The Sea of Bodies - IC

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by QwibQwib, Nov 4, 2015.

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  1. Clattering feet, roaring train engines, chatting mouths. All the usual things of the bustling capital Codeame, when they are there by themselves at least, they were not now however. The sounds of locomotives rose in quantity, The volume of walking rose, as again, the quantity of those walking rose, and the voices became more and more urgent. Change was so very obvious in these times, for the people who remembered a time without it, the pill was a difficult one to swallow however, as much as it was forced.

    Mass Immigration was the catalyst of these changes, most subtitle of a change being that the gates were now practically always open, the guards of such growing bored of careful investigation of those entering, a deadly change indeed.

    But the time for this deadliness to take effect was not upon Codeame, it would not be for some time, and the day went on, with all of it's choking difference. A certain, practically bubbling, Noelit was not so concerned with it however. His walk was full of swaying hips, his ears a twitching mess, bumping against the corners of the ear holes in his flamboyant feathered hat.A fake wooden pipe held in the edge of his mouth, before being withdrawn as he pretended to let smoke out of his lungs.

    His joyous attitude was to be challenged very well, as it had not been in years as soon as he got to his destination. It was a place where Depression heavily pressed down on his own happiness, and cut apart any other "True" happiness, his ears drooped slightly, and he frowned. All around him were Shackled Humans, the majority of the population in this ugly corner of the city, other then the slaves there were those less then emotionally invested buyers, the ecstatic sellers, and law enforcers there to keep order.

    Sevrin was about ready to turn heel and flee back into his own bubble of happiness, before a voice reminded him of his own want for an actual live hat tester.. as well as the rather embarrassing suggestion of "Actual company"

    Mason.. Please, what kind of company do you think one of these.. individuals will be? Sevrin hesitated at calling those burdened with slavery as "Individuals." But as always, optimism gripped him. It however was not similarly so with his Demon. It's not as if you were able to sustain actual company before.

    Sevrin grumbled something unintelligible to himself before giving any sort of answer, this time outloud. "I suppose that's true.." Mason scoffed at the word 'suppose', but Sevrin paid that no mind as he walked up to one of the shouting slave traders, looking up at him, the person was a Dwarf, a silent curse came from the Noelit at their size difference. "Hello there, I have come here, most obviously, to purchase a slave, I have a very certain criteria I want filled, please do give me a male with a hair color that will contrast greatly from brighter hats and a muscular body that will be outlined well in tight dresses. Am I understood so far?"

    The Dwarf was not nearly as ecstatic now, instead he was staring at the Noelit with a blank stare, as if he was waiting for this shorter person to exclaim that it was all a jest and give him a face full of cream. But after a long silence between the two the Dwarf realized that he was serious. "Uhm.. right, of course I have a slave who.. fits those specifics.. uh, do follow me." The slaver commanded, walking down from his elevated spot, turning from the Noelit and walking exactly thirteen paces, before the two came to a line of slaves, them shoulder to shoulder. He stopped at the third one down, a towering (However hunched over) man with long black hair and a body that would definitely be outlined in a tight dress.

    "This Slaves' number is 1178, and his price will be three times that, I hope you are quite willing to pay." The Dwarf said, turning his back on the Human and towards Sevrin, who was already handing a coin purse to him. All that was done to check whether it was enough was opening the purse to see if it was even gold and then bouncing it up and down a bit. He grumbled. And walked around '78, disconnecting the slaves' chains from the iron post that bounded him. "He's all yours."

    Afterwards he walked off to continue to advertise loudly, and Sevrin looked up at the towering man. "So, I have had quite enough of this place, as I'm sure you have, so I say we get out of here right now." he remarked, turning on his heel, and with his fake pipe still firmly in his mouth he began to walk, just sort of expecting '78 to follow.
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  2. Nestled in the borders of Codeame's Central Plaza, the Athenaeum towered prodigiously above its city, teeming of the many diverse races on the continent. Concealed in these tightly compact walls, the rich history of Aksoame had been chronicled and catogorized for centuries, and its stories collectively bound into hardbacks and stored for the natives to look fondly upon their former tales of glory and triumph, or grieve for the historical tragedies that tarnished the land.

    In this ancient edifice there were seven levels containing thousands of literature, the further one went down the deeper and darker the history they would find, and the first floor separated the latest section of books from a miniature garden that soaked up the light from stained glass windows.

    Alas, the commonfolk found the Athenaeum to be useless except for providing an interesting attraction for tourists, so in all its efforts to keep this time-honored structure alive, the Codeame Historian hired a staff of youth to find new and compelling ways to help rejuvenate and bring about a solution that would have creatures all across the continent flocking to this very site.

    Here, a youth lay in a dream.

