The Aristocrat

[Lazybones]

"No mother?" Shannon's eyes drifted toward the sun in curiosity. For a moment, he squinted into its light as it seeped between the slowly passing structures bordering the canal.

"A son of Syna, the Sun Goddess. He is Ethaefal."

The aristocrat's head snapped downward, his dark eyes narrowed in a sharp glare. Ares tensed and immediately looked at the ravosala floor, but she could still feel the intensity of his gaze on the top of her head. "I know who Syna is. Perhaps more than most Ravokians. And you'll not make such an utterance of her name in Rhysol's city. And don't speak out of turn, vagik. You know better than that."

Ares closed her eyes. Her branded hand squeezed the other. "Please forgive me, Master."

Shannon's features softened, though more out of apparent disinterest than sympathy. He glanced away, turning to look at the passersby on the street, placing his chin in his palm. "Ethaefal… the son of a goddess. How tremendously exotic. How in the world did that cretin end up with you in his clutches? He'd stand to make a fortune if he sold you, for certain." His eyes rolled over to Zvi. "Answer."

[Zvi]

He shook his head. "No, Sir," he answered quietly. His face turned toward Her, longing in his eyes, a sort of hungry, frantic desire to return home. Homesickness in its most intense form. His eyes turned to the girl as she spoke, but the moment her reprimand came, his head ducked, fearful of sharing punishment. He tensed visibly, his fingers holding tightly to his precious lyre. He cast a glance to Ares' feet, silently praying that her Master would not hit her. She had been so kind to him, after all. He did not take pleasure in seeing any person hurt, especially when he could do nothing about it. He noted how he hands clutched at one another, and wondered to himself if this was a habit of hers, much as worrying his lip was one of his own. He made a note to observe her. He felt Shannon's eyes fall on him and he lifted his head, though only a small measure. The question was one that he did not much care to answer, but he had little choice. His chin slowly raised, and he forced himself to speak. "Sir, when I was brought to this place, I was injured. My own powers could not heal my wound quickly enough, and as such, I was sold for...a low sum. It was assumed that I would not survive, but he knew better."

[Lazybones]

His powers? Oh, this one was interesting. Unfortunate, for him, that he ended up a slave in Ravok, but such is the way of the world. If his so-called powers were anything worthwhile, he'd be able to forge his escape from this fate. Being trapped here was only proof that he was deserving of his fate. It was harsh, but if Ravok was merciful toward the weak, it would become overpopulated with vermin.

"Tragic," Shannon intoned in a breath, not appearing tremendously moved. His eyelids dropped as he turned his attention to the lyre in Zvi's lap. His head canted against his hand. "It's not much longer now. Won't you play your songs, Ethaefal? They really are quite charming. My cousin would be shamed to hear you." Shannon stared off in some mundane direction again. "Tell him, Ares."

"She's terrible," Ares responded obediently. A hint of what could have been a smile played at the corner of her lips. "Her caterwauling makes the dogs howl."

Shannon threw back his head, releasing a involuntary, genuine laugh. "It does!"

Ares squeezed her hand.

The ravosalaman did not bring his passengers to the Noble District, where Shannon lived. Instead, they never left the Docks, arriving at the far eastern end of the Nitrozian Plaza, where the canals were so crowded with other vessels that traffic actually stalled on the water. At the first opportunity, Shannon ushered Ares and Zvi onto a boarding dock, then led them into the bustling Ravokian street. His cane tapped along side him, an outward sign of his wealth along with his dress and the family crest displayed upon his shoulder cape.

He earned several looks; any member of the Valdinox family would. That crest normally belonged to powerful mongrels, half-Isur, who along with their mother earned the favor of Ravok's Dark Patron. Shannon however appeared perfectly human, with two wholly unremarkable arms, and smooth, tan skin. Ares and Zvi in tow behind him were a colorful spectacle: Ares with her pallid complexion and glittering scales, and Zvi with his sleek horns and gently glistening skin.

The trek was over soon enough as Shannon led them into an inn. It was a tall, scarlet building with decorative hedges, colorful flowerboxes, and gilded pillars around the main door. The hostess within sent him a nod of recognition as he passed through a richly decorated interior, adorned with red velvet ceilings and painted glass sconces.

As they neared a door on the second floor, Shannon drew a long, brass key from his pocket. The room beyond a numbered door was as gorgeous as the rest of the building, with several breed of flower shooting from porcelain vases. Shannon waited until his two servants entered behind him, then closed and re-locked the door.

The bed at the far side of the room was an indicator.

