Caged (Solo)

[Mira]

Summer 22, 512AV Caged Morning sunlight filtered through the small window to dapple the stone cell below, illuminating the poor confines in a mockery of lights and shadows. The passing feet on the street above would blot out even that paltry amount when they drew too close to the wall, plunging the cell in darkness as they carried on with their daily lives. The day before someone had stopped long enough that when they moved away the abrupt intrusion of light blinded the cell’s inhabitants, judging by the cries of shock and pain climbing from throats raw with disuse. The lack of lighting was not the worst offender in the cell – after all, it was enough light for her to see by. The worst part was the stench; the mingled scents of fear and despair under the much more prevalent odors of human wastes and unwashed, soiled bodies. The other slaves ranged in emotion and expression, from the numb indifference of long time slaves to barely constrained fear and stark panic. And Mira did not think that their predicament was the only cause for their anxiety; if the guarded looks or the wide berth they gave her were any indication of the source. If she moved quickly several heads snapped towards her, eyes wide enough that she could see the whites like terrified prey spotted a hunter. And she took a perverse pleasure in it. In appearance Mira looked much the same as most of the other slaves; dressed in a roughly sewn tunic that stopped mid-thigh, her long legs naked. Shoulder-length, onyx black hair was knotted and twisted, giving her a wild-woman look. The telltale sickly yellow discolouration around her right eye spoke of a bruise inflicted several days ago in the later healing process. The similarities ended, however, with the battered iron-wrought collar affixed around her slender neck, as effectively stopping all interactions with the Kelvic than if she had been covered in blood. The collar’s intent was preventing transformation, but Mira noted that it served another secondary function as well: denouncing her to all who saw it. It separated her from the other slaves, but then again, so did her very nature. A feral grin graced her full lips, pulling back far enough to flash elongated canines. There was a ferocity in Mira that made her increasingly hard to sell, and she had switched Masters and slavers enough times to forget majority of their names. The jaguar aspect appealed to many buyers – she could effectively fill the role of a bodyguard, a scout and an assassin (albeit a full 185lb, five and a half-feet of prowling power was not something many thought to utilize as the latter job) but she had a rebellious streak that made her a poor fit in a servile role. This - to her vast satisfaction - created a chasm that divided her from the human slaves. But even as the Kelvic relished in their fear and shunned their presence, she longed to be near them; an ache to be among them, to know them and be known by them. That yearning was what spurred her constant defiance – the dependency on others. Mira felt a certain lost, as if she wasn’t whole yet and had never been whole, only now noticing something was amiss. Like the inevitability of the tongue finding the empty socket of a tooth, so too did the Kelvic find the hollowness a sensation often provoked by an unconscious touch. It drove her nearly mad, and yet from it stemmed a source of such resentment that Mira would rather take beatings than submit. The light flickered as people passed outside the window, indifferent to the lives underneath their feet as they walked around topside. That was unless they were planning on making a purchase today – in which case what the cells held would greatly interest them. Some of the bolder slaves would find the courage to speak quietly until a guard called them down, harsh tones suggesting that any further conversation would be answered violently. The slaves retreated into frightened silence, but the Kelvic knew it was only a matter of time before they would venture again, if only to end the dreary boredom of the cell. Mira stood from her resting place, eliciting the expected furtive glances in her direction. She began to pace, all leonine elegance and pent-up tension, her long legs taking her the length of the cell in mere seconds. The other slaves moved as far from her as the cell would allow - after all, this was the first time she had moved so much in the two days that she had been there.

[Mira]

