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Basics:
No canons.
Age: 19 months
Genre: AU HP
Members: 11
Characters: 32
Needed: Everything
Banned: Nothing
The harsh, unforgiving cold of winter has long set in. Snow covers the ground and students tend find things to do inside as much as possible. With the Yule Ball fast approaching, students certainly have things to discuss and plan.
Politically, things are nowhere near as sound as people are lead to believe. There is turmoil amongst the ranks of the Death Eaters as Callid Warren and Fierro Darque plot against Trevor Williams, who is aided by Sienna Faber, but can she be trusted? Even amongst the people, there seems to be social unrest as SAVIOR works to free slaves and the leader of the Order of the Phoenix finds himself captured. Unification is necessary, but will it happen?
Playable: 17-31 December 2010
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Irons of Slavery (open) « Thread Started on Aug 13, 2009, 4:24pm »
11:52 pm December 29. 2010
When the clocks had chimed eleven o'clock, Alison had found that the kitchen was empty of Death Eaters or slaves, and that was where she had found her sanctuary. She didn't know if slaves were allowed to be up this late, but the kitchen was close to the slave quarters, and she thought that, if she heard someone, she would be able to escape in time. But now, at least for a few minutes, she needed some time alone.
Alison had always loved her mother's kitchen. Ali had learned to cook when she was nine years old, and she could almost smell the chicken broth that her mother used to make herself, boiling down the bones from that night's dinner. It filled her with homesickness, filling up her chest and lungs with a hollow sort of pain, until it seemed to overflow and pour from her eyes as tears. Ali drew in a sharp breath, forcing herself to be quiet so no one could hear her. Ali's body was shaking, and panic had already built up the moment she had arrived in the Puxley Manor. She made her way over to the cutting table, crawling underneath. Alison sat on the floor, sliding herself to the corner, leaning against the wall and a stove. Chewing on her lip, she took tight hold of the table leg, trying to force back the tears. Ali curled up against herself, shutting her eyes tight.
Today had been horrible. She had been woken up early as the female slaves around her hurried to start the day's work, lest they be tortured for it. The slave quarters were dark and dirty, and they smelled of human waste and body odor. The mattress she slept on was hard and lumpy, and the night before she had seen blood on it. No one had bothered to explain to her what was going on or what to do, but as she hurried out of the quarters, a rough hand had taken her arm had dragged her to the basement. There she had washed clothes, furniture and magical items, some of which had screamed or exploded. One had burned her hand, then broke, and a harsh man had appeared, yelling, bringing a whip down on her back hard. Ali had screamed, cowering, and he had whipped her again before giving her a rough kick in the legs and ordering her to get back to work.
Then she had cooked dinner, which had been the best part of the day. Although it was dirty and she was pushed and yelled at, there was no man with a whip. Alison knew how to cook, and she was good at it, so there had been no punishment, and no attention drawn to her, either. The other slaves simply ignored her, mumbling a word or so once and a while to tell her what to make.
After a meager meal, she had cleaned the dishes. The water was very hot and she had been slapped by one of the slaves for dropping a dish in the sink after someone had run into her. But by then the wounds from her whip had begun to move past being half-numb and searing to feeling like white-hot irons were being pressed into her back, the wounds being pulled and stretched each time she moved.
So she could hardly be blamed for her position, curled up in a corner underneath the kitchen table. Her thoughts wandered briefly to the slave who had written her that letter; she had written back, but hadn't had the chance to go back. He said not to trust anyone, and so she wouldn't. But, at least, she could trust herself.
Re: Irons of Slavery (open) « Reply #1 on Sept 12, 2009, 1:53am »
[justify] It was tough work being a slave. That was a given, especially when those keeping the size nine up your ass were Death Eaters and therefore by principle not very nice. If one even took a moment to wipe his brow with the back of his hand or to rest, it wasn't unheard of to hear him make a sound of mixed pain and surprise followed by someone else's gruff voice telling him to get back to work. Too bad Landon wasn't much of a masochist. He might have thrived then, but as it was, the various beatings, lack of sleep, and the lack of proper nourishment were beginning to get to him, and it wasn't in a good way. Today, he had been fairly fortunate. He'd been sharply scolded with unsavory words once, but then someone had dropped something, and that had diverted the man's attention. Landon had quickly gone back to work, not bothering to stare. He'd learned that was the best tactic if some other poor chap earned what "should" have been one's beating.
