Pretty Woman

[Merieu]

(( The content of this may get mature. If you're not into lovey doveyness, slavery, or gore, then I think you should go and have a nice cup of coffee and think about your future instead of reading this, the equivalent of literary junk food. ))

Blindingly bright sunlight poured through a broken glass window and into a one-room hovel. A surly man sat back in a chair, sipping Jailed Pheasant out of the bottle, rifle lazily sitting on his lap. Julia was fiddling with her shackles, trying to block out the wailing of the nine other girls in the room. Most of them were twenty-something, but a couple were teenagers, and one couldn't have been older than thirteen. All of them were chained up, including Julia.

Rexx, the hellhole city of fifty million and counting down. Just visiting makes you a hard person. Growing up there gives you a hard soul. Julia had been born there in a neighborhood by the docks, where entertainment for sailors and dockworkers springs up. Brothels, pubs, flea casinos, that sort of stuff. Her dad lifted boxes, and the temptations of all the entertainment available meant his tiny pay went to drinks and hoes instead of bread and diapers. Julia’s mom left him, but didn't take the kids. It was a shitty way to grow up, but Julia made do picking pockets, getting to know smart guys who ran cons, and having the occasional good day running smuggled items for the local Old Leader gang. Julia liked to think she was sly, but the cops caught her, and then she thought otherwise.

Technically, by law, a citizen of Merieu couldn't be sold into slavery. But the thing with committing a crime is you get your citizenship revoked. So, if some officer wants to make extra money, all they have to do is “witness” a crime, give up the offender to the police department’s “for sale” section, and schmooze their way into getting in on the take.

So now, here she was, about to be sold into slavery. Legally. Maybe she should have felt madder or sadder than she was. Like, maybe she should be thinking about how some warlord in a third world country was going to skull-fuck daily. But after years of living in Rexx, the whole idea of anxiety over wrongdoings seemed alien.

Just then, another man walked into the room; a goon, armed with a cheap rifle. He yelled at the girls who were crying, and hit the thirteen year-old with the butt of the rifle.

If this were the street, and she had backup, maybe she would have said something, but common sense of the streets says you don’t pick fights when you’re outnumbered and outgunned. Doubly so if you’re shackled. The two men started talking and started talking with the seated man.

“When’s this guy supposed to show up?” said the standing man.

“Don’t know. They always arrive late,” replied the seated man.

“They?”

“I mean, there’s been a lot of similar guys buying these girls ten at a time. They’re all real stuffy. Like, they don't want to be buying girls, but they have to for some business project. They work for a corp, I forgot to mention. And they leer, and talk all condescending, like we're the bad guys.”

“Pricks.”

“I ain’t saying they're all bad. More money coming our way.”

“Heh, right! Shoot, after this I can get me a new car.”

And then they started talking about low-end cars that were the envy of every petty crook.

Julia had stopped fiddling with her shackles to listen to the conversation. None of it sounded great. Some corporation buying up a ton of girls for a 'project?' That meant any chance some white knight nation would show up and rescue them was out of the question. They'd be going to some research facility for testing, or some sick shit like that.

Julia resumed frantically finicking with the shackles. She'd be damned to die a slave.

[Cilistia Novaren]

"This fucking city will be the end of me...drive faster, would you?" Clesav muttered angrily to his comrade, not for the first time. The truck sputtered and hummed louder in response as it went bumping along the narrow and dirty road. Everything about this place was dirty; the roads, the buildings, the people. The people were the worst of it, the thick crowds of dirty peasants walking along the roads, only bothering to give the rare vehicle a glance when they had to dive out of its way when they tried to walk out in front of it. Had no one taught them to look both bloody ways before crossing? That was primary school, if not common sense! The people walked slowly along the thin streets, most of them dirty-faced and strong-armed men heading to work on the docks or in some factory somewhere, and just as many probably to jobs not nearly so honest. Already in their little drive from their ship at the dockyard to the pickup Clesav had seen at least eight whores, three chain-gang style work groups, and even a fistfight. A fistfight! In the middle of the streets and with dozens egging the combatants on from outside! Even worse than all of that, though, was the buckets of filth he had seen people throwing out of their windows into the dark alleyways below, due to a complete lack of a proper sanitation system! One of those bucketfuls had landed on an old beggar...

