Closed Free no longer (Matthew)

[Ealisaid]

41 Spring, 514 Ealisaid moaned, a low sound which ended in a sharper intake of breath, as she gasped, raising a hand to her ribs. They ached, fiercely. But then again, what part of her did not? Slumped against a brick wall, she had tried to pull her feet in closer to her body, as she sat on the dirty flag stones that had seen neither broom nor mop since the day they were set down. This was to avoid the repeated tripping over them that one wretched lout seemed incapable of avoiding – for he had kicked her ankles a good three times in the last half hour. At least that was better than the early hours of the morning, around dawn, when he had been sprawled out before her, on his back, drunk, and snoring like a hurricane. Now, with the sun up in the mid-morning sky, he was up as well, staggering back and forth across the enclosure that housed Elaisaid and a dozen more. This was the third day of her captivity, and by this point all she wanted to do was to make herself as small as possible, cringing against the solidity of the wall, her only friend, it would seem. It was a nightmare come true – one she had always realized was fully possible, given the city that she lived in, and its amoral, criminal disregard for anyone’s rights, property, or even their humanity. Perhaps she had just been lucky, all these years. She had a certain amount of street smarts, and was always careful. But that had done her little good, in the end. Someone had noted her, and someone had noted that she was alone, and that was all it took. She’d been on her way home, from work, at the Pig’s Foot, and a strong, filthy hand over her mouth, and another clamped around her waist, had been enough to prevent her from running. She had flailed, managing to get a hand down to her waist, tearing at the corded, hairy arm that almost squeezed her in two, clawing at it, trying to reach her little dagger. But her resistance only made that grip tighten, until she thought her assailant would break every rib she had. She struggled to wrench free from the grip over her mouth, the stench of the one who had a hold of her making her retch, as she tried to bite into those cruel, hard fingers. But he pinched her face with a viselike grip, yanking her backwards, pulling her off her feet. Throwing her to the ground, she felt a jagged bolt of terror stab through her gut, at the same time as the back of her head hit the paving stones, making her see stars. Fearing what men often do to defenseless women and girls, she instinctively tried to roll up in a ball. But that evil purpose was not the one that had motivated the attack. The man fell on her, yes, in the dark, but he smacked her face, hard, with a growl of ”Keep yer mouth shut unless ye want another like’un” as he reached for her hands. A few quick turns of a bit of cord, and she was bound at the wrists. Too late she tried to scramble to her feet, only to be knocked backwards by the back of his ham sized hand. She lay there, stunned, until he yanked her up to her feet again, and with a deft motion had a disgusting bit of rag shoved in her mouth and another wrapped about her face, to effectively gag her. Even if she had screamed her lungs out, who would have heard? Who would have come to her aid, in the lawless pit of iniquity? Roughly, he had taken her by her arm and hauled her off with him, through pitch black alleys and by ways – but she knew where they were headed. The always present risk of living in Sunberth had come to be her living nightmare. He was taking her to the slave market. The first day, once the gag had been removed, she did scream. She howled and yelled and demanded to speak to someone – anyone – and insisted that she be let free. That had earned her more slaps, until her head rung and her poor face was swollen and bruised almost beyond recognition. The only thing that saved her from a probably broken neck was the one slaver pointing out to the other that she was good looking enough to fetch a good price, but not if they beat her black and blue. By this point, Ealisaid was crumpled in a corner of the enclosure, in too much pain to even weep. For two days, there was no food given to her, only scummy water in a rusty pail, and no place to even relieve herself, except another similar bucket, which made her cringe in dismay whenever she took a sip from the other, wondering if it had enjoyed a similar usage before being filled with water. Bit by bit, the pen filled up with others, and Ealisaid tried to cling to the small bit of ground that she had claimed, shivering through the chill of the night. The previous night just past had seen it rain, and she felt that she would prefer to just be dead, than to endure this misery. Worse yet were her fears for what was still to come, for it was clear, the slavers intent was to sell each and every one of their captives. She just had no idea when that would be, and she tried very hard not to think about it – to think about in whose hand she might end up. She also determined that she would run away, the very first chance she got. Sunberth was a big enough place, and crowded enough, and lawless enough, that she could easily melt back in to its faceless denizens. Who would pursue one insignificant young woman? Whatever the cost, she would at least try. She would not let herself be abused. She probably could not return to her job at the Pig, for it was a popular spot and she might be seen, and retaken. But no matter. Somehow she would find a way to survive. Anything would have to be better than being sold into slavery. Another few minutes passed, before one of her new ‘owners’ came up to the sides of the enclosure and pointed a dirty, fat finger at her. She trembled, and looked away, as if she had not seen him. Of course, this did no good at all, for he unlocked the door and entered, making his way to where she cowered like a beaten cur. This time however, he was not overly rough. He did force her to stand, on unsteady legs, and brought her out, taking her around inside the building behind the pen, after carefully locking the door once more. Inside, he handed her over to an old crone who directed her to a large tub with fairly clean water. Her captor stood impassively still, not necessarily ogling her but not looking away either. But a sharp pinch to the back of Ealisaid’s arm had her undressing from her clothes, that were now filthy and somewhat ripped, from all her struggles. A bath in the steaming water quickly ensued, and the old woman washed her hair, and combed it out. There was little to be done about the bruises that ran up and down her body and liberally colored her face, but she was given a clean dress, after she dried as quickly as she could, still in the presence of her glowering guard. From there, it was a short march to another building and here she was told to stand, her one ankle manacled with a chain attached to a wall. In short order, various city dwellers, and probably a few foreigners, began to mill about, eying the goods that were to be sold at the auction that day. Ealisaid shut her eyes, tight, not wanting to look at them in return. But another slap to the back of her head, and a low warning to shape up and look pretty, now – show ‘em a smile, there or risk the further wrath of his heavy hand at least had her opening her eyes again, to look out tearfully at the growing crowd of potential bidders.