Of course, the sense of self preservation wasn't all that had driven Landon to avoid detainment of any kind. The girl who had been leaving messages for him on occasion had asked for a meeting, and he had secretly hoped to catch a glimpse of Elektra, if not speak with her, before then. He couldn't stop thinking about the chance meeting with her following the Christmas Eve party the Death Eaters had held. Of course, for want of irony, everything had to go wrong. He had found himself in the kitchens, making food for the guards there, when one had randomly accused him of trying to poison the food. Landon's best guess was that the bastard hadn't reached his personal beating quota of the day because all he'd been doing was reaching for some basil to garnish their precious soup and some parsley to decorate their plates that held grilled cheese sandwiches. Last he had checked, neither were poison.
So, he had missed the opportunity to catch a glimpse of Elektra, and between the beating, the time it took to clean up, and the time it took for them to be satisfied that he had eaten enough of the soup and sandwiches for them to deem it not poisoned (enough that they also deemed it necessary for him to make more and had spent the time jeering and mocking while watching him) made it so that he was almost certain he'd missed this mysterious girl. Murphy's law. Anything that could go wrong will. It made him wary to head to the kitchens again after spending a lot of time on his knees before the toilet and then cleaning up. After all, what would he find there? Would "the child" really be a Death Eater? or have been caught by some Death Eater? For fear of the latter, he had to go anyway. He wasn't going to hear of another crime or another death and have that on his conscience. He might take a beating or anything else himself, and he might be more for compliance than rebellion, but when it came to someone else, he was at times willing to take the risk.
So, he had made his way carefully and painfully to the kitchens and due to the nearly complete darkness, he did not see the girl at first nor did he have any idea if anyone was in here. The only source of light was through the "window" (it reminded him more of something suited for a bathroom but with bars) above the sink, but after his eyes adjusted, it was enough. Still, he had to search, and there were still areas not at all touched by the moonlight. "Hello?" he whispered despite his better judgment. "Is anyone here?" [/justify]
Re: Irons of Slavery (open) « Reply #2 on Sept 23, 2009, 3:40pm »
The clocks didn't tick in the Puxley Manor, which made the kitchen eerily silent.
At least, she hadn't heard any clocks ticking. It was the same way at Hogwarts; the ticking was caused by the gears in the muggle clock invention, but wizards could simply wave their wands and make the clock work on its own. Alison, curled up in the darkness, frowned. She had always found that unfair. Wizards had magical cures and ways to make life easier, but they never shared them with other people. Despite spending six years at Hogwarts, Ali had always liked muggles better. Sure, wizards and muggles alike could be cruel and selfish. But at least muggle, even if for selfish reason, shared new discoveries. At least Englishmen had moved past slavery, past judging people by their blood.
If magic had never existed, Alison, and so many other slaves and dissenters, would be so much better off. Oh, if only Alison had never become a wizard. She bit her lip, stifling a sob as she bent closer towards her legs. Her family would be whole, safe. She would be a slave, and neither would the other slaves in this house.
None of the slaves, save one, had shown even an ounce of sympathy, which was why Alison had begged the slave she had been writing the letter to to come. She didn't think she'd make it alone; she was only a kid. Despite all teenagers' talk of growing up, she knew anyone that was in her situation would be made aware of how small they were. But Alison wasn't even sure that her correspondent would show up. After all, like he had said, it was dangerous. You weren't supposed to trust anyone, especially someone writing you a letter.
Alison didn't think her correspondent was working for Williams and his government. If he was, he would have figured out exactly who she was, what with the date of her arrival and her age. But he wouldn't trust her; how could he? Part of Alison wanted to run away, just so she wouldn't be let down when he didn't show up. But if he did, he'd think she was a trap, or, worse, she'd get him caught.
She heard footsteps, and she froze instantly, making sure to keep her breathing even (so she wouldn't have to take a loud breath) but quiet. Although she was atill adapting, if she could ever, to her new life here, she knew enough.
Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and Alison peered out from under the table. She could only see his legs, but his clothing was jagged, that of a slaves. He walked carefully, and it seemed like he was searching for her. When he called out, she decided to take the chance. She quietly unfolded herself, but didn't move from underneath the table; she might startle him. "Is that you?" she whispered.
Re: Irons of Slavery (open) « Reply #3 on Oct 3, 2009, 12:30am »
[justify] Landon hadn't expected a response. No, he had expected to be able to leave right away, but maybe that was hoping too much. As much as he wanted to help this girl, if she was indeed whom she claimed to be, he was not in the mood. He was tired, dead tired, but that was something that was normal here. It wasn't an excuse. You got up every morning regardless if you'd only had five minutes of sleep or eight and did your work just the same. There were no lowered expectations, no sympathy for the lack of sleep. It was all viewed the same: black and white. You did what they said or you paid. So, if he could do things for people he wanted nothing more than to kill, why couldn't he do something nice for someone whose day had been likely as difficult or at least nearly as difficult as his? None at all, he thought tiredly, a twinge of guilt setting in for having even hoped for the girl not to show.