    Demiti knew she was dreaming, being taught how to recognize when she was deeply immersed in her own subconscious ever since hatching. Without much thought, she brought her hands up in front of her face.

    One. Two. Three.

    She counted each of her fingers. They outstretched like slender vines and ended with retracting thorns, covering a soft azure palette. The space which she resided in was unusually small, with an all-encompassing mist hovering thickly over the area. She payed no mind to the mist, which was too opaque to see clearly out of.

    Four. Five. Six.

    The fog had barely a trace of color, but as it swirled around Demiti, it began to pulsate a sky blue. That sky blue gradually slipped into sapphire, then indigo. The cloud of mist was in an unstable state, overwrought with some unseen sickness as it and wrestled with itself like a creature in shackles.

    Seven. Eight. Nine.

    Demiti grasped the dizziness of the haze getting to her. Her head felt light with emptiness and her limbs were heavy as if they were sacks full of sand. The Bixvul slipped to the floor, and made her last attempt at counting her final thumb. The indigo shadow sensed her weakness and wafted over her body till she was blanketed in the blue mist, ultimately having her senses mingled with the cloud's restlessness.


    Weary gems had their curtains lifted, and the stage was lit with a cherry iridescence. Demiti awoke splayed upon a patch of Asters. She rubbed her lids tentatively as she sat up, trying to think even as her thoughts were scattered.

    What a dream.

    She felt a sharp pain beneath her as she moved, and discovered a book she had been laying on. The Stygian Age. The book was thickset and had a black cover with vermillion lettering on the front, it smelled of dust. Yes, this is what Demiti had been reading before she had dozed off under the warm rays of the ardent sun. Perhaps, this was what caused her to have such a cryptic dream?

    Maybe, my wise one. Your dreams have always been as rich and vivid as this. Selkis echoed back. Demiti clicked her tongue at the roof of her mouth, and began to stand, brushing herself off of any dirt or stray petals clinging to her back and shoulders blades. She bent over and stretched, then put a hand on her hip, obstinately.

    "Why didn't you help me when I was being taken by the fog?" Demiti asked, perturbed. She heard what sounded like a haughty sigh in her head.

    It was only a dream. Dreams cannot harm you. Therefore, you were in no immediate danger, and there was no need to rescue you from some intangible thought in your psyche.

    Now Demiti sighed. Although it had been a figment of her imagination, it still felt incredibly real. The overwhelming sensation of something inevitable, like a dreading for disaster was still there, making her heart pound. Her eyes unfocused and she gazed at the massive wooden shelves containing every piece of information about their world. She had a secret goal that she would read every book in the Athenaeum before she died, but even that seemed like something so far off that it would have to be achieved in the afterlife.

    "Do demons even dream?"

    No. We are incapable of going into such a meditative state on our own, and do you forget we do not sleep? But, for those of us who have a mortal countepart, we are able to experience some of what you would experience in the dream state. It is... interesting, I suppose. What is the purpose of it again?

    From Demiti's understanding, dreams were vital to the body's wellbeing, mentally, physically, and even spiritually. It gave the mind time to slow down, so that it would not be preoccupied with thoughts and feelings it needed to analyze, and could focus on regenerating the body and flushing out anything that might be potentially harmful.

    "Do you hear that? There are noises coming from the window."
    Demiti said hastily, and stepped over strewn hardbacks to a formidable sized window that had a cool breeze sifting through the Athenaeum and tugging at Demiti's hair petals with tiny, invisible fingers. She peered out the small opening where her eyes landed upon a group of human slaves. She could see them bound clear as day. Their shackles around their wrists and ankles gleamed malignantly in the sunlight, and shadows cast about their faces. Even here, all the way up in the small turret of the Athenaeum, she felt their pain. Demiti gnawed on her bottom lip.

    You're not thinking of going out there, are you?

    #2 Jinzou, Nov 6, 2015
    Last edited: Nov 16, 2015
  3. 1178 had been standing for some time, he had previously been sold, then bought again, and again. Each time he had traveled to a new market he spread word the slaves around him that names would set them free. Their numbers would only keep them chained, that if they knew to call one another by a name then they could be a people again. Then later in the day he found himself being purchased by a rather different looking Noelit. Before the Noelit and his current dwarf owner walked to him he had been standing at his full height, but as they neared he shrunk himself into a more submissive stance. 1178 eyed the Noelit, he wore a hat, and was quite energetic and happy in his stride. All this was rather unnerving to 1178, these types tended to stay away from such places. The Noelit had asked for someone of 1178's specifications, tall, built, dark hair. It seemed destined, or that the creature did it research. After the exchange of gold between the Noelit and the Dwarf, 1178 was unchained from the post he'd been tethered to. The Noelit made a short comment about this place being undesirable and 1178 was almost tempted to laugh, this rabbit knew not of the struggles he had faced here. But 1178 followed just the same. He decided to dare to speak, it was uncommon for a slave like him to be purchased for anything but physical labor. This Noelit seemed to want him for something delicate, dresses and hats, things of the sort.

