Chapter Text
It wasn’t really a punishment, Vriska had to admit to herself. She wasn’t sure whether it was cruelty or curiosity which led her to saddle John with such an impossibly high workload. True to her word, finishing ahead of schedule had no longer been a problem. There were barely enough hours in the night for John to finish his duties; he was rising earlier and returning to quarters later than any of the others. Five nights later, he looked exhausted every time she saw him.
And yet he did everything he asked of her and never once complained. Vriska was starting to admit to herself that it was a little impressive. Because John was, as Equius had told her, perfectly obedient and respectful, and it wasn’t because he was too broken to do anything else. He bowed when she passed him, kept his eyes downcast, called her “mistress” - but when his eyes did meet hers they were calm and unafraid behind the glaze of exhaustion. When she once shoved him for not moving fast enough for her taste, he didn’t bristle or retaliate, but he didn’t cringe either. There was life in his eyes - not the angry spark of defiance, but something... something that set him apart from the multitude of dull-eyed, downtrodden slaves she’d seen and owned. Something bright and improbably strong.
Something about that made her want to toy with him, push him harder and harder and see what it would take to break him. It was a desire constantly at war with the part of her which knew perfectly well how valuable John was. She didn’t think she’d ever had a slave who would have done this well under this level of pressure. Maybe Equius’s initial exorbitant asking price for John had been fairer than she had thought.
Not that she would have paid it anyway, of course.
Quite apart from everything else there was the way he moved. There was a strangely attractive grace to his movements, and Vriska got the odd sense that despite his docile nature, he could actually be dangerous if he was ever motivated to fight back. Vriska sometimes found herself watching him, studying him, in a way that distantly reminded her of how her lusus had watched prospective meals (and when she thought about it enough the similarity disturbed her, but she tried to put this out of her mind).
He was intriguing. She’d have to keep him around. If nothing else, he could prove to be an amusement.
==>
If there was one good thing about his extra workload, it was the fact that John had mostly been able to avoid interacting with Vriska’s crew entirely. Hopefully they knew the rules as well as he did, that Vriska’s slaves were off-limits, but he wasn’t counting on it and he dreaded the night he would have to refuse a command from one of them because Vriska’s orders took priority. It would probably be better than going against her, all things considered, but it still wasn’t going to be pleasant.
He wished he could speak more with his fellow slaves, learn more about them and about life on Vriska’s ship. That had proven impossible, however. He just didn’t have enough time. Part of him wondered if that was one of the reasons Vriska was working him so hard, using isolation as a tactic to keep him in line. It seemed to line up with what he knew of her. She was not the sort to beat him senseless as an intimidation tactic. Vriska played subtler games.
John was scrubbing down a corridor near the crew’s personal quarters when the sound of footsteps on metal alerted him to someone’s approach. Carefully he kept his eyes downcast and kept working, throwing his weight against the mop and scrubbing more vigorously than ever. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a troll coming down the corridor toward him - not Vriska, Vriska didn’t wear purple.
He swallowed hard. There were a couple seatrolls among her crew - probably disgraced in some way or they wouldn’t be running around with a disreputable cerulean-blood like her. He’d tried very hard to avoid any one-on-one encounters, but clearly that couldn’t last.
The seadweller’s footsteps slowed, then stopped, right in front of him.
“Slave.”
John paused in his work and stood up straight, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the floor at the seadweller’s feet. “Yes, sir.”
“Where is your mistress?”
“Likely on the bridge, sir.”
“Hn.” He could feel the troll looking him over, sweeping him with a detached gaze. “Go tell Nerale to meet me in my quarters in an hour. I have business with him.”
John steeled himself. “Sir, I have duties here from Mistress Serket, I can’t...”
“She isn’t here. I am. I gave you a direct order, slave.”
“I... apologize,” John said hesitantly, his heart pounding so hard that he could barely hear his own voice, “but I was told I am not permitted to carry messages except to Mistress Serket herself or follow any orders unless they were directly from--”
The seadweller’s hand shot out without warning and closed in a vice grip around John’s neck, crushing his windpipe. He choked, eyes going wide with fear as the troll’s claws dug into his skin hard enough to draw blood. The seadweller almost effortlessly lifted him until John’s feet were barely touching the floor and watched the human gasp for breath.
The troll hissed at him, baring needle-sharp teeth. “How dare you disrespect me,” he snarled. “Know your place, slave. I’m going to...”