Clesav buried his nose into his handkerchief again at the thought , sucking in what little perfumed scent it had left. This entire place left him feeling dirty, his gelled and combed black hair and impeccable suit of the same colour aside. Of course, his clothing was hardly a benefit to this either, as he pulled on his tie once again. How did people wear these sorts of things? The blasted thing was so many different pieces, and loose in all the wrong places. He missed his proper white varelan, with its short cropped tails and double breasted buttons, the proper uniform of his position as a diplomatic corps worker. His coworker was dressed in much the same way, though with a pair of black sunglasses as well, and with a blue suit, the same as the two other fellows riding in the back of the truck. Those poor sods had to face the brunt of the outside air without even a window to shield them, though Clesav knew that they were probably made of sterner stuff. Inside each of their coats they each had a pistol concealed, and wore a thin layer of body armour, just in case anything went awry. The only protection Clesav had was the metal suitcase he held in his lap now, filled with the paper bills of local currency. It was only when he had left their ship that Clesav had realized that their relatively unprotected vehicle and smartly-dressed men inside probably had a few of the city's footpads and other unsavory sorts looking in their direction...the thoughts unnerved him. Even with their primitive weapons, which still relied on gunpowder, they could still pierce his heart just as easily as the rail pistols his comrades carried. Thankfully their truck was not that expensive, and their boat was heavily armoured. The sooner he could get back there, the better.

"We are nearly there, sir" the guard who was driving him broke the silence after a short while, pointing down one of the roads to an abandoned-looking building that looked like it used to be some sort of motel. Or it could have been brand new with booming business, Clesav couldn't tell for certain in this city of the damned. They pulled into the near abandoned lot, the only other vehicle being another 'pick-up-truck', but this one far more rusted and looking as if it may die at any moment. They growled to a stop in front of the place, and when the car was turned off Clesav could hear dogs barking in the distance and...was that a gunshot? No, it didn't matter. He had a job to do, and he simply wanted to get it done with. He stepped out of the car, the same as the guard who drove, and told the two others sitting in the back to wait by the car. They got out and took positions at either side of the vehicle. He handed his driver the suitcase of money as he followed Clesav up to one of the doors, number 7. It had a half-shattered window and Clesav could smell the thick stench of alcohol coming from inside, and a faint crying. He braced himself for what he was about to see with another quick snuff from his perfumed handkerchief before putting it back in his pocket, and knocked four times before opening the door.

What he found inside could hardly shock him, but it was not a pleasant sight to behold either. Two men were in the corner of the room, one seated on a chair which could hardly contain him, the other leaning against a wall. They both had large, crude, cheap rifles in their hands and seemed to be sharing a bottle of alcohol. On the opposite wall sat the ten girls, all of them scantily clad and more than one with tears streaming down their cheeks. One of them, a girl that seemed below fifteen at the absolute most, seemed to have quite a large bruise developing on the side of her face. Clesav frowned inwardly at that, but did not show the emotion, or at least tried his best not to. He looked then immediately to the two men as his guard closed the door behind him. The stench inside was even worse than out, and it was all Clesav could do to keep from retching. He settled to cover up his disgust as a coughing fit into his handkerchief, though it quickly turned from a feign.

"If I may inquire which of you two gentlemen is in charge here?" He demanded of them briskly yet politely when his fit ended, his mouth nearly twisting on the word 'gentlemen' as he padded his more than likely bright red nose. "My name is Williamson, I am here to make a purchase."

[Merieu]

The two men looked on at the others, bewildered. It was as if they’d never seen anyone like them. The more corpulent man got up from his chair slowly, and brought his rifle up to his chest, where it was clearly visible. His grimy wifebeater was so thoroughly stained with sweat, it was little more than a translucent window to a hairy blob of a body.

“’A’d be me,” he grunted. The other man slid back into the corner with the booze. "Let's get through this quick: we take the money, and we keep our guns on you 'till these girls leave the room. And you better have the money. I'm sick of dealing with fucking scrubs today."