[Matthew]

He wasn't exactly sure how this worked. He had dressed for the occassion, a nice pair of black pants and a white shirt with a black jacket tugged over. He even had put on a tie, an odd invention that he had taken something of a liking to. He had shined his shoes and combed his hair, and then he had headed out into the streets of Sunberth. In hindsight, it had been an idiotic move. He had been here for almost two seasons now. He was pretty sure he had seen almost every inch of the city. There wasn't a single place in Sunberth that required a suit. The Harlot had assumed that businessmen would dress well, but that had been foolish. Businessmen here were quite different than businessmen everywhere else. So now that he was here at the Slave Market, he stood out like a sore thumb among the dirty bodies and questionable figures. His black attire was a stark contrast to the dirty but colorful tents and stands. There was one building among the stalls, so he headed there. Since it stuck out, perhaps it was meant to be. He moved quietly and quickly through the crowd, graceful movements allowing people to jostle up against him but not knock him off balance. He moved with the crowd and not against it, having long learned that Sunberth was a place you learned to be a part of. If you just moved with it then everything would be okay. He wondered how the slaves here felt about that. Entering the stall, he paused and took a moment to glance around. He had asked a few of his coworkers about the Slave Market, and had also made a point of coming every few days to just watch and learn. The first step of any sort of Intelligence-gathering was simply to watch and listen. It was how he best learned anyways. He learned how it worked, roughly how much money he would have to spend, and a few of the little tricks that people used to shave a few mizas off the price. Really though, he wasn't sure if they were actually tricks or not. Sometimes it seemed like the prices were designed to be haggled down so that the buyer would feel like they were getting a deal. Perhaps he was learning a bit about business while messing around this place. Or was it politics? He really had no idea. The Harlot milled about, studying each of the displayed slaves with a critical eye. He wasn't even sure what he was looking for. He was going to leave soon though, he knew that much. He had somewhere to be, something to do. He had been planning on staying at least a little longer, but then something had happened. The buzzing in his head had stopped. At first he had been relieved. He had always wanting the buzzing to go away, the endless noise of emotion and conscience. Once it had started to fade though, he had realized that something was wrong. While he wanted it to go, that wasn't how it was supposed to be. Everyone else had the buzz, so there must be a reason that it was there. What would happen if it never came back? He needed to test. And he needed to find a doctor he would trust. Caelum had come to mind, though that had been so very long ago. He could start there, at least. It had been so very long since he had seen Zeltiva. The woman made him pause. Extremely light blue eyes blinked at her, a well-groomed head tilting as it stared. He wasn't perverse in his stare, nor was he sadistic. He glanced her up and down with distant and thoughtful eyes, looking fairly indifferent. After a few moments he softly spoke, his voice slow and well-pronounced. "You are rather bruised. Are there any further injuries? If you are a product to be sold, it makes me wonder why the owner finds it okay to sell damaged goods." He didn't sound mad or irritated, simply thoughtful, like this was some sort of everyday thing to him. The guard sniffed at Matthew but mostly ignored the Harlot, though his attire was given a few pointed glances. Matthew stared at the guard for a few moments and then turned his head back to the girl. "I am Matthew. What is your name? Do slaves have names? How much are you? Or do I ask the guard? No, wait, this is an auction. Hm. Do you have any notable skills?" He blinked at the girl, obviously the curious sort. If he noticed that Ealisad wasn't in the best of moods, it certainly didn't show.

