Golden Captive
Anti Apocolypse
Chapter One
He had lived there his whole life. His whole miserable, wretched, disgusting, no good, disappointing, terrible, despicable, fucking life. Since he was a child, since he was going into his teens and and now going into adult life. No one would buy him.
Perhaps it was because he was too small as a child, too weak for any service or work, too fragile for beatings when something was not accomplished, too innocent for his owners, his eyes too sharp. He would not be bought.
Perhaps it was because he had lost his hand as a teenager and now had to wear a cheap prosthetic covered by a black glove, he was too weak for labor, too useless to carry anything, too small for the work required, too dirty to look representable, too proud to bend at the will of others, his eyes too sharp. He would still not be bought.
Perhaps it was because he was now growing to be too old as he slowly became an adult, too tall for most tasks, too feisty to get anything done, too proud to bend to the will of another, too aware of his surroundings to be mindless, too smart and able to think for himself, too weak to carry a simple object, too stiff to do anything right, too noble to be looked down upon, his eyes too sharp. No one would buy this rotting crocodile.
Until that man came.
He came in like he was royalty, and he slowly became a colorful headache for the rotting slave. His coat was pink, fluffed with feathers of what seemed to be flamingos, shades covered his eyes, and his blonde hair was spiky, his dress shirt seemed expensive, and he walked without a care in the world. When he came through; people gasped, people awed, people became stupid (as the rotting slave thought). He was just one man that was too colorful for his own good.
He sat a few rows back and crossed his long legs as the rest of his crew, three oth- wait, no there's four other people sitting down next to the storm of abnormality.
The head of the auction house walked out and bowed, a smile on his stupid face simply saying "I'm here to sell you people, nothing extreme, it's not like they're real people anyway" and the rotting slave simply wanted to crack his face in two, see if he'd smile then.
The head man introduced the program quickly before introducing the slaves, his voice boomed and almost seemed to resonate through the walls of the shitty auction house. The older ones usually went first while the newer ones were the "grand finale", so buyers wouldn't loose interest when sparkling newbies went first and grimy oldies went last.
First was a man who had been in the auction business for almost thirty years. The rotting slave recalls that this would be his last chance at getting bought off before he was to be executed. The rotting slave knew that his execution would raise it's ugly head soon for him; maybe his next chance at auction, he hoped so.
The biding went on for a few moments before he was whisked away, screaming and crying as he fought against his chains and binds and begged for redemption. He was silenced later backstage and the rotting slave could practically smell the blood as the old man was killed behind the curtains. The rest of the slaves seemed to have smelled it too as they began to become restless, some even crying and contemplating their life, begging for their wife and kids to be at their side one last time. They probably don't realize that it was their wife and kids that sold them off. The rotting slave thought.
The second to go was a young girl who, believe it or not, had been in the auction house when her mother was still carrying her. She was a beautiful girl; fair skin, lovely eyes as blue as the sea, rich blonde hair, she truly was a beauty.
She was sold fairly quickly for 15.000 Belli. She's going to be raped. The rotting slave noted when her buyer was a male.
The third to go up was the rotting slave himself. He was pushed on the stage, earning a low growl from the slave and a kick from the head man in stage. He was forced upright with a small crack in his lower back. The buyers in the rows in front of him shook their heads at his rebellious behavior and whispered when they noticed how the handcuff on his left hand was placed higher than normal and how he only wore one black glove and how his fingers on his right hand tapped against his leg while the hand covered by the glove remained motionless, not moving at all.
The head man allowed the biding that never would be to continue for a few moments, quicker than the man that had gone first, as he knew this rebellious, dirty, miserable slave would never be bought and he would die at the auction house, a cold blade slowly stabbing through his chest. Not quick like the older man before him but slow as this kid was a trouble maker and there was no doubt as to why no one wanted to buy him. And it wasn't just because of his missing hand.
The moments went by like hours before the rotting slave was kicked off stage, earning a kick back from the slave, visible in front of everyone as he was kicked out of view. The last thing he saw before he was kicked off stage was that damn pink feathered coat. What an eyesore.
The rest of the auction went by smoothly. Five out of the seven auctioned were bought and the two remaining wept and lamented to no end. It was annoying to be frank. The rotting slave was kicked and beaten again later that day, mere moments after the rich people that were once sitting in rows had left. The people who worked at the auction house never liked him. He always coughed up an attitude and whenever he got the chance he would make a sarcastic and bitter insult at the workers. He was despised and bloody, sarcastic and broken, forever a slave.