Julia had to admit looking on at the men who entered with a bit of awe herself, wracking her brain for the best words to describe them. Smooth? Refined? Regal? Majestic? None of those did them justice. The man in front seemed so completely out of his element in this place. He’d probably have a breakdown if any more dirt got on his fabulous frocks. And he did have fabulous frocks; a tailored outfit, hair done up like a movie star, and an embroidered handkerchief hanging from his front pocket. He looked like he belonged in a palace, having his nails done by slaves.

Slaves. The nature of her existence went to the top of her mind again.

The shackles weren't going to come off. She’d need something sharp, and several hours alone to get them off, neither of which available. There was no way to scout the area outside. It was a given these buyers would bound her up as well. Her best and only chance was to escape in some brief time of unrestraint. But was that ever going to happen? Wouldn't they leave these shackles on until the deal was done?

Julia sighed. The other girls had shut up then. Even the barely-pubescent twerp, who’d moments before been wailing her guts out, got silent. They stared up at men wide-eyed with wonder. Maybe they thought they were safe. The uneducated, or at least not street-savvy, seemed to live in a fantasy world where the quality of someone’s dress was directly a measure of how good they were as a person overall. Julia had learned long ago the opposite was true; the nicer their clothes, the dirtier they were.
So in absence of any plan but prayer, Julia leaned back, and breathed a huge gulp of dusty, filthy air. It had made her aware again of the horrifying air quality that people took for granted through their lifetimes of breathing it.

She closed her eyes and kept breathing. Focusing her attention only on breathing made it harder to think about what her fate was to be.

[Cilistia Novaren]

Well that was an interesting response, to say the least Clesav thought to himself at the rather blunt response on the part of the dirty little man who answered him. That rifle was brandished a bit too clearly for his taste, as well. At least the other girl stopped crying and that was when he noticed out of the corner of his eye that all of the slaves had their eyes fixed on him, some in reactions of fear, others in awe. It made him uncomfortable, all their eyes on him, even more so when he considered how terrible their past must have been and what they were thinking about him right now. Do they think I am off to take them for myself? Or to sell them to some dictator or abusive owner to rape and beat them?.

"...Yes, I can imagine so, in this business." He said diplomatically, "I have the money here" he gestured to the suitcase his comrade was carrying, "you shall get it once the girls are in my car. Now, before we go on with this, if I may examine the...purchase?" He felt uncomfortable saying that sort of thing, calling these people a 'purchase', but that was all these people were to the two men with rifles. Animals, to be used only for entertainment and pleasure, and more than likely to be slaughtered once their use was done. Once the man had approved his wish, he nodded and turned to the girls, their eyes still on him, a mixture of sadness and fear. It was enough to break a man's heart. He reached into his coat and pulled out the datapad that was to be his notepad, along with the small stylist stored inside it. He went to the first girl, yet before he could ask his first question of her, she stood up and reached down to grab her tattered shirt, as if to remove it. Her eyes focused intently on his shoes.

"What are you do- no, no!" he said, rather annoyed, though more at the situation than at the girl. Is this the sort of thing that she was bred for? It made him sick to see such a thing, and yet it was so common in the galaxy. Why, compared to some other slave-keeping nations, these girls led a life of luxury. He waved his hand in the air a bit, telling her to stop. She did so, but seemed confused as to what was going on. He sighed before continuing, "This is not to be that sort of interview. Now please, what is your name?"

He continued like this for each and every one of them, asking simple things: their name, age, after their family, and other such things. It surprised him that some did not even know how to answer. For one of them, the one that seemed youngest and had been crying when he walked in, had a very large bruise developing on the side of her face. He did not ask her how she got it, he had a good enough idea, and likely she would just tell him some ridiculous tale about how she fell. He simply marked it down and moved on to the last girl at last. This one seemed a tad different than the others, she answered with a little more force, though not much, and seemed to have a look in her eyes that had not completely given up yet. Giving her a quick glance, Clesav noted that her ankles seemed to be more raw and closer to bleeding than the other girls, around the chained bracelets used to keep them all together. This one had been trying to escape. Interesting.