    "What do you want with someone like me?" 1178 said as he followed closely behind the small Noelit.
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  4. 2691.

    Most likely the largest number '91 ever knew, but it never really struck her as something important. She stared straight ahead as the taskmaster roared out prices and numbers to the passing gentry, spit flecking the copper strands of beard. His gait was unsteady, a sort of arrogant waddle, whilst the blackjack hung loosely and slapped his thigh with each heavy step. Weaving in and out of the crowd were uninterested masters-and-mistresses to be, their garments colourful and bright and intricate, who listened to the taskmaster's gurgling hollers with the sort of indifference that only a lot of money can provide. Right next to her was the familiar warmth of Loque - 1178 - who stood, hunched over in the shackles next to her. Briefly, '91 shifted her weight a little and lightly nudged him in the process, for no other reason than to confirm that his presence was still there.

    2691 did not have any strong opinion on any one object, but 1178 became a necessity. She would not go as far as to consider it a form of emotion, but more of a need, such as food and warmth. Loque was one of the slaves she had known for a long time within the mines; his rhythmic clicks of the pickaxe harmonized with her own frantic ones and the pair seemed to gravitate towards each other naturally. Eventually 2691 chose to find him and soon enough she used to squirm so that when the shackles clasped around her bony wrists, she would be immediately behind 1178. Whilst '91 said very little, she did like to poke or nudge or shuffle and bump into her impromptu protector, a silent sign of her gratitude for simply being there.

    One could imagine, therefore, her reaction when 1178 was bought without her to follow.

    It was easy enough to say that '91 was devoid of any extreme emotion; it was clear to see in her dulled eyes. But she had become so acclimatised to 1178's presence that when the shackles were unclipped from Loque, 2691 gently raised her wrists to be unclipped too. The taskmaster did not notice and wandered off, and '91 began to stir uncomfortably. Loque was moving away now into the crowd, without a second glance to '91 (She was not offended, such was the way in slavery to make friends and lose them quickly) so the girl took a step forward and held a hand out for the retreating back, the curtain of matted hair.

    The taskmaster noticed. The leather-clad stick of metal had to hit a very particular place; the face and arms were usually danger zones. One could damage the shackles or break the nose, lowering a female's value. So the weapon went in a sweeping, sideways gesture towards 2691's pale thigh, crashing into the flesh and sending 2691 toppling to the floor with a bang. Her knees and the base of her palms are scraped bloody by the grit on the cobblestones. For a brief moment, the crowd seemed to part around the show in discipline; slave-beating was no oddity around these parts, but it did well to give an angry dwarf with a blackjack a wider berth than usual.

    "UP! GET UUUP!" screamed the taskmaster, sending another blow onto 2691's back before she had the chance to regain her footing. The order was more than enough, but the incentive of another beating hastened the girl's reactions just that little bit more; she lurched to her feet with such desperation that she struck the back of her head on the iron post she was chained to, legs trembling in pain, knees buckling together as the poppy bruise blossomed across the pasty flesh covering her thigh. Simple fear sparked in her eyes as she stared straight ahead, not even bothering to look over at Loque. The beating had its desired effect, and already she began to force herself into ignoring the cool patch next to her where he had been. Already, 2691 began the process of methodically removing her memories of Loque, such as his hidden name, out of her mind.

    Clearly, she was set for something else that did not involve him.
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  5. The Noelit paused a little in his advance, his ears twitching a little as he turned towards his new acquisition, having to tilt his head back quite a bit to look up at him, even with his slaves' attempts at trying to be shorter. The question had caught him off guard, he had not before imagined such interrogation by any such a person, looking at all of the other humans standing there, completely broken and without care for themselves, this one was a spectacle. Mason's voice played itself in his head. How unlucky for you Sevrin, you managed to purchase a person, not an object, I am quite proud of you.

    Shush now Mason, does this not work better for your idea of real company?

    The reply was met with a bit of silence in Mason's head, before the ghostly voice replied with a single word touché.

    And the Noelit smiled in his victory as he opened his mouth in the beginning of his reply to the slave "Well you see.." it was stopped as in the corner of his eye, to the side of his slaves' towering form. A female slave, one he had not noticed before, pale and thin had come under the attention of the dwarf he had just bought from, and he flinched as the sound of the weapon connecting with flesh pierced through the air and the woman toppled over.

