For love and for money, Part 1
Author: Emi sweetjerry
Pairing: No pairing atm
Characters: Feliciano (Veneziano), Veronique/Alaka (Seychelles), Tolys (Lithuania), Lovino (Romano), Angélica (Portugal), Francis Bonnefoy (France), Antonio Carriedo (Spain)
Rating: PG-13/R
Warnings: Mention of slavery, mentions of sexual assault/sexual slavery
Parts: I wrote an AU oneshot in the kink meme under the prompt "shopping for a slave" found here, and I wanted to write a follow-up fic in that verse. It's easier if you read that one before this, but hopefully this is not completely confusing on its own. The next part is here.
Summary: Veronique reflects on her role as a slave and her new master, who proves to be not quite as simple as he seems.
Veronique was no fool. She was often treated like one, because these people who thought they could own others like a house or a pet, also seemed to think they couldn't think any more than a house or a pet could - and her darker skin meant she was less human even than the other slaves. Mr Bonnefoy thought she was an animal. He'd named her after a dog, and he petted her hair as if it was fur. But he also taught her poetry and songs because she had a pretty voice, and explained patiently to her that she wasn't expected to understand it, only speak it, so maybe he actually thought she was a songbird. He liked her, and took pride in her, the way you feel about something you've made with your own hands that others will admire. And while he was very strict about not spoiling his own wares, sometimes he would undress her and look at her, or cup her breasts in his hands, or smell her hair, much like a different salesman would inspect and touch and smell his wares to appreciate their worth.
She didn't hate him, didn't even dislike him; he was just a foolish man born to a foolish world. But she was careful not to care about him much, to never look at him like she would to a father or older brother, because she knew he'd feel nothing the day she would leave with a customer. She had seen others be sold, and parting with them was never so hard that money didn't instantly soothe whatever regret he might feel - and she didn't fool herself that it was much. He wasn't heartless - in fact, she believed he was a very emotional creature - but even men such as him didn't cry over the beasts they bred and sold, and to him, that was all she was.
The boy who bought her was a fool, too, but she was relieved to see he wasn't cruel or cold. Francis' slave pens was the only world she'd known for eight years, her home whether she wanted to or not, and it was true she feared leaving, but more than that she feared being beaten or starved. This new master didn't seem so bad, he didn't scare her at all, although she didn't yet know how much it would hurt to be taken to a man's bed. Still, she would bear it and she would survive. When she was still among her people, she had once been stung by a spider. It had made her whole arm bruise and swell, and she'd been been fighting the poison with a burning fever for five days. Being taken by a man didn't even take an hour, so it couldn't be worse.
She feared for Tolys' sake, though. Men who were afraid of their slaves often beat them, and fear was coming off the unpleasant boy like a stink. She wanted to warn him, for Tolys had been a good friend. Many of the other slaves thought her an animal as well, below even them because she came from ancestors came from earth and sweet honey, not sand and milk; born to parents who didn't pray to their God, or any God. But Tolys had been happy to accept kindness and had given the same in turn, and in some small way she wanted to pay him back. But she had no time to before her new master lead her away, haphazardly explaining her new cage, which was larger but colder.
"May I speak, master?" she demanded softly, fairly certain she wouldn't be punished for asking. It got her a surprised look, as if it hadn't struck him that she might be able to speak without being spoken to, but then an eager nod.
"You have a pretty voice! And you speak really well, almost like you're white."
"Thank you," said the girl they called Veronique, who had spent half of her life in Mr Bonnefoy's care, and who woke up sweating and panicking some nights because she could no longer recall the faces of her parents, or the word for 'love' in a language she now only heard in her dreams. "Is- Forgive me, but is your brother a violent man?"
Feliciano man frowned. "He hits me. Not Angélica because she's a girl and besides she hits back harder. He used to hit father a lot when he was younger, but now we're grownups, father has us punished if he gets angry." He shrugged, unconcerned. "Usually he just shouts a lot and threatens people, though."
She didn't want Tolys to be shouted at either, knew he was ill suited to take such treatment well. He cried sometimes when she sang to him, and always told her when he'd had a beautiful dream, as if eager to share what crumbs of hope their lives would offer. Had he been born among her people, maybe he would've been taught to explore and understand his dreams, and he would have grown to become a leader. But people here didn't care much about dreams. Still, shouting were better than beating.
"Am I allowed to ask if you have had many women before?" she asked after a moment's hesitation, hoping that her impertinence would be excused since she did not know his temper yet. She would never have taken such risks if he hadn't been so young, and if someone else had been present, but she might as well be bold.
