1088. the slave auction meme

[mememaker]

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Ben Lockwood | werewolf OC | slave | no smut please

[werewolf_hacker]

[Ben has lived a long time and seen a lot of societies come and go. This one's probably the worst, however. He's got a brand scarred onto the back of his left hand, courtesy of liquid aconite and powdered silver, that tells anyone in the vicinity he's a slave. Every time he escapes -- and he's done it so many times he's lost count -- he tries and fails to cover the thrice-damned thing up. Some kind of magic keeps it there, though, no matter what he resorts to or how he tries to scar it in new and interesting ways

[dame_york]

Anne is a familiar face in the markets, a tall pale woman that some slaves draw away from instinctively. Her cold blue eyes sweep the auction block before landing on the wolf. Not one of the demons she tended to gravitate toward, but he looked...interesting.

She's not sure if she wants to break him or rebuild him. She's not sure whether she'd make him love her or hate her. But she wants to play with him. See what makes him tick.

It's an impulse, but he is the best offering on the block today. She's already decided to make him hers.

[werewolf_hacker]

Ben gazes at her from hooded eyes, carefully keeping his head down in an acceptable beaten-slave attitude. Something about her sends an unpleasant shiver down his spine, and the attendant has to give him a shove between the shoulder blades to make him step forward so she can see him better. He clenches his fists behind his back, although his expression doesn't change from the blankness he wears like a mask.

"He's well-trained, Mistress," the attendant says, turning Ben this way and that like a carney on the midway, showing off the muscle definition. "Bit banged up, but some likes 'em that way, and there's nothin' physically wrong with 'im."

Speaking of muscle definition, the ones in Ben's jaw jump as he clenches his teeth. He hates this, with every fiber of his being.

[dame_york]

"Nothing physically wrong, right. What about mentally? Emotionally? Is he a loose cannon?" She runs her eyes over him in a slow elevator gaze before nodding her acknowledgment of how true the attendant's words are.

She folds her arms over her chest, closing up as much as he is, not showing her thoughts blatantly where he can see them, any more than he's letting his be known. Let's play statues, or ice sculptures--see who lets their hand show first.

[werewolf_hacker]

Ben loves being talked about like he's not standing right there. It's the best thing ever. His eyes start a slow smolder. The attendant shifts uneasily from one foot to another. Ben's history is in his papers, and there's no hiding that. "He's a bit of an escape artist. And, ah. His last owner disappeared under mysterious circumstances."

What he means is that they never found the body and Ben set the house on fire. That guy had been a piece of work. A corner of Ben's mouth curls up, involuntarily, at the memory. It's not at all a nice expression. The attendant hastily adds, "But I'm sure ye could take 'im in hand, Mistress." His voice turns to an oozing wheedle, buttering her up. "Ye seem plenty capable."

[dame_york]

"Oh, snarl at me. It's not the first time I've seen a wolf's teeth." This is addressed to Ben, accepting the dark blaze in his eyes as something she deserves. Something they all deserve for caging him and all the other noble beasts. "What is your name?"

[werewolf_hacker]

Ben inhales sharply, and his eyes come up. She wasn't supposed to see that. But it was an order, and he knows better than to disobey when he's standing on an auction block wearing only a pair of shorts and a set of shock shackles with matching collar. So he bares his fangs at her, as briefly as he thinks he can get away with, before dropping his gaze again. "Ben Lockwood, Mistress." His voice is low-pitched, without the least bit of rebellion in it.

Which, in itself, is almost insolent. Almost. The attendant gives him a sharp poke in the ribs. "Ye'll mind yer manners, wolf." He turns back to the customer. "He's quick to obey, at least."

6 with a shade of 5?

[inwhichwar]

[Maria doesn't care one way or another about slavery as an institution. This mistreatment of individual slaves is another matter; that she is bothered by, and opposed to. But the institution? She hasn't the energy to commit to hating or supporting anything as sweeping as the institution itself. She has no particular attachment to its abolition, nor to its advancement. It just is what it is, and she has never examined it with any sort of close scrutiny

\o/

[werewolf_hacker]

[Ben is watching the patrons with a rather bored and detached air. For the most part, it's same-old, same-old: wealthy bastards trying to impress airheaded bimbos, hard-faced pit trainers looking for their next meal ticket, lonely or predatory souls looking for someone who can't say "no." Most of them don't give someone like Ben a second glance, although one savvy pit trainer favors him with a hard stare and makes a notation on his list before passing by. Ben bares a fang at the man's retreating back.

The lady with the crutch, though. She stands out, definitely not the usual clientele they get around here. Ben keeps his eyes downcast, but he's eyeing her hard, with his head slightly tilted and his nostrils flaring.

She's not normal. That makes her dangerous. He's not afraid, but he is wary as he watches her watching the stock.]

[inwhichwar]

[It's the scars that catch her eye first. Most of the male werewolves have them, to varying degrees, and so do many of the women, but his are particularly hard to miss, especially the elaborate one on his chest. And once the scars have caught her eye, the fact that he's watching her keeps it. It's not the come-hither or the pleading looks some of them have given her; this is wariness, caginess, cleverness.

She stops and leans on her crutch, patently ignoring the slaver who moves over to address her and speaking directly to Ben.]

So tell me, Volchok, how you feel about doctors.

[werewolf_hacker]

[The question comes out of nowhere, and Ben blinks, a little nonplussed by it.] I. Uh. [Don't hesitate, idiot. The slaver glares at him and picks up the remote control for the shackles.] They're fine. Patched me up more than once. I like doctors. I mean. I don't like going to them, because who does. But I like that they're there. [At the last second, he remembers to add the honorific.] Mistress.

[inwhichwar]

Oh, tch.

[She waves the Mistress off like it's a gnat too near her ear, and extends the gesture to take in the slaver while she's at it. Nonsense. Bothersome nonsense.]

So. You wouldn't find it too awful to be around one all day, then? No problems with blood or bandages, no allergy to latex or anything else I would have around? And I should want you to do some heavy lifting, now and again. Sometimes of people. You can do that, yes or no?

[werewolf_hacker]

[Things are looking up. As long as she's not abusive -- and he's come to know the type, and she doesn't strike him as such -- this might actually be a pretty cushy gig.] Yes, ma'am, I can do all that. I'm used to blood. As long as I don't have to handle anything made of silver, or touch aconite. Mountain ash, rowan. You know. Normal werewolf allergies. Nothing else, though. Ma'am.

[inwhichwar]

Good. Sehr gut, excellent. And bodyguarding, how about that? You look like a fellow who can do that as well, yes? Nothing so serious, only a little bit when fellows get the wrong idea about where I keep the sedatives.

[werewolf_hacker]

[At that, his aspect goes a little wolfish. Well. More wolfish.] Oh, yes, ma'am. [Ben is a dangerous enemy. He's also a valuable ally to a Master who shows him kindness, and he's got a soft spot for women, although that's bitten him on the ass more than once and you'd think he'd learn.] I know I don't look like much, but I've been in the pits and come out alive, and a few wars too. I know my way around. Mistress.

[inwhichwar]

Very good. So long as you don't get into any fights the other fellows don't start I think you should be just the man I want. You have a name, Volchok, something I can call you?