Chapter Text
My owner hits me hard in the back of the head. "Go up there, boy, listen to me. Won't it be a relief to get rid of you?"
I listen to him, mostly because I wan to leave him as much as he wants me to leave. We at least agree on something.
There's always a chance I could get stuck with someone worse, but I'm willing to risk that for a shot at something better. I believed no slave owner was truly a good person, but I might be able to find one dumb enough they're almost nice.
Being up there, on the stage, in front of a huge crowd of people that I can tell are evil at heart, it's actually terrifying. I have never had to do this before, I've had the same owner my whole life. He sold my parents away a year ago, though, so I really lost all will for anything. What was it to live when you had nothing worth living for? He decided to sell me too when I wasn't doing as good of a job as he hoped. That was the first sign of hope I've seen in awhile.
Too many pairs of eyes to count (not that I could count very well to begin with) were staring at me, judging me. A lot of them would probably look me over, I was too skinny, too delicate. A loud voice called out facts, one's about me this time, not some other slaves. I realized this was actually happening to me. If I got lucky, I could be living like a king (as close as a slave can get) tomorrow, but if things go bad, then I could be dead by tomorrow. My life was up in the air.
I wasn't very interesting, I was marked down as a fairly normal slave, but then again, to them, we're all the same. After they finished talking about me, I could feel everyone looking at me. I looked down to my chained feet, the pressure of the audience getting to me. The silence stretched on for a long time, so much longer than it should, and what if I don't get bought? Will I be sent back? Will I just be killed, because really, what was it to loose yet another chair, to these people? Nothing, absolutely nothing, and the fact that I was human would never even occur to them.
"I'll buy him," a voice calls out from the crowd. I look up to find the man who said that, who is currently waving a hand in the air to be seen. I cannot see much of him, besides his arm, but from this distance it just looks like a normal arm to me. Not one belonging to an especially nice person, or a fantastically mean one. it was just an arm. Can you tell someone's personality by their arm?
I was quickly pushed off of the stage and into a waiting area for my new owner to pick me up. I was officially away from my old owner, hopefully this new one won't beat me everyday. Or if he did, he'd at least wait for old bruises to heal before making new ones. My body needed a break from it's harsh treatment, it needed a rest.
There are a few other slaves in the waiting area, ones who had also just recently been sold. they were all older than me, adults, but they had lost all the light from their eyes. They had dead eyes, they had they eyes of someone who had just given up. I was familiar with those eyes, my father had those same eyes and I wasn't far behind. I made a vow right then to never lose the light I had left, as long as I could help it.
Maybe someday, I can be me.
Rough hands, the only type of hands that have ever handled me, pulled on my shoulders, leading me towards what I was guessing was my owner.
We finally stop in front of a carriage, a godforsaken carriage, how rich was this person, and a young man was leaning against the side. He was beautiful, the kind of person who obviously had a much better upbringing than I had. He was probably in his early twenties, thirty years younger than my previous owner. His eyes were dark, but so damn bright, they could light up all of those slaves' eyes back there and still had some to spare. His hair fell over in a way that looked perfectly intentional, and he was dressed in only the finest clothes.
I already hated this man. I was going to fight him every step of the way I could. He wouldn't stand a chance.
I almost felt sorry for what a pain I would be to this man, but then I remembered he was the one buying slaves, he got himself into this.
"Hello," the man said when I was deposited in front of him. He was so damn charming, how nice, and his voice smooth and beyond pleasant. "I'm your new owner, Brendon Urie."
"Greetings, master," I say against every single fiber of my being. I knew I needed to act how I was expected for now, because we were still at the sale, I could always be sent back.
He smiled, obviously pleased by my behavior. Even his teeth were perfect, not crooked in any way. "Let's go now, I'm in a hurry, I can't dilly dally for too long. You'll get along fine with me, if you behave well."
I wanted to scream to tell him what a stupid asshole he really was. Instead, I nodded respectfully and climbed into the carriage where he told me to.
The journey wasn't smooth, but it was so much better than the crappy cart my previous own had tugged me here in.
"What is your name?" Brendon asked. I probably couldn't refer to him as Brendon to his face, how disrespectful, oh my, but in my head I could do as I damn well please.
I waited before murmuring, "Ryan."
He repeated my name, as if testing it out on his tongue. "Hmm, I've never heard such a name before. Interesting."
I resisted the urge to laugh, Of course he hadn't, it was a name native to my people. Maybe he's know that if his people had learned a little about mine instead of enslaving us.