[Ealisaid]

A time had passed. For Ealisaid, newly made slave, destined to be sold off to the highest bidder, it seemed like an eternity, as the crowd grew and the parade of buyers passed before her. Some looked at her, other did not. She was fearful of both – those who paused in their step and looked her up and down like some milk cow, or a sack of apples, or a bolt of cloth – as well as those who did not even throw her a glance. For she had to wonder, might that have been someone who would have had mercy on her? Perhaps that one who was engaged in telling a joke to his companion, or that one there with a kind smile on her face – perhaps those were people who she could appeal to – explain how this was all a horrible miscarriage of justice, and that she was a free woman and not a slave. Yet if they passed, and had no interest in her whatsoever, was she losing a chance there? In the next second, though, she would remind herself, grimly and with despair, that this was Sunberth, and any who had an ounce of mercy or pity in their soul were as rare as hen’s teeth. Still, she could not help but to begin to look – at those who looked at her, and those who did not. Some made her shudder, others looked more…hopeful… yet none had paused for long. She began to hear a few comments dropped – no-one taking any particular care to not let her hear how they spoke about her, as if she was a stiff post of wood with no ears, no brain, no heart. The bruises were off-putting. There were a few comments that she would have been comely, had it not been for her decorations bestowed with the fists and palms of her captors. Of course, anyone with half a brain could have deduced that such injuries were temporary, and would pass soon enough. A couple of the onlookers though apparently equated her black and blue marks as badges of a rebellious temperament. And though some might not care to have to break such a obstreperous spirit – and no doubt some in Sunberth would take quite a bit of pleasure in doing so – others felt it not worth their time to bother with such. Not unless she was possessed of something special – some skill that they needed or would value – and as they paused, and moved on quickly, none even bothered to ask the slavers that were about, tending to all their ware, what exactly her skills were. Onwards they went, the crowd growing with every passing quarter bell. The poor woman did not know whether to try to display herself in a better light to any who might look like they held at least the hint of kindness about them – or to shy away from one and all, in hopes that no-one would want her. She had no idea what her current ‘owners’ would do with her, or to her, if that came to pass, and it was yet another unsolvable puzzle for her traumatized brain to struggle with. So caught up was she in her inner turmoil that she had not noted the man who had paused, as many had, until he spoke to her directly. She was startled – so much so that she jumped, her green eyes flying wide with fear. Up to this point, no-one had spoken to her, except the slavers to occasionally poke her and tell her to stand up straighter and look alert, and smile, which she had yet to actually manage. Her eyes flew to his – for she had been a slave for only a few days and had not learned the automatic subservience and submissiveness of one. She looked right at him, still clearly alarmed, but as he spoke, both his words and the tone in which they were delivered had her heart beating fast. But it wasn’t fear that she felt now, it was hope. A small bud, certainly, but one which she could not suppress, despite her rational mind still screaming at her to approach with caution. Sunberth was as full of rogues and tricksters and charlatans as it was fleas and bed bugs. No-one who had lived here all their lives would think to just take a stranger at their word. Yet as she looked at him, his expression matching his tone, she could not help but think – perhaps, this man was a ….good man. Now, by Sunberth standards, and by Ealisaid’s own standards, good was quite a subjective term – and it certainly did not imply a man of high moral and ethical values. It did not denote a man who was necessarily an altruist or a philanthropist, or even kind or caring. To this young woman, a good man was one who might