The young man reddened and ducked his head a bit, which was answer enough on its own, but he managed to find his voice after a few seconds. "Uhm, no. None, actually." That surprised her; she'd half expected him to lie, since it seemed to be a matter of great prestige among young men. But when he turned his wide eyes toward her in an embarrassed glance, as if trying to gauge if she was going to laugh at him, she was starting to suspect that this boy didn't know how to be dishonest. What a curious thing.
Either way, she found no reason to laugh, or even smile. She'd hoped that he would've had some experience, because then she could've asked him if he knew how much it would hurt. But it wasn't his fault, and she saw no reason to make him biased against her for the sake of a moment's disappointment. So instead she took his hand in hers, bowing her head slightly and lowering her eyelashes, remembering Mr Bonnefoy's lessons in how to seem modest and appealing. "Then we will have to teach each other, master."
That turned the boy even redder still. It was strange that he should be so bashful about it. After all, Mr Bonnefoy' slaves were meant for pleasure and decoration as well as service, and he must know that this was the reason why his father got his slaves there - and it had seemed as if that was what Mr Carriedo had meant his children to use their slaves for as well. While it wasn't something spoken of in polite company, people still usually affected less modesty about what was done with a slave, especially if only the slave was present, as a slave was a thing and not a person, and therefore it didn't count as sexual conduct. The church still frowned upon it, and a law had been instated that said male slaves weren't allowed to penetrate freewomen, to protect what was rightfully their future husband's, and to prevent the seed of slaves to worm itself into free families. But other than that, what you did with your slave was your own business.
Veronique knew all this because she was good at listening, and since she was well-behaved she was sometimes allowed to wait on Mr Bonnefoy's private guests. She wondered if maybe Feliciano wasn't as used to the presence of slaves, then. Maybe his father confined them to his bedroom.
"You have such pretty hair," he remarked, reaching out and running some tresses between his fingers admiringly. She was used to being this casually touched by strangers, didn't mind it much, but she couldn't get this to fit together with the strange bashfulness a moment before at all. Her new master seemed like a very simple boy at first - too simple, even - but he was more contradictory than he let on.
"Yes," she heard herself say, disarmed by confusion, "my name before I received a Christian one meant 'one who has lovely hair'."
"Really?" he demanded with round-eyed amazement. Then he grinned hugely and declared: "I'll call you Lovely Hair, then!"
She wasn't sure whether to laugh or frown, if she was insulted or touched, and so she said nothing more as she allowed him to lead her on toward his room.
Pairing: No pairing atm
Characters: Feliciano (Veneziano), Veronique/Alaka (Seychelles), Tolys (Lithuania), Lovino (Romano), Angélica (Portugal), Francis Bonnefoy (France), Antonio Carriedo (Spain)
Rating: PG-13/R
Warnings: Mention of slavery, mentions of sexual assault/sexual slavery
Parts: I wrote an AU oneshot in the kink meme under the prompt "shopping for a slave" found here, and I wanted to write a follow-up fic in that verse. It's easier if you read that one before this, but hopefully this is not completely confusing on its own. The next part is here.
Summary: Veronique reflects on her role as a slave and her new master, who proves to be not quite as simple as he seems.
Veronique was no fool. She was often treated like one, because these people who thought they could own others like a house or a pet, also seemed to think they couldn't think any more than a house or a pet could - and her darker skin meant she was less human even than the other slaves. Mr Bonnefoy thought she was an animal. He'd named her after a dog, and he petted her hair as if it was fur. But he also taught her poetry and songs because she had a pretty voice, and explained patiently to her that she wasn't expected to understand it, only speak it, so maybe he actually thought she was a songbird. He liked her, and took pride in her, the way you feel about something you've made with your own hands that others will admire. And while he was very strict about not spoiling his own wares, sometimes he would undress her and look at her, or cup her breasts in his hands, or smell her hair, much like a different salesman would inspect and touch and smell his wares to appreciate their worth.
She didn't hate him, didn't even dislike him; he was just a foolish man born to a foolish world. But she was careful not to care about him much, to never look at him like she would to a father or older brother, because she knew he'd feel nothing the day she would leave with a customer. She had seen others be sold, and parting with them was never so hard that money didn't instantly soothe whatever regret he might feel - and she didn't fool herself that it was much. He wasn't heartless - in fact, she believed he was a very emotional creature - but even men such as him didn't cry over the beasts they bred and sold, and to him, that was all she was.
The boy who bought her was a fool, too, but she was relieved to see he wasn't cruel or cold. Francis' slave pens was the only world she'd known for eight years, her home whether she wanted to or not, and it was true she feared leaving, but more than that she feared being beaten or starved. This new master didn't seem so bad, he didn't scare her at all, although she didn't yet know how much it would hurt to be taken to a man's bed. Still, she would bear it and she would survive. When she was still among her people, she had once been stung by a spider. It had made her whole arm bruise and swell, and she'd been been fighting the poison with a burning fever for five days. Being taken by a man didn't even take an hour, so it couldn't be worse.
