Dancing at the Auction

AN: I just decided to post this here because I think that the boys want a little more attention :P There’s more available on my website, (link in profile) if you’d like to read more! ^^

DANCING AT THE AUCTION

CHAPTER ONE

Ravi sat in the back of the lineup. He watched those before him, most of them boys just younger than him. A few were women but they went fast, gone by the underside of an hour, whereas some of these poor fellows had been here from the start and would be shown once again at the very end.

Today, the third day, there was no doubt that Ravi's profile would be viewed. If he was lucky he would be stuck with the un-chosen fellows and then when they re-showed him, hopefully still not taken. Maybe then they would send him back home. Surely that would be preferable to the other option.

So far, three days. Twelve hours a day. One hard wooden chair. One window. One washroom break. One meal.

A young boy had soiled himself the other day, one of the youngest, around Ten and Five in years, but worse than that, he had not been permitted washroom use afterward until the scheduled time and had to sit still in it as it had dried. The smell was difficult to bear in the heat. Even from the other end of the stage it made Ravi nauseous. In the evening the boy had vomited continually and now a day later the smell clung to all of them.

He risked a glance at those in the audience. Mostly men, of course. In Atlas, women didn't deal with these matters. They were restricted to work in the medical and artistic fields only. From what he knew the men took care of everything else.

Perhaps it was the amount of testosterone in the room that had made him queasy yet attentive from the start... or maybe it was that he was about to be sold for a small and useless sum of money.

"And next, Serf Vermont." An unusual name, Pleban perhaps? Ravi mused. The young man stepped forward. He seemed rather attractive under all of the grime, his long black hair tied in an old ribbon, but it was hard to say. His defeated walk to the front of the stage made it difficult to find him as alluring as he should have been. But that was a good thing here, wasn't it? Ravi quickly took mental notes on that broken stance hoping he could pull it off without practice while Vermont's measurements and background were called out over the mumbling crowd.

After all of this time, he still couldn't manage to stop watching with deadly attention. He could pretty much guess the life stories of everyone left to be interviewed.

Age: twenty and one. Ethnicity: Pleban (ding!). Height: one hundred and eighty-six centimeters. Weight: one hundred and sixty pounds. Eyes: brown. Rural upbringing, etc, etc. No surprises there.

This was promising for Vermont. The people of Atlas seemed to be picky when it came to their slaves, and Vermont had no writing or school background and to top it off he didn't look able enough for heavy-duty labour.

And then they showed his memory clip.

Ravi's heart dropped on behalf of the poor soul. He was a dancer. A beautiful dancer. The clip was clear and fresh, in the morning light, his robe whipping around his body as though in slow motion, his muscles tense and beautiful, like a painting. Ravi could feel it. The chill of the morning, the sharpness of every move, the precision and control.

Vermont was sold in minutes.

The bidding started high and rose to a preposterous amount. Even his stumbled protests into the microphone were ignored. He was escorted away to be cleaned for his new master.

Good show, Ravi thought to him, but there was no chance, too many people would desire him in one way or another.

The next few were luckily out shadowed by their predecessor and barely caused a stirring. Only one of them was bought which was a good sign.
Ravi was next. His body was tenser then he'd ever remembered it to be.

"Serf Ravil." His heart ricocheted painfully into his lungs, momentarily stopping him from breathing. He gasped slightly and staggered to his feet. No need to try Vermont's techniques then, he already was stumbling like an invalid.

He stopped at the microphone. Everything was a blur around him.

"Peace be upon you," he muttered. The sudden projection of his own voice made him freeze. Not the time for formalities! He didn't want them to want him. Not for any reason. He ignored the few snickers and stepped back so he wouldn't go by the impulse to lean in and say any more.

"Serf Ravil," the auctioneer said. His voice rang straight into Ravi's brain from here. "Age: twenty and three. Ethnicity: Byloran. Height: one hundred and eighty-two point five centimeters. Weight: one hundred and sixty-two pounds. Physically fit. No ailments of mind or body. Able to read and write in Bylor and regular script. Intermediate level graduate."
This was sounding very bad. He had seen people with much less then that sold over the past days.

He should have tried to run.