"And what is your name?" he asked, taking another deep snuff of his perfumed handkerchief before taking up his pen again.

[Merieu]

"None of your goddamn business," Julia said through gritted teeth.

The men had so far lived up to their foppish appearance. They left behind a smug aura of superiority wherever they went. They wouldn't even let the girl take her top off, like that would actually be unpleasant. What were they, gay? By their appearance and mannerisms, maybe. The man in front of her, probably their leader, inhaled into the handkerchief of his coat pocket, and a waft of lovely smelling perfume hit her nose. It was a wonderful smell. Never in all her life had she smelt something that great. Only now was she recalling distant childhood memories of the scent, where maybe she'd passed through a nicer part of town, or scratched a perfume ad in a magazine. It was a joyful contrast to the air she breathed. She'd wished she could get closer to him and breath the perfume, as a replacement for the hideous stench-choked dust-air.

Being their slaves, though, would probably let her do just that.

Julia thought of something to say quickly. Street life was a boy's club. A little girl on the streets had to let everyone know she was business.

"You going to stand there and stare all day? How about you take a picture? It'll last longer."

The corpulent man laughed in heaving booms.

"'At one there's Julia," he said, "She's a right nasty bitch. Put Sammy 'ere in the sleeper hold. Took three other guys to pry 'er off once we had 'er! 'An when we tried to take her clothes 'an break 'er in, if 'ya know what I mean, she nearly ripped a guy's pecker off! Oh yeah, if you like feisty girls, she's the one!"

"Fuck you!" Julia screamed, "I'd chop your dick off too, but it's so small I'd need tweezers and a microscope!"

The fat man and skinny one, apparently Sammy, both guffawed.

"If you'd like, we could leave her out 'a the deal. But if we're all set 'ere, let's get a move on." The fat man punched Sammy in the arm, and he went up to the girls waving his rifle, corralling them out the door. Julia didn't budge.

"Move it, 'ya little bitch!" Sammy smacked Julia with his rifle, but she still didn't move. It hurt alright, but she just grit her teeth and bared it. Her life wasn't supposed to end like this. Sold off to a bunch of fops to be raped god-knows-where. She had plans. Rummy Six-Gun, the biggest Old Leader in Rexx, had noticed her. One of his lieutenants said so. That was about as close to a job offer as you got in the city underworld. But now she could kiss even a life in organized crime goodbye.

Sammy seemed to notice this, and instead of whacking her, knelt down and spoke.

"Listen girly," he said in a low voice, "don't fight it anymore. This is the way things are now. If you're really such hot shit, how come no one's come for you? How come you even got caught at all? If you had any friends, they sure as shit didn't look far for 'ya."

And this sad fact was true. It didn't help her sadness at all, but the hopelessness of the situation was finally apparent.

Sammy took her by the arm. "Come on," he said, "I don't like this much more than you do."

She stood up and walked outside to a nice pickup truck with the other girls. The fat man had the briefcase of money now, while Sammy had his gun out on display. As the girls climbed into the open back of the truck. Julia looked into the car's side-view mirror. Her skin was bruised. Her time outside these days had made it orange instead of its usual sun-kissed glow. Her dirty blonde hair looked much lighter now, like sandy blonde, and her brown freckles had become more pronounced. Her normally grey eyes had become auburn. If it weren't for the red circles and bagginess from two hours of sleep every forty-eight, they'd make her look kind of pretty, like a surfer girl.

Especially considering the rags she got when they took her. The midriff was nonexistent, the top was so baggy all someone had to was be taller than her and they'd get a good look at her tits, and the skirt, or rather cut-up potato sack, was so short a gentle breeze would let everyone see her panties. And she had panties, damn it. She had to fight to keep them, but she had them.

Then she had an idea. She kept her head low, and looked into the main fop's eyes. Her eyes were watery, and she stretched her face like she going to break into tears any minute. She was really about to cry, but in her mind was the idea that maybe, as a crying eighteen year-old in clothes so skimpy a hooker would blush, the fop's dick would take over thinking long enough to have some sympathy and set her free.