Shannon passed them, snapping off his shoulder cape and hanging it along the back of a chair. His cane was relinquished to lean against the wall. "I have you for two hours, Zvi." He knew the slave's name. "Ares, please get him ready. I'm going to visit the washroom for a moment." After removing his overcoat and laying it upon the same chair, he crossed the room and disappeared behind another red-painted door.

Ares took Zvi by the hand and began to lead him to the bed, a large, luxurious thing with beautifully embroidered patterns that hinted of vines and birds. As they neared the foot, Ares sat him down with an insistent hand upon her chest, and then began to work at removing his tunic. "Don't be afraid," she reminded him, her voice as gentle as a breeze. "The Master has never harmed me, and he will not hurt you. This is his escape." As she removed the garment from him, her jaw fell momentarily as she caught sight of the long scar along his torso. Her lavender eyes lingered there. "You survived," she noted with a careful smile.

"An astute observation, Ares," came Shannon's baritone from across the room as he appeared from the door. He was down to his undershirt, but was otherwise still completely dressed. He returned to the chair, near his cane, and took a seat. It was some distance from the bed, at least several yards. With one stray hand, he snatched up his cane and laid it across his lap. "I have my fair share of scars. My father has the worst of them. We were slaves once, he and I, in a desert city called Ahnatep. But… that was so long ago, and Rhysol has kindly turned the tables. Payback, that's what it's called."

He leaned back, and with the nod of his head, Ares began to remove her thin, linen garments. "I suppose you think I'm frightfully odd, speaking with a slave at such length. Don't be flattered; this is merely catharsis. You see, I think my wife is betraying me. Since this fear has budded, I cannot stand to touch her. You met her the other day—Sadie Karpath. Lovely creature, but silver-tongued as they come." He exhaled through his nostrils. "And who do I speak to about this? My cousins? Goodness, they all have their own terrible lives to worry over. But what you know is of absolutely no consequence. And don't you dare speak. I have no interest in knowing what you think."

The last of Ares' clothing fell to the floor. She sat on the bed beside Zvi.

"Now, enough of that." Shannon lifted his cane, pointing to Ares. "Kiss her. On the neck. Here. Slide one hand across her middle."

[Zvi]

These two, despite their obvious positions of power, were comfortable with one another. That much was clear. He felt rather like a third wheel. There was an ebb and flow of unspoken conversation between them, and he was completely beyond understanding them. He turned his attention, instead, to his lyre. The instrument could occupy him well enough, then. He could not laugh with them, but gave a small smile, as he was not privy to whatever it was that was so terribly amusing. Upon being bid to play, he bowed his head and offered a quiet, “Yes, Sir.” His fingers set to work, plying a soft, sweet song from the round body of his instrument. He paid careful mind to each note, knowing that an ill-played one would be met with repercussion—or such was how it had been with others before. When at last they stopped, he followed Ares and Shannon onto the street, clutching his lyre protectively to his chest. He kept his head ducked, hating the way people looked at him. The way their eyes pried. Again, his eyes trained on the backs of Ares' feet. He did not want to get separated, but he had nothing else that he desired to look upon. He had been several places in the Docks, and each was the same to him, meant the same thing. He did wonder, though, where it would happen this time. He could only pray that he would be allowed a bit of modesty. It did not take long, however, for things to be made clear, and at the sight of the large bed, Zvi felt his stomach drop. He had hoped that perhaps this time might be different, however foolish such hopes might have been. Two hours. He carefully set his lyre aside and released a faint sigh. He was guided to the bed. No matter how lovely it might have been, it was still an object of fear to him. He bit down on the insides of his cheeks and looked up to Ares pleadingly. He hated this act. Did she not understand the pain it brought? Surely she knew how low and vile it caused a slave to feel to be used as nothing more than a husk! Still, she stripped him, and Zvi sat still and quiet, having lowered his hands to cover himself. His own eyes turned to his scar. He was about to reply to her when Shannon returned, and his head snapped back down. His listened, though, attentively. This man had been a slave. How, then, could he turn the tables so and place others in his shoes? He had heard many men and women talk about their lives, had been told many things by careless lovers as they took and used his body. This, however, was different, though he wasn't fully sure how yet. He kept silent, only squeezing his eyes shut when Ares' naked body sank down next to his. He did not look. Could not disrespect her like that. She was blessed by some god or goddess, though he could not yet divine which of them it was. She was as holy, he imagined, as some might consider him to be. The sudden command caused his heart to lurch, and he lifted his head to glance towards the man who had uttered it. Confusion and protest were written in his eyes, but he did not speak them. His gaze slowly turned to Ares, apologetic now, begging her silently for forgiveness. He trembled visibly. Goddess, he did not wish to do this. Very slowly, his horned head bowed down, and his soft, sensual lips touched her throat. Still, his stance pleaded with her to forgive him, even as a shaking hand drew across her middle. He could only hope and pray that this silent prayer would be enough. That she would understand how very much he did not wish to force himself upon her.

