. He had run into the woods, with the heavy iron collar cutting at his throat. He had been slow - he hadn't eaten in days or weeks. He could not remember. But he remembered what happened when his Lord caught him once again. He had brought his dogs to get him, big black dogs with sharp white teeth. Vessel was afraid of them. A man might not be afraid of the black pure-bred killers, but he was not a man, and fear came naturally. The dogs had surrounded him at a tree, and Vorath had followed, sliding off of a big black horse. And then - no, he couldn't think of that. His lord had been too kind to him, too merciful. Much more than Vessel deserved. The girl would run away once or twice, but she would learn. And the wolf-man would not be so kind, he would not force himself upon her and break her ankle so it didn't heal quite right. Those were little gifts that only his master could give. Vessel cherished them.

    But the man was speaking, the man who was a wolf. Vessel had become adept at seeing the changes between the masters and the men. He was neither one, of course, less than both. But he knew what they were, and he knew how to tell them apart. Other vampires came to visit his lord, sometimes. They had fine meals in the great black hall, with the polished tables. They flung down scraps of meat - warm meat! - from Lord Vorath's fine white china to Vessel's awaiting hands. Vampires were always good to him. They had soft hands and sharp teeth and they understood that Vessel belonged the Lord Vorath ; and that he was not to be drained to the last drop. He had seen high-masters and mistresses all bow before his lord, while his master grabbed fistfuls of his hair and flayed his skin away. But the wolf-master did not bow, he only said cruel words. Did the wolf-master not know who Vorath - Lord Vorath, he must call him that- was? He must know. Everybody knew Lord Vorath's name and nature - if you did not call him by the right name, he would take a finger, if you looked at him wrong, he would take a toe. Vessel learned this lesson well, and his missing fingers were his instructors. The slave could see the look in the wolf-man's eyes - the burning flames of anger and disgust. He knew those expressions, he knew those gestures. That was the look that people reserved for him, his Lord's creature - but never for his Lord. There must be some mistake. This wolf-master was directing his eyes wrong, he should be looking at him. He was the one who deserved that look.

    Instinctively, the slave wobbled infront of Lord Vorath, a hunching, shuffling gait. His ankle had been broken. It never healed quite right - it made him lope, truly like a beast. His only thought, however, was to get between the wolf-master and his lord, to protect him. He knew werewolves. They were not as kind and soft as vampires. His Lord Vorath had a friend - an arms dealer - who was a wolf-master. He was not so kind, and did not feed him table-scraps. He raked his claws against his back, and squeezed his infected jaw until pus ran down between his teeth. Vessel had come to his master's room in tears that night, and Vorath had chided him for those tears by flaying the skin from his inner thigh ; but Lord Vorath's friend was nonetheless no longer allowed to play his games with the slave. Now, Vessel must return that favour. He was still too short to really make a wall between the werewolf and the vampire, but he stood there nonetheless - a rare act of bravery from a slave, some might think - a well trained guard dog. But it was not bravery or training, Vessel knew. It was only a desire to preserve his master. Without his master, he was nothing but a ghost of somebody who - one suspects - never really existed. Without Vorath, there was no Vessel, not anymore.

    Vorath laughed - a warm, bubbling laugh that echoed from his throat. He reached out to grab at Vessel's hair, petting it and stroking it like any master would do for their dog. But then, he tugged up on it harshly - forcing a low whine from Vessel's throat. The braid came to pieces in his master's hand - the black ribbon that had tied it fluttered to the asphalt street. The vampire tilted his head, and his orange eyes shot down a dangerous, knowing look to Vessel. He would be punished for this later, the look said. The look said that he would lose more skin - but Vessel could not imagine where he would take it from. He had so little skin left. Perhaps, at the base of his spine, or before one of his knees. Glossy grey-brown hair tumbled around Vessel's shoulders, and the dog bowed his head, letting out a low whimper of apology. Vorath liked it when he whimpered - Lord Vorath. He musn't forget his master's full name, or he would take more skin.

