Star Crossed

[Sir Basil]

Vorath smiled as he watched the werewolf collect his 'prize' from the auctioneer. Vessel knew that his master was pleased with how this had turned out, the slave could feel the cold tickle of the vampire's fingers beneath his chin, the brush of his sharp, clean nails against his scarred flesh. The pet's eyes trailed after the werewolf, both he and his master's eyes converged at the same point, the space between the wolf-master's shoulder-blades. Through a crowd of disappointed and grey figures, werewolf, witch, vampire and shifter, both master and servant were able to pinpoint their conversational partner with the pinpricks of their eyes. It was only natural, Vessel thought. His master had sent him sneaking and creeping before, into the bedchambers of treacherous family members and business partners alike. The slave had been influential in securing deals for Vorath's business ; but had that been him, or had that been the Vessel who had come before? There were many, he knew. There were more than seventeen. But nevertheless, Vessel had served as his master's eyes before, and now it was as if he was his familiar, like the cat of a witch in one of the old tales; who the witch and Satan saw through.


Vorath's hand slipped down to grab his slave's jugular with a vice like grip. There was a sharp, pinch of pain and then a gasp of breath. the touch was cold, unbearably cold, but that was the sort of pain that Vessel had long grown accustomed to. Nevertheless, Vessel let out a dog like yelp, and then, a soft low whimper. Vorath - no, Lord Vorath, he must remember - tugged his grip along the edge of the protruding muscle and vein, stopping his hand when it came to the rim of the iron collar about Vessel's throat. This gesture manipulated the slave into looking up at Vorath - but he made sure to keep his eyes trained on some unknowable point right above the vampire's left shoulder. His green-grey eyes converged at this point, just as they had previously converged upon the werewolf's back. His master tugged his pet to stand at his full, slumped height, from his grip on his vein. There was pain, certainly, and the slave could not help himself from letting out a pathetic-little whimper. If he was a man, he wouldn't have made a sound. He would have fought back against this leech - but he was not a man, and this man was his master, the only person that he had ever loved.

The vampire tilted his head, and smiled, almost sympathetically - but Vessel knew better. The man stroked his face with the back of his gloved hand, knuckles brushing against Vessel's ragged jaw-line. It was a tender touch, and Vessel leaned into it. Vorath's words were a command, certainly - he could hear the demand in his throat - but it was phrased in a way that made it seem like a request; "Would you go collect the werewolf, my sweet vessel?" The slave was surprised, and blinked his large green-grey eyes, refocusing on Vorath's face. A word slipped out from his throat, unbidden and unwanted; "Why?" As soon as the words leaked out from inbetween his missing teeth, Vessel realized that he had made a mistake, and clutched his mutilated hands to his mouth, as if to prevent more traitorous phrases from escaping his chapped lips. Oh, what a fool he was. 'Why' was the worst thing he could have asked - he hadn't even added a lord or sir to the end of it. Vorath would punish him for this. His lord would see his mistake and he would not eat, not warm his master's cold bed, he would not be permitted to leave the dungeons. He too, would chew off his remaining fingers after Vorath tore his flesh from his bones with one of his so-well loved knives. They had names, Vessel knew. All the knives were named after people - or things that had once been people.They weren't people anymore. They were seventeen skulls.

But Vorath merely pushed his head away, pushing him down to the ground. Vessel caught himself with his mutilated hands' fingers spread out, and glanced back over his shoulder. His master was smiling, a toothy, real smile that reached his eyes. Vessel could see those extended canines. God bless this werewolf, god bless his master's good mood. But there wasn't a god, was there? Vorath had always told him that there wasn't one, so he should not think there was. His master wold not lie to him ; if Lord Vorath said there was no god, there was no god. Much to the slave's surprise - the vampire answered his question, "Ill host dinner with him tonight, pet. A consolation prize for our game. Get him to agree to this, Vessel." There was a threat there, a hardness in the way that his master said his name. He knew that if the wolf-master did not agree, he would be beaten black and blue - the sort of thing that happened when his master was angry with him. He remembered the last time he had failed - a client for his master was unwilling to part with a kingly sum, and the creature had been sent to please him, to convince him. But there had been repulsion instead, and that had been when the slave was wholer than he was now. After that failure, after that investors' flesh had been flayed and spread across the dining table, Vessel had become much better at getting the masters to do things for his master ; his lord had taught him well.