    "UP! GET UUUP!" the Taskmaster screamed as another blow was applied to the woman's back, and she got up quite hastily. By then the Noelit's ears were pressed against his head, and his eyes were clouded a little as tears tried to set in. It was all he could do, imagine himself in that one's position. He could not have gotten up like she did, he imagined that he would have just curled up and died on those stones if he were here, twas maybe luck that he wasn't her, and misfortune that she was simply herself.

    Mason's words shot themselves through the Noelit's head, as soon as the slimmest thought of going back and purchasing that female as well came into his mind. "Y'might as well buy the entire row of slaves, Sevrin. And of course that would be suicide, you already cost yourself dearly just purchasing one living thing you have to take care of, try not to make empathy drain you of what you can accomplish, turn those little feet around and go back to your shop."

    And the Noelit did begin to do that, his head craning up towards his slave began, saying simply "Come on, I'll tell you what you'll be assigned to once we get.. home." he said, and again, his feet began to carry him forward, and without a single look back he left that place behind.
  6. 1178 was waiting for a response when the Noelit stopped and turned to face him, when the creature still had to look up at him he thought he was going to be struck for not bending to his masters height but no blow came his way. Then the Noelit cracked a smile and slightly unnerved 1178. Then the Noelit spoke but stopped speaking abruptly. It's eyes looked past 1178 and then it flinched, it did not register with 1178 but a whip had been cracked. The sound seemed so normal for him that it was odd for the Noelit to cringe at such a simple sound, like a footstep or a breath. 1178 looked back at the sound and saw his friend 2691, she was being beaten again. 1178 stood to his full height and watched the scene with vehement rage, it took more than swallowing his pride to allow such a small being to strike his friend. But he could do nothing. He simple looked down at her with a stern expression, one that did not show lack of emotion but one that showed the need for absence of any. She had to be strong, he would not be here to protect her and she would need to spread the belief of her name. That she was not a number that she was a person.

    1178 looked back at the Noelit and saw it's ears pressed against its head with tears forming. 1178 was angry at this but shrunk down to his decreased size. He was angry that someone of his size and strength was owned by such a tiny unworthy Noelit, the being before him was an insult to his ancestors. It angered him. The Noelit told 1178 that he would be told his job when he got to 'home'. It was not his home, and as he thought these rebellious thoughts he considered grabbing the Noelit before him and squeezing until life left it's eyes. Btu he knew it was not the Noelit's fault. He knew it was simple fate that his people be subjugated. But it would not always be that way. He followed behind the Noelit down the street and kept quiet, he made no eye contact with passers by and stared only at the Noelit's back. The whole time thinking malevolent thoughts about those who would seek to keep his people subjugated, thinking of the glorious war he would wage to free his kind.

    Loque did not like to accept this world, and one day he would change it.
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  7. Selkis's velvet voice rang like the morning bell in Demiti's head. The demon would not warn her again, it only waited to see her give in to temptation. Her leafy hand traced the window where the human prisoners trudged their feet along one path of misery that they all were doomed to share. And when there was a sudden violence that erupted in that chain of misery, it sprung palpitations upon her.

    "I can't let him-"

    Her thorns dragged across the glass leaving her marks like talons on the window in a flash of fretful movement to evacuate the Athenaeum. Two intricately carved doors of the edifice were thrown open by a black-faced Bixvul, their weight not the slightest hindrance to her as another hormone like adrenaline was forcing itself through stem veins to her earthy limbs.

    She did not expect that she could stop the thrashing by means of force, but forcing was not her way. It was a compromise through gold that she was already formulating in her mind, although the fear and irrationality she had acted upon made it more complex to think clearly and run than she would ought to have wanted.

    Ametrine gems shadowed the glint of the blackjack against the red Aksoame sun as it split skin in several spots on the female slave's thigh. Each blow made Demiti lurch, each twisted painful face that she saw morph on the slave's features, and the struggle to stand without tears free falling.

    Perhaps these books had sheltered her long enough from the harsh realities of the present. Though she knew things more tragic in those stories than this, history was irreparable, it was fixed, more importantly she could not hop back in time and change it, no matter how badly she wished.

    If she truly wanted to live, she would have to begin making changes in the now.

    The Bixvul had to slow her pace when she entered in the same vicinity as the emprisoned humans and the one enraged Dwarf, and regain some sense of calmness. Though her nerves were awfully shaken up, she lifted her chin and took tentative steps toward the belligerent taskmaster, who still held a firm grip on the weapon, not a dent in the cold metal.