“Kastim!”
The troll went pale at the sound of his name shouted with such ferocity and dropped his captive immediately. John collapsed into a heap on the ground, coughing and massaging his bruised throat. Looking up, he saw Vriska standing a few paces behind Kastim, her face twisted with a cold and deadly fury. He’d never heard her sound so angry.
Kastim immediately turned away from John with a nervous laugh and met his captain’s gaze. She was now coming straight at him, not running but still moving dangerously fast. “Captain--”
Vriska punched him hard in the gut, and as he reeled from the blow, she grabbed his neck and slammed him into the wall. She had pulled a sword from somewhere - John hadn’t seen her toss her dice, but she must have - and now forced the point under Kastim’s chin, making him tilt his head back.
“If you ever touch my property again,” Vriska said, her voice low and sharp and deadly, “I will make you wish you’d never hatched. Do I make myself quite clear?”
Kastim swallowed. “H-he - I only asked him to send a message for me, Captain, your slave was blatantly disrespecting me--”
“I find that hard to believe,” Vriska snarled, pushing the blade up a little harder. “John knows his place. You, however...” She leaned in, her face inches from his, and her voice became dangerously quiet. Kastim looked petrified. “A message for Nerale, hm? You think I don’t know that the two of you have been scheming behind my back? You think I’m so stupid that you could use my own slave against me? This is your last warning, Kastim. You take one step out of line--” She jerked the blade away, leaving a thin purple line on the seadweller’s throat, and stepped back. Shakily, Kastim’s hand came up to gingerly touch the cut.
“I understand,” he said, audibly unnerved. John could have sworn that the seadweller was taller than Vriska, but she seemed to tower over him now, as if he’d shrunk. If he’d ever had any doubts about how his owner was able to control crewmembers much higher on the hemospectrum than she was, they were gone.
“You digust me,” Vriska snapped. “Get out of my sight. Now.”
Kastim didn’t need to be warned twice, scrambling away from her and running down the corridor in the direction he’d come. Vriska watched him go with narrowed eyes, and then turned to John, putting away the blade. Instinctively he tensed as her gaze fell on him. He hadn’t done anything wrong, and at least her weapon was gone, but the fury had not quite left her face.
She stood over him and leaned down to reach for him, and John barely managed to keep himself from flinching. But all she did was take hold of his upper arm, and her grip was so unexpectedly gentle that John found himself staring at her in confusion. She pulled him to his feet, put her hands on his shoulders and held him at arm’s length, looking him over.
“Are you hurt?” Her tone was brusque. John shook his head.
“No, mistress.” It hurt to speak, his voice rasping.
Vriska leaned in, brushing her fingers lightly on the side of John’s neck. “You’re bruised,” she said, sounding displeased. “And it sounds as if he injured your throat. I’ll take it out of his hide.” She pulled her hands back, releasing him. “What were you doing in here, anyway?”
John swallowed painfully. “Cleaning, mistress.”
“You can stop. Go to the recovery block and tell the medic she has my permission to give you painkillers for your injury. You will then return to your respite block. Am I understood?”
For a minute John wasn’t sure he had understood. There was absolutely no kindness or sympathy in her voice - he was well aware she was merely taking care of her property, ensuring a tool was in good repair - but it didn’t fit with the kind of callousness he had come to expect from her, either. He wouldn’t have expected her to give any thought to whether he was in pain. He’d had masters before who would have expected him to work with broken bones or worse, and it was pleasantly surprising to discover that Vriska might not be one of them after all.
He’d been silent for too long. She frowned. “Am I understood, human?”
John bowed. “Understood.” He half turned to leave, then paused. “Why did you stop him, mistress?”
“He would have damaged something that belongs to me,” Vriska responded easily. “I will not tolerate disrespect from my crew or my property.” She looked John in the eyes, and he was able to hold her gaze for only a few seconds before biting his lip and looking down. “Now go.”
He bowed again and left, realizing with some surprise that he wasn’t quite as afraid of Vriska now. He could wind up on the receiving end of her violent wrath just as if not more easily than Kastim had, but the prospect became less and less frightening as the fine line he walked became more defined. With every encounter, she was less of an unknown. It was the unpredictability that frightened him most.
And it hadn’t escaped him that she hadn’t reprimanded him for asking that question.