A/N: This may contain some heavy stuff pertaining to slave-related mind-sets and abuse of a physical and sexual nature.
Monsieur Enjolras was standing slightly behind the mass of people at the auction. He was deathly silent while everyone around him chatted cheerfully. A man in a suit called everyone to silence so that the auction could begin. The first slave up for auction was a young man – emaciated and full of scars. He was completely naked, except for his shackles, so that a potential buyer could look at everything he has to offer. He was staring at his feet with a look of resignation.
"Twenty Euros for this slave! Twenty-one years of age, no defects!"
Enjolras put up his little paddle.
"Going… no other takers? Going… sold to 112! You may collect your purchase at the back, Monsieur," the auctioneer cheerfully said. The slave was pulled back behind the curtains.
Enjolras only had fifty Euros to begin with. It was rare to find a slave so cheap and he didn't think he would be able to buy another with only thirty Euros, but greater miracles have happened.
"A young lady for twenty Euros! Seventeen years of age, no defects!"
Enjolras looked up sharply. Young girls were never less than a hundred Euros, except if they were very ugly or had some mental or physical defect. This girl stood tall. She wasn't as thin as most slaves. She also didn't have a hint of submission in her demeanour. Her long brown hair was matted and her face pale, but her eyes shone with righteous anger.
Enjolras put up his paddle again.
A man two meters away from him also put up his paddle.
"Twenty-five!"
Enjolras put up his paddle again.
"Thirty!"
The other man shrugged and turned to look at Enjolras.
"She is pretty, but look at that stare she's giving you. Might be harder to train the bitch than what her pretty face is worth. You'll probably have to ruin the face, actually. You can have her."
The man turned back around before he could notice the vein throbbing on Enjolras' forehead, indicating his anger.
"Sold for thirty Euros!"
Enjolras couldn't buy anymore slaves, so he headed to the collection area instead of watching all the slaves he couldn't buy.
A man with a whip was standing watch over the two slaves he had bought. The girl was staring at him with contempt. When she turned her stare to Enjolras, he saw the angry red finger marks on her face.
"Did you hit her?" he demanded.
"Yeah, can you believe she tried to hold this one here?" he aimed a kick at the male slave's shin. He took it without wincing.
"You don't touch a bourgeoisie's property," Enjolras said, his voice dripping with loathing. He held out the fifty Euros.
"Which one's yours?" the man asked, looking slightly put out.
"Both."
"You might want to rethink that decision. I know they're cheap, but the slut has a mouth on her. We almost cut her tongue out yesterday, but the guy selling her to us said that no one wanted a whore who couldn't use her tongue." The man leered at the girl.
"Take my money and give me my slaves," Enjolras was becoming more angry and disgusted by the second.
"Whatever, you say, Monsieur."
The man took the fifty Euro note and handed Enjolras the keys to their shackles.
"You'll want to lock them up before you take those off, she'll be a runner."
Without a word to the man Enjolras picked up the handles connected to the two slaves' shackles and left with them in tow. They followed him in silence to his car. Enjolras opened the door of the backseat for them. The climbed in silently. Enjolras seated himself in the passenger seat and locked the doors from the front.
He started the car and started driving. He took a deep breath and spoke.
"Please don't do anything stupid like trying to jump out of car at a traffic light. I assume you know what they do to runaway slaves."
In his rear view mirror he could see the girl rolling her eyes.
"What are your names?" he asked, trying and failing to sound more cheerful.
"You can call us what you like, Master," the girl answered sneeringly.
"I would like to know your names, please."
"I am Éponine and this is Grantaire," she said.
"I am pleased to make your acquaintance. I am Enjolras, the son of the man who built the Enjolras liquor empire. My father doesn't particularly like me, but I'm the only heir he has, so he put me up in a mansion of my own after I finished my studies. I studied law and now do all the contracts for my father's company. I may sound like the spoilt brat who gets exactly what I want in life, but that isn't strictly true." He pushed a button on a remote and they drove into the long driveway of what was previously the Enjolras summer home, but now the young Enjolras' permanent residence.
"This is where I live. I am going to let you out and then I want to speak with you in the living room, please."
Enjolras climbed out of the car and opened the back door of the car. Éponine and Grantaire clumsily fell out of the car, the shackles prevented normal movement. Enjolras led them to the front door and locked it behind him once they were inside. He motioned them to sit in the living room. Éponine sat and Grantaire fell down on the furniture. Enjolras disappeared up the stairs.
"R?" Éponine hissed at her fellow slave. "R, are you okay?"
"I haven't been fed or watered in days, I'm going to pass out soon," he rasped.
"I know. Those slave traders don't give a fuck about us. I promise I'll find a way to get us out, R," she whispered and pulled his torso upright and into an awkward hug.
