Chapter Text
It wasn’t so bad, really, with Master. All things told, John Egbert considered himself fortunate. The blueblood had a large household and often was content to let things run themselves. John was the only human among the slaves, but the species barrier didn’t hold him back and he knew and had befriended nearly everyone working there. And while their owner could not be called a kind man - John had never met a troll who was, exactly, kind - he was not needlessly cruel. John had only been beaten a few times, and by now he pretty much knew how to avoid that. Do as you’re told, don’t speak until spoken to, do not under any circumstances approach Master when a certain amount of time has elapsed since his last visit from his moirail. He’d figured out how things worked around here, and he was more or less okay with it.
John knew how lucky he was. And he also knew how quickly things could change. It was still a surprise one night when he found himself in his master’s study, facing a tall cerulean-blooded troll woman. She was beautiful - it was the first thing he noticed about her - but she also looked vicious, feral, her face and eyes bearing that same hard, calculating look he’d seen in the few sea-trolls he’d met. She glanced him over once with an appraising eye before looking back to his master.
“Looks kind of scrawny,” she said. “And humans are supposed to be fragile. You’re kidding me, Equius.”
“The slave is a hard worker and obedient,” John’s master replied. “He is quiet and respectful. I am doing you a favor by selling him to you, Serket.”
“At this price? I could have three from Korgam’s market.”
“Korgam?” Equius took a deep, shuddering breath which John recognized as an attempt to control himself. The slave kept his eyes fixed on the ground, not wanting to attract attention. “That... that lowlife. He is a fraud. He does not comport himself as one of his stature ought and he freely engages in such... lewd activities...”
John stole a glance at Serket. She was smirking. She knew she’d touched a nerve, had touched it on purpose. “Which is why I came to you, Equius, naaaaaaaaturally.” She drew the word out, long and sarcastic. “All I’m saying is that you don’t offer up much competition. You’re letting him beat you into the ground.”
Equius flushed and his nostrils flared. “I am not a slave dealer, Serket. I do not need to... beat him at anything, as you say. He is beneath my notice.”
“No, but you’re dealing one to me now, aren’t you?” She grinned more widely. “Come, Equius. Highblood to highblood. Be reasonable.”
“What is your price?”
Serket named one. This was about when John tuned out of the conversation; no matter how many times he listened to this, it still turned his stomach to hear the monetary value placed on his head. It didn’t mean much to him, anyway, hearing prices so high above the allowance he was given that they were practically meaningless. Instead he watched Serket, trying to get a feel for her, safe for now as her attention was entirely on his master. What he saw was not encouraging. Everything about her sent a nervous tremor running up his spine, an instinctive desire to get out of her presence like the feeling instilled in him by one of Master’s rages. Except she wasn’t raging; she was completely composed, and that was so much worse.
She would not be lenient, or compassionate, or courteous. John could tell that much. He wondered what a troll like her wanted him for; most of what he did now was manage Equius’s business affairs. He’d worked his way up from menial house service as his industriousness and respectful attitude caught the master’s eye.
He wondered if he’d be able to collect his things, or say goodbye to any of his friends. Probably not. When Equius had sold others, they’d simply vanished.
At last Equius and Serket came to an agreement. The troll woman pricked her finger and signed the contract, drawing her symbol with a flourish in her own blood. Equius did the same. They nodded curtly to one another and Serket came over to him at last, inspecting him more closely than before, walking around him with a critical eye. John’s scalp prickled.
Serket took his chin in her hands and tilted his head back so he could look her in the eye; she was a few inches taller than him. “My name is Vriska Serket and I am your mistress now, human,” she said. “Your name?”
“John Egbert, mistress,” John said softly.
“Good. Come along, slave.” She turned on her heel and strode off - John found himself wondering why she’d bothered to ask his name if she wasn’t even going to call him by it - and waved an impatient hand indicating for him to hurry up. He hastened to do so, wondering what just kind of life he was running toward.