Vessel nodded swiftly, and then, dragged his crippled foot with him to follow after the werewolf. Vorath watched him with his amber eyes at the edge of the square. He could escape - he could get lost in the crowd of slaves. He could offer himself to the slavemaster, explain that he was an escapee who wished to be sold once more ; to another master. He could run. But he would not run. If he was a man, he would run. But a man that Vessel had once known had run away three times, and after running away three times, he had lost three fingers, just like the slave. There had been three big black dogs who had chased him through the rose-garden, which prior to the slave's involvement had been withered. He lived vicariously through the rose blossoms. Three new shoots had appeared this week, thanks to his careful tending. His master had been proud of him, and the slave had allowed himself some amount of personal accomplishment ; he had pleased his master with three little things, three new things that had not been there before. Vessel didn't have much, but he had numbers. The slave dragged himself to the vampire's side. He stared blankly at the two women-slaves. His eyes scanned them blankly. Had he been a man, they would have been beautiful, but he was not a man, and he never had been a man ; even if the ugly scars said otherwise. But no. He had been born that way, and it was wrong of him to think that he had ever been anything different.

Once at the wolf-master's side, he bowed his head quickly, braid flopping over his shoulder. He wrung his wrists, interlocking and locking his hands, careful of the mangled fingertips that still sometimes leaked pus and blood - even though the fingers had been gone for a long time now, if they had ever existed at all. He squeaked out what his master had wanted from him, making sure not to draw the wolf-master's ire by looking at him, or presuming to speak like an equal; "Suh-sir, the good Luh-lord Cardarn Vorath - " He paused, drawing a breath. He had remembered his master's full name; there would be no further flaying of his toes tonight. Not for something like that. Perhaps, for the kiss, then, "-wuh-would like to invih-vite you to dinner at his eh-estate." The creature felt a surge of pride, which he did not let escape onto his face. He had managed to say the words properly - and frame them in exactly the way that his master had taught him. If that was not motivation enough, he would have to find some other way to convince the wolf-master ; and he knew many. He had been taught.

 

[Azzy]

"1000!"

What a mistake. If her new master didnt not like the idea of having slaves, he surely was purchasing quite a few at this auction. It was a curious thing indeed, and only faintly did a look od disappointment, and curiosity flash in those wild, blue eyes that gazed at the stage as her new companion was thrown off of it in a very similar manner as she was. Such a pretty little blonde...what a prize the wolf master had bought today. Surely two of the prettiest slaves in the auction today. This is why so many disappointed looks were tossed in her master's direction. Not any of the slaves they the other bidders wanted had been purchased by them, but by some other creature, and that came as quite a disappointment to most.

Seraphinn rose to her feet when ordered by the burly wolf, and followed behind him as he made his way to the stage to collect the blonde, and sign the papers. She didnt look much happier than she herself did when she was purchased. It was a normal feeling. Some were angry, others were sad, even more were just numb from their many years in the slave world. You were purchased by the highest bidder, taken to their extravagant homes, used as was seen fit, and then sold again if you had not died off by that time. Some were lucky, some got to stay with their masters. Master who kept them for so long that they learned what to do, and what not to do to survive, and keep their master's happy. Seraphinn had only had one master before, and she was used by the witch as a test subject, a guinea pig for her potions, spells, and other things. The redhead was surprised she was even still alive. She had been turned into a toad once, or twice.

The Cat eyed the blonde, and then realized that she would either have to fit for dominance now, or they would help each other survive under the rule of this wolf. It was a peculiar thing, but slaves didnt only have to watch out for their masters. They also had to watch out for the other slaves. Some have been in their master's hands for quite sometime, and have developed a sort of territorial boundary around them. You had to live under the rules of the master, and the veteran slaves, or your life really was at risk.

Piercing, blue eyes gazed at the blonde with a sort of questioning stare; would they help each other, or would they be enemies under the same roof?