"You'll only get us killed," was the last Grantaire mumbled before he lost consciousness.
Enjolras appeared at the foot of the stairs with a pile of clothing.
"What happened?" he immediately asked and came to kneel at Grantaire's feet.
"We haven't been allowed food or water for days; he's passed out from dehydration." Éponine looked at Enjolras as if he was a particularly nasty insect.
"Oh God, I'm sorry, I'll go get some food and water. I brought down some clothes to wear, it's ridiculous that they strip you like animals." Enjolras rushed away again.
"In the eyes of the law we are animals," Éponine said loud enough for Enjolras to hear, but mostly to remind herself.
Enjolras filled two glasses with water and brought it to Éponine and Grantaire. She was still cradling his head in her lap.
"I'll bring food now; get him to drink, please."
Éponine gave him a puzzled look but busied herself with getting Grantaire conscious and having him drink.
Enjolras, meanwhile, was cursing himself for being too absent-minded to buy food often enough. He found a packet of bread that had turned blue and put it in the bin. He spotted a brown paper bag with half a baguette still in it and put that on a platter. He opened his fridge and took out a piece of camembert. He placed it on the platter as well. He put a tub of butter on the platter, along with three apples and carried it to his slaves.
Grantaire was sitting up, holding an empty glass in his hands. Enjolras put the platter down.
"May I fetch you more water?" he asked Grantaire.
Grantaire looked at him in terror.
"Master should not wait on a slave…"
Enjolras cut him off. He took the empty glass from his shaking hands and also picked up Éponine's from the table.
"Eat."
When he came back with refilled glasses Éponine was bickering with Grantaire.
"What's this now?" he asked, setting down the glasses.
"Please tell R he should eat, this isn't a trap."
Éponine's voice was strong, so unlike anything he had heard from a slave.
"R? Is that your nickname, Grantaire? She's right, you should eat. You look malnourished. I'm sorry the baguette is a bit stale, I'm a bit forgetful with food."
Grantaire tentatively broke off a piece of baguette and placed it in his mouth.
"But some butter or cheese on it, it can't be nice just like that," Enjolras prompted.
"Everything tastes good when you aren't used to being fed more than rotten table scraps," Éponine said pointedly.
"You should eat too."
Éponine cut a slice of camembert and placed it on a piece of baguette. When she took a bite her eyes closed momentarily in pleasure at her first bite to eat in two days.
"And please put on some clothes, it can't be comfortable naked. I obviously don't have clothes ready for you at this moment, but my things should fit you… sort of."
Éponine handed Grantaire a blue T-shirt and jeans and a pair of cotton boxers. She gave him a stern look and he put on the clothes, shooting nervous looks at Enjolras. Éponine pulled a T-shirt over her head. She was so small it fit her like a dress.
"Master, this slave feels very improper for wearing Master's clothes. This slave doesn't want to be bad; it is fine for it to be naked."
Enjolras seated himself across the two slaves.
"Okay, here's the catch. I'm a rich boy with a law degree and a job in the family firm. But, I like to think of myself as a half-decent person with a moral code. Slavery is abhorrent to me. I buy slaves and, with the help of a group of friends, get them fake IDs and send them to Germany, where this heinous system of people owning people doesn't exist. I have done this successfully for the past six years, since I moved out of my parents' home when I was eighteen and started an abolitionist society. We, Le Ami's de l'ABC are trying to fight the laws on slavery, but until there is mass revolution in the masses, the best we can do is help individual slaves. My parents don't know about any of this. I sent ten former slaves on their way last night with Combeferre, my right hand man. The successfully crossed the border and are now free citizens of Germany. We gave them each a list of people they can contact to help them find a place to stay and work. That is what I want to do for you when you are ready and we have an opportunity. Is that something you would like?"
Enjolras finished his speech and looked up for the first time.
Grantaire looked as if he was about to vomit.
Éponine's gaze was pure hatred.
"I know we're your property and you can beat me, whip me, fuck me, whatever, for saying this, but don't mock us. Don't spin us this web of lies and trick us into thinking we're going to escape, only to lure us into some den of inequity," she spat.
"I'm not going to beat, whip, or… fuck you. I will never do that to another person. I know you don't trust me now, but I do hope to prove myself to you in the time you are here," Enjolras said, more calmly than he felt.
Grantaire let out a soft moan and clamped his hand over his mouth.
"I'm sorry, Master…" he began.
"Don't apologise for things that don't need apology and don't call me Master, call me Enjolras."
Grantaire started shaking his head furiously.
"Only so you can beat us for disrespect?" Éponine chimed in.
