a hot mess™

Dorian laughs at that, because how charming is it that this little slave still keeps the feeling of freedom alive inside?

“And I’m sure he’ll ask,” he tries to say in a serious tone, but the mockery behind the words shines. “But signature or not, I don’t know a single person that will refuse an offer to look at your ass, darling.”

If Nic is bothered by the shallow way Dorian sees him, he masks it well (or chooses to ignore it, which is a wise decision). “Oh, clever play of words.” With a nod towards him, the guard comes forward and lets the slave out. “Come then, lets find you a paper and pen. I think I have some in my bedroom.”

“I could probably manage some flashing if it furthers my agenda,” Nic says drolly, not really meaning it. He’s sure it won’t come down to that. Surely, if he asks politely, the slave house warden would take a look at his petition without the need for a bit of nudity? Surely.

“No, you certainly aren’t. Do you know the daily rate you go by?” Dorian whistles to indicate they’re talking big bucks. After that, the dinner and spray paint are nothing. 

Dorian frowns, confused by the cause he’s expected to support. “Why are we signing that? Because we’re so tired of having whatever human we want when we want him?” Nic really is one of the dumb ones, but Gosh, look at his pretty. “Sure, whatever. But the only place I’m putting my signature on is your ass.”

“No, I don’t. And I’d actually prefer not to know whatever monetary value I’ve been assigned, thanks,” Nic grumbles. Seriously, was there a sliding scale of prices? Did they get more expensive if they were in better shape? Or was it a flat fee across all humans?

Dorian’s clearly not getting into the spirit of the petition, which is only to be expected, Nic supposes. He just doesn’t get it yet. He will, though. Nic is sure he can manage to convince him.

“It’d be a wasted signature, since I’m not about to show my ass off to the owner of this place when he asks where all the co-signers are,” he retorts. “Sign the actual paper, and I might be convinced to play along with being ass-signed.” Get it? Assigned? Hah. 

There are, Nic has learned, certain advantages to acting agreeable. It’s managed to get him a few things from the masters: a decent lunch here and there, paper and pen, a few hours in the city. Of course, he can only go about an hour before his temper starts flaring and he starts having a go at people for contributing to a system of torture and slavery, but he’s at least managed to be nice a few times.

This morning, he’d managed to be nice enough for half an hour to get himself some spray-paints, a walk to the Crimson Club, and a master that had fucked off to go get a drink in said club, leaving Nic outside with an armful of trouble and a relatively empty street. It takes him ten minutes to paint a message in a fitting blood red, five feet high: If slavery is not wrong, nothing is wrong. Good old Lincoln.

When he sees someone approach from the corner of his eye, he doesn’t stop putting the finishing touches on it. Clearly not a vampire since, y’know, daylight. And he doesn’t imagine that any other supernatural would give much a shit about a vampire club being defaced, so Nic just goes right ahead and assumes the guy’s human. “I couldn’t think of a catchy slogan about bloodslaves and exploitation,” he greets cheerfully. “I figured this would work well enough. I’ve probably got room for another one, though, if you can think of something more clever.”

  “You know that all favors come with a price right,” he replied as he got as close as he could looking at the other. Charles was one that did not lose their temper so easily, he guessed and figured many masters would be very angry and reacting to this would just be a waste of energy. “What can you do to repay me for this favor, it does not matter if it’s of value or not.” 

There, Nic was stuck. Because what could he offer in return? He had nothing of any material value, he couldn’t promise to repay the dragon the value of paint and whatever an hour in the city translated to in monetary value. He couldn’t even offer his time, because that was something the dragon could take freely if he wanted.

“I don’t know what you’d consider worth it,” he admitted. “I could offer... I don’t know. Secrets. Willingness? Menial chores you’d rather not do? I’m willing to offer just about anything, here.”

It was always curious, really, to see one’s reaction to being greeted by a dragon. Not many could say that they had crossed paths with one, at least until recently, and while Xeren didn’t hide who he was - he always kept his reptilian eyes and silver horns - he had mostly kept his interactions with other supernatural creatures until they decided to take the world back from the humans that were destroying it, so it wasn’t something he was used to. At least, until the past few years.

“What tipped you off? The eyes or the horns?” the dragon spoke, keeping the man’s arm encased in ice as he further explained what favor he wanted. The very words had the dragon’s eyes itching to roll back into his skull, but he refrained and merely quirked an eyebrow up at him. “But you think the best way to get a master to do you this favor is to toss a pebble at them, and grab them without permission?”

A low tsk left his lips as he took a step forward, almost like he was a predator circling his prey, as he eyed the human in the cell. “And why would I let you escape, when it would be my job to hunt you down?” Oh, the idea of hunting down the human was entertaining, to say the least, but that didn’t mean that he wanted to be the cause of a human running. That would certainly put him on someone’s shitlist, and people would eventually want to eradicate the dragon. Never again.