Her thoughts ceased to continue the instant she heard the stuttering voice of the leech slave though. Dinner at the leech's estate? How vulgar...she may gain a sense of respect for the mutt of a master if he declined this offer. Bad enough she had to live with the wolf....she didnt want to enter the vampire's home as well.

 

[GundamNewtype]

Matthias looked almost pitifully at the human female before him. She, too, was dressed in rags, her hair being the only thing that looked even remotely clean. She was bleeding too. Not the almost unnoticeable bleed that all females went through from time to time, no....Matthias could see the blood around her arms, her ankles. The chains had been a bit too tight. Good, thought Matthias. She knows the way of the slave. Easier on me I suppose, And Mother and Father will surely like them. Hopefully enough for them to get off my back. Matthias was also curious to note that this female, unlike his other one did not seem to have the same fire. She had either been a slave longer, or was just naturally submissive. A feeling of primal dominance swept over him, and the smallest amount of endorphin's released at her subservience towards him.

Matthias quickly banished such thoughts. He was a member of the Stonepaw clan! A proud, ancient clan of his kin. They hunted humans in the old days, preyed upon their children and drank the blood of their fathers. Granted the Stonepaw clan also lived in caves and did not know the meaning of cooked food, but Matthias was proud nontheless. He did not need to feel power when a creature that ranked barely above the sand beneath his now needing to be shined again shoes was submissive. Focusing back on the slave, Matthias also noted that she was small, and her papers had said she was nineteen in human years, which barely made her an adult. He sighed. Now, on top of being her master, he had to swaddle her as well. This was proving to be more of a headache than a relief. The guilty party being that wretched vampire....what was his name? Mentally slapping himself for not getting his name, Matthias turned to his newest slave, and addressed her. Matthias was new to the whole master role, and it showed. "Fay, is it? Well, Fay, as I have purchased you for one thousand times your worth, you should feel both lucky and distressed. You are kept alive in my presence only because it is required of me, and you have a companion. My other purchase today. She, too, has already felt my...grace upon her." He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a whisper so only Hellcat and Fay could hear him. "But be warned. My patience goes only so far. Your lives mean nothing to me now, and they never will. Mess up too many times, and I won't resell you. No, I'll give you to the poorest, starving vampire I can find, and let him or her drain you as slowly and as painfully possible, until you crave death." Shoving his hands in his pockets, Matthias brushed across his pocketwatch, and his eyes widened. The Meeting with his brothers investor! He had been so caught up in this hellhole that he had forgotten about it completely.

Making sure he was finished with the auction clerk, Matthias was more than ready to leave, when he caught the familiar sweet scent with a hint of underlying filth approach him. Then the voice came, the thin reedy voice accompanied by a stutter. That confirmed it. It was the one they called Vessel. Turning around, a look of disdain that threatened to remain stuck on his face for good, Matthias heard out the mangled sack of bones sewn together with taut pale skin. Matthias did not show it, but he was also glad to now know the name of his new nemesis. When he was done Matthias took a deep breath, swallowed his anger and with a level voice responded. "Dinner with your master. Vessel was it? Good. I wouldn't step foot in his house even if he produced the lost tooth of the First Alpha, or showered me with females from the purest of clans. I don't know what that blood deprived leech is thinking in what should be his brain, but I will Never break bread with him unless my fangs close around his head afterwords. This I swear on the honor of my clan, the Stonepaw's, and my honor as well."

With that, he ordered his slaves to come with him, walking past Vessel. His car was parked outside the grounds, and he had to take these slaves to their new home to give them the rules, and what little they would be doing. Also, he was sure his mother would want to meet them, and congratulate her son on finally becoming a true part of the society they lived in. If this day doesn't kill me, I will be highly surprised, thought Matthias as part of his shoe stuck in the ground.

 

[Azzy]

Thankfully, the wolf had declined the offer, and so both of the slaves would only be burdened with his presence for now. Seraphinn eyed the blonde once more before looking away from her, and peering angrily at her master's feet. His words caused a seething hatred to boil further, and blue eyes narrowing. His threats were sincere, and so she'd have to reign in her temper, cage her spirit around him. Wolves were temperamental things. She didnt want to anger him anymore, but her hatred for all creatures was far stronger than her ability to toss cold water on her fire.