It wasn’t long before several Eypharian guards came to collect the slaves and escort them out of their cell. When they unlocked and opened the door, two of them seized Mira first, the only Kelvic among this particular group. It wasn’t unexpected, giving that Kelvics as a whole could be an unpredictable bunch. When they grabbed her Mira offered no resistance, opting to comply and go with her captors meekly. She had learned some time ago to choose her battles, and so she became the very image of an obedient slave. She didn’t want to admit the twisting in her abdomen was fear. They took her down the hall pass other barred doors, filled with slaves looking out with forlorn faces. Humanity broken down and forced to accept that they were only property, to be bought and sold like linen or livestock and subjugated to a life of servitude. Admittedly, a slave could buy their own freedom by paying off their ransom in Ahnatep, but when was the last time a slave was paid for their work? Oh, that’s right – never. That distinction was kind of what defined the whole “slave” role. Her multi-armed guards turned right at a stone intersection once they passed the slave pens, and a set of stone stairs met her. Mira hesitate a heartbeat, but after a prod from Leftie she took the first step, and then the second. Once she reached the top Ahnatep reminded the Kelvic what summers in the gold and white city were like. Though her subterranean dwellings were not far from the surface, they still offered a cool respite from the sun’s blaze. Now, pulled from the cool underground, the heat assailed Mira. Well, summer was the time to celebrate Syna in Ahnatep... It wasn’t often that Mira found herself awed by human designs or creations, but even she could not deny the Eypharians’ natural affinity for brilliant architect and art. The room the stairs led to was the Slave Market, with intricate fresco walls and high, arching ceilings. Even the bidding block was marble. In Ahnatep, everything – from the lowliest servant to the grandest gardens - were resplendent, and its residents wouldn’t tolerate anything less. Nothing could besmirch the radiant beauty of their city. As the guards marched her up to the podium her current owner stole up beside her. Luren Veser dismissed Rightie and took up his now vacant place, grabbing her arm firmly as he did so. He drew her close to his mouth, whispering harshly in her ear. “Let me make this perfectly clear to you, Mira.” So close to her, the smell of beer coming from his mouth was pungent and overwhelming. Mira turned her face away from Luren’s in an attempt to escape the odor, but his calloused fingers abruptly grasped her chin in a vice grip and wretched her head towards him. “You’ll be a proper slave, Kelvic, because if you return to me, I will personally end your pathetic, empty life.” His voice changed from the barely constrained anger to a sudden monotone; and those words delivered in such an apathetic tone were more frightening then anytime he’d ever threatened her life before. Mira believed him this time. They approached the podium and the Eypharian man stationed behind it. A long scroll of wadj overflowed the top of the stand and fell to the man’s feet, with him intently studying it. He lifted his head, and his dark eyes glanced at Mira briefly and looked over to Luren. The Kelvic recognized Nizam, though she suspected that he did not remember her. “Age and race?” Nizam asked professionally, his eyes returning to the wadj. “Kelvic. I believe she is three years of age.” Luran replied, equally as professional as the man behind the stand. The Eypharian looked up again, quirking a cool eyebrow. Luren was human - thusly, Luren was beneath contempt. And the slaver knew it. Red crept up his neck and cheeks that had nothing to do with his early morning drink. “I inherited her from my dead brother,” he lied smoothly, though the blush marred the effect. The Eypharian must have accepted that as an answer, because without any physically indication Mira got the feeling that he dismissed the issue. The Kelvic also got the notion that Nizam suspected Luren of lying, but instead of calling the slaver down on it he simply nodded to Leftie. Her captor grasped her chin and opened her mouth, pulling back her lips to reveal her elongated incisor. “Jaguar Kelvic.” Nizam murmured, now intently scribing on the wadj, and with an absent wave of his hand continued. “Put her up on the block.” He finished, already dismissing them. Her guard and Luren turned her towards the marble block, and ushered her forward. Mira looked over to all the slaves collected earlier by the Undertakers, made up to be beautiful – for an additional fee, of course. The sisters knew there business and proved once again how fortunate it was that they were part of the trade. Through the use of oils and powders and countless other cosmetics Mira didn’t know, they made the most homely slave look at the very least pretty. Mira met their eyes, watched their faces as she passed them. Even the make-up couldn’t hide the etched lines of despair. She did not pity them, not really. They just made her angry. Once at the block, Mira turned her thoughts away from them and focused on herself. Between Luren and Leftie she was lifted up onto the block, in the firm hands of professional flesh sellers. Upon the selling block, she looked out to the morning crowd of the Slave Market. The fear turned solid in her belly.

[Mira]

On top of the marble bidding block, Mira felt increasingly uncomfortable, strangely aware of her rough spun tunic as her body was outlined by the splendidly painted walls behind her. In truth the Kelvic would have much preferred her own nudity to the rough material (why did civilized peoples think it necessary for such garments, anyways?) dispensing with the false modesty completely. The dirty tunic amidst a sea of finely dressed and painted Eypharians seemed a mockery to her; Luren’s personal touch to add insult to injury. All the more reason to rid myself of the garment, Mira thought, though her hands made no move to put action to the thought. Looking out into the sea of faces, Mira was greeted back with several dozen sets of eyes staring back, assessing her expertly, clinically. She felt the fear that had settled in her stomach move down into her legs, a slight quiver sending tremors to her toes. The Kelvic was a creature of shadows and stealth, an apex predatory that was far more comfortable in darkness, sheathed in silence and the unknown. Stripped of that superior perch – her advantage – and thrust into the full light of day, with a crowd of people gawking at her… it triggered some deeply rooted instinctual reaction in Mira to flee and find shelter. “Next is a carnivorous Kelvic female, young and healthy. The bidding starts at twenty gold mizas.” Nizam declared his strong voice cutting through the general clamour with relative ease. Mira looks over to Luren, saw the inevitable dark flush creeping up his face – though this time it was in rage, not humiliation. The flesh trader had expected to get more for Mira as a starting bid. For a brief moment the fear receded, replaced with a flash of satisfaction. The moment was short and the fear returned with a swift blow to her stomach when an answered “Twenty-five!” was called out from the crowd. A young four-armed woman with the slopes of her neck painted a vivid blue and her hair a vibrant purple had made the bid. She wore the light silk of upper class, and proudly displayed her jewelry. A woman of notable rank; likely a Gilded citizen. “Thirty-five.” A man’s deep voice contested and Mira’s eyes picked out the man easily enough. He was wearing a simple linen robe and aside from the little kohl around his eyes and a ring, he otherwise appeared unadorned. Likely a servant then, though he gave the Kelvic on the stand a speculative look in one moment, a haughty look the next, and finally a nervous look. He had six arms and his gilded skin shone faintly where he stood, courtesy of the sunlight beaming into the market. A servant clearly making a purchase for his Master, which made her a little nervous considering she cannot see the Master right now. At least the first bidder came in person. “Forty!” The first woman offered while she looked through the crowd for her challenger. She waited much like a stalking predator for his next bid, eyes avidly searching the crowd. She didn’t have to wait long before the man made himself known. “Forty-five.” He said smoothly, and when the woman saw him her eyes flared briefly in victory. She must have recognized the man, for her face abruptly drained of some colour, and the victory light died in her eyes. Who was his master? Mira found herself wondering in sudden trepidation. The woman didn’t bid again, and despite Nazim’s coaxing, no one else made a bid. The servant had successfully won Mira. She supposed she would meet the master soon enough.