    "Uh... what's this, another one? Lookin' to buy one of these?" The Dwarf drawled his greetings, transitioning from beating slaves to selling them must come quite naturally to him, Demiti thought grimly. The enslaver tried his best to put on a "smile" for her, but he only showed her a few pointed teeth that protruded from mustard lips that looked so unnaturally raised when they was grinning, grabbing hold of the female slave he had only moments before made her collapse upon the mud with his cleaver, and forced her to stand, though she seemed to be limping rather.

    "C'mon, smile Deary, the nice lady Bixvul's come to fetch one of ya' dogs for mutt work." He scowled at the weakened slave and took her roughly by the shoulder, pulling her closer to his side and pinching the little bit of fat on her wan cheek in a patronizing way. The empathic Bixvul felt the presence of the dark spirit in her head begin to pool- an echoe of objection wrapped in silk.

    You are going to spend the money.


    Is there any way that I may deter you?

    I am going to save this life, Selkis. Do you honestly believe you can succeeded in deterring me from that?

    I do not wish to see her become a burden on you... on us.

    I'm incredulous to believe that anyone may be a burden upon you, except for me.

    She will become burdensome for me...


    The thick weight of stuffing in her skull gradually subsided, but it still lurked in the corners of her psyche, watching. Selkis had left her to ponder their words and ambiguous meaning once again, that is so like very them.

    "We have a nice selection of workers, very nice. Here is um, yes. This here is a very obedient one, number 0413. He will take the whip without question, so if you will kindly feel him out-"

    "I will purchase her."

    The taller of the two had been in a kind of stupor when her demon had contacted her briefly, that when she slipped out of that stupor, her purple crystalline gems fell upon the Dwarf with all the potency and seriousness that they possessed, and the slavemaster who felt he needed to steer her toward another slave more robust than the scrawny girl, gathered that his throat had dried like a desert well and he could not speak. Demiti directed her gaze from the unhinged taskmaster to the girl who had been beaten into a heavy silence beside her enslaver, eyes traveling downward to the rusted shackles of the bondswoman, signifying that the brute remove the cuffs at once.

    He obliged, although stumbling dazedly as he did due to the slight vertigo Demiti's glare had given him, to unlocking the chains on the female prisoner's wrists with the silver key attached to his waist by a clip-on, and rubbing his pointer finger and thumb together impatiently. Demiti tugged gently at a strand of purple petal the color of crushed berries, and in no time at all, each of the tendrils bloomed and a green pouch rolled off of the petals and into her outstretched hand. The brute was mystified, he had to admit he had never been so close to a Bixvul before, but regained some of his usual arrogance and took the coin purse from her leafy fingers hastily with pressed lips.

    "It's name is 2691." He griped.

    Demiti waited patiently with the chillingly silent human slave she had just spent a somewhat expensive amount of gold on, their value graded by their weight and physical strength, with an unusually restless pang in her heart at what she had just done, and watching the backs of the forlorn drag their bare feet in the dirt to another Central Business District in Codeame. Selkis sniffed.

    With kind, sympathetic eyes and a merciful smile, Demiti said as she turned to look upon 2691,
    "Let me see those wounds."
    #7 Jinzou, Nov 30, 2015
    Last edited: Nov 30, 2015
  8. 2691 stared at Loque as he turned around and stared back. Despite being so far away, she could read him; one of the advantages of being a slave is a keen sense of observation that you acquire over various years, mainly because if you do not read the body language first, you're in for a surprise beating later. This was their goodbye, and it was his "stay strong". 2691 did not need to remain strong; she needed to remain obedient and silent. Especially about 1178's name which no longer existed, not in her mind, not in anyone else's mind. She refused to be a part of it for fear of the whip.

    Her reverie was broken by the taskmaster, pinching her hollowed cheek and giving her an order to smile. 2691 did not smile - she pulled the corners of her mouth upwards and revealed the yellowed teeth within and stood there, retaining the facial expression with no real thought behind it - a knee-jerk reaction. It was not a smile, more of a face. She stared at the Brixvul without really seeing her; to '91, the strange being was simply another customer. She had, of course, reached a point where questioning her surroundings was considered forbidden.

    Which is why 2691 put it down to the 'smile' as her shackles were unclipped, her chains removed from the iron post. She stared down at her wrists and ankles but a quick and sharp tap from the taskmaster reverted her gaze back up to the Brixvul. She did not spare her fellow slaves a second glance as they filed out of the square, leaving the two alone - well, surrounded by people who did not pay any mind to a slave, at the very least. The Bixvul smiled and 2691 just stared back, still fake-smiling at her in return. It hurt her face a little but she was not yet told to stop.

