The Champion and his Master (midorino x Disobedient Avocado)

midorino

midorino

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“Come on, you lot! Get a move on! We don’t have all morning,” one of the pirates called. Tens of new slaves began to exit the ship in single file, while another pirate lined them up neatly among the docks. “Yeah, that’s right, line ‘em up. We’ll want them nice and presentable for the Masters.”

When it was Lysander’s turn to get out of the stuffy ship, he was momentarily blinded by the shine of the sun. The fresh air and sunlight in the docks was such a change, in contrast to the dark, damp ship that smelled of vomit, death and decay. His hands were bound together behind his back, by leather and iron cuffs, a little too tight for his wrists. He looked around the docks, mentally taking note of a possible escape route. I truth, however, Lysander was never much of a planner. As soon as he set foot on the docks, he bolted.

A burly pirate stepped in in front of him, and he collided right into the man’s chest. He spent a few seconds regaining his balance, before he looked up at the pirate’s face. “And where did you think you were going, slave? Do you know what we do to the ones that try to run?”

Lysander stood straight as he could, trying to match the huge man’s height, but even on his tiptoes, he would probably still be a foot shorter. He took a breath, as though he was about to say something in reply, before spitting right into the pirate’s face.

In a fit of momentary rage, the pirate drew back his fist and punched Lysander in the face, splitting his lip. Another one of the pirates, the Captain, it seemed, saw Lysander thrown to the ground from the force of the punch.

“The hell you think you’re doing?” the Captain said, approaching the two. “I was showing this slave his place,” the pirate said. The Captain narrowed his eyes at Lysander, who was still on the ground. “You split his lip, you idiot. You shouldn’t be tampering with the goods like that. Do you want the Masters to take him off our hands or not?”

The pirate lowered his head without a word and grabbed Lysander by the collar, forcing him back in line. Lysander tried to struggle away from the man’s grip, but the dizzying blow just administered to him made it difficult to even stay on his feet.

“That kid,” whispered one of the pirates, gesturing at Lysander, “He’s gonna make a shit slave.”

“Nah,” the other replied. “Stick ‘im in the fighting pits. He’ll give a good show.”
 
Caroline stood by her father's side, watching the ship as they rolled in. They had been expected sometime this week and when word had come that the Pirate ship was seen in the distance she and her father had hurried to the docks.

There were a few other Masters there, too, taking a look at the merchandise but Caroline paid them no mind. Compared to her family, they were insignificant. She recognized a few owners, too, had started to gather, examining what they would hope to buy from one of the masters.

Father and daughter waited as the men were lined up and Caroline unknowingly mimicked her father's frown as they examined the lot. There were not many good choices. Most looked sickly at best and one of them was bleeding. Still, she could see some potential in a few of them and she leaned over to her father, whispering her picks.

The older man showed some surprise, but he nodded. Caroline had shown a gift for picking those with potential and he had learned to trust her opinion. Many of them would need some work and a bit of cleaning up, but he could see in many of them what they could be. As she listened her last choice, his frown deepened. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, Papa." She gave a slight nod of the head. "That one will go to the pits." Her father sighed but thought she might be right and he approached the Captain with his offer, pointing out the four he was interested in, as well as the one with the bleeding lip. "That one, too." Five total. Now for the haggling.
 
Lysander was not from around here. He was from a little island from across the sea, where they spoke a language quite different from the one they spoke here. He could understand only a few words from the language the pirates and masters spoke, but he didn't need to know much to understand what was happening. He was being sold as a slave. He would have to spend the rest of his days answering to these idiot clad in garish clothes. Although he was outwardly still, he was seething inside, every glance from a master only making his blood boil ever hotter.

It was at this point that he noticed an odd pair, an older man and a much younger lady, perhaps father and daughter. As they approached, the other masters seemed to step away, as though they were making way for the two. They had to be important if even the other masters seemed to answer to them. The older man's gaze jumped from slave to slave, and he looked over to Lysander, he tried to stand up straight and stare back at him defiantly. But the man's gaze never met his. He seemed to care only about the condition of the slaves' bodies. Lysander watched him as he approached the Captain, and began pointing out slaves. Lysander wasn't sure but he thought the man may have pointed at him.

With a nod from the Captain, the pirates began to move, and one of them grabbed Lysander by the arm. He struggled and tried to pull away, but the attempt was half-hearted. He wanted to get a good look at his masters-to-be. He wanted to show them what defiance was. He wanted to show them that he was not about to be enslaved.

The five slaves were lined up beside each other in front of the master. A couple of them had already seemed to have lost their will, accepting their fates as slaves. Lysander looked at them in disgust, with their slouches and blank stares. These people were slaves long before they set foot in the pirates' ship.

Those thoughts were interrupted by the captain's booming voice, "These slaves all seem fairly healthy, my Lord. ¤6000 for each one of them seems like a fair price to me."
 