    The vampire looked evenly at the werewolf, his fiery eyes burning in his pale face. His lips - thick and plush - twisted into a predatory grin. "You over-paid. Desire to fuck her could have been the only thing that would outweigh cautious purchase." He cocked an arched, black brow, "Unless, of course - your kind really don't think at all. I have heard rumours that would lead to that conclusion." Lord Vorath moved his hand from Vessel's hair to the collar of his tattered shirt. He tugged it upward, and with it - brought Vessel along. His master was very strong, he knew, and he weighed next to nothing. His master lifted up Vessel like a shield or trophy, several inches up from the ground. For his part, the slave said nothing. He let himself be lifted up, his grey-hair making a curtain around his face. The vampire half held him in one arm, like a mother would for a child that had quite outgrown the gesture. Vessel did his best not to cry out - as his master had flayed the skin around his ribs two mornings ago, for crying in his sleep. Now his hands were pressing against that injured flesh. The unraveling gauze around one of Vessel's flayed toes brushed against the pavement, leaving a smear of blood. "My vessel is my business - wolf." He knew that note in his master's voice That was a dark tone, the tone that he had in his voice when he had just proved that there would never been any escape, and and that there was no reason to try. That was the crawling feeling deep in Vessel's bones when Vorath took a finger - the voice that he had when he had disciplined Vessel for failing to keep his plants alive or for breaking a piece of his fine white china. The wolf-master must be careful, or he would lose fingers and toes.

    "Let's not hold false pretenses - wolf." The tone was chiding, not so dark, not so violent. Vorath wore a smile that did not quite reach his burning eyes, eyes that came from the blood of all the vessels that had come before. "You want to fuck her, and that's why you bought her. It's a king's price, for a cheap whore." The vampire glanced at the girl-slave for a moment, and his smiled widened wolfishly. The caller was yelling out a new number. Thirty! Thirty for this slave! Vessel clutched to his master with his mutilated hands, touching only his fabrics - not his skin. He held on tightly, with a certain affection - like a lass clinging to her lover. Thirty was the number of roses that had bloomed in Vorath's garden, all carefully tended to by Vessel's broken hands. Thirty was the number of dinner guests that were expected in the house, later that evening, and thirty was the amount of bodies that Vessel was intended to pleasure. Thirty days were in a month, and each was registered by one of the seventeen notches on the wall. Vessel did not have much, but he did have numbers. And to Vessel's surprise, there was a new number. Vorath's voice rang across the auction, his clear, commanding voice. "Thirty-five."
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  12. Matthias curled his lip up in disgust. How could this vampire deem to touch the shriveled mess of skin at his feet. Matthias would not eat the creature if it were the last bit of meat on the planet. It was human, and that was all Matthias needed to stay away from it. The noise of the market died out around Matthias, and all he could hear was the steady beat of his heart, and the sickeningly sweet but just barely violent voice of his new detractor. He faintly heard the shuffle of chains, and glanced down for a second at his slave, hell cat. Him, mate with her? The very idea made him want to vomit. Plus, she would not survive the process.

    At the sound that so reminded him of claws upon stone, Matthias was wrenched back to the vampire in front of him, his words eliciting a dangerous growl, and a clenching of fists that were a clear indicator of how close Matthias was to ripping out this creatures throat and mounting his head upon his wall. "And your kind claim to hold themselves above us wolves. How...ironic. You who claim to be the best in the litter, yet roll around in the hay with the pigs, and the manure!" Matthias' nose was once again overpowered by the smell of fear and blood upon the husk that was Vorath's slave. Truly a pitiable sight, but save from snapping his neck like a twig and burning the body, Matthias could see no other way of ending his suffering, as well as his own for having to look at it.

    Shoving his hands in his pockets, Matthias watched as the abuse continued, and wondered what his slave thought about all this. Did she fear the same treatment from him? Certainly she did not expect him to touch her? She would be shown for his mother's sake, and the sake of his society friends, and then locked in the darkest, deepest part of his house he could find so his house would be safe from an unsightly blemish.

