aimed at willneversayyes, but can rerolldixietechMay 17 2013, 15:03:53 UTC
He doesn't know how long he's been there. Or who he really is.
He'd been found wandering the side of the road near a broken down old motel. No one went to the Elysian Fields, there were rumors the place was haunted. Cursed with the blood of old gods. And because he wasn't completely human, he was captured and sold to the nearest slave market.
They called him Bill after awhile. He needed a name beyond 'you'. So Bill kept his head down, moving from owner to owner, finally staying with one for a couple of years when the old man discovered he had gift with technology. The quiet slave could take apart and rebuild a computer from scratch in only a few hours.
So that was currently posted on his collar. Technically skilled. Computer aptitude. Docile.
(I had an idea for an AU where Mouse's parents, upon seeing her grades from college, buy a slave to keep her in line and make sure she goes to classes and what-not. Are you interested?)
When the delivery man arrived at Mouse's tiny apartment off-campus with a leashed slave in tow, she glared. Her parents had threatened to buy a slave just to babysit her, and now here he was, on her doorstep. The delivery man turned over the keys to his collar, and Mouse simply had to roll her eyes. "I'm not going to let you be a burden to me, no matter what my parents want you to do. Now, get in here, and let's talk."
I'm thinking #7 for Sherlock sounds about right. <3shutupimageniusMay 20 2013, 18:15:55 UTC
Despite the fact that slavery was commonplace still never made Sherlock feel any better about the idea. His family had had slaves for generations, though he still never quite got used to the idea, even going out of his way to do things himself just for the sake of being rebellious. He certainly would never have set foot in an auction house if not for casework, which had him finally swallowing his disgust in order to find a slave owner who'd been neglecting the rules of slave contracts. He'd gotten a tip from the Yard about a specific slaver who'd gone through several slaves in a matter of months, all of whom turned up dead from neglect or abuse. Even though Sherlock wished the Yard would do away with slavery itself, at least making sure they followed regulations and no one ended up dead was a start
( ... )
it was made for him ♥crimebloggerMay 20 2013, 18:48:03 UTC
John was in actual hell. For the past two years of his life, he had given everything for the rebellion, had tried so hard to free as many slaves as possible and offer them the chance of a better life somewhere far removed from the Commonwealth and its disgusting, inhuman practices. He had disappeared from his former life as an army doctor, wanting to use his qualifications for something more worthy, despite the fact that he could have lived out his life in relative comfort and safety... perhaps with a household slave or two of his own, if the surgery really took off. But no. Not him. He couldn't. He simply couldn't. And so he had joined the cause, freed slaves, built bombs, killed men of the imperialist guard, and for what? To have them ratted out by one of their own, their safe house raided, men John considered friends killed or taken away, like he had been... to this. A bloody slave auction. For sale. John felt sick to his gut. He supposed it was a fitting punishment; sell the rebel troublemaker, and sell him cheap, make him take
( ... )
Sherlock waited for his new purchase to arrive, not looking forward to putting on the master and slave show so as not to draw attention to them. There was a certain procedure to this kind of thing, a way a master acted with their slave that they'd have to adhere to in public, despite how much it disgusted Sherlock
( ... )
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He'd been found wandering the side of the road near a broken down old motel. No one went to the Elysian Fields, there were rumors the place was haunted. Cursed with the blood of old gods. And because he wasn't completely human, he was captured and sold to the nearest slave market.
They called him Bill after awhile. He needed a name beyond 'you'. So Bill kept his head down, moving from owner to owner, finally staying with one for a couple of years when the old man discovered he had gift with technology. The quiet slave could take apart and rebuild a computer from scratch in only a few hours.
So that was currently posted on his collar. Technically skilled. Computer aptitude. Docile.
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When the delivery man arrived at Mouse's tiny apartment off-campus with a leashed slave in tow, she glared. Her parents had threatened to buy a slave just to babysit her, and now here he was, on her doorstep. The delivery man turned over the keys to his collar, and Mouse simply had to roll her eyes. "I'm not going to let you be a burden to me, no matter what my parents want you to do. Now, get in here, and let's talk."
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