“I have no problems with granting favors, but I will not grant one that will aid you in escaping your fate. You may still ask for something from me, though it will not be to see the perimeter of the city.” A small smile teased his lips, then. “And it would help, certainly, if you apologized.”

“The ice, actually,” Nic explains, a self-deprecating quirk of a smile tugging at his lips, there and gone again. He hadn’t even noticed the eyes or the horns -- but then, missing the forest for the trees was practically habit for him. “It feels different than a witch’s ice. Colder, somehow.”

He doesn’t budge an inch as he’s approached, chin tipping a fraction higher in stubborn pride, holding his ground even as he still cradles his ice-encased arm. He’ll admit: throwing a rock? No, probably not the best way to get a master’s attention. Even less so a dragon’s attention. But, hey. It had worked!

“What if I promise that I won’t try to escape when I’m in your company? I’m not stupid enough to try do it right in front of you,” he says dryly. “I just want to see the perimeter. But, if I can’t sell you on that, my second option is a notepad, a pen, a safe place to store both, and access to a photocopier.” Nic returns the dragon’s half-smile, though his own is decidedly more mischievous. “It’s a bit less exciting, I know, but probably more doable for you.”

“Only good boys get a nice scratch.” Jhaan replied without even the tiniest change of his facial expression. He was serious, he for sure would test this on the boy, if he wanted it or not. But he was in a position in which he could ask for something like this. “Treats are also just for good boys.” The elf sighted deeply, it didn’t seem like anything he said was exactly keeping the slave from executing his plan. “Honestly, I don’t feel like finding out what the punishment for a master could be if a slave would manage to flee under their watch.” 

It for sure could cost him the access to the slave house, which he would try to avoid. “If they find the necklace on you they will just take it from you again.” He pursed his lips shortly. “Not that I care, but your little plan could actually cost you your life. I have never met the owner of this place.. I heard he isn’t exactly pleasant company.” He looked the boy in the eyes. “Is this necklace really worth to risk your life?”

At Jhaan’s final question, Nic’s expression tightens. He could explain his motives -- it wouldn’t even take that long. Thirty seconds, maybe, to fill Jhaan in on how his grandmother had been willing to die to keep her Star of David in Dachau, so he’s willing to die to get it back here. It’s the principle of the thing. But he keeps it to himself: fuck knows he doesn’t need to give out any more ammunition.

“It’s worth it,” he confirms, meeting Jhaan’s gaze with a wry little twist of his lips. “I don’t aim to be good. I get the feeling good boys get broken, here.”

But he has to relent, somewhat. Because even if their first meeting had included the threats of whips and social embarrassment, Nic doesn’t want to be responsible for another being’s punishment. “If you won’t help, I understand,” he concedes. “If whatever I can offer in return isn’t enough, I get it.”

[ by request for @demondorian ]

[ closed for @nic-constantino ]

“I’m not trying to be a bother, but I’m hoping you can help me with something.” Stepping away from the wall as he spoke, Dannyn moved closer to the bars of the slave’s cell. “This is going to sound strange, but there’s a restaurant here in town that I adore. It’s one of my favorite places here in Ashden, actually. They tend to be very popular among those with money so unless you’re on the waiting list you’re not going to get a table. I have reservations for tonight… but I made them back when I had a… a boyfriend, if you will.  Long story short, the reservation is for two people; and they have an asinine rule about not changing party numbers for reservations so I’ll lose the table if I go alone. Would you– would you care to join me?”

Nine times out of ten, when a master makes his way to the slave cells spouting off some demands, Nic’s first reply is go fuck yourself, mate. Usually they go on about inflicting pain or wanting a fuck, or, well, a myriad of other things. This is... new.

New, and unexpected enough that it takes Nic a good few moments to actually process what the bloke is even saying: a proposal to go a restaurant. The former med student in him is too busy silently muttering in sympathy at the nasty scar over the guy’s eye.

“Are you kidding? That’s probably the nicest thing I’ve had said to me for the past week,” Nic laughs, somewhere between surprise and relief. “Hell yeah, I’ll come with. I can’t promise we won’t get stared at, though.” He wryly gestures at the none-too-fancy clothes he’s wearing. Then, after a brief pause, he frowns faintly, empathy touching his expression. “Sorry about your boyfriend.”

There already seems to be a criminal camaraderie between them. Well, not on Dorian’s side, but a bottle of spray paint obviously won this guy’s affection. In a way, Dorian sees it as useful. “That’s okay. You can touch it if you plan to take it off and enjoy what’s beneath it.” 