    An oh so dangerous smile twisted at Matthias' lips as he listened to the vampire's same old barbs, same old words. "You keep hitting the same spot, and yet, all you get is empty space. As much as you would like to think, we don't rut with whatever we see, nor sink our teeth into any flesh we happen to come across." He glanced at Vessel, or whatever he called it. "You are lucky paleface, that there are so many here, otherwise I would rip you to pieces and feed you to whatever rats wanted the remains." He once again glanced down to the tattered mess of flesh and bone before him. "And you. I would make it quick. You have earned that much. I would have ended your species long ago, but the decision was not up to me." His silver eyes flashed with primal energy, and then back to Vorath. He yelled as well, his deep basso voice ringing across the market. "Forty!"
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  13. The banter between the wolf, and the leech were of no interest to her. She could honestly care less what they spoke of, what insults they threw at each other, or what they said about her. Their views of her were not important. The way she viewed herself was what was important, and so far, she viewed herself as a strong young woman who hasn't broken yet. Under the pressure of slave life, she was oddly surprised she hadnt. Seraphinn shifted once more, but stayed below her new master. She was smart enough to know the penalty of rising to meet one's master's gaze. Some were cruel enough to murder a slave her such an offence, and truthfully, she could have cared less...if it were not for the fact that she had just gotten out of that cage, and the sand beneath her felt nice compared to the hay in the cage.

    The Irish beauty allowed her storming eyes to raise, and gaze at the one they seemed to refer to as Vessel instead. The magnificent, fiery blues glared him down mentally chastising the fool for even trying to get in the way of a vampire, and werewolf dispute. Even though she would not succumb to her new master's ways so easily, she was smart enough to know that she was weaker than him, and the vampire. She wouldn't throw herself in the middle of that centuries old rivalry if her life did depend on doing so. Sera scoffed at the husk of a man, and flicked her head once more to remove the fiery red hair from her cobalt eyes. Only to get a better view of the pathetic slave before, long past his years, the man....may have been handsome if not for the fact that he was now bone, and skin. If not for the fact that his hair was now streaking with brilliant silver strands, and though silky to the eye...she believed his mane might be just as brittle as his body.

    She gave the Vessel a quizzical glance then, her glare fading if only to sympathize with the...creature. She couldnt rightfully call him a man anymore. He was no such thing...not now. She couldnt bare to look at him anymore, but deep in her mind, she found herself thankful that a wolf had bought her instead of a vampire. If that is what is o become of a vampire slave, she never wanted to be put in a leeches hands. She'd like to remain looking like the young woman she is. She didnt want to be a flesh bag of bones by the time she was twenty five. So, she mentally thanked the werewolf stand before her, back turned away, rippling with the small amount of muscle he had...though significantly less than what most wolves seemed to have. This was the only kind of thanks she would get from him. He had saved her from becoming a living blood bank.
  14. The slave clutched to his owner's arm, legs like a long bundle of sticks- draped in snow white leather. Vessel's eyes did not meet the wolf-master's as the creature was peered at. He lowered his eyes suddenly, with a practiced sort of subservience. Lord Vorath had taught him not to look at his betters. He knew not to look at the wolf-master because of the forty bruises that had bloomed around his throat - ten from two hands, four times over. He had been choked whenever he had looked Vorath in the eyes: how could he think that his gaze was worthy of meeting those fiery orange ones. In the instance that it took Vessel to look down; he caught the silver of the wolf-master's eyes. Silver. There had been an exchange of seventeen silver when he had first been bought, and he remembered the silver of the sky. It had been raining, and the sky had weeped with joy to see Vessel safe within the arms of Vorath. There had been forty others, forty other slaves. But he didn't know who they were, or who they had been. He could not remember if they had names or if they were friends of his. But that was ridiculous. Vessel had no friends. He had a master who loved him, he had a thousand rats with two thousand beady eyes who watched him with hunger. He had thirty five roses that blossomed in spring. He had countless numbers, and those countless numbers were a comfort to him.