He swallowed hard, ignoring the murmuring of the crowd. This was his life they were handing away, couldn't they respect it enough to hear it all before deciding what he was worth.

The light dimmed slightly as his projection began. He didn't want to see what was on the screen, but the sudden sound of his own voice forced him to whip around so quickly that his neck hurt. And there he was, stroking Tami's hair and humming. The sight of her sent a staggering grief into his stomach. Everything he'd thought to say to defend himself and to be less wanted disappeared in the wind.

His little sister. Looking so small in his arms. It hadn't been long ago, but he remembered her looking older, with her intelligent eyes reading him, even if she didn't understand the words. His face filled the screen now, his Bylor eyes glinting magnificently in the sun by the standards of other races. His hair was afire, burning in red and gold highlights. Of course they would choose something like this. Something that made him look exotic. Desirable.

"That's a lie," he said quietly. The room went suddenly silent.

"Do not speak unless spoken to!" came a sharp hiss from his left. He glanced at Master Tan, hissing in pain when a sharp stinging ran up his neck. The Command Chip.

"I'd like to know what's a lie," a man shouted from few rows back. There was a good natured murmur of agreement and Ravi decided to hate them all.

"Very well," the auctioneer said, not allowing room for pause. "Questions shall commence now."

"I don't look like that," Ravi said. There was a smattering of laughter. "I don't. Not unless the sun--"

The stinging again. He gasped and bowed his head. He had never been flogged before, but assumed that this was the feeling. He didn't care. He didn't want to be bought. He wanted to go home.

"Any other questions?"

There was a momentary silence.

"How many lovers have you had?" The question resulted in more laughter, perhaps because of Ravi's expression at being asked, or perhaps because the same thing had been wondered across the floor.

"That is none of your business," he said tersely and immediately the pain was there again worse than before, doubling him over in the convulsion.

His eyes were burning, his heart pounding erratically in anger.

The guards were on the way. In seconds an arm had been taken on each side, but he couldn't straighten in his pain. His whole body trembled.

"He would be fun to break," someone muttered near the front.

"I'm not a horse," he managed to mutter before he was brought to his knees crying out in pain. He lifted his head to look at the man as he was lifted from the floor. He was laughing.

He heard none of the bidding; his mind couldn't bear to hear anymore, and stood silently, held up by the strong arms of the guards until it was done.

He shouldn't have hoped for any more.

In a daze Ravi sat in the waiting area. There was still bidding to be heard vaguely in the background but nothing being said was registering in his mind. He was no longer a person. Now he was property. Like a house or a ship. Another young man was seated roughly next to him.

Under normal circumstances Ravi might try to ease his crying but not now. He needed comfort too. He couldn’t afford to waste any on someone else.

“Serf Ravil?” A young boy stood before him, no more than ten and five Ravi was sure. “It’s time to get you cleaned up.” He gestured over his shoulder and Ravi gazed sluggishly over to where naked men were being hosed down over the drains. When he didn’t respond the boy slipped a hand under his arm and forced him to his feet. Ravi towered over him but he still pushed him forwards as though it was nothing. He must love being able to disrespect his elders like this, Ravi mused.

Once he was soaking and naked in the showers, he knew he was right.

The boy’s left hand roamed over his body with a bar of soap while the other hand held the hose shooting warm water from the tip. Ravi shut his eyes because when he opened them it was too easy to tell just how much the drenched boy was enjoying this, even through his clothes. For a moment he was considerably glad that his parents were deceased.

The soap slipped from the boy’s hand and Ravi’s eyes shot open as the boy continued without it. His hand slipped into his groin messaging him before Ravi could make a noise and he slapped the hand away viscously.

The boy looked startled. He looked at Ravi a moment and then slapped him swiftly across the face.

“Hey!” The boy started and looked just off of the shower area where a middle aged Atlan man was shouting from. “Don’t you dare abuse someone else’s property!”

The boy abashedly rinsed Ravi off and escorted him to the drying room. Ravi would have smiled but the old man’s words were echoing too loudly in his brain to do so. Property... He was toweled off and dressed in a plain white robe and left sitting in a small room with others in a similar state. Feeling like a clone he sat trembling until his master came to claim him.

AN: thanks for reading chapter one! XD please review <3