Her father opened his mouth to say something and Caroline delicately cleared her throat. She wanted a chance to prove she could haggle as well as he had taught her. He inclined his head in her direction and gestured her over. "My daughter will be making the purchase, negotiations should be with her."

Long legs brought Caroline forth and she inspected the merchandise carefully before turning back to the Captain. "Fairly healthy, Captain? That one was limping as he came off the boat; who knows if that injury is permanent or temporary. That one still has a fleck of vomit on the corner of his mouth. That one seems in fairly good condition, if you can ignore the lazy eye, that one seems the healthiest of the bunch, and that one is bleeding." She pointed to Lysander last, barely giving any of them a glance. "And these are the pick of the lot. I'll give you ¤3000 for one through three and number five, and ¤4000 for number four."

Caroline figured he wouldn't drop down that low, but she was willing to meet him somewhere in the middle. They weren't all bad, after all. She was fairly sure the one with the limp simply had an injury, but she doubted the Captain paid enough attention to know for sure whether or not it was permanent.
 
"Really, ¤3,000?" The captain snorted out a laugh, "Little Lady, I could make more money chopping them up and selling them to the butcher. " It was an overstatement, but it certainly got his point across. "If you're planning on buying these slaves alive, then your prices are ¤5,000 for the fourth one, and ¤4,500 for the rest."

Lysander listened in on the haggling, and looked around at the slaves standing around him, particularly the one standing at his left. The fourth one. The "healthiest of the bunch". That? That guy wasn't worth ¤500 more than him, he thought. While the Captain and the Lady were talking he took a small sidestep and pushed the fourth slave's leg behind the knee, resulting in him falling over almost comically.

"What the fuck?" the man said, angrily, trying to get back up on his feet. The rage in his voice triggered something in Lysander. Adrenaline bagan to rush through his veins, and he couldn't stop himself in the face of one of his greatest vices: the thrill of a fight. In response the the man's exclamation, Lysander delivered a kick right to his jaw.

Pirates began to rush towards the two, and one pulled Lysander away, as he struggled to get at the man. The captain, however, hardly moved from where he was standing. He narrowed his eyes at Lysander. "That one," he said, "Hasn't been... broken in, yet. I'll go ¤4,250 for that one."

It took a couple of minutes before the situation was calmed down. They were both placed on opposite ends of the line. Lysander seemed to stand higher and straighter, while the other one glared at him, a bruise forming on his face.
 
She hadn't expected him to go for the ¤3,000 but still her eyes narrowed as he upped the price. Still, it was better than his original request. She eyed the men again and turned back to the Captain, contemplating their uses, and therefore their worth. She was considered lowering the offer, just a bit more when there was a commotion with the slaves. She turned to look just in time to see the fifth one kicking the fourth one. She smiled, just a bit. Yes, he would do well in the pits, but now her healthiest slave was injured. Still, number five was her true prize, but she wasn't about to let that on.

When she turned back to the Captain, she was frowning. "He's going to require some extra care," she pointed out. "I'll give you ¤4,500 for the first three. ¤4,000 for the one that is going to need a firm hand, as you realize that will take time out of my schedule to take care of and I am doing you a favor by taking him off your hands." She gestured to the other gathered masters, "None of them are going to want to take a wild one, they want the tame ones." She nodded and then pointed to the fourth slave. "I'll give you ¤4,700 for him since he is now injured and I'll leave that at your fault since the slaves were not properly restrained or broken in on the trip over."

She took a breath, "Final offer." Then she stood. At any indication that he was unwilling to accept these terms, she'd turn on her heel and begin walking away.
 
"Fair enough," the Captain said with a laughably fake smile. "It's always a pleasure doing business with you." He knew, after all, that she was right. None of the other master's would buy that one. He was too difficult. And yet he needed that one off of his hands. It wouldn't be long until that one injured even more slaves. He turned back to the other pirates and gestured to the slaves, signalling that the batch had just been bought.

Meanwhile, Lysander was still in line, eyeing the masters and the slaves. To say that he regretted the commotion he caused is an overstatement. It was more of that it didn't achieve what he was expecting. To his surprise, his price went lower after his display of strength. Of all the traits these people could value, they valued obedience over strength. He winced. Did they plan, then, to make him obedient? Did they plan on turning a wolf into a sheep?

His gaze fell to the man he had started a fight with. He was disappointed that not much of a fight happened at all. But even more so, he felt uncomfortable, knowing that they were being bought by the same master, and would possibly have to interact with him often. Well, that was certainly a horrible start at making allies in this hostile new country.
 
There was a small smile on Caroline's face after she had paid the captain his money. Standing beside her father, she waited, as the pirates corralled her new slaves toward their buggy.

