Prompt 164, Pills, "Jagged Little Pill"
Title -- Jagged Little Pill
series -- manga
Disclaimer -- Arakawa owns them, not I
Rating -- PG-13
Characters/Pairing -- Hohenheim, his master
Timeline/Spoilers -- set in his youth
Word Count -- 495
Warning -- The every day life of a slave.
Summary -- He doesn’t really want to take the pills his master gives him, but what choice does he have?
Author’s Note -- I couldn’t think of a title so I borrowed one…
XXX
He didn’t know what to expect in those first days. Twenty-Three could barely remember life before coming here. It wasn’t that he had been too young. It was simply too painful to remember those days. He hadn’t realized that his mother was a house slave. All he had known was she worked very hard for a kindly woman. That woman died and the new lady of the house wanted nothing that belonged to the first wife, including her slaves.
Twenty-Three remembered his mother weeping as he was taken from her and put up on the blocks, naked and afraid. He remembered her calling to him, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember his name. The barrier against the pain was too big. He was simply Twenty-Three. His new master couldn’t be bothered with names. Twenty-Three thought back to standing there on the block, being examined by his new master - and others for that matter - like he were a piece of horseflesh. The man hadn’t looked too mean and Twenty-Three dared to hope his new home wouldn’t be so bad.
In some ways, it wasn’t. He got to work in the lab, and most of the time, his job was just to keep it clean. His master didn’t hit him. He barely raised his voice to Twenty-Three and only when the boy did something boneheaded. His bed - always a nice dry heap of hay with a swath of cotton to put over it - was in a room with a fireplace so even when it was winter, Twenty-Three wasn’t cold.
It was the alchemy experiments that Twenty-Three had begun to hate, but what could he say? Slaves didn’t get to say no. He had no choice but to quietly swallow the pills and tinctures his master gave him. Most did nothing. The green powder he’d been given last week had turned his urine green and the whites of his eyes blue, leaving Twenty-Three to think he was dying. Turned out it was harmless and the Master thought it might cure a disease that came from the bite of mosquitoes. Twenty-Three prayed that his Master didn’t plan on infecting him to find out.
He limped over to straighten out the books on the shelf. The bookcase had fallen over on him when he tried to get to the top shelf yesterday, bruising him badly. His Master watched his progress then held out a white pill. Twenty-Three’s breath caught. Now what?
“Try this, Twenty-Three. It’s made from the bark of the willow tree. The old womenfolk seem to think it cures pain. More chemistry than alchemy in it, but if it works as a pill, there’ll be money to make.” He pushed a cup of water to Twenty-Three.
The boy took the pill. “Thank you, Master.” Lipping them, Twenty-Three just hoped this time it wouldn’t feel like his guts were on fire or that he didn’t pee purple. Reminding himself he could have a worse Master, Twenty-Three swallowed.
series -- manga
Disclaimer -- Arakawa owns them, not I
Rating -- PG-13
Characters/Pairing -- Hohenheim, his master
Timeline/Spoilers -- set in his youth
Word Count -- 495
Warning -- The every day life of a slave.
Summary -- He doesn’t really want to take the pills his master gives him, but what choice does he have?
Author’s Note -- I couldn’t think of a title so I borrowed one…
XXX
He didn’t know what to expect in those first days. Twenty-Three could barely remember life before coming here. It wasn’t that he had been too young. It was simply too painful to remember those days. He hadn’t realized that his mother was a house slave. All he had known was she worked very hard for a kindly woman. That woman died and the new lady of the house wanted nothing that belonged to the first wife, including her slaves.
Twenty-Three remembered his mother weeping as he was taken from her and put up on the blocks, naked and afraid. He remembered her calling to him, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember his name. The barrier against the pain was too big. He was simply Twenty-Three. His new master couldn’t be bothered with names. Twenty-Three thought back to standing there on the block, being examined by his new master - and others for that matter - like he were a piece of horseflesh. The man hadn’t looked too mean and Twenty-Three dared to hope his new home wouldn’t be so bad.
In some ways, it wasn’t. He got to work in the lab, and most of the time, his job was just to keep it clean. His master didn’t hit him. He barely raised his voice to Twenty-Three and only when the boy did something boneheaded. His bed - always a nice dry heap of hay with a swath of cotton to put over it - was in a room with a fireplace so even when it was winter, Twenty-Three wasn’t cold.
It was the alchemy experiments that Twenty-Three had begun to hate, but what could he say? Slaves didn’t get to say no. He had no choice but to quietly swallow the pills and tinctures his master gave him. Most did nothing. The green powder he’d been given last week had turned his urine green and the whites of his eyes blue, leaving Twenty-Three to think he was dying. Turned out it was harmless and the Master thought it might cure a disease that came from the bite of mosquitoes. Twenty-Three prayed that his Master didn’t plan on infecting him to find out.
He limped over to straighten out the books on the shelf. The bookcase had fallen over on him when he tried to get to the top shelf yesterday, bruising him badly. His Master watched his progress then held out a white pill. Twenty-Three’s breath caught. Now what?
“Try this, Twenty-Three. It’s made from the bark of the willow tree. The old womenfolk seem to think it cures pain. More chemistry than alchemy in it, but if it works as a pill, there’ll be money to make.” He pushed a cup of water to Twenty-Three.
The boy took the pill. “Thank you, Master.” Lipping them, Twenty-Three just hoped this time it wouldn’t feel like his guts were on fire or that he didn’t pee purple. Reminding himself he could have a worse Master, Twenty-Three swallowed.