    All the blood drained from Vessel's face when the wolf-master spoke such words to Lord Vorath. He was already pale, but now he was nothing but a withered white husk- a pale sick thing that belonged in a cave, not amongst the waking world. Did the wolf-lord not understand? He would hurt him - he had hurt others for lesser slights. Not creatures like Vessel, creatures who were meant to be hurt, but real people. Vessel remembered on the night that he had first been presented to Vorath's family. One of the kinsmen's wives had scoffed at the pet's appearance on the floor- she had squealed insolently that such a foul slave did not belong in their sights. Vorath had smiled, that perfect, cold smile and there had been the dangerous tone in his voice. He invited the kinsmen and his lady wife to stay with him in his manor house. They accepted - they had not had a choice. Vessel had done as he was asked - for his lord, he carried down to the dungeons a shotgun, a noose, and a cavalry sword. He was a kinsmen, after-all. The kinslayer was accursed, but there was no penalty for a vampire taking his own life. Vorath told Vessel what to say to the kinsmen deep in the dungeon, and the slave had said the words dutifully. That the kinsmen had a choice; to take his life by any of the methods presented, or to die a long and agonizing death to starvation. The kinsmen, wisely in Vessel's opinion, who had never had any such opportunity, to blow his head off. Vessel had watched it happen, and he had been the one who had cleaned it up afterwards. The lady wife- Vorath kept her longer. The kinslayer was accursed, and one could not torture their cousins ; but the lady wife shared no blood with Vorath. His lord and master locked her in the attic of the manor, stuffy and windowless; with only rats to eat. Vessel had eaten many rats himself. But when the rats ran out; she had gnawed off her fingers, leaving only jagged bloody stumps identical to the slave she had insulted's own hands. He remembered fetching her from the attic, with a fine gown in his hands. He had dressed her and bathed her and parroted what he had been told to say. Lord Vorath was setting her free; her husband was waiting for her in the grounds. If he had been a man, he would have saved her. A man would have told her to go downstairs and jump out the highest window she could find, and pray for death. But Vessel was not a man. She rushed to the garden, the lady wife. Vorath was ready for her and so were his dogs. The rose garden did not smell like roses for days.

    Was this wolf-master so foolish to believe that his words would not cause a repeat of what had happened before? But his eyes were on him again, those straight silver eyes. He was saying that he would kill him, after killing his master. Fear seized Vessel's heart, at first. Kill his master? No, he assured himself, no - the wolf-master couldn't do that. He'd seen brave men try - men who thought they were heroes. They had run at him and stabbed him with silver swords, silver like the wolf-master's eyes, but Vorath had not died. He had seen a serving wench pour poison into his chalice, but he drank it down and had her flank - lightly roasted, rosemary seasoning - to compliment the oaky flavours in the wine. He had seen his scheming relatives try to devise elegant and simple solutions to rid themselves of this blight upon the family name - but like a good dog, Vessel had always warned his master about what was coming. He liked those days. He slept in a warm bed, and his lord told him what a pretty little pet he was. Waves of comfort came across him, and relief showed on his scarred and bony face. They could not kill the vampire. But the wolf-master's other words rang in his ears, and Vessel felt certain that he would always remember them. "And you. I would make it quick. You have earned that much." Did that meant that the wolf-master pitied him? Why? Was it because his clothes were tattered, his fingers were gone, his teeth were broken? No. Injured prey meant that the prey would not run; his broken ankle had taught Vessel that lesson. Why would a wolf pity a thing that was not even a man anymore? Did the wolf-master have something within him, some kind of twisted kindness. Vessel could not help but feel his fevered mind drifting towards the possibilities. If they killed him, he couldn't fail Vorath any longer. If they killed him, he wouldn't be a disappointment anymore, and he would be free of his master's games; they played many games. His master liked the one where Vessel had to guess how many vessels had come before him: if he guessed right, he got to leave, if he guessed wrong he did not get to eat that day. He always was wrong. But if he died - his master would be deprived of his favourite source of food. If he died, there would be another Vessel to replace him, and he couldn't let that happen. He may not have been a man, anymore, but he could not wish his fate upon another. No. He musn't think of it like that. He could not wish for such a gift to be bestowed upon anybody else. He had the greatest gift of all; his master's love.