"It seems you were right about the pits." Her father commented and she nodded, pleased.

"Yes. With some proper training, he could do very well." The slaves were hooked together and to the back of the carriage and one of the guards walked behind them to ensure that none tried to escape. "And for such a steal."

The other masters went forward to see what had been left behind. Meanwhile, Caroline and her father headed toward their buggy to get a closer look at their purchases. They started with the first one, examining him much closer this time. "Fields," Caroline murmured, quietly and her father made a quiet nose of agreement. Number two was inspected, just as closely. "Labor." The next part was whispered just for her father's ears, "put him working near Maria. They would make the perfect children." If that ended up working out that would make her purchase even more worthwhile. Number three also went to labor and number four went into the fields, as well.

Together they stopped at Number Five. Caroline circled him, slowly. "Natural muscle, a tendency for altercations." She came back around to his front and stepped uncomfortably close, looking at the blow he'd received earlier and the dried blood that was there. "Hmm. And it would seem he can take a hit." Her bright, sparkling, green eyes met his and for a second she was reminded that this was a person. The knowledge, something she could usually push away, it made her ill. She blinked and stepped away. "Pit fighting." She declared to her father, turning away from the slaves. It was time to go home. With the aid of another guard, Caroline was helped first into the carriage, followed closely by her father for the trip home.

Later...

It was about a 30 minute ride from the docks to the Booker Estate (those tied to the back of the carriage were forced to walk the entire way. Any stumbling would lead to a prodding from one of the security members). The house could be described in many words, but there's one word that best fits: Excessive.

The estate itself was giant, and it was a five minute drive just to get to the front of the building. The front yard was furnished with a citrus tree, and a couple of other large, decorative trees, and a very green lawn. The house itself had a large wrap around porch and was two stories tall, and massive. Inside there are 17 rooms that are just for bedrooms. This doesn't include the small huts out near the plantations, intended for the slaves quarters. There are a few, of course, who get to sleep inside the Main House.

Behind the main house were rows and rows and rows and rows of crops. A huge plantation.

Master and daughter stepped out of the carriage. Her father went inside, immediately, to fill out the books in keeping track of their purchase. "Frederick." Caroline called and one of the guards who had accompanied them on the trip stepped forward. "Take those two into the fields and get them started for work." "Michael," the other guard stepped forward. "Get these two set up with Everett. I'm sure there's a project somewhere that needs working on." The guards went about separating the slaves from one another and Coraline stepped toward the house. "Come along, then." she called to Lysander over her shoulder. "I wouldn't bother trying to run, you wouldn't make it past the front gate."
 
Lysander was not pleased as the pirates led him, along with the other newly bought slaves, to the two masters' buggy. He wanted to run, or fight, or, well... something. But he wasn't that stupid. There was such a slim chance that he'd be able to outrun or outfight all of the people who'd have a reason to pursue him. That didn't mean that he'd given up though. One thing that Lysander learned growing up poor was to be opportunistic. Maybe not now, but sooner or later, he would spot the perfect opening. And he would escape. His so called masters will never have seen it coming.

Upon reaching the buggy, the older man and the young lady began inspecting them, even closer than they had previously. They were discussing their newly acquired slaves, but in voices too low for Lysander to hear. However, when the young lady stepped in to have a look at Lysander, he could hear every word. It was strange to be scrutinized so closely, almost objectifying. In return, however, he could get a close look at her as well. He had no talent of observation like she had, but he could tell that she was beautiful in a cruel way. Her features, her movement, even her voice, all undeniably elegant, but with a hint of piercing sharpness. This flower has thorns, he thought. And yet it wasn't so much a surprise. He knew that the prettiest ones were most often the worst.

"Pit fighting," was what she'd said, before turning away.

Pit fighting? Throughout the entire walk, Lysander thought only of those words. He was familiar with pit fighting. That was something common where he was from, except the contenders were roosters, or dogs, or other animals. He wasn't a dog. He wasn't going to sit, stay and roll over for these people. He wasn't going to risk his life to earn them coin. As the time passed however, Lysander was able to consider the other possibilities, had he not been assigned to be a pit fighter. He could've been made to work in the fields. He could've been made to work in labor. Sure, he wasn't a dog. But he wasn't any closer to being a horse, or a cow, or a sheep. A dog, he thought, was close enough. It was. in truth, his best bet.

The long walk may have been tiring to some, but Lysander was fairly used to such labors. The most difficult part, perhaps, was having to be around those who could hardly keep up. Despite this, he seemed to have been paralzyed upon setting foot in their estate. It was intimidatingly huge, perhaps even larger than the village he'd grown up in. It almost terrified him how that much land could be owned by a single family or so. These people were richer, and probably more powerful than he'd expected. He found himself looking around in awe, mouth agape, at least until he realized how idiotic he looked. No, he wouldn't let them in. At the very least, he had to act as though he wasn't intimidated.