be smart enough to realize a good thing when he saw it, and not be stupid enough to spend money on something he’d then misuse or neglect or misplace. The man in front of her was obviously one who took care of himself, in so far as his dress and his hygiene went (and that spoke volumes about him right there, in her eyes, for such could not be said of many of the denizens of this city). In fact, his garb was rather…rich…and Ealisaid wondered what his profession might be. It certainly was not a given that a wealthy man would treat his possessions better than a poor man. In fact, quite the opposite might be true. Yet, at least for the moment, this man did not have that haughty sneer on his face that bespoke of one who clearly looked down upon a common working girl as something akin to a smear of dirt on his nice, clean trousers. She had seen that type of man quite enough in the course of her work to know fairly well what type of treatment such a man would likely be inclined to give a slave. All this was passing though her mind as the man made his preliminary remarks and posed a question – one which drew the fractional attention of one of the slavers, but which the brute himself did not seem inclined to answer. So, after a moment’s pause, not wishing to feel the back of that hand against her already bruised and split lips, she answered the man with the blue eyes. "You are rather bruised. Are there any further injuries? If you are a product to be sold, it makes me wonder why the owner finds it okay to sell damaged goods." The words themselves were, of course, insulting, to a free born woman. But Ealisaid had heard far worse, practically every night that she had worked at this tavern or that. So she let the casual observation that she was now a product, rather than a human being, slide off her like water from a duck. The point here was not to get riled, when there was so much more at stake, and the man was correct, after all. She was no different from a bushel of wheat or an orange or a lamb – the prudent purchaser would do well to check for the hidden bruises or patches of mold or the lame leg before deciding to buy. ”Yes,” she said, her voice low, and far from proud, though she attempted to keep the raw misery that suffused her body out of it. Her eyes now dipped down, fixing on his feet. Her arms, which she had already had crossed against her stomach, tightened, her hands gripping the alternate arm nervously. She couldn’t think that if she revealed the extent of her injuries to the man that would raise the chances that he’d be interested in buying her. Yet at the same time, she did not want to incur the wrath of the burly beast standing off to the side. So she equivocated, and added quickly, ”But only a little…sir. Nothing – nothing that would impair my ability to serve you. She had thought herself a stubborn and strong woman, but the injuries of which she spoke so lightly had been bestowed at the cost of her courage. She saw little point in fighting to her death, when there might be a better way to win her freedom, if she could but enlist the right person’s sympathy. So she chose to play this game, in hopes that that someone – possibly this man, or if not him then perhaps another – would take enough interest in her to actually buy her. Then she could propose what she had in mind… She avoided answering the second part of his question. It seemed rhetorical in any case, and she thought it best to simply let it lie. Of course, her ‘owners’ would pawn her off on anyone who’d pay the price they wanted, regardless of her injuries. In that moment, Ealisaid greatly regretted all her struggles. They had gained her nothing, and cost her much, and now it might be that they had rendered her undesirable. But what could she do? What was done was done, and all she could do was learn from it. Whether he was satisfied with her answer or not, she had no way of knowing. His gaze left her, and she felt a grip at her chest. Was it stupid, blind hope that had her wishing that a man who was at least decently dressed and well groomed and not overtly ogling her would wish to buy her? Would some other, better prospect come along? She could not know that – and would not know that really – for how could she know a person’s heart simply by looking at their face? This man