    Vorath's voice was smooth and controlled - the hint of a laugh creeping into the controlled tone; a dryness in his statement, "Your quick protestations that you are not the beasts society makes you out to be -truly- makes your case for you. Is being defensive about ones desires something..." Vorath trailed off, but Vessel knew that he already knew what he wanted to say. The pause was for emphasis. The pause was to highlight the flaw in the wolf-master's argument, and his master's spitting out of the following word confirmed the slave's thinking - "Desirable -" The word was said with profound disgust, "in your culture?" The vampire laughed heartily, and Vessel caught the danger in the laughter, the superiority and disdain. And there was no reason why he could not have those qualities. He was greater than the wolf-master. The slave clutched at his master's arms, leaning into his grasp. He pressed - with ragged lips and broken teeth, a small kiss to the side of the vampire's jaw. He had hoped that this gesture would be seen as a thankful one - for defending his presence at his master's side, a place he would never want to leave. Beneath his lips, Lord Vorath's skin was unbearably cold - like kissing a flagpole. The gesture was interpreted differently by his master - which meant that Vessel had seen everything all wrong again. With one gloved hand, Lord Vorath roughly cast Vessel down to the ground once again - the slave felt himself land hard against the concrete, on the base of his spine. The slave let out a yelp as his bones connected with the ground. His vision went black, for a moment, but he heard his master's words, and the implied threat therein, ringing in his head as he hit to the ground; "I do not tolerate threats to my person and property ; no more than you would. After spending two-thousand, one would think you would wish to protect your investment."

    Vessel had not been such an investment. He was seventeen silver - he was numbers. His vision was gone - and there was nothing but pain and blackness. But only for a moment. The slave rubbed at his eyes with his mutilated hand, clearing away the spots of his vision. He had landed hard on his legs, which crumpled beneath him in an uncomfortable way.His master was smiling down at him - an expectant look in his eyes. The creature choked out the phrase that he was taught to say whenever his master gave him anything; "Thuh-thank you, muh-my lord.' The vampire nodded once, as if in approval of the words that were parroted at him. Vessel collected himself, tugging himself to his feet, his legs trembling beneath him, muscles aching from lack of use. He wanted nothing more than to just go home - back to the manor house - to Lord Vorath's soft bed and the hard floor. At least it was safe. Lord Vorath then snapped his gaze upwards, fiery orange eyes meeting the wolf-master's silver ones. He reached out with his long fingers, fingers that brushed across the top of Vessel's ashy head. This touch was gentler, but the slave was able to see that this was just the idle sort of touch, one that was given without another purpose behind it. But perhaps there was. In Vorath's world, there were games within games. The creature blinked his large grey-green eyes. The girl-slave was staring at him. He quickly glanced over her with his eyes - a quick evaluation. He would try to memorize her face, just like he had memorized so many others. But such faces faded away quickly. There was only his master's face - with its wormy lips, and oval face, the heavy lidded eyes and black lashes. But Vessel would try.

