kc_obrien: Two hands grip the sides of a gurney, bound there by tourniquet tubing. (bound)
[personal profile] kc_obrien
Author's Note: Story contains elements of human trafficking. Reader discretion is advised.


The first thing Tom noticed when he woke up was the pinch he felt between his shoulders, followed quickly by the raw ache of his wrists. He opened his eyes and found only darkness. "What the fuck!"

"Looks like the boy is finally awake." An unfamiliar voice replied from somewhere across the room. A hand went into his hair and untied the blindfold, and he realized that after the darkness, the bright wasn't much better.

"Where am I?"

"You're at the Bayview Mall." The voice sounded closer this time. Female.

Tom blinked and tried his eyes again. They still hurt, but he could see. In front of him was a beautiful woman (Wasn't I supposed to remember something about a beautiful woman?) with Asian features that reminded him of the heroine of some cheesy, badly dubbed Kung Fu movie that was all mouth and sass until she pissed off the wrong person and Jackie Chan or Jet Li had to go on a kill-crazy rampage to save her life. She wore a tight little sleeveless dress in an Oriental print with a high open collar.


His body twitched involuntarily as he realized he was in one, struggling against the bindings that left him completely open to anything they might do to them. The man who had removed the blindfold moved to put himself between Tom and the woman. The guy looked like a bouncer on steroids; tight jeans, tighter black t-shirt, sunglasses, crew cut and a scary looking collar.


He bit his lip and looked up at the beautiful Asian woman. "Bayview," he parroted, trying to shift to get more comfortable. "Bayview Mall in-"

"San Francisco." She looked like a model, from her perfect face to her gray eyes to the artful way her hair was put up. How old was she? Maybe twenty? Maybe?

"I'm in California." Tom was dumbfounded, trying to remember what the hell had happened. The last thing that came to mind was fighting with his mother about... something. His mind simply could not summon the memory.

"Penny for the smart kid," the muscle quipped with a smug, superior look on his face. He sounded like he was from Brooklyn (or what Tom had always thought someone from Brooklyn) with an odd little twang to it.

"Fuck you, Roids."

The man grunted like the ape he so resembled and took a step towards Tom's defenseless body.

"Stop." The woman interrupted with a cool word. "He is new and we need him to look pretty for the front window."

"The front window? This little piss ant?" He turned and stared at her, looking more curious than anything else.

"Lady Gwen bought that nice Hispanic boy from New York."


"That's the one. Carlos left and the girl is too shy to show her beauty off."

"Wait a minute, what the hell are you talking about?" Tom was fuming, if for no other reason then the simple fact that he couldn't figure out what the hell was restraining him, let alone find a way to remove it.

The ape turned back to him, a cruel smile twisting his lips, "You're going to be sold, dumb ass. You're a slave. It's what we do with you."

His head whipped around sharply with a resounding thwack as the woman struck him with what looked to be a closed fan. How'd she move that fast? Tom thought, glaring at the ape. "What we?" the woman said with a sneer, "I own you just as I own him. Maybe I'll put you in the middle window and see how the boy works to protect me. What about that?"

"I'm sorry Mistress." the ape dropped his head, turning back to Tom.

"I'm not just some boy. I have a name."

"Yes, you do, Tom." The woman walked towards her, staring down into feverish, angry eyes. "You have a name and you have, not a destiny, but a purpose. You're going to go on display, at the front of my shop. And you're pretty, and well built and have spirit." A wry grin crossed her face, "So even if I don't sell you right away, you're going to bring in the kind of customer that I need."

"The kind that buy other people as if they're objects?" He didn't mean to growl the way he did. Somewhere in his rational mind, there was a voice telling him to calm down, play the game and pick his spot. But he was pissed, and he wanted nothing more than to find a way to kill the both of them and get home.

"Yes, actually." She was cold and clinical, her steps bringing her even closer, "It's not my job to teach you to like being a slave. Whoever eventually buys you will do what they want with you and will have bought you for a reason. If you act well enough for me, if you pretend to be docile and then snarl and try to escape," he cringed (How the hell did she know?) and she smiled, "then I'll be on the hook for your cost and damages.

"But, if the Lady or Lord or citizen has the coin, and you're a pacing animal that seems ready to strike, well, then there's nothing for me to worry about."

"Fuck you."

She laughed then, a cold, frightening sound. "Good. Angus, kick him in the ribs. Just once; no marks. Then cut him loose in the front window."

"With pleasure, Mistress."


Today's '30 Days of Fic' task was to write a scene using the prompt: "in the marketplace."

Click Here for rundown of tasks that are part of the "30 Days of Fic" challenge, including a link to all completed works!

It is also the second of a three part story set in Tir na Cali, a fantastic setting that has been borrowed lovingly (and with permission) from [personal profile] aldersprig  (whose work you should REALLY be reading).

Date: 2011-06-26 07:36 pm (UTC)
meridian_rose: pen on letter background  with text  saying 'writer' (sunflower)
From: [personal profile] meridian_rose
You're going to go on display, at the front of my shop. And you're pretty, and well built and have spirit." A wry grin crossed her face, "So even if I don't sell you right away, you're going to bring in the kind of customer that I need." This is the part that stands out to me, how he is a possession, a slave, something to be used rather than a person to be employed.


kc_obrien: A gold ballpoint pend with a black quill feather. (Default)
K.C. O'Brien

July 2012


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