Leaning against the bars, he takes a close look at Nic. The fights seem to have treated him well, judging by the lack of visible bruises and wounds. “I’ll have to disappoint you by admitting it was one of the most boring things I’ve witnessed. Are you making the other slaves sign a petition?” Dorian asks, having no issued throwing oil to the fire. 

“Only if you buy me dinner and three more bottles of spray paint,” Nic shoots back. “I’m not a cheap date.” But from the look of that suit, Dorian can afford it. Nic honestly dreads to think exactly how much money he makes as a lawyer -- he seems disturbingly well suited to it, silver-tongued and slick. He probably has clients eating out of the palm of his hand.

He quirks an eyebrow, amused at Dorian’s summary of the festival. Maybe when you’re a demon, God knows how old, that sort of thing starts to get boring and trite after a while. “Half of them wouldn’t sign it, and I doubt a list of slave signatures would make whoever’s in charge listen more. Nah, mate, I’m going to get master’s signatures.” Nic beams a bright smile at Dorian. “Want to sign?”

“It’s the same with kitties, if you’re much more of a purring person instead of wagging your tail.” The male smirked, looking him over. “Should test that at some point.” He shrugged his shoulders some, attention still on the slave in front of him. He was skeptical. Boys like Nic would always find ways to get themselves into trouble, that for sure. “I could lie. I don’t see any reason for me to lie though.” Really, why should the elf lie?

“I don’t have anything from this conversation, nor would I have any reason to shit you, because if I had ways to get that necklace, I would. In return I would probably have a bit of fun with you, but I could get it, if I knew how to do so.” His arms crossed over his chest, he moved closer so he could lower his voice. “It would get me in trouble if you would… if we say, sneak away from me. And if they would find you there - wherever they hide away that stuff, they for sure would give you a hard time.”

Nic really wishes that didn’t make him laugh. He also wishes that he didn’t automatically retort, “You’re welcome to try, but it’d take more than a few scratches under my chin or a treat.” Whatever. He may as roll with it.

Luckily for him, the closest prowling guard is far down the hallway, out of earshot. Still, he follows Jhaan’s cue and lowers his voice too, because the last thing he wants is to cut this planning short. “Well, I hear the inner city’s busy at lunchtime. I’m sure nobody could blame you if a slave slipped away in the bustle of the crowd,” he muses, warming to the idea. “I know they’d give me a hard time. It’s worth it, if I get what I want.”

He shoots Jhaan an amused little half-smirk. “Besides, even if you got in trouble, something tells me you can handle it.”

With the way Nic spoke the elf realized this male had no clue at all. He had no single idea how this place worked at all. “We, are visitors. It’s like..” He actually tried to find something he could compare this place with. “A pound, an animal pound.” He thought for a moment. “You get to have a look at the pups but you can’t just roam around and look trough all the files and contracts the owners hide away.” Usually, Jhaan wasn’t a bad guy, he was giving away that vibe since he wasn’t overly empathetic and since he was bad with social interactions. And maybe he felt like talking to Nic because he was so shocked that this guy really had no clue.

“A family thing, of course.” The elf looked around shortly. “I don’t think your stuff gets burned, but I think the owners will either sell or keep it to themselves, depending on the value of it. I wouldn’t be surprised if the owner would have it with him, maybe giving it to his claimed slave or something. But why do you think they would let me look through the stuff they took from you? They would get suspicious.”

“I’m not sure I love being compared to a puppy, but fair enough,” Nic snorts, leaning against the bars as his cell as he thinks. Jhaan’s explanation is helpful as hell, but it does mean Nic has to re-work his plan if the masters aren’t allowed to wander all over the slave house and do whatever the fuck they like.

Fuck, he hopes the owner of this place hasn’t just tossed his grandma’s necklace out like trash. He could probably assume it’s not on the neck of a claimed slave, though, not unless that slave is Jewish. Giving a Star of David to a non-Jewish slave would be a bit weird.

Jhaan moved away from the cell bars some so he could get a good look at Nic. A brow raised while he listened to what the slave actually wanted and well, he didn’t know how he should be able to be helpful. And so he moved closer again. “You know, I am just a visitor here.. you don’t have any clue about what we masters are allowed to do and not to do, don’t you?” He let his gaze wander over the boy. “I don’t have access to anything, nor can I just go look for things someone took from you.” Sure, even if he wanted to help, which he didn’t, he couldn’t just do what he was asked to. 

“Why is it so important to you? Your girlfriend gave it to you? Or someone else?” He shrugged his shoulders. “Or is it worth a lot of money?”  After all, he could at least ask questions about it, if he was about to help, he should at least know why he was risking to get in trouble. 