    She was lovely - he supposed - pretty and wild. He wondered if she had been enslaved before. He had heard that there were humans on the fringes of society who had managed to escape from the influence of the masters. But that must have been a dream, a treacherous sort of thought. Hadn't he been one of them? No. That had been somebody else, somebody who Vessel could not quite remember. He was Vessel. He had to remember his name. His trembling fingers - what remained, began to quickly try to braid his hair once again. His eyes were focused on his hair, avoiding everybody's eyes, but his ears could still hear. "Forty!" came the werewolf's call. Four strangulations with ten fingers was forty bruises. Forty was five times the amount of fingers that the lady-wife in the attic had chewed off. Forty was more than thirty-five. The creature began to understand - his master was playing a game with the wolf-master. Vorath was smiling - he didn't need to look at him, to know that. The vampire called out a number - "Fifty." Fifty were the guests at a masked ball - sometime in the distant past. Fifty was more than double of seventeen. There were fifty windows on the second floor of the manor house, and there were fifty supporting beams that held up the bannister from the first floor stairs to the second. Fifty was a modest advancement from forty , but one that showed confidence, as well as caution. Vessel's remaining toes depended on this victory - if Vorath was ill-tempered, he might take more. If he was good-tempered ; perhaps they would play a game. Maybe this time, Vessel would win.
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  15. Matthias laughed bitterly at the vampires comments. "Still on about that are we? No wonder You need a slave. Who else would want to listen to you prattle on about the same old song and dance?" Matthias addressed the now crumpled Vessel on the ground, his voice thick with malicious intent, completely ignoring that fact that he had been struck. "Do you enjoy listening to the dribble that comes out of your masters mouth? Is it the highlight of your day when he comes to your bed to bore you to near death with his stale insults and his cold hand? Of course it is." Matthias continued on with the insults for a few more seconds when he stopped dead as he heard what Vorath said next. His silver eyes flew to meet Vorath's and a flare of anger shone in them.

    Matthias was not rankled about the fact that Vorath had challenged his threat, but rather that he had called his purchase an investment. It was surely not the proverbial poison in Vorath's retort, but with Matthias, his triggers were odd and many. "Investment? Investment?!" Matthias' voice reached a new level of danger as he turned on his heel violently and shot a hand out towards Seraphinn, who up until now had been completely forgotten. A wild look in his eyes, Matthias grabbed her roughly by the neck, and even though he had far less muscle than most of his kin, when he needed it Matthias was terribly strong. Still holding her, he dragged her back to where Vorath was standing and with his teeth clenched spoke in a low, deep voice, every word dripping with malice. "An investment implies importance. An investment implies value. An investment implies attachment!" With each new description of investment, Matthias tightened his grasp on Seraphinn and for all intents and purposes, he would have liked to squeeze until her eyes popped out of their useless, little sockets. Her soft cries of protest were lost to his primal fury as he continued. "This...excrement on my hand is an unfortunate blight that our society cannot get rid of. She and the rest of her god forsaken species should have been slaughtered and gone, not traipsed around and sold to the highest bidder!"

    This was incredibly irregular. An overreaction to be sure and it truly made no sense. Matthias himself was not a financier, nor was he a disciple of money. This ran deeper. This was a hatred so irrational, so thick that even a seemingly benign comment would set off decades of repressed anger. Suddenly, and without reason, Matthias released his grasp on the girl and let her fall to his feet once more. His eyes never left Vorath's though, and for all the world, he was the one Matthias wanted to kill the most. Even if he had to kill every single creature here to do so, so no one would be left to tell of his true form he would. He remembered the auction was still going off to the side of them, and before he had begun to bid for the sole purpose of sticking it to Vorath, but he bid because his anger controlled him, and anything Vorath did, Matthias would best him at. "I tire of this place, vampire. It seeps into me like a slow poison, tainting my body with every breath." He paused for a moment, and then: "1000!" His voice rang out true, but this was the last bid he would make. Matthias had a feeling that Vorath would up his bid, and even though he knew that Vorath could afford it, Matthias would make him pay just that much more for another trough like his Vessel. Plus, he needed to get home, otherwise blood would be shed, and he would not be able to stop it.
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  16. The tone in the wolf's voice changed quickly when the leech referred to her as one of his investments. Honestly, it angered her as well, but she wouldnt voice it. They didnt deserve her words, her protests against the things being said about her. It would most likely satisfy them too an unknown extent, and she knew all too well that the wolf would enjoy it ever so much to strike her. To hear a pain filled cry. He'd not get it. She would refuse, absolutely deny him the privilege to hear her cry out in pain because of him. So she stared at the ground, blue eyes gazed at each little grain of sand, and she then thought of how much she was truly like that sand. Each grain was unique to itself. Not one the same as another. They were individuals, free to do as they pleased, but they were stepped on, ground further into the soil, crushed, disposed of by beings that were much larger, and stronger than ever the largest grain of sand. She was dirt beneath the creatures feet, an eyesore. It pissed her off.