"It's me," he replied simply. Of course, he realized how easily it could be some Death Eater here in his place saying those words. They were no where near definitive, and if a Death Eater had been here, he would have simply played along if he suspected anything, right? Currently she could likely only see his silhouette, he imagined, and that wasn't much to go off of. Tall and lanky could describe anyone in this place, slave or not. "The person from the notes," he added as an afterthought, looking around more in the darkness as he walked around slowly before deciding to check beneath the table. He kneeled down, spotting the form of a girl he couldn't quite see, and habitually, he offered her an awkward smile.
It was a sad state of affairs that slavery had to be the cause of their meeting, but he supposed he should be somewhat used to that. After all, how often had he simply met people on a daily basis for a regular reason before? He'd been the surgeon, the man who talked to a person when he had been confirmed to have something bad. People had been nervous to see him upon meeting yet relieved when all was said and done and a post-op was held. Funny how he hadn't entirely left that role apparently. After all, he was here out of need to fix things for this girl, to make things a little better for her. However, he thought at the moment that he would have rather met her in his office. At least there, he had some perceived control. Here, he had no control. His words of comfort and any actions he took to help her would be but a bandaid. They were bleeding the life out of her just as they were everyone here, supposedly making it better for them and society, and he would be trying to stop it, but in the end, he knew it wouldn't work save by some miracle. He would just have to learn to accept it.
((Sorry I took longer than planned to finish this. Just fell into a bit of a funk.)) [/justify]
Re: Irons of Slavery (open) « Reply #4 on Oct 25, 2009, 8:36pm »
Alison wasn't exactly sure what she was supposed to do. Honestly, the way things were right now, she wasn't sure about much. Being a slave had reduced her to something less than she had been before. Her thoughts were simpler, more focused on what was important.
The first, of course, was staying physically strong so she wouldn't be beaten for failing at work. The second, keeping her sanity in tact. And the third, a more emotional instinct than another, was that desire for love. Any kind of love, really. Someone to care for her, like her mother used to or how she cared for her little sister. She felt so alone here, and it was horrible to even consider that she'd be alone for the rest of her life.
Because how long was this going to last? When would Trevor fall out of power? Hopefully, soon, but Alison couldn't be sure.
So when the man replied, Alison almost wanted to crawl out of there and hug him, and that wasn't something she did. She scolded herself silently. She was seventeen, and it was absolutely ridiculous that she'd want to hug anyone. Alison wasn't a child anymore, and she could afford to even allow herself to fantasize about being one.
He found her, kneeling down and trying to smile. She could guess, at least a little, what he was going through. This was very dangerous for the both of them, and he wasn't even sure if she could be trusted. Alison had nothing to lose, really, except her sanity, which she would lose anyway if she didn't find a friend. But maybe this man had made somewhat of a life for himself... you never knew.
"I'm not here to hurt you, or sell you out or anything," she said first. "And I don't want to put you in danger. I'm sorry that I already have." She grimaced. "I just... I need someone on my side, at least a little."
Re: Irons of Slavery (open) « Reply #5 on Oct 28, 2009, 10:06am »
[justify] Landon wasn't sure whether to raise his guard higher at her words or to relax a little. As it was, he was already in an awkward position. Any movement in the upward/away direction would probably cause him to bump his head and at least hesitate long enough to be incapacitated, but as it was, they were less likely to be spotted under the table. It wasn't like the thing was casting its shadow to either side where a passing by guard could see their figures. For tonight, though, he wanted to give the girl the benefit of the doubt. She looked--err, sounded--genuine to him. Besides, was some young girl's face really that of a killer? Surely even Williams the Terrible wasn't recruiting that young.
So, he nodded. He could understand the feelings she was going through...of being lonely, scared, uncertain. He'd felt them all himself. He still felt them all himself. Even now that he had Lex to talk to again, he still felt lonely. Their relationship was a ghost of what it had been, and he wasn't sure if that was because he was holding himself back to avoid scaring her or seeming too forward so she'd let him protect her or if it was fear that they might get caught and worse could happen. So, what was wrong with a network of acquaintances? Then he could converse with random people during the day for a couple minutes or in passing and not be under suspicion for talking to Lex in downtime, right?