She feared for Tolys' sake, though. Men who were afraid of their slaves often beat them, and fear was coming off the unpleasant boy like a stink. She wanted to warn him, for Tolys had been a good friend. Many of the other slaves thought her an animal as well, below even them because she came from ancestors came from earth and sweet honey, not sand and milk; born to parents who didn't pray to their God, or any God. But Tolys had been happy to accept kindness and had given the same in turn, and in some small way she wanted to pay him back. But she had no time to before her new master lead her away, haphazardly explaining her new cage, which was larger but colder.
"May I speak, master?" she demanded softly, fairly certain she wouldn't be punished for asking. It got her a surprised look, as if it hadn't struck him that she might be able to speak without being spoken to, but then an eager nod.
"You have a pretty voice! And you speak really well, almost like you're white."
"Thank you," said the girl they called Veronique, who had spent half of her life in Mr Bonnefoy's care, and who woke up sweating and panicking some nights because she could no longer recall the faces of her parents, or the word for 'love' in a language she now only heard in her dreams. "Is- Forgive me, but is your brother a violent man?"
Feliciano man frowned. "He hits me. Not Angélica because she's a girl and besides she hits back harder. He used to hit father a lot when he was younger, but now we're grownups, father has us punished if he gets angry." He shrugged, unconcerned. "Usually he just shouts a lot and threatens people, though."
She didn't want Tolys to be shouted at either, knew he was ill suited to take such treatment well. He cried sometimes when she sang to him, and always told her when he'd had a beautiful dream, as if eager to share what crumbs of hope their lives would offer. Had he been born among her people, maybe he would've been taught to explore and understand his dreams, and he would have grown to become a leader. But people here didn't care much about dreams. Still, shouting were better than beating.
"Am I allowed to ask if you have had many women before?" she asked after a moment's hesitation, hoping that her impertinence would be excused since she did not know his temper yet. She would never have taken such risks if he hadn't been so young, and if someone else had been present, but she might as well be bold.
The young man reddened and ducked his head a bit, which was answer enough on its own, but he managed to find his voice after a few seconds. "Uhm, no. None, actually." That surprised her; she'd half expected him to lie, since it seemed to be a matter of great prestige among young men. But when he turned his wide eyes toward her in an embarrassed glance, as if trying to gauge if she was going to laugh at him, she was starting to suspect that this boy didn't know how to be dishonest. What a curious thing.
Either way, she found no reason to laugh, or even smile. She'd hoped that he would've had some experience, because then she could've asked him if he knew how much it would hurt. But it wasn't his fault, and she saw no reason to make him biased against her for the sake of a moment's disappointment. So instead she took his hand in hers, bowing her head slightly and lowering her eyelashes, remembering Mr Bonnefoy's lessons in how to seem modest and appealing. "Then we will have to teach each other, master."
That turned the boy even redder still. It was strange that he should be so bashful about it. After all, Mr Bonnefoy' slaves were meant for pleasure and decoration as well as service, and he must know that this was the reason why his father got his slaves there - and it had seemed as if that was what Mr Carriedo had meant his children to use their slaves for as well. While it wasn't something spoken of in polite company, people still usually affected less modesty about what was done with a slave, especially if only the slave was present, as a slave was a thing and not a person, and therefore it didn't count as sexual conduct. The church still frowned upon it, and a law had been instated that said male slaves weren't allowed to penetrate freewomen, to protect what was rightfully their future husband's, and to prevent the seed of slaves to worm itself into free families. But other than that, what you did with your slave was your own business.
Veronique knew all this because she was good at listening, and since she was well-behaved she was sometimes allowed to wait on Mr Bonnefoy's private guests. She wondered if maybe Feliciano wasn't as used to the presence of slaves, then. Maybe his father confined them to his bedroom.
"You have such pretty hair," he remarked, reaching out and running some tresses between his fingers admiringly. She was used to being this casually touched by strangers, didn't mind it much, but she couldn't get this to fit together with the strange bashfulness a moment before at all. Her new master seemed like a very simple boy at first - too simple, even - but he was more contradictory than he let on.
"Yes," she heard herself say, disarmed by confusion, "my name before I received a Christian one meant 'one who has lovely hair'."
"Really?" he demanded with round-eyed amazement. Then he grinned hugely and declared: "I'll call you Lovely Hair, then!"
She wasn't sure whether to laugh or frown, if she was insulted or touched, and so she said nothing more as she allowed him to lead her on toward his room.