Chapter Text
A Place Like This
Part 1
Her scent preceded her. A clean, floral breeze that danced atop the stench of piss, blood and filth. She did not belong here. Her shoes and linens were far too clean. Everything about her was too fresh and too white to be in a place like this.
“My Lady, you must be lost. This is no place for you,” said the beast master as he met her before the row. It was auction day. She wasn't the only human inspecting the mutants for sale. But she was the only one who clearly did not belong. The other humans were of dust and filth, just like this part of the market. Used to working with unruly beasts, both human and inhuman as they haggled out in the open, or sometimes, behind closed doors. They were used to the sale of live bodies and dangerous creatures. Shrewd in their dealings of buying and selling of souls until their usefulness ran out.
“If you are looking for a pet, you have found the wrong market,” the beast master continued. “These are all dangerous creatures. Too rough and wild for someone as fair as you.”
She regarded the beast master; a large man, scarred on his face and arms as evidence of his livelihood. A minute frown pursed her lips.
“I am not looking for a pet. I need something...more.” She slipped past him and walked along the row of chained mutants for sale. They were big with long claws and sharp fangs. Most were bigger than a human with haunted, wary eyes. Used to whips and violence, and the filth of the markets and other dark places where they were trafficked.
“Do they understand when I speak? Do they listen?” she continued.
The beast master followed her, still not convinced she was in the right place. “They understand. But listening, that I can't guarantee. These are wild, feral animals, My Lady. Whatever you are looking for, you will not find it here.”
She ignored him and continued up the row, eyeing each creature. “I need something big, scary, but something I can trust. Like a guard dog.”
She stopped in front of a jackal mutant; dark furred and yellow-eyed. It looked at her calmly, but wary. She stepped forward and it lunged, jaws out. She jerked back as spittle sprayed her. The chains held the mutant for a moment. But at the second lunge, the stake holding its chains loosened from the ground.
The woman of white linen and flower scent fell back as the first touch of fangs made contact with her arm. But a scrape was all they managed. Even as the beast master lunged forward with his whip, the jackal was already yanked back. The small hint of freedom seemed to have made the beast feral. It snarled and clawed and snapped its jaws, but a much larger mutant had a hold of its chain. Green; thick-skinned and shelled. Limbs big like tree trunks.
This turtle mutant made no sound as he hauled the jackal back. Pinned the leaner canine down with a big hand on its back, then the other on its head while it growled and snapped. He held the jackal down until the humans of the market managed to get it properly restrained once more.
“As I said, My Lady,” the beast master repeated as the woman stood and dusted herself off, “this is no place for you.”
She paid him no mind as she approached the turtle mutant, now standing back in his place, waiting to be sold. He was covered in scars from head to toe. Grizzled and tired. But there was nothing aggressive about him. She stepped up to the line, the one put in place to keep all potential buyers at a safe distance. When the turtle did nothing, she stepped closer.
“My Lady!” the beast master called. “Stay behind the line.”
He knew beasts, but so did she. She looked up at the turtle as he gazed down at her.
“You protected me,” she told him.
“That one is from the gladiator pits,” another of the merchants said, speaking mostly to the beast master. “Very aggressive. He was retired due to his leg. He is useless in a fight now.”
She glanced down at his leg. A crude bandage wrapped around his thigh and over his knee. The flesh was swollen and red, and stank with infection.
“My Lady,” the beast master tried again. There was slight aggravation in his tone now as he tried to guide her back across the line. “If you tell me what you are looking for, I will help you find something with a more agreeable temperament. This one...this one is worth more if it were cut up and sold in pieces than in the state it is now.”
She glanced over to address the beast master and then the turtle caught her attention. His hulking form lowered and knelt before her, though it clearly pained him to do so. She knew most of the mutants could at least voice a few words, but she was still startled when the turtle spoke. His voice was deep, but dry like leaves before the first snow. Like his voice was being used for the first time in years.
“I understand and I listen, My Lady,” he rasped. “Take me outta here and I'll serve you 'til my last breath.”
She reached to him. Paused slightly before her fingers brushed the top of his scarred head. Still in contact, she sucked in a breath, closed her eyes, then let it out.
“This one,” she announced and smartly turned to the beast master. “This one shall be delivered to my estate.”
“My Lady,” he tried once again to convince her. “This mutant...this one is not for you. He is for the butcher. He would be worth more to you if you sold his meat and his shell.”
She raised her head, determined. “Then his meat and shell will be mine, in one form or another. I will buy him.”
**************
Raphael was boxed up into a crate and wheeled through the city. It wasn't a new sensation to him to be bought and sold like property. The various brands of different owners on his body were a testament to that. But this was the first time he had ever been delivered to this part of town. The part with the big estates. Massive houses where everything was clean and white. Large plots of lands, green with hedges trimmed weekly. Where it seemed like the dust and filth of his world couldn't reach.
He was in a new world now. As he stared at the estate through the bars of his cage, Raphael wondered if he would be safe here, or if this would be his final resting place.
The estate was huge. White marble and plush red rugs. The place had fucking house staff, which all looked beside themselves when his cage was delivered. There was an older woman that seemed to be in charge. She too looked a bit overwhelmed with this delivery, but had no problem facing off with the men who delivered him.
“Well, what am I supposed to do with this?” she motioned to Raphael in his cage.
“Not my problem,” replied one of the two men. “We just deliver. What you do with that thing is your business. Sign here for the creature.”