    Like most slaves, 2691 stank to high heaven - she was absolutely filthy, obviously malnourished, and perhaps crawling with parasites and diseases. Her clothes were too thin and ragged, her feet-bindings did nothing to protect her toes (of which she was missing three) and her pallid complexion, coupled with the coarse mat of black hair and soulless grey eyes, gave her entire appearance a monotonous look to it - as if something drained the colour right out of her.

    Demiti asked to see her wounds, but '91 knew the trick too well - a second beating was on the way. She inhaled sharply and thrust out her hands, palms upwards, to show the bloodied grazes. The wounds on her thigh let loose a thin dribble of blood and her knees were still muddy and gritty, but at least they were not bleeding. She did not look her new owner in the eyes, but rather stared down at her feet - that way, at least, if she stopped smiling during the beating then she would have a scrap of a second to recover the desired facial expression before the Bixvul noticed.
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  9. Sevrin's eyes kept themselves completely forward as he walked, not looking back at the person he had purchased, there was a deep attempt for Sevrin to not feel anything, unfortunately, the attempt was not bringing up all that much success. He had a feeling of insignificance, for that's all he believed of himself now. He sat in his hat shop, thinking about his earlier life in the academy and the backlash of Noelit societal principles, and the time at the Slave holding made him finally realize, that those problems were insignificant. But, like with any thought that he had, it went challenged.

    Except for the fact that your problems made the most significant changes in both our existences. The voice of Mason pushed themselves to every corner of the Noelit's mind, and the words nestled themselves there, in a silence that kept itself only to his head.

    It was bullying.. you must agree that such a suffering is leagues different then any other.

    Except I do not.. You have already thought up a response much to the effect that I only care for your troubles, and that is exactly why I must say, put the slave back, for both of our sakes, I hold no trust for.. it.

    I'm.. I can't do that, I'm sorry, Mason.

    Well.. that settles that then.. Okay, Sevrin, that's your choice. In the meanwhile, I'll just go silent. You could live with your choice the way you want, if it backfires on you then I'll be there to save you. With a nice ol' "I told you so"

    And Mason did go silent, and by an extension, Sevrin felt an emptiness. It was not just silence, it was almost as if Mason was completely gone, and Sevrin almost immediately found himself pleading for the Demon to come back, showing full well his dependence in that existence. But the Demon didn't come back, it just kept silent. Sevrin stopped himself right there on the path, by now he, and his slave behind him. Were practically right in front of his shop, having walked for quite a bit. But Sevrin did not think of it, did not think of him, just thought of it, as desperately he tried to pull him back.

    The whole time he was shivering, little sounds coming from him, and no matter how much he was pleading nothing happened. But it did eventually backlash to him what he was doing, standing in the middle of the street. Sevrin did not look back at his slave, not wanting to see how he might have reacted to it. He just walked the short distance left until he entered his shop. It was a wooden building U shaped building, The front of it being the actual shop area, and it was painted lavishly, with multiple warm colors.

    It's windows got the same treatment, they were put together with several different colors, a clear pattern not being put in mind. On one side there was a large display of hats, with stands stacking up over each other. Some of the displays were empty of hats, to be replaced later. The other front window was much larger, and it simply showed the shop from the outside, which, at the front, comprised only of a bar for Sevrin to stand behind, and even more display stands being behind that bar. Those displays were much more full of hats.

    Sevrin silently walked up to the front door, and during the approach he reached a hand into the warmness that was his right coat pocket, and pulled out a keychain. He flipped through the keys until he got to one that had a blue colored head. Once he reached his shop the Noelit pushed the key into where it belonged, unlocked the door and opened it. After he had walked into the shop, he finally stopped and looked at his new property, and expressed an odd courtesy for one such as him, Sevrin held the door open for him, just waiting for him to walk in, without much thought behind it.

    All of his thought was, after all, entirely on Mason still. And tears would be tell tale in showing that the Demon's silence was still effecting the Noelit greatly.

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  10. "God, are you this much of a nincompoop?"
    Her hand reached out to the Neolit children who had taken her precious lantern, laughing and swinging it about.
    "Your damn lantern wouldn't have gotten snatched if you had just held it in your little pussy fingers."
    She got up, simply walking towards the much shorter kids, releasing a hard puff of air when they kept swinging the glass end close to the ground. She walked up to and glared at the children, which caught their attention. She held her hand out, as if to signify - 'Give it back.'
    "What? You want your stupid lantern back?"
    One of the rather snooty sounding boys said in a mocking voice,
    "Well that's not happening, I like it now and I get what I want!"
    This made Meriah's face become as hard as stone.
    "Come on... Just lemmie possess you and I can rip the damn lantern out of that little ingrate's-"
    She had grabbed the boy by the ears, hoisted them up for him to cry out, and grabbed the lantern pole from his hand.
    He then began to cry,
    "I'm gonna tell my mommy on you, dumb should-be slave!"
    He then ran away, his lackies following though lagging a bit.
    She opened the lantern's hatch, swinging it which created a small arc of flame, which made them really get on their toes.
    "Damn it..."
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  11. The courtesy of an open door had never been offered to 1178 before he was invited into the beautifully decorated shop, it's designs were elegant but also efficient. When 1178 saw the hats he made no audible sound of anger, but he was no pet. He was a hard worker, he knew if he worked here too long he would become fragile, and soft. He wouldnt be bought again if this Noelit needed a new worker. Beyond the hat displays was a bar. It was all very quaint. 1178 decided to get straight to the point of it as the Noelit was eyeing him.