In all honesty? She just wanted to get to her new home, get these shackles off, and sleep on whatever concrete floor this mutt will have made ready for them...if he allows them to sleep in his home at all. It'd be just there luck that they'd be treated like the dog their master is. Small box shack outside, and leashes to chain them to their rightful 'home'. A rightful place for disgusting humans. Tch. The cat wished that husk of a man would just leave so that her master could take his belongings home, put them where they belong, and go about his day. She was tired of being here.

( This is a poor excuse for a reply, and I apologize. )

 

[Sir Basil]

Vessel let out a long sigh, a sigh that seemed to make his bones shake. The wolf-master had wandered off without hearing the end of his words, without allowing himself to be persuaded by Vessel's welcoming words and welcoming tongue. He had become very good at persuading men to do what his master wanted, and it was something that he had been able to take some small comfort in, an ability that had never failed. But now, the man was wandering away with his two slave-girls trailing after him. Vessel had lost him, had lost him and had never even learned his name. His master would beat him for this. He would not beat his face ; Vorath liked him pretty, but he would beat his hide until he oozed black oil and thick yellow pus. He'd seen it happen before. He would be banished from his bed, and banished from food. Vessel's stomach shifted uncomfortably, in the memory of meals prior. There had been not many meals. He remembered the first meal he had ever shared with Vorath - Lord Vorath, he could not forget that - and his stomach shifted again. He had been whole, then. There had been ten fingers, ten toes, two eyes, and only seventeen years to his name. Or had there even been seventeen? Vessel could not remember. He remembered the meal, and he remembered sitting across from his Lord and Master before he had ever cracked the whip. But those days were gone, now, and there were missing fingers, many missing fingers, if he had ever been whole to begin with. He simply could not remember any more.

Vessel loped forward, dragging his injured ankle behind him. It was a shifting, stumbling gait, the gait of a monster, not a man. The auctioneer was shouting numbers, still, bringing boy and girl slaves up to the stand, where they would be sold and evaluated. Then, Vessel supposed, they would be beaten or bathed, depending on the master. His master was very kind. He had been allowed a bath, a bath in a ceramic tub. With rosewater, he remembered. He'd smelled like roses for days, and still did. He bathed in it regularly. Vorath was happy to starve him, but not happy to abide the smell of death and sickness, the smells that Vessel would have carried with him normally. The wolf-master had smelled it, he knew. He had smelled that sickness upon his skin. The sickness of being a slave. As he hobbled through the streets, some other masters watched him with their hard-eyes. A child, not a proper child, a child with hard red eyes that spoke of centuries of existence, laughed at him as he stumbled over his feet, tugging on its compatriot's arm - a taller man, with the same sick coloured eyes. He laughed too, a deeper, bellowing laugh. These vampires were not kind - but vampires had always been kinder to him. He wondered if the wolf-master had even considered that he had doomed Vessel. If his master did not kill him, he would be even more diminished than he was now. He would lose more fingers, more toes. And then he would forget if he had ever had more than what Vorath left him with.

Whimpering, he clambered to Vorath's side. The vampire glanced down his nose at him, red-eyes converging on Vessel's gaunt, pale face. The creature clutched at the bottom of his coat, settling himself somewhere near the base of Vorath's freshly shined boots. Vessel was letting out the most pitiful of sounds, a whine deep within his throat. The vampire's brows furrowed over his red-gold eyes, and he folded his arms tightly around his chest. Unlike many vampires, Vorath was not tall and thin, he was tall and broad. A history of violence had honed his muscles and given him strength. He was very strong, yes, but lacked finesse - Vessel knew this. Watching him swing a sword was like watching a butcher heave a meat cleaver. But he was his master, and Vessel loved him, even if this would be soon the end of him. He reached up one of his bony, mutilated hands to brush it against a whole, rabbit-fur glove. Vorath tilted his head, curtains of black hair shifting in a stray breeze. He snapped his hand away from Vessel's clutch quickly, with a certain practice. Seeing the creature settled so near to his boots, Vorath kicked him hard in the chest, sending the creature backwards in a crack of bones and flesh. It was like the sound of a football being kicked, if it was stuffed with rocks and sticks.