The woman signed, but she did so with a severe frown. And when the men began to open his cage, she balked.
“What...what are you doing? You can't just let that thing out!”
“Only the mutant was paid for, not the cage,” the other man responded as if he had heard it all before.
The cage door was opened and Raphael knew the drill. Still adorned in chains, he limped out and into the sun. Even the sunlight felt cleaner here; more energizing instead of hot and brutal. His infected leg prevented him from moving too fast, but he was no stranger to pain. It was a dull, hot ache which simmered in the background of everything else that had happened to him lately. An hour before, he thought he was for sure going to the meat market and now...he was in this place.
One of the men handed this woman the tail end of his chains and the key to his shackles. “He's all yours. Good luck.”
The woman, who was most likely the head of the house staff, held both items dumbly as the men packed up to leave. “Wait! You're just going? You're not going to do anything to make sure we're protected from this...creature?”
The men looked to her and then to Raphael who had done nothing else but stand there. “He's your problem now. He doesn't seem to be too much of a handful. Hell, with the state of him, he may be dead in a few days anyway. Good luck.”
They left the woman huffing with the chain in her hand. Now she nearly looked too angry to be scared of him. And in this moment, Raphael had a realization. He could easily tear himself away from the befuddled woman and lumber off to freedom. But he also knew it would be a short freedom. If he left the grounds, if he showed any sign of violence, it would be his death. This world of humans would not tolerate his life for long.
So he looked down calmly at the woman and her small cadre of house staff, all staring at him as if he would run rampant at any moment.
“I will go where ever you want me to,” Raphael spoke, causing them all to jump. “I won't hurt anyone.”
A few of the other staff members still looked unsure, but the older woman seemed satisfied enough. She still looked distrustful and not at all happy with the hand—or turtle—she had been dealt. But she gripped his chain and led him forward. “Come along, then. We'll see what we can do to get you presentable.”
Raphael obediently followed like a dog on a leash. Nothing here was dangerous. He didn't have to fight for food, he didn't have to keep an eye on his back. He was so tired of fighting off creatures more feral than himself. This was a nice change of pace. He would gladly walk around this whole estate for days instead of going back to the pits or the market.
He was taken to a large trough of water where he was told to strip out of what scrap of a loincloth he still wore and to clean himself. They didn't unchain him and Raphael didn't care as he sat in the cool water and sighed. It was a hot summer day and this felt amazing to his turtle instincts. He could live here in this trough, chains or no chains.
No one requested he leave the water, so Raphael stayed for some time. He had actually fallen asleep when a gruff voice cleared his throat. He opened his lids half way to find a large man standing over him with a leather bag in his hand. Raphael had seen this man before. He was one of the few mutant medics. He had often heard people refer to them has a type of veterinarian in jest. But maybe they were just that. After all, he was an animal.
“I was hired to patch up your leg.” The man was curt. His voice told he had no time for foolery. “Get out.”
Long used to obeying a rough voice, Raphael heaved himself out of the water. He sat on the concrete floor as the doctor poked and prodded at his wound with no care for his comfort. The turtle was used to pain and barely flinched. Not until the doctor began to squeeze the wound to clear out the bacteria and puss. He jerked a bit from the pain and growled, but the doctor had seen far moodier mutants in his time. It wasn't too long before Raphael's wound stung cleanly of antiseptic, wrapped in a tight bandage.
Afterward, Raphael was given a pair of linen trousers to wear and was escorted into a side part of the main house. Inside, there was a wood table and a sturdy chair, and food. Actual food. Not grainy slop, not dirty near-rotted items from the market that could no longer be sold for human consumption. Actual good food: fruits and vegetables, bread, meat.
Raphael hesitated. There was no way this was for him. He had to be dreaming. The head of the household motioned him to sit. “For you, from our mistress. Eat. And behave yourself.”
Raphael didn't need to be told twice. He tried to remember what little manners her knew and ate carefully, but hungrily. While he was fed regularly as a fighter in the pits, once he was determined too wounded to go back in the ring, all resources had been cut off. He hadn't eaten for two days.
This was all too good to be true. He ate, but cautiously. As if suspicious of making even a single wrong move and it would all be taken away.
No one came to take his food. However, the woman from the market, still smelling of a fresh breeze and flowers, came into the room. Raphael paused the shoveling of food into his face as she stepped forward with the key and unshackled him. The chains fell heavily to the floor and Raphael eyed the woman carefully as she sat herself in the chair opposite of him.
“I hope these accommodations have been to your liking,” she said politely.
Raphael chewed and swallowed. “Best I've ever been treated in a long time.”
“You can continue to have this and more, as long as you are loyal to me. Betray me, and you go back to the meat market and I'll hang your shell on my wall.”
He licked his teeth. “Seems fair. But I need you to tell me why I'm here. What do you want me to do for you?”
She shifted slightly, squaring her shoulders. “My husband was murdered two days ago. He had many enemies and now I fear for my life. I fear there may be eyes and ears within these walls. I needed someone from outside, someone without any ties who only has loyalty to me. Your job will be to protect me. As long as I am alive, you will never know hunger or cold. You will live in comfort for the rest of your days. Do we have a deal?”
“I already told ya,” Raphael said seriously. “I'd serve you until my dying breath for getting me out of there. I meant every word.”
His new mistress leveled her gaze at him, looking satisfied. “Then we part when one of us dies.”