[Lazybones]

Across the room, Shannon leaned forward in his chair. Both hands rested upon the head of his cane, while his chin rested upon his hands. Its metal end twisted slowly into the floor. "Ares."

Ares' skin was soft to the touch, like velvet, and her stomach drew in at the sensation of Zvi's trembling fingers. A whispering breath escaped her parted lips as she felt the Ethaefal against her neck. At her master's command, her small hands found their way across Zvi's perfect skin. Her thumb grazed the papery fold of his scar. Gradually, her caress became a massage, traveling to his back as she pressed her body against his chest.

Shannon thumbed his chin. "Zvi, relax a little. You're meant to enjoy this. I'm only a spectator. There's no point in watching if this doesn't please you." Two fingers flicked at them from his cane. "Ares is gorgeous, isn't she? She's a Konti, from a place called the White Isle. A race composed entirely of women, can you believe it? I acquired her in a gamble five years ago, or thereabouts. Sadie detests her, but she's only jealous. I consider myself a collector of fine and exotic things."

His lids drooped as his head leaned to the side. He was growing bored. "Ares, perhaps you know a way to help him feel more comfortable."

The Konti paused, he arms still around the Ethaefal. Before she began to draw away from him, plush lips grazed Zvi's ear. "It's alright." With that, she slid off the edge of the bed and sank to the floor. Slender fingers drew along the Ethaefal's thigh, partially for balance, as she positioned herself on his knees between his legs. When her head lowered, it became clear that this was something she had done before.

The man sitting nearby arced an eyebrow in approval. "Mm. Good. Do you know what this is called, Zvi? There is a word for it. Voyeurism. It's fascinated me ever since I was a boy and saw my parents in their private room. My father was a stallion, then. My mother… my mother, she…" The tin of his eyes wandered off vacantly, chasing some old memory across the pattern in the carpeted floor. Finally, he blinked, and appeared to remember his place. "He said I would grow out of it, but I never did. Father does always think he's right about everything. He doesn't know the half of me."

Shannon straightened in his chair, releasing a breath. "Lay back, Zvi, if you feel so inclined."

[Zvi]

To be completely honest, Zvi had no idea of what to do. When it came to sex, prior to this, he generally spent it in silence, lying still while he was made use of. He certainly didn't kiss anyone. What was worse was the guilt that swelled in his chest. He did not want to put this beautiful woman through the humiliation of sex. His own experiences had taught him that it was degrading, shameful. Even her touches did little to alleviate the stress he felt in being watched like this. His lean frame tensed as Ares knelt before him, and as her mouth lowered, his own jaw dropped, and he made a small noise in the back of his throat. He'd done that before, been compelled to throat and swallow in such a manner, but it had certainly never been done to him. He pressed an open hand over his mouth to stifle any noise, and shook his head in protest. Despite the touching, he could not become aroused. He lifted his gaze almost pleadingly. Two hours he was expected to perform. Two hours to do what this man wished. And how could he do so with those eyes watching? With Shannon expecting him to sate his hunger? He squirmed in discomfort, praying silently that he would not be punished for what his body would not do.

[Lazybones]

Part of Zvi's reluctance was adorable, and Shannon didn’t mind it at first. However it was quickly growing dull, and the aristocrat fidgeted restlessly. Ares' machinations continued, the skilled thing she was, but the Ethaefal looked positively miserable. It didn't suit his perfect face. "Still nothing?"

Shannon's metal-tipped cane thudded against the floor, then rapped rhythmically alongside his footsteps. They came around to the side of the bed, which then sank a little as the aristocrat took a seat next to Zvi. He rested both hands upon the falcon's likeness, knitting his fingers together. "I understand. You don't want to be here. I can relate, honestly, though I was never used for… this. Just odd chores, really. Let us try this."

The noble leaned in close, slipping a hand over the slave's bare shoulder. A warm breath could be felt against the shell of his ear. "Close your pretty eyes, Zvi. Imagine with me, for a moment, that between your knees, that is not Ares. It's Syna, your matron goddess, the ever-shining light in the sky. This is her gift to you." That hand slid away and returned to his cane. "I've seen her, you know. God, she's a lovely woman. Hair like strands of gold."

His dark, gray irises slid to the corners of his eyes. "Would you be this reserved if it was your goddess loving you?"