For a second, Nic is taken aback by by Jhaan’s attitude -- in that, he’s not immediately whipping out some sort of weapon and threatening him. He’s just talking, and actually being somewhat agreeable. It’s a surprise, to be sure, and it’s an opportunity Nic’s not going to waste.

“It’s--” Still, he hesitates slightly. “It was my grandmother’s. I wouldn’t call it valuable, y’know, not in a monetary sense. I’m sure some museums would love it. But it’s mostly... sentimental value.” He doesn’t explain further.

And honestly, Jhaan’s right: Nic doesn’t know how this place works. Up until right now he’d been operating under the assumption that the supernaturals could just do whatever the fuck they wanted, but maybe not. “Unless they burn everything they take off us when we arrive, there’s probably storage for the shit they stole. Whoever runs this place would probably let you look around, if you ask nicely,” he says dryly. 

  Charles was invited to watch a fight by a master he found interesting. It had been ages since the Dragon had watched a fight and he was in a very interesting mood to see and watch a fight which was very rare. Charles was somewhat impressed and also somewhat let down because some of the fights were terrible and enjoyable. After watching a few matches, he decided to explore, get to know the new places. 

As he explored and walked around, he noticed a rock bounce off his cheek which annoyed him a bit as he noticed the source of the rock. Charles walked toward the bar and watched as the other placed a hold on his sleeve. “Why should I do something for you? After hitting me with a small rock and now you are roughing my favorite shirt?” he asked with a serious look and tone in his voice 

Having gone his entire life without ever having met a dragon, this is now the second one Nic’s seen in a day, and the second time around isn’t any less impressive. This time, he’s a tiny bit more successful in concealing an utterly delighted beam of a smile -- only marginally more successful, though. He’s sure it’s still showing through.

“Well, I’d considered asking nicely, but niceness doesn’t seem to be a currency that has any value in this place,” he replies, somewhere between wry and apologetic. Nic lets go of the dragon’s sleeve, though, and keeps his hands to himself. If this guy considers a simple grab to be rough on his clothes, Nic would hate to see the reaction to a real grab.

“I needed a favor. And you look useful. I need paint, and at least an hour in the city. I don’t-- I can’t exactly promise anything valuable in return, obviously.”

“Rocks?” Dorian is more offended than hurt by the pebble that rolls away from him and into the dark parts of the room.

As if that’s not bad enough, but Nic is now gripping his clean suit with his dirty fingers. “Maybe I was looking for you,” he smacks the hand away and checks his sleeve. “But that could well have been a mistake. How was the fight?”

It’s not like Nic is making any sort of effort to be more polite to the masters than he wants to be, but since he knows Dorian, Nic at least feels somewhat more free to be himself, and not constantly on the lookout for his safety. It might be the wrong conclusion to make about guy, who knows?

“Sorry. I promise I won’t touch your suit anymore,” Nic laughs, backing up a step from the bars. Jeez, you’d think he’d tainted it, from Dorian’s reaction. “It was fine. I mean, awful and exploitative and I’ve already composed a letter detailing all my complaints about forced entertainment, but I got away with practically no injuries. How was the festival for your lot? Pretty different, I’d have to imagine.”

With the sound of his heels on the stone flooring, the dragon walked through the halls, letting his eyes gaze around the various cells to decide whether or not he would take a slave home for the day. He didn’t have any particular use for one, really - he just wanted to take someone out, show them that if they were kind, life would be kind to them - so he was mostly walking around… until a rock hit his cheek.

Instead of getting angry, however, he merely remained calm and stoic as he watched the human rise to his feet and towards the bars of his cell, an arm reaching out to grab his sleeve. But as soon as he did, his fingers began to become covered in a thick layer of ice, one that continued to crawl along his arm until it stopped just at his elbow.

“Perhaps I do not, but next time you wish to get the attention of a master, I suggest not flicking something at them nor grabbing them without their permission.” The slave was lucky that all he was getting out of that was a mild case of frostbite and nothing more - other masters wouldn’t have been so kind.

Being confronted with a dragon that had just iced his arm up, there’s a number of emotions Nic should probably be feeling. Pissed off, for one. Scared, wary. Those are both also excellent options, and they’re definitely present. But for a guy that’s spent most of his life in intense envy over people with supernatural abilities, Nic just winds up grinning, running his fingertips over the ice even as the cold started to burn.

“Holy shit, you’re a dragon,” he says, a gleeful gleam in his eye. “You’re-- sorry. Fanboy moment. I’ll get to the point.”

Okay, ow, the ice is actually starting to hurt now. Nic cradles his frozen arm with his non-frozen arm, trying to fight off the oh my god it’s a dragon dumb grin.

“I need a favor: I want to see the perimeter security of Ashden. Feel free to guess why, you’ll probably guess right.” Since there’s only one reason a slave would want to see the perimeter, really.