    1178 said nothing, he was trying to stay as close to the Noelit's level as possible. He didnt want to stand tall though the Noelit seemed soft it was better not to risk it. The Noelit seemed to be teary eyed, perhaps about the beating he witnessed earlier in the market. 1178 could only assume that the he did not have the capacity to be so cruel. Under this assumption 1178 made one of the riskiest moves he'd ever made. He stood to his full height, let his chest flare out, then straightened his neck and looked down at the Noelit. This was no threat but merely a display. Something to show 1178's new master that he was no weakling, that he would not be easily replaced.
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  12. Sevrin kept himself in the doorway, his right hand pressed against the colorful wood of the door. His gaze kept itself dull, as his mind stayed blank and singular for quite a while. And in this blankness he didn't even notice the seconds were ticking by, until a change in posture was made by his slave. The Noelit had before had to crane his neck up to look at his slave, sure, but with the attempts of the slave to lower himself to the Noelit's height, it was very much tolerant by Sevrin. But then, very suddenly, the man's back went straight, as his posture straightened itself out in much the same way. And now the craning was even worse, Sevrin had to bend his back a little along with the craning neck to see the man with his chest oh so flared out.

    The message was rather clear to Sevrin of course, he was certain that it was a bit of a slap in the face to him, a way of childishly saying "I'm stronger then you, so I win! HAHAHHA" with a potential of him running down the now quickly.. packing street with a dunce hat. Some people had begun to stop when they saw such an act of rebellion, Sevrin could see their eyes searching, looking for any signs of horns, the most tell tale sign of a mage, but there was none. And that eliminated any doubt, Sevrin was publicly being rebelled against by his slave.

    And it was too much, the eyes of disbelief and amusement that now fell on him, some even began to laugh. He began to shake, his eyes screwed up as he stared up at his slave once more. Desperately his mind began to search, search for any signs of Mason. He was needed, needed so bad, but he was hiding, hiding, Sevrin knew he couldn't be liking this, but he was not doing anything, Sevrin's demon was not comforting him.. why...? Why?

    Sevrin eventually said in a low and quiet voice to '78 ".. Come on inside, please.. close the door behind you, and while you're doing that make sure to inform those onlookers outside that we are closed right now.. make it extra loud as well, if you will." by the end of his sentence the Noelit had already begun to walk into his shop, leaving the door open for the slave to close behind him.
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  13. Meriah continued her walking down the familiar streets; she was in the middle of running an errand for Mother; her old sun hat had finally fell apart, and she needed Meriah to go out and buy a new one since Father was busy and she was too exhausted from her own work. She had hidden the money where none would dare to steal; her breast area. She was told of a hat store a little far away, but it was close enough for her to make due.
    "Don't fuck this up, stupid girl..."
    Rein blabbed in her mind.
    As usual, his insults were ignored. A huff went off in her head.
    She continued skipping along the road, hearing some citizens whispering, pointing, even laughing at her, though some gasping at her horns.
    Soon through the idiotic show she unintentionally cast, she made it to the hat shop, which she assumed was run by a Mage, since her mother had passed by there a couple times and only saw one running the show.
    This time, there were two. She stared blankly at the slave about to enter the shop.
    She pointed to the sign, doing a gentle hop, as if asking if she could go in.​
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  14. Demiti's tanzanite gems flickered analytically over the wounds of the sickly '91, who's face seemed to contort, as if she expected her new master to pull out a pair of scissors from behind her back and snip off '91's remaining limbs. Demiti understood that a person who had lived in torment, faced with the descision of abandoning all will power and autonomy to the enslaver, or die a painfully humiliating death before other lost souls, would surely be distrustful of any act of kindness another creature directed towards them. The human inside '91 had passed moons ago, and what was left was a hollow, mangy husk with the brain of a frightened small animal.

    But Demiti was determined to ignite that flame of life again in the slave. Nothing in Aksoame could derail her.

    "Except you, perhaps." Demiti grazed her thorny teeth with her tongue, crisply.

    "Who, me?" Her counterpart mused.