After sending the others away, Lysander was left alone with the young lady. He averted his eyes, avoiding her thorned beauty. To his surprise, she spoke to him, directly addressing him for the first time. Her words lit up a spark of rebellion inside of him. He wanted to try running, even if just to show his defiance, knowing full well that he would never make it. And yet he knew that it was risky. He knew that there was a chance he wouldn't come out of it whole or even alive. Still, he indulged this spark, even if just in words.

"And if I do," he said, his accent quite noticeable, "What are you going to do to me? Will you put me on a leash and teach me to sit and stay?"
 
Standing up on the porch steps, Caroline turned to look at what she hoped to be a prize purchase. She chose to stand there, standing above him, a visual representation of their power, an indication that he was beneath her. She was pleased, though, that he spoke the language... and maybe, she could admit to herself, she liked the way the words rolled off his tongue with his accent.

This one was a live one. They were always her favorite, presenting a challenge and Caroline liked a challenge.

Her head cocked slightly to the side, chocolate brown curls swishing with the movement. "Well," and now she walked down the steps to stand about a foot in front of him, "If you manage to survive your escape attempt, then that might be completely necessary." A hand went up to her own throat as her eyes dropped to his. "I think a collar would suit you, but I think we could forego that for the time being, if you are cooperative." It wouldn't be entirely clear if there was actually a collar and leash hidden away somewhere in the large house behind her or if she was bluffing as her expression hardly shifted from that same half smile.

"Though," the hand dropped, "If you managed to make it beyond the gate, by some miracle? Your chances of survival dwindle. You'd be caught by another master, very quickly. Or caught by someone looking to make a quick sale, and you'll be sold off once more and let me tell you this, boy, I can be an incredibly cruel and harsh mistress," there was a flash of something dark in those sharp green eyes but it was gone just as quickly, "but I can also provide you the most comfort a slave has ever had, probably more than you've experienced in your life before coming here judging by your appearance. I can be a gentle and kind owner; the choice is up to you."

Caroline stepped to the side, one hand gesturing toward the massive house and the other gesturing toward the open drive behind Lysander. A part of her really hoped he would try to run, truly challenge her, but the other part of her wanted to get started on his training. "What is it going to be, hmm?"
 
Lysander stared deep into her eyes of green, hoping to judge the young lady's intentions. If there was anything he could guess, it was that she was not the type to make idle threats. After all, why would she need to, when she had all the power to put her words to actions? And here he was, thinking that she was a nice little lady, but when stripped of an "audience" to hold her down, she showed her true, cruel, maybe even sadistic colors. A smile spread across his lips, perhaps without him even noticing. This was, after all, a battle, even if just in words and intentions. And Lysander loved the thrill of a fight.

He took a step towards her, his light blue eyes still locked with hers. "I can play puppy for you, little lady. I can be your good boy. You can collar me, chain me, hell, even cage me. But that will not last long. A wild animal cannot be tamed. He will not last in captivity. He will escape, or he will die trying."

His reply was one of defiance, but most of all also one of honesty. He could have acted like he was one of those defeated, glassy-eyed slaves. That way perhaps their guard would be down and it may have been easier to find an opportunity for escape. But he wanted her to know. He wanted her to remember those words.
 
Caroline was slightly disappointed that her new fighter had not decided to run, but she could see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice. He could still be a challenge.

"Are you saying you are a wild animal, then?" She questioned with another slight cock of the head. She'd half expected him to be one of those indignant type that claimed one could not treat human beings the way they did. What another surprise. Pressing her lips in a tight lipped smile, she turned once more to head inside. "Come along then, pup."

It was... not normally her style to poke fun at the slaves or to even banter much with them. She gave instructions and orders and she made sure they were healthy, but that was as far as it went for her. The fact that the attractive fighter had caught her in more conversation than she was normally willing to engage in had unsettled her, just a bit.

She needed to poke at him.

"The rules in my household are simple. Work hard, be rewarded. Especially in your case." She lead the way through the ornately decorated house, down into a cool basement. "And you might be tempted to fail at fighting, to spite me." Although, she had a feeling he would be too competitive to follow through with that. "But there are a lot of incentives to win. You see, for every win you have, you are given an allowance of the winnings. For every loss? You are deducted money from any future winnings. For every win you have your life here? It will improve. Nicer bed, better clothes, better room, better food. For every loss? Your quality of life will lessen." Of course there will be times when losing will be necessary, but he didn't need to know that, yet.

Caroline paused at the end of the stairs and faced the fighter, "And if a comfortable life is not enough to entice you to win? I am not the only one giving incentives to win. Some of the other fighters will kill. There are often bets on deaths, though I don't typically deal in that. So, winning may be the only way for you to survive."
 
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