[Cilistia Novaren]

Clesav observed the happenings quietly, and took down his notes, as the slaver and his charge argued. How simple it was for morale and discipline both to break down so completely in such an environment. He was less concerned with the insulting remarks the girl shot towards him, however, and far more interested in how the slaver responded...as one of the men- the skinnier one- led the girl named Julia out to where her compatriots were already being led into the back of the truck, he turned to the fatter one. The fool had a grin on his face that threatened to split it in two, either from the alcohol or from the show he had gotten, or both.

"Break her in", Clesav quoted the man, "No, sir, I am afraid I do not understand what you mean by that sort of thing. Please, do elaborate." He pulled out his pen again, as the smile slowly lowered from the mans face. He tried to explain to Clesav while being diplomatic, and insisted that it was never in the purchase order that the girls be maidens...it helped to make things easier for the next owner. That was when Clesav stopped him.

"No, sir, it was not in the order request for them to retain their womanhood, but it was certainly not requested in the order that they be harmed or, as you so simply put it, be 'broken in'. I refer not only to this incident, but a few of those girls seemed to be covered in bruises and welts. I will not ask you how many you raped and abused before I arrived here, but my employer does not appreciate paying such great amounts for...damaged property." Again, he hated to say such things. He was actually surprised at how very bold he was being here, and thought- as he snuffed into his handkerchief again- that he may get something of a bonus for his efforts! "A fourth of the total value shall be deducted from payment, and I am sure that you shall be thankful that my employer does not take this up with your own. I am sure that neither side would like to loose such...business. Is that understood, sir?"

The fat little man seemed shocked at this, and after a few quick, furtive glances out to his companion- who was outside, seemingly attempting to start conversation with one of Clesav's guards, whom would have none of it- took a long gulp out of his rank smelling bottle and agreed.

"Perfect," Clesav said, hiding his sigh of relief as another sniff of perfume. He flicked his wrist then, after putting his pen away, "Pay the man" and he walked away as his companion began counting out the money to be given to the fat man, whose ear to ear grin seemed to have reappeared. He went outside to where the last of the girls were climbing into the back of the vehicle slowly, but a few remaining on foot. That included the aggressive one, Julia. But then...something seemed...different about her.

Her eyes seemed glassy, and she looked as if she were on the verge of a breakdown. Her skimpy clothing made her look positively pitiful, and the very image that had been drilled into his mind of the slave of a truly barbaric and savage nation. It was enough to nearly break his heart. She couldn't be, what, a few years younger than his own two and twenty years? He frowned at her, and looked to her companions being herded into the back. No doubt they all thought that he was the harbinger of even worse, more unspeakable things...if rape was the slaver's idea of 'breaking them in' then he did not want to think about what these poor girls had been told would be happening to them. Why, if he were in such a situation, he would do anything to escape...anything to escape. The thought occurred to him again. He looked back down to the girl...she seemed to be puffing out her chest a bit more now. So that was her game...clever.

Clesav cleared his throat then and averted his eyes, and used his handkerchief to dab his eyes. Apparently he was more emotional than he thought. He walked away from the girls then, leaving Julia behind him, and went into his seat in the car as a guard took her to step into the back.

"Be careful with that one," he responded, voice rather blank of emotion, "Keep her close at hand until we reach the ship. She seems a bit more violent." He would have to be careful about his emotions in the future...

His driver got back into the car then, still holding a fourth of the money in a suitcase which he handed to Clesav. When he looked out the window, Clesav could see the fat man still inside, counting the money and cackling, the skinny man going back in to do the same. The back of the truck was shut, and the two other guards watched over the girls, one of which had his eyes fixed on Julia as to make sure she did not try any sort of funny business before they could reach the ship. He heard a few girls weeping quietly back there...damn Imperial protocol, requiring such secrecy until a secure location is reached!

Though, on the ride back to the docks, he could see why there was such a need for it. He could not count the number of whistles and japes he heard directed towards him, his men, and the girls, and most of them were things he would dare not even think, let alone say aloud! This was a dangerous place indeed...he had to remind himself that indeed he was taking part in saving these girls, and the accusations hurled at him from the local peasantry had no grounds in reality...no matter how pretty he had thought the aggressive girl was.