The rotting slave's beating had ended - more like was cut short - when the door opened. The head man rushed out to tell whoever it was to go away, but he shut his mouth when he greeted him instead. The rotting slave was confused; no one was allowed in the auction house after auctioning hours. The workers were too busy beating the slaves up. And now those rules were to be broken by some mere man? The rotting slave looked from behind the curtain, sneaking a glance as golden eyes examined the empty room.
The head man was smiling nervously and was clearly freaking out. This person probably wasn't even important and yet the head man was throwing a fit. It didn't make much sense to the rotting slave. His golden eyes looked over at the after-hours customer. It was that man with the pink feathered coat and the shades. His underlings weren't with him though and they seemed to be quite the accessory. The rotting slave lingered behind the curtain a few moments more than he should have. The blonde had noticed the golden eyes and mess of black hair behind the curtains and smirked at the rotting slave. His eyes widened and he realized he had been caught and he quickly ducked behind the curtain.
The conversation between the head man and the blonde carried on meaninglessly until the words slipped from the blonde.
"I wish to buy one of the slaves." He said simply with a slight shrug of the shoulders, his feathers moved softly along with the motion.
The rotting slave could see the head man rub his hands together greedily. "Well then, which one would you like, young master?"
"The boy with the golden eyes."
The rotting slave looked up from his dirty lap and took another peek from behind the curtain, eyes wide as he stared at the man. He wasn't serious, was he?
Even the head man looked at the man with surprise. "Are you sure? He is quite the trouble maker. If I didn't know that damned kid for all those years I would've been so much happier." He replied with mock concern. The rotting slave rolled his eyes and huffed, although the last comment had stung a little bit. The head man just wanted to kill him, he wasn't concerned for this strange man, he was just doing his job.
The man looked at the boy hiding behind the curtains as he caught him once again. He took the moment to pretend to be thinking but he was really looking at the bruise forming under the boy's cheek, the blood that rained down from his brow and dripped from his chin, the reddish marks hidden under the handcuff of his right wrist, the bags under his eyes, the purple and black marks that merged with his whitening knuckles, the reddish marks on his neck, and his golden eyes filled with confusion, hurt, excitement, and fear.
"How much for the boy?" The man replied, his gaze shifting back to the annoying man in front of him.
The head man's rosy lips, wet with sweat, confirmed the price for the rotting slave and the man had dumped down a considerable amount of Belli on the stage in front of the head man. Even the rotting slave had to blink a few times just to make sure that Belli was there and existing. The man must've noticed as he smirked once more at the boy as he marveled at how much cash just stood there on that stage.
"Deal?" The head man nodded furiously, kneeling down to collect the Belli in full, taking care of each piece of paper right down to each coin. He eventually called for the rotting slave, too busy to scream at the top of his lungs as he practically worshipped the stage with the pile of Belli on top of it.
The rotting slave took a cautious step out from his hiding spot behind the rich curtains, one leg first and then the other and then his hand came to part from the curtain and the dirty boy stood on the stage before the man who had just bought him. The man smirked for the countless time that evening, almost beckoning the boy to take a step closer.
"Boy, this is your owner, treat him with respect and for once just do as you're told, dammit." The head man barked at the boy as he scampered off the stage and into the area where the many rows were placed, before he stood at the beginning of the aisle between the head man and his new owner. He bowed his head quickly, not really interested in any formalities just that moment.
"It's always a pleasure doing business with you sir!" The head man cried out desperately, picking up as much of the Belli as he could, some stray coins falling and rolling about the stage before pathetically tossing the key to the rotting slave's chains.
The man simply waved a hand, catching the key that was tossed at him before walking out of the auction house, the young slave close behind him.
"What's your name, boy?" The man asked suddenly.
"Crocodile." He replied simply and quietly, blinking as he stared out at the landscape he had long forgotten, soaking the sun's rays in and inhaling deeply. Beats the cramped space of the auction house that's for sure.
"Doflamingo." The man said, clearly stating his own name with a grin.
Crocodile nodded. He really didn't care what Doflamingo's name was, he just wanted to get far away from the auction house. And he would.
"Well then, let's head back to Dressrosa."
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Author's Note
Okay, I know that this is a short chapter and I'm sorry. I just don't wanna spill all of the beans for what I have planned for this story. But, please review! I do wanna know what you guys think! It would mean a lot to me!