    Seraphinn knelt there upon that ground, her eyes having long since dropped from the husk of a man they all started to call Vessel. The blood bag that was this...leech's property. HIS investment. She tried to ignore the three as they had begun to do to her, but all that changed when the wolf came to her in a fit of fury, one of his massive hands grasping onto the back of her neck, and then extending her out toward the vampire in an effortless showing that she was nothing more than the dirt they all stood on...just as she had thought.

    The Irish beauty's teeth clenched in pain, the smallest of whimpers slipping out though she fought to keep it in. Her piercing, blue eyes glared at the leech, a grunt of disgust sounding through her teeth, breaching the barriers she fought to keep closed so that the cry of pain that threatened to seep out in musical notes for the creatures before her would be kept contained. With every word the wolf man spoke, his grip became tighter, and she knew that her neck would be soar, and bruised for days, even weeks afterward. He could have ended her life then, and there. Proved to the leech that she was npthing more than a purchase to appease the society they all now lived in. He was about to purchase another slave anyway, what harm could be done from ending the troublesome redhead in his grasp right now. Seraphinn's body tensed as she readied herself for the eminent death that would surely follow his silence, but instead, he released her.

    She fell to the ground in a head of red hair, pale white skin, chain, and dirty, grey rags. She hadnt known that she'd been holding her breath until said breath left her lips in a furious exhale, the rumble of her voice following in a low groan. The back of her neck pained her so much that her head just hung there, she feared moving it....feared the searing pain that she knew would shoot down her spine, and along her shoulders. He'd gripped too tight, but he wouldnt care, and there was no sense in protesting against his actions. This was a wolf, and they didnt much care what they did, didnt have an ounce of sympathy for the slaves. Infact...she feared that the wolves hated humans more so than any of the other monsters.

    Another number was shouted, and at that very moment, the girl slave upon the stage, the pretty one with blonde hair, was slowly rising in price. nearly matching what she was bought for. All because a dog, and a leech were having a pissing contest in the middle of the auction. Pathetic fools all these creatures were. No different from humans set aside the powers they had by birth, and blood. Instinctive mongrels, high society parasites.....she hated them all. Seraphinn knelt there at Matthias' feet, body crumpled over, head hanging, resting against her thighs. Her hands were still shackled behind her, feet still cuffed in chains. She was pathetic to them, but more so to herself. She was supposed to be strong, but already she had had a glimpse of what she was in for. What her life would be like with this damned dog. The Irishwoman didnt much like it. Not one bit.
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  17. 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.
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  18. Fay looked over the crowd, her gentle blue eyes looking over the crowd. Her gaze settled on two men in the crowd who were bidding on her, each one almost provoking the other to go higher. One was man, a vampire, he looked perfect, but perfect in a scary way almost. By his side was something that made her whole body cover in goosebumps, all hope drain from her, and her very heart start to race from despair. This was because the thing next to him was a man who wasn't really a man, but more a hollow walking body...Or limping body. The thing stood there, its eyes watching, but not contacting anyone else's. She knew this was the right thing for a slave to do, but it seemed so wrong to her to be considered so low that she couldn't even speak or make eye contact. What came as even more of a horror to her was the abuse that went towards the creature, would she be able to handle such abuse if the vampire won? Surely she would become used to it.

    Fay's gaze shifted towards the other man, this man was obviously a werewolf, he didn't seem as scary or abusive as the vampire, but this thought quickly disappeared when the werewolf grabbed him newly bought slave, picked her up, and started tightening his grip around the girl's throat. She quickly decided she could handle the abuse, she would have to, but she would not let herself turn into the same thing as the creature standing next to the vampire.