"Don't worry about it. I'm in danger no matter what I do in this godforsaken place. Unfortunately, I don't think I'll ever get used to it." He shook his head, figuring going further with that train of thought probably wasn't very wise at the moment. The girl didn't come here to grow more terrified than what she already was, after all. She'd come here for a friend, for someone on her side to reassure her there was still some hope for humanity, no matter how minute it might be. "Name's Landon," he said, offering her his hand for a shake as he retained his smile. "It's nice to meet you. Just wish it could be under different circumstances." [/justify]
Re: Irons of Slavery (open) « Reply #6 on Nov 5, 2009, 6:48pm »
Alison didn't know what her life would be like here. Part of her... hell, most of her still hadn't accepted the fact that this was reality. She was still expecting herself to suddenly wake up, sweating from a nightmare; have the slaves suddenly be free; or have someone come up to her saying that this was all just a big mistake, I'm sorry, you can go home now to your family. They're all fine and you don't have to worry about them or yourself ever again.
She couldn't believe it. How was it possible to deal with it if it was actually true? She had been forced in a matter of seconds from a teenage girl into some sort of work dog, but suppressed and alone. This had to be a nightmare. She couldn't have imagined this happening in real life. It couldn't. If it did, then she'd have to admit that everything might not end soon. And there was no way that Alison could believe that. Not if she wanted to keep herself sane. So this was just like... temporary... a play, like an improvised movie... like roleplaying...
She smiled slightly, reaching out to shake Landon's hand as he introduced himself. "Thanks. I'm Alison," she said quietly. "I'd say it's nice to meet you, but... I'd really rather not have to." She was amazed at how muted her voice was. It was almost raw, dead... it wasn't her own voice. "Nevertheless, given everything that's happening now, I guess it is nice to meet you."
Re: Irons of Slavery (open) « Reply #7 on Nov 6, 2009, 1:52am »
[justify] Landon nodded. Fair enough, honest enough. Unfortunately for her, honesty wasn't a good thing here--not that he would hate her for it. To be honest, it was refreshing to have someone who's not completely keeping to herself around, but at the same time, it was sad to think of what was to come of her should something miraculous not happen soon that set them all free. This girl, Alison, was still in the early stages of slavery. She was likely still in some form of shock, uncertain of how to handle herself. And to be honest, he didn't know what to suggest to her if she asked. Different things worked for different people. Some people just gave into what disgusting, degrading demands were given to them if they were to be offered some sort of reward. After all, if it was going to happen anyway, why fight it? Others resisted and fought like crazy and ended up more hurt in the process, regardless of what it was that happened. Some tread the middle ground and attempted to go unnoticed.
Regardless of how one acted, one tactic was used across the board: playing pretend. For the first group, they found pretending to like it and be ok with it to be rewarding in other ways that made it somehow worth it to them and perhaps even provided something to distract themselves from the self disgust and hatred Landon imagined came with that. For the second, they found pretending what happened hadn't happened to be better than just letting it happen, pretending that knowing they had at least tried to resist somehow made it all better. For the third, they preferred to believe that somehow being "good" all the time and obeying would earn them some merit, some sort of cloak of invisibility, and would thereby avoid beatings and any other punishments.
However, whichever direction one went with playing pretend, the truth was this: they hated it, loathed it, but they didn't know how else to handle it. It was a survival tactic, like it or not. Playing pretend was no longer the grand old fun idea it once was as a child. It was a sad state of affairs, but what power did he or any of the others have in all this? Unless someone from the Death Eaters and guards had pity on them or helped them, there was none. This was the end of the line, depressing as it was. Sometimes it felt like he was living each day just counting down the days until they would kill him for some stupid reason or another, but that day never seemed to come. Maybe they knew that almost any slave in here wanted death to some degree and wouldn't give it because of that. He didn't know, and frankly, he didn't care.
With a sigh, Landon cast his eyes downward towards the cold, hard stone beneath his body. "I know what you mean. But trust me, sometimes knowing others around you makes it easier. It's just, they can't know you're friendly with anyone, you know? If they do, then things happen. It, uh, it's rough down here. You have to find some strain of survivalism, you know? Cling to it. But most of all, stay quiet, submissive. Even that doesn't work all the time. Sometimes they just pick on you for nothing. Just feel like it, I suppose. But Alison, don't let them take your soul. They can hurt your body, sure, but don't let them take whatever it is that makes you you, whatever that is." Yeah, he felt odd saying that, awkward even, but what else was to be done? He had no idea. This whole situation was one that shouldn't be happening and wouldn't be happening in a perfect world. [/justify]
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