seemed….mild… but there was no way for her to know the truth of what kind of man he was. So she bid herself not to sink further into despair. Her fate was not in her hands, and she must just go along with the tide that was carrying her along, for now. Then his eyes drifted back to her, and he actually gave his name, which really confused her. She had not expected that – not at all! "I am Matthew. What is your name? Do slaves have names? Her own eyes came back to regard him with a guarded curiosity. Did he have no experience of slaves, that he need ask that? If so, was that a good thing, or a bad? Well, in any case, he was speaking directly to her and Ealisaid still felt, somehow, here was an opportunity for her. Oh how she hoped that she was not mistaken in her read on this man. ”Yes, I believe they do, Sir. If their master chooses to give them one.” She still used the more polite title, though he had given her his name. It was a bit hard to wrap her head around calling him by that, as she stood there chained to the wall. She licked her poor, abused lips nervously, but pressed on, as he had asked her specifically. ”My – my name is Ealisaid. That has been my name since birth. I… my mother… gave it to me.” She’d been about to tell him that she was freeborn, and that she’d been a free woman until a few days ago. But she had caught the guard glaring at her and she had the distinct impression that he wasn’t too pleased that this conversation was in progress. She didn’t know. She’d never been here, ever, at the slave market. She didn’t know how the auctions were run, or how buyers ended up selecting the human being they wished to purchase. She had been blissfully ignorant of all of that, so she didn’t know what she should, or should not, say, to this Matthew. Again, he seemed satisfied with her response, which seemed to prompt more questions, as he asked, How much are you? Or do I ask the guard? No, wait, this is an auction. Hm. Do you have any notable skills?" Her eyes slid to the guard closest to her, and he sort of grunted, before saying in a truculent voice, "Ah, I can see ya know quality when you see it, sir. I’m sure the bidding on this one’ll be brisk – no real telling where it might go. But you look like a sharp gent. She’ll be well worth your while, if you’ve a mind to take her home with ya.” The slaver leered and then turned his gaze on Ealisaid, giving her a much more pointed look. ”Go on! Tell ‘im what ya can do, woman!” he growled. Ealisaid’s green eyes once more came to regard those light blue ones, as she replied in a soft but steady tone, one tinged with regret, ”I…I’ve worked as a server, sir, in several taverns. I – I know a bit about cooking, and a lot about cleaning. I can mend clothes. I know how to keep track of a tab and to make change. I know how to keep a customer happy… and – and I dance. I danced for extra money, beyond my wages, sir.” There – she had said indirectly that she had once earned her living. Her eyes dropped again, as, having heard her brief recitation of her own skills, she realized how paltry it all sounded, even to her own ears. There was so much more – how do you describe the skills needed to survive in a city such as this one? Well, this man probably had no interest in how she had had to learn about how to keep drunken louts happy and buying more rounds, while still fending off their lecherous hands – how to intervene in brewing disputes to keep a bar from being trashed by combatant patrons – how to seduce the crowd into throwing coins her way as she danced, without sending out the message that she could be bought for the night, for a few more silvers. She knew how to survive – or she thought she did, until a few nights ago. Even what she had learned about how to use a dagger had done her no good. She sighed, almost imperceptibly, willing the tears that threatened not to fall. Straightening up a bit more, she added with a hint more of a challenge in her tone, ”I am nothing but a common working girl, sir. But I have worked hard, all my life. I’m strong, and I’m not stupid. I suppose I could do just about anything, if someone showed me how.” Yes but who wanted a slave that they would have to train? Wasn’t it much easier to buy one that already knew…whatever it was this man wanted a slave to do for him?