    "I wouldn't put my bets on it. Listen, Selkis. I need you to provide for me some advice."

    "I will advise to you, of course. My internal database is quite expansive on all topics of spiritual essence, but wait... does this have to deal with the scrawny little thing right here?"

    "It does."

    "Then I cannot help you."

    Demiti clicked her tongue with an uncharacteristic slip of her lips in a downward pull. What a stubborn fellow. A glint of sportfuness lit playfully in her irises.

    "Jealous child o' mine."

    The girl stood with tremulous shoulders and a tightened line drawn across the lip. The slave displayed no such demanding of attention, yet Demiti was unable to break her stare from the matted entanglements of Raven hair, to the dark sore spots around the eyes and the burning itch of skin from abundant exposure to the sun. How was Demiti to nurse this anguished body back to good health?

    Meeting the dim swamp-colored bulbs of '91, she placed her leafy palm on the girl's withered frame, and as the slave jerked and winced, so did she.

    "I will take you to the Athenaeum where I work and also live in. That will be your home too. There, we can browse the shelf of books dedicated to healing and herbal medicines, and I will rejuvenate you. Please follow me."

    Demiti beckoned to the malnourished girl calmly and with a well-intentioned wrinkle of her dimples. There was no reply, just a subtle recognition of a command in the eyes. They began their short walk through a maze of species and creatures in the square, slipping soundlessly between the small openings of people.

    With no absolute plan formulated in her mind, the Bixvul took slow and leveled steps with the docile stiff who limped behind, leaving a small pocket of distance between them. The Bixvul's pace was controlled, following the slip of bare feet on Earth that was light as a goose feather, but those tentative steps were stopped short. She had singled out the sound of the wounded one's footsteps to know she was still close to her, but now Demiti could not hear '91 trudging behind her anymore, and when she whipped around, the girl had vanished in the crowd.

  15. It was never her intention to stray from her new owner. In fact, he was following rather closely behind Demiti until a noelit shoulder-barged her aside in a hurry to get to wherever he was meaning to be. The pause was infinitesimal, but it did its purpose and 2691 could not find Demiti anywhere.

    Her initial reaction was not one of panic, she just stood very still and searched the area for some sign of her presence. Soon, however, her idleness caused stares which usually meant action, so she tottered forward with purpose and then stopped once more. The rumbling of footsteps in the crowd rang uneasily in her ears and she felt smaller than ever before, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible in the tumbling waves of people. She was shoved, jostled and nudged further away from her course until she landed herself by a brick wall, looking stunned.

    Whilst staring at the maddening crowd, 2691 had some times to absorb the words that her new owner had spoken to her. This was a habit she formed after having a particularly difficult owner who, mistaking her blank subservient nature to be one of complete idiocy, constantly asked her what the last things he just said to 2691 were. There were some words she did not understand, curious ones such as "Athenaeum" and "Rejuvinate", but she understood the idea around books and reading (despite knowing full well that the symbols on a piece of paper mean nothing to her) so she looked around for something vaguely book-like in appearance.

    She found nothing of the sort; instead, she managed to find herself back towards Demiti in the press of bodies. Her insides grew cold with the prospect of the punishment to come; immediately upon seeing her leafy visage, 2691 thrust her arms out, bowed her head, and waited.
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  16. The large slave looked around the street and noticed that all passers by could see his act, that he was easily standing high above the crowd and was insulting his new master. 1178 did not mean to but when he noticed the tone in the Noelit's voice upon receiving a command he realized he had made a poor decision. He did as was ordered and bellowed his neck sentence at the top of his lungs.

    "This shop is closed!" This was one of the few times his voice had ever been allowed to be so loud, it made I'm ecstatic but he forced his smile to subside. He saw a strange little horned human. She wore clothes like she was not a slave. She made a hop and pointed to the sign of the shop but 1178 quickly put one of his hands up.

    "This shop is closed little one," He said before turning back to the Noelit and entering. This time he dropped low again, he had already made one mistake. He closed the door behind him with an audible crack in the wood. Not intentionally. He looked to his Noelit master and awaited his next order.
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  17. Sevrin continued into the shop, his head tilted downwards, eyes contacted with the floor. A heavy sigh heaved itself from the Noelit, and his footsteps stopped right at the counter, and the space where he could get behind it.

    That area behind the counter held the rest of his shop, and home, the building being where he mainly resided in.

    The Noelit did not move past the counter for a long few moments, before he turned around to his slave, head craning to stare up at him.

    "What happened outside is not to be talked about, ever. There will be not a mention to it.. And with that out of the way, follow me, I will show you where you'll be sleeping, and the shop will reopen tommorow, your duties will be laid out to you then."
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