[Zvi]

Zvi was trying. He didn't want to be punished for being unable to perform, no matter how loath he was to sleep with her. He could feel dread weighing heavily on his shoulders, and he cast occasional, nervous glances towards the man with the cane, fearful that it might be raised against him. He flinched as Shannon sat down, tensing up as if expecting to be struck across the face. His Master was certainly not one to spare the rod. Zvi had been beat for simple things, and it showed in how very little he trusted those humans around him. His heart hammered frantically in his chest, eyes turned down. He trembled, unable to take his eyes from Ares' face and his flaccid length. He brought a hand up to cup his face. Maybe Shannon would just take him home. He felt the heat of Shannon's breath upon his cheek, and he closed his eyes when he was bid to do so. He tried to calm himself, knowing full well that the man had paid and that he expected to be satisfied. If he was not, he could and likely would report to the Master, and then hell would be unleashed against him. He was anticipating the bruises already. Dusky eyes grew hot with tears, and he was about to plead for mercy when a sudden pang of anger struck him. Syna? His eyes went wide, and he gave a sudden, furious cry, pushing away from both Shannon and Ares. He stumbled across the room, his hands cupped over himself. “You will not desecrate my goddess in such a manner!” He choked out. “I will not hear it!”

[Lazybones]

Shannon stumbled, catching himself on the bed post as Zvi hurried past. For a lingering moment, he hunched there, apparently containing some buildup of frustration as his short fingernails dug at the mahogany bedframe. The foot of the cane struck the floor with a sharp knock as he used it to straighten himself upright.

The Konti had shrank against the end of the bed, her nude body curling as she hugged her knees and stared at the Ethaefal. The lavender in her eyes was wide and curious, but she kept herself silent. Her mouth was buried in her arms.

"I see," Shannon growled, lifting his eyes to the slave. Though dull and gray, they burned like coals with smoldering resentment. "My mistake. You're not properly broken. I should have guessed that anything sold by that fat oaf would lack for quality."

Ares watched Shannon cross the room, deceptively calm, to pluck his jacket from the chair. As threw it back onto his shoulders and began refastening each button, she slid a hand across the floor and reached for her shirt.

"Ares."

She froze.

"If this sniveling heretic won't please you, then I will. If you'll wait here, I need to return him to his miserable life."

The Konti retracted her hand. "Master?" Shannon responded with a melodic hum. "You are… returning him? Even after what I saw…?"

Shannon adjusted his cuffs, folding them out neatly and snapping shut his cufflinks. The cane was lifted from the floor, clutched tightly in his right hand. "What you saw is not guaranteed. You could be as silver-tongued as Sadie, for all I know. You even have more incentive than she does. Do you really believe I trust every whisper you slip into my ear?" The aristocrat turned with a flourish, taking several long strides to place himself directly in front of Zvi. The Ethaefal was taller than he was, forcing Shannon to look up. "You aren't worth the trouble. You're thick. Do you not see this city around you? Do you not understand your circumstances? Your god is meaningless here. You are a slave. You are a thing. If I were Ebonstryfe, I would slit your throat for what you just said to me, even if you were a proper citizen. You have no power here. You are nothing, you are tiny, living only by Rhysol's mercy. You deserve whatever fate befalls your master."

"But the Ebonstryfe—"

"Quiet!" Shannon roared, his eyes still locked on Zvi's. "Get dressed. You're going home."

[Zvi]

Zvi stood silent, shivering angrily. He watched them with intensity in his eyes, but he would not cower. Not for this. He'd take whatever beating his Master gave to him. He knew his defiance could easily mean death here, but he would not bend to it. If he were to perish, would he not return to Syna once more? He'd be sanctified then, too, having done honor to her name, rather than soiling it. Shannon came to stand before him, and Zvi looked down with an unnatural fierceness. “Let your evil rail against me, then,” he answered. “I would sing your praises if you would return me home. The pit you'll be delivering me to is not home. It is hell. But by goddess, I will endure it until She calls me home sooner than defile that which I hold sacred. Threaten me all you like. Go ahead. If you truly knew slavery you would know how welcome death is in the face of endless shackles.” He reached for his tunic, tugging it over his head. A quick movement, and he'd snatched up his lyre. But he was silent now, glaring at the floor as he struggled to regain his composure. He did not like being angry, did not much care for how it shook through him. He knew he would weep bitterly once his Master lay hands to him. His punishment would be brutal, barbaric, and lingering. But Zvi would take it. He could not think so ill of his goddess. He could not sully her. He would sooner suffer one thousand beatings than bend to such vile thoughts.