Chapter Text
Syvis woke to the sound of the alarm.
He had gotten used to the sheer volume and high pitch of it, but it still unsettled him that it was used to wake the slaves every morning- an ever-present reminder that the noise would echo throughout the imposing building that was the auction house if any one of them were ever to run, and of what would happen after...
He pushed the thought aside. He knew better, anyway, and so did everybody else. Elveron Auction House was known for its reputation in producing high-quality slaves, and Syvis was definitely not the exception.
Along with everybody else, the young man went to stand in a line with his head bowed and his hands folded neatly in his lap, his bed already made behind him and his night clothes (earned from good behaviour) set at the very foot of the bed, where the trainers could easily see and reach them.
Syvis flinched upon hearing the sound of a slap not far. The second person in line to his left was stuttering apologies, bowing at the waist and bending their head down as far as it could go. He had been told time and time again that he was never to assume or take interest in the punishment of one of the other objects, but he couldn't help but wonder if the girl had forgotten to bow her head. Fatal mistake, which reminded him to bow his head again and keep his gaze focused strictly on his feet.
The morning went by without major issue: none of the slaves had been fed, but that was fine.
The day continued in the same plain repetition of itself: wake, inspections, morning duties, lunch, inspections again, afternoon duties, showers (if they were lucky), dinner, sexual training duties, inspections, bed. Only today, there was no training after dinner: tomorrow was auction day, so all the slaves had to look their very best. Their hair was washed, their clothes were changed, shiny and new collars were placed on them, their slavery tattoos were made to be visible; no longer covered by thick bandages.
All the slaves lined up for inspections again, taking care to be extra obedient. Trainers did not joke when it came to auctions.
Two polished shoes came into Syvis' view. He tensed.
"You will not cause trouble." the man above him boomed. Syvis bowed his head further, ashamed: he'd been bought during the last auction, only that when he was put into his cage to be shipped to his new master (who lived quite far away), he startled at the noise, yelping and backing away. The buyer had asked for a refund, not wanting such a responsive toy on his hands, and Syvis had been beaten and sent to solitary for a week. He didn't speak to anyone after that.
"Yes, Sir, I will not cause trouble," the slave boy recited softly.
The man moved on.