    She listened quietly and nervously as the price for her began to rise, and then a final number was called. 1000! That wasn't as much as the other slave, but she knew that was still an enormous amount of money to spend for a slave. Fay looked away from the two men and their slaves and dropped her eyes away from the crowd. She could feel herself begin to shake from fear, she didn't like this, she had more of a soul and heart then these monsters, she deserved freedom. She would have became angry at this thought, but instead more fear began to overcome her. Her legs began to go weak as she heard the auctioneer give the final words of her auction, "Going once, going twice...Sold!"
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  19. Matthias burned holes into Vorath's eyes as he watched the smile appear on his smug, pale face. It was a smile of triumph. A smile of a cat knowing he had caught the mouse. It made Matthias' stomach acid boil. He heard the auctioneer speak, and for a moment, dread filled his mind. Not only did he lose the sparring match, but now he had to pay out another 1000 for another female slave. He could afford it of course, but the thought of two rodents skittering around in his perfect, immaculate manor made it even worse. Matthias could almost feel the ulcer starting to grow.

    "Sold!" Matthias ground his teeth as he heard the dreaded word. That was it. After all the insults, all the threats of physical violence. Matthias had lost, and the worst part of it was, he knew he had been manipulated. His own rage and arrogance had been his downfall, the sword in his chest. All he wanted to do was rip Vorath to shreds, but he knew this was neither the time nor the place. He had to play the long game. Vorath now had his full attention, and even if it took him the next century, Matthias would get his pound of flesh. Biting this bullet would be the first step in a long winding path, and despite his reluctance he had to do this. Looking Vorath straight in his cold, frigid eyes, Matthias spoke, his voice level but dangerous. "I won't forget this, Vampire. You can be sure of that." Turning on his heel without giving Vorath a chance to respond, Matthias took two steps before he realized he was forgetting something. "If you don't want a repeat of me making sure your neck is the right size, I suggest you follow me!" He was of course, referring to Seraphinn. After the loss he had just suffered, he was in no mood for defiance. Hearing the clanking of her shackles behind him, Matthias continued to walk, hands in his pockets and jaw so tight he could shatter stone. For the second time this day, he was led over to the paperwork, signed the ownership documents, and paid the very happy clerk. As his second slave was brought over to him, the only consolation he could find was the fact that his mother would never bother him again on this matter. Maybe about the price, but never about the property.
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  20. Fay was taken away from the stage, or more like dragged seeing as her legs were so weak they could barely walk. She stopped her body's shaking as they brought her to her new master, she didn't want to show any sign of weakness or fear, but she knew the sight of fear was easily seen on her deep blue eyes. That fear was easily changed to anger as she began to think of her whole family being slaughtered, her only saved for her beauty. She was pretty, for a slave, a real natural beauty that shown through her ugly grey clothes, the blood dripping from her chains, her messy blonde hair that was held up in a even messier bun. Her small young looking body made her look around 16, but she was really 3 years older, 3 hard earned years older.

    Fays mind flashed back to 3 years earlier, she was pretty much the same, only happier and healthier. Her family had managed to stay away from the chaos of the creatures for a while, they had prepared prior to the disaster thinking that the end of the world was upon them, it wasn't in the way they thought, but the fortress they had built held strong and unnoticed...At least for a while. Their survival ended around 3 years ago, a group of vampire having heard about a group of survivors and came and slaughtered all of them, except for a young strong girl who would later become a slave. It was a tough 3 years after that, her beauty soon proving to be an enemy to her not a friend. She wasn't abused however, at least not by violence.

    Sure the last 3 years had been tough, Fay had seen a darkness that she would never forget, but it was part of her, it was what made her stronger. She remembered that strength as she was shoved in front of her new master, he legs not supporting her fully and working around the chains to keep her up. Fay lowered her eyes to her master, she didn't want to get into trouble by making eye contact. She glanced over at the other slave, the one who was sold before her, she also had a beauty about her, but it was a fiercer beauty, a beauty with a free spirit that wouldn't be tamed. Fay glanced away quickly, focusing her eyes only on the ground below her.
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