[Matthew]

There was a moment where they studied each other in silence, her eyes a bit wider than normal. She stared for such a time that she might notice the dark ring of blue around his normal light blue, something that was a bit hard to see unless nearby torchlight struck it at the right angle. Every now and then it did though, the curious tilts of his head providing the appropriate angle every so often. Other than that, Matthew would appear to be a stone statue in many ways. His features were so perfectly formed that it seemed as if he had been painted onto a pristine statue. On the other hand, his eyes and expression didn't show a single thing. Not even mild interest, even though he was obviously taking the time to consider her.

The Harlot leaned forward just the slightest bit as she spoke, making sure that he could hear her low words over the hustle and bustle of the rest of the room. His blue stare flickered over her, noting the little details here and there, analyzing and calculating. She wasn't looking him in the eye, her muscles had tightened, her voice quickened. He considered what these things meant. It was becoming harder for him to understand. That is why he was going to get help.

"Serve me?" Matthew's voice sounded confused for a second, then he blinked and nodded as if realizing that was what a slave did. "Oh, right. Of course. That is good to know." He blinked a few more times, glancing at the brute of a guard. The brute of a guard didn't budge. His eyes wandered back as she explained how names worked and what her actual name was. Sometimes the owner gave the slave a name? That was too much trouble. Why would they do that if someone already had a name? To break them, perhaps. To make them aware that they were completely and utterly the property of the master, the owner. He tilted his head as the thoughts tumbled through. He was to be an owner. He wasn't so sure if he liked that. He already had enough to keep track of because of the child. Ah, the child.

The Brute spoke suddenly, his tone the same diplomatic tone that a lot of merchants used. He didn't look at the guard, instead he kept his eyes locked on Ealisaid, continuing to study her. He had an eye for physical damage, and his mind quickly went over all the possible damages. She was standing and breathing, that was a start. She mostly looked bruised, which could mean there was some internal damage. But she could cook and she could clean. Any skill in cookery was valuable to the Harlot. She could dance, there was always that. He wasn't interested in it for personal amusement, contrary to popular belief. Instead, he actually wanted to learn how to dance better. That was something to keep in mind. He hummed a soft tune to himself, thinking things over. Bidding would be brisk, would it? He could probably do something to change that. He hummed a few more times and then slowly nodded to himself, eyes remaining locked on the girl. He had something of an idea. He tilted his head in the other direction (a habit she might very well realize he had at this point) as she suddenly straightened, speaking with a different tone to her voice. Could do anything if shown, could she?

Very well then.

She was given a sharp nod. "You will work well then." Then he was gone.

Ealisaid would see him every now and then. She would catch a glimpse of him wandering through the crowd without a purpose. At one point she would see him accidentally bump someone, completely different from the way he normally seemed to evade being jostled. It looked like he actually tried to slip a hand into the pocket of the person he had bumped, but the person was gone before Matthew could really get anything accomplished. He had tried to learn how to pick-pocket. The boy had showed him a little. He was very bad at it. Instead, he started weaving his magic. He started to lay strands of shimmering Djed throughout the building, touching and teasing at the various people who walked through it. He was cautious, first using his Auristics to make sure he didn't see anyone else who was using magic. Then he would proceed.

Anyone that approached the girl would get the slightest sliver of doubt inserted into them. He would make sure that they noticed the bruises, make sure that they noticed she had no special skills. If they looked interested in her looks, he would do what he could to make them doubt even that. He had about a bell to work his craft before the auction started. When the auction did start, his craft seemed to have helped matters a bit. When the bidding came to her, some people hesitated. The bidding was cautious and slow, and all the while he still managed to sneak in some little slivers of doubt here and there. Matthew would start bidding when it seemed she was about to sell and he would start bidding aggressively. Soon she would be bought, 125 gold mizas going towards her purchase. Interesting enough, she wasn't the final purchase. Someone else caught his eye. He would soon be bidding on a man, one who was even more generic than Ealisaid. 50 gold mizas went towards the purchase of that one, and that one he made arrangements to pick up later.

After all the paperwork was done and the coin was handed over, the girl would immediately be handed over to him. He would allow her a moment to gather her bearings, but then she would be asked to follow him. Her wrists were put in manacles and Matthew was given the key. She would certainly have the option to run, if she tried. Matthew didn't even seem to consider the possibility, instead setting the pace for them and expecting her to be quick to follow. "Tell me, what do you expect from this relationship? I am planning to travel. To Zeltiva, first. Will you come with me?"

There was another odd thing. Though she was in chains, he had asked her opinion. It was already starting to be an interesting sort of relationship.