It was about twenty minutes later that the truck was well outside of the city, and surrounded by what seemed to be an endless, hot, abandoned plain. The city could be seen in the distance, but in twenty minutes they had gotten as far as they could, increasing speed greatly on the poorly maintained dirty roads to get to what Clesav deemed as safe. It was here that they stopped and everyone was allowed out of the vehicle for a short while. The girls were allowed to stretch their legs, and were told to go to the restroom if need be, but they had to remain in sight. Water was passed around, then, and Clesav himself helped to bring the bucket and ladle around, offering consoling words where he could. He once again came to Julia, and held out the remaining water to her.

"We have another good hour to go before we reach the docks," he said, figuring it would not hurt too much if they knew their general direction, "swallow your pride and drink. There will be more when we get to my ship."

[Merieu]

Swallow her pride?

Julia fiddled with her rags, and looked on at the other girls in the distance.

Pride was a luxury she couldn't afford.

Julia was sitting on a rock, legs up to her chest, looking on at the sun-soaked dusty plains. It was nothing but flat brown vastness. She couldn't make a break for it. Seducing the gay fop didn't work. Turning up the heat would only make him, if he had any feelings at all for girls, want to keep her.

She weighed her options. A; run across an open plain and almost certainly get re-captured or flat-out killed. B, be a good little slave girl and do whatever master says so he won't kill and rape you first. C, suck the gay out of his dick until he mistakes lust for love and starts treating you like a human being.

Julia brooded on it for a few seconds. She chose D; stop giving a fucks and start making an escape plan.

"This isn't drugged, is it?" she said to the water bottle. She shrugged, swiped it from the man's hands, and chugged it down. Little streams of water fell like water droplets off of tree leaves. "And you want to see pride? Find me some real clothes. Crack whores wouldn't wear this."

[Cilistia Novaren]

"I would hardly earn my Candle by poisoning a slave," he responded. He was growing a bit tired of this one's sarcasm, even the sniveling little girl was easier to deal with. Clesav wondered not for the first time how she would react to the news when they finally arrived at the docks, and even moreso when their ship would arrive at their secondary location. Part of him wished he could share the truth with them, but until they were safely away, it was far too much a risk. If one should escape, or let slip their tongue to some dock worker, things could become far more complicated very quickly. At least she was drinking the water, and so wouldn't die of thirst out here. He frowned at her next bit of speech, as improper as ever, though that was only to be expected he supposed...

"You and all of your...companions," he tried to choose his words wisely, "shall be receiving more proper clothing once we reach the ship. Trust me when I say that it would be in your best interest to simply play nicely until we get there." He took back the now empty bucket and handed it off to a guard as he walked in front of the entire group. He cleared his throat before he began speaking, and his cheeks blushed a tad as he realized that he had just made a mistake. None of these poor girls had yet to know what their fate would be, and so his last little message to Julia may be perceived as something completely different than it was really intended. A threat, rather than advice. She was a quiet one when it came to the other girls, but it was entirely possible that she would tell them what he had said. He had to undo that now, or else one of them may try and run, and that would only look bad on him and possible hurt the attempted escapee. He cleared his throat again. All eyes were on him now, save the guards who watched the girls keenly.

"We have an hour left to the journey, still." He said to them, "I offer my sincerest apologies that vital information is being kept from you, but please believe me when I say that it is in everyone's best interest that our final destination be kept a secret until we actually get there. For now, please let it suffice to say that we are heading to the docks, where we are to board a ship belonging to a...friend. There you shall be able to have a change of clothes, food, water, and proper washing facilities. When we do arrive, there shall be...others of your kind there, men and women both. Please simply cooperate with me until we reach our location, and then the situation shall be explained to you proper. I am at liberty only to tell you this; that your fate is not as dark as you may have been contemplating, and indeed it is likely a fair bit lighter. I say that to you on my honour. Now please, if you may all load back into the vehicle, we may be off again."