Vessel let out a sharp inhale and then a wheeze, vision blacking out again. Blood spurted out from his mouth, what precious few bits of blood remained in the shriveled husk. Vessel clutched at his face, as blood spurted out from between his fingers. A broken rib? Possibly. Or maybe just a crunch of sternum and the crack of collarbone. He would not be certain, other than that there was an unbearable tightness in his chest - and he was not paralyzed. Maybe his teeth had just come down on his lip and broken through the flesh. There was pain in his mouth, the feeling of his raw gums oozing fresh again. Vessel felt like he would drown in his own pus. He clutched at his face, and coughed, expelling a clear yellow mucus that was flecked with red gouts of blood. Vorath sneered, a tug of his lips and a tightening around his nose. The vampire flicked his fingers, beckoning Vessel to come to him. The creature could do nothing ; save obey. Vessel tried to gather himself to his feet, a few sick strands of mucus and red running down his chin, staining the front of his ragged shirt with a smear of fluid. He knew the look on Vorath's face. The vampire was not pleased. His gold eyes were hard and angry, and his lips were twisted into a scowl. Vessel would be hurt, tonight.

He crawled, wheezing, to his master's side. Vorath grabbed him by the iron collar around his neck, pulling him upward, into the air. Vessel's feet dangled some inches above the ground as his master brought him up to eye-level. He could not help but feel a wave of relief, knowing that the square was not watching them. If they had been, Vorath would have been crueler, would have whipped him there and then, or broken the bits of teeth that still clung stubbornly to his gums. The vampire hissed out a phrase, whatever elegance had been in his master's voice failing him; "You failed." Vessel whimpered in response, and his master shook him in the air, before throwing him carelessly to the ground - like a toy that a child has long since grown out of, and now, found tiresome. The vampire watched the bag of skin and bones expectantly, studying his reactions. Would Vessel run? He could have run amongst all the creatures in the square - he would have been lost soon enough, lost amongst the gathered crowd - but his ankle would slow him down. He could have cried for help - but who would have cared? Starved, and starved for options, the creature gripped the asphalt path with broken hands, and drug himself, on his belly, back to his master's side.

The vampire smiled at him. If the vessel didn't know better - he would have said that Vorath was pleased with him. But he knew better than that. The smile hadn't met his eyes. There was more suffering to come. He knew there had to be more suffering, and that there always would be. His master glanced down at him, and then, did something strange. The vampire knelt down to the slave. He kneeled down to Vessel's level! There was something wrong here, some sort of trick. Vessel's eyes widened, as the vampire reached out to grab his face, forcing Vessel to stare straight into the vampire's face, faces only two inches away. His master forced a rough smile to Vessel's lips, and then, and only then, did the creature realize the vampire's motivation. His bleeding lip. He was draining his lips. The vampire happily lapped at it, like a cat. Vessel felt his eyelds getting heavier and heavier - it was exhausting. Blood loss, even the smallest amount, combined with hunger and pain, made him feel weary. The vampire broke away, after the wound began the clot. His lips were flushed, and his fiery eyes seemed even brighter in his face.

Vorath straightened to his full height, glancing down at the pitiful creature called Vessel. He turned his back on him, calling over his shoulder, "Come along, pet." He tossed the creature a last long look before moving forward. "You do want to entertain our guests, don't you?" Then, the vampire strode forward, continuing along his path. The auctioneer was crying out numbers, numbers for a slave somewhere in the crowd. Vessel peered at him with his waning vision. The slave was young, young with brown hair and dark eyes. His face was contorted with fear. He was newly enslaved. The auctioneer was still shouting. Seventy for this virgin boy! Seventy for one of the free humans - gone tame! Seventy were the lashes that Vessel would receive for failure, seventy was the fingers he had left on ten similarly mutilated hands. Seventy was the number of times that he would be called a whore tonight, or asked to be a whore. Seven times ten. Seven plus ten was seventeen skulls and seventeen coins, all that you had to pay to destroy whatever was left of him. But Vorath wouldn't sell him. Vorath loved him.

And for that, Vessel limped after him. He might not have had much, but he had his numbers.