Vanilla: 01. Shopping, Ginger: 01. Needle in a Haystack
Title: Acquired
Author: narkyze
'Verse: Amor Vincit Omnia
Rating: PG:13
Wordcount: 1,497
Challenge(s): Vanilla: 01. Shopping, Ginger: 01. Needle in a Haystack
Warning(s): Slavery, Implied Abuse
Notes: The first fic written in the Amor Vincit Omnia ‘Verse. Link to the masterpost below. This is also my first attempt writing a fic that involves slavery, so any feedback on that aspect would be welcome. MODS: It appears that I have no yet been given a tag. So I apologize for not tagging this properly! Let me know if I can do anything to fix this.
Summary: Darcy reflects on recent events in her live. Bryn is acquired by a new owner.
Perhaps a motorcycle wasn’t the most dignified form of transport, Darcy mused as the engine revved, but it certainly was the most fun. Beneath her red and silver helmet, and behind the tinted visor, she grinned, and squeezed the gas. The bike took off with a quiet roar, and she couldn’t help but let out a laugh.
The wind rushed around her as she tore through the dirt road that led off her estate, going faster and faster. She didn’t have to worry about speed limits, not on her own land.
Much too soon, she found herself nearing the highway. Sighing, she slowed down, and made the transition to the sleek blacktop, where she joined the traffic at a more moderate pace.
Darcy let her mind wander, allowing the auto-steering to take over. Her life had been rather hectic lately, and it was nice to just think of nothing.
Of course, her mind soon wandered to recent events.
She thought back to a month ago, when she had walked into her mother’s office to see the blood… pressing the panic button, she had immediately run to her father’s study, to find the same thing. Both her parents were dead, and as their only child, she had inherited everything.
It had taken her a week to come to terms with things, and another two to deal with the police force and the legalities of everything. Then, it had been time for her parents funeral, where they had been burned together in front of many well-wishers.
In New Alexandria, the capital of Eosforos, the customs of the Old World ruled, at least among the privileged. The Old Gods and the Old Ways.
Darcy had been raised to worship the gods of Old, herself, and had been blessed in their name as an infant. Her belief wasn’t as strong as it once was, but she had still prayed to the gods when her parents had died. Prayed for strength, and knowledge, and courage.
And they had come through for her.
She had taken over her mother’s company with dignity, and shown her competition that she was not one to be tangled with. And she had taken her father’s seat in the Assembly with grace, and to much applause.
Finally, things had gotten less busy, and she had time to worry about something besides keeping up the appearance of strength.
As the head of a household, it was typical of her to have a slave of her own. As a dependent of her parents, she had merely relied upon house slave for her needs. But she had to keep up appearances, of course, and so a slave was required, whether she wanted one or not.
And so she found herself on the way to one of the more prestigious auction houses in the city, Madame Andraste’s. It was the slaver who her parents had frequented, and so it was the one that she would use.
Pulling her bike off the highway, she turned onto the long driveway that lead to the auction house, and parked, allowing the young man who was employed as the valet to take her motorcycle. Straightening, she dusted the effects of the road off her clothes, straightening up.
Running a hand through her auburn hair, she collected herself before entering the auction house. Darcy had never done anything like this before, but she wasn’t about to let anyone know that.
“I would like to speak to Madame Andraste. I have an appointment - Darcy Maddox,” she spoke clearly and confidently to the host.
The man looked at a list in his hands, selecting her name.
“Identification, please,” he droned, holding out the digipad. She pressed her thumb into the required spot, and it blinked green.
The host summoned a young slave, though Darcy could not tell whether they were male or female.
“Take the Lady Maddox to Madame Andraste’s study. She has an appointment,” the host instructed, not unkindly. Turning to Darcy, he said, “The Madame will see you now.”
Darcy followed the slave through the crowds, down a hall, and into a dimly lit room.
“Please, mistress, you may sit if you wish. I will announce you to the Madame.”
Darcy merely nodded her assent, and the slave went off. She took a seat, nervously awaiting her audience with one of the most prominent slavers in the city.
---
Bryn sat on the floor of her cell. It was nicer than her previous owner’s accommodations. It had actual wood floors, not just cement, and the beds were soft, with thick blankets. But she couldn’t get comfortable, and couldn’t feel safe. Not there. Not anywhere. Not anymore.
She knew that she was going to be viewed that night. Pulled onto stage, while her skills and physical attributes would be called out for the pleasure of the bidders. And she doubted that she would be bought.
No one would want her.
And that was fine. She didn’t really want to be sold, anyway. She was just fine at the auction house, where she knew the rules and the consequences for breaking them.
Not like being a slave to one owner. People were fickle, she knew from first hand experience, and they were illogical. You never knew what would please them, or anger them.
But, if she was truthful, she was worried. The longer a slave stayed at the auction house, the lower their price got, until the house was desperate to get rid of them.
She didn’t want to be sold to some person just because she was cheap.
But what was she going to do?
Bryn was what they called damaged goods. She had been abused, and she had the scars to show it; mental and physical.
Who would want her, when there were perfectly good slaves who didn’t flinch at every movement, or weren’t disfigured with scars?
No, she was resigned to her fate.
At least, that’s what she thought.
Bryn was startled out of her musings when a guard rapped on the bars of the door.
“Slave! Get up, and come with me,” he ordered, unlocking the door. He didn’t bother telling her where they were going, or why she had been summoned.
Her eyes lowered, hands clasped in front of her waist, Bryn followed the guard quietly. She couldn’t help but glance around as they walked, and was in awe at the splendor. She had never been anywhere but behind the stage, and from there the light was so bright that a person couldn’t see what the rest of the room looked like.
A door opened, and the guard led her in.
“Her she is, Madame,” she heard him say in a respectful voice.
“Good, good. Leave her there, will you, Micah? My guest will want to have a look at her,”
“Yes, Madame,” the guard said, bowing briefly, and leaving the room.
Bryn immediately fell to her knees, her head bowed. She didn’t dare look up, not when her owner was present.
The Madame spoke, though not to her.
“You have difficult requirements, Lady Maddox. I know that the first few slave I showed you were not… adequate. But perhaps this one will do. She is of lower stock than the others, but…”
“I thank you for humoring me, Madame. I assure you, the fault is not with you or your wares. I simply am looking for something… unique.”
Sounding rather mollified, the Madame spoke. “This is… Bryn. She’s been in our care for, hmm… a year already. Impressive. She has extensive scarring on her back, arms, and legs. But she’s an obedient one, and never questions orders. What do you think?”
Bryn heard someone shift in their seats. “I have nothing to object to, so far. I would like to have a look at the girl, with your permission?”
“Of course.”
She heard one of the women stand, and walk towards her. A hand rested on the top of her head for a brief moment, and she pulled away violently. The hand quickly withdrew.
“Ah, yes, I’m just reading the notes. She’s a sensitive one, prone to flinching and, oh dear. Panic attacks, it seems. No wonder we can’t seem to sell her off.”
The other woman made a small noise, but whether it was one of amusement or disgust, Bryn couldn’t tell.
“Please stand up, Bryn,” the voice was soft and kind, but Bryn wasn’t fooled. Neverthless, she slowly rose to her feet.
The slave caught a glimpse of a black jacket, covering a red corset and white blouse, before her gaze returned to the floor.
A hand was slowly raised in front of her face, before gently grasping her chin, and raising her gaze.
Bryn’s green eyes met gray for only a moment, before she looked away.
“She’ll do.”