"Don't you think if I was going to punish you for disrespect, I would have done so when you started with your backtalk?" Enjolras demanded irately. "Any slave owner who wanted an actual slave would have whipped some submission into you just for those looks you gave me when I bought you. I'm not stupid; I can see you hate me. Or hate the person you think I am. I am just asking you for a chance to show you I'm not a monster." Enjolras' vein was throbbing again.
Grantaire was slowly slouching.
"Eat," Enjolras ordered with the dominant voice of his privileged childhood.
Éponine sprang into action and helped Grantaire to eat while Enjolras watched. He willed his heart rate to come down. Éponine's looks of disgust made him angry and he didn't know why or how to deal with it. He had never encountered such a strong-willed slave. Submission was beaten into them or they were killed. How had this woman slipped through the cracks of the cruel system?
He was pulled from his ponderings by Éponine asking him if Grantaire could rest somewhere, to Grantaire's immediate protests that he is a hard-working slave who can be good.
"How rude of me, let me show you your rooms," Enjolras said and stood up.
"Grantaire, can you walk?"
"Yes, Master, this slave can do anything its Master would like it to…" Grantaire jumped to his feet, but immediately fell. Enjolras caught him in his strong arms.
"I've got you, don't worry." He gathered the thin man in his arms and started up the stairs. He didn't have to tell Éponine to follow.
At the top of the stairs he turned to a room on the left side of the hall. The room was spacious and light flooded the room from the large bay windows. The four-poster bed that was obviously antique was covered in a light blue duvet to match the chaise lounge. Éponine could see the en suite bathroom. Enjolras laid Grantaire down on the bed. Grantaire tried to protest weakly, but Enjolras placed a finger to his lips.
"Just sleep. Your bathroom is right across the room. Call me if you need anything. If you wake up hungry or thirsty and you feel up to walking downstairs alone, feel free to get yourself some food. Now just rest."
Grantaire's tired eyes drifted closed and he fell asleep almost instantly.
Éponine looked at him sceptically. Enjolras motioned for her to leave the room and he pulled the door half-closed behind them.
"You're room is here," he said, entering the room just across from Grantaire's.
This room was darker. The four-poster was made of ebony and the duvet, as well as the sofa was blood red.
"Is this the room where you tie me up and fuck me bloody every night?" Éponine asked coldly.
"This was my childhood room, actually. And no, I meant it when I said I wouldn't engage in sexual interaction with you. And don't use such filthy language," he said sternly.
"Ooh, I have a filthy mouth; you need to smack it for me."
Éponine's voice dripped with sarcasm.
"Éponine, I know you probably have a lot to be bitter about in life, but is it too much to ask that you don't take it out on me?" Enjolras asked exasperatedly.
"I'm deeply sorry for my insolence, Master, you should punish me."
Now she was walking toward him with fire burning in her eyes.
"I'm not going to punish you… ever. I don't do that. I don't believe in slavery. I don't believe one person can own another. So, I would appreciate it if you could stop acting like a child about this." Enjolras grimaced at her. "Do you want to rest as well?"
"'Ain't no rest for the wicked.' Am I quoting that right?" Éponine smirked and jumped up onto the bed.
"It's actually 'there is no peace for the wicked', but I'm surprised you know a Bible verse."
"Why? Do you assume because I am a slave I'm stupid?"
"No, but in my experience, the stupidest people often like quoting the Bible much more than intelligent people. 'But the wicked are like the tossing sea, which cannot rest, whose waves cast up mire and mud. "There is no peace," says my God, "for the wicked."' My mother loved mentioning that to me, when I asked her how come God allows some people to own other people. She said that they were being punished for some ancient wrongdoing. But, then again, she was always drunk."
Enjolras walked closer to the bed, where Éponine was sitting cross-legged, completely exposing herself.
"Tell me how you came to be a slave," he asked, trying not to look at her spread legs.
She fixed him with a hard look and then began.
"My parents used to own an inn in a quaint little town. We were fairly rich. My parents are criminals, my sister was dragged into their mess, I assume. I have no idea what happened to my baby brother. He's either a slave or dead in a gutter, or being bent over a bed in some brothel. I was sold to pay off my father's gambling debts. Sold to an old man, bourgeoisie, had a massive estate. He was, like… seventy five when I arrived there when I was eight. Back then I used to work in the kitchen mostly, scrub a few floors. I was under the service of the cook, Ailain. He was a middle-aged man, a good man, with a bit of a temper. He was a fabulous cook. He used to be a cordon blue chef, but he killed his wife's lover and was sent to prison and sold as a slave to combat prison over-crowding. He ended up there. I think he saw me as a daughter. He would give me treats when he could, like madeleines. God, they were delicious. He always made sure I was fed just enough, I never really went hungry. I had it about as good as a slave can have it. There was another boy, Grantaire," at the mention of his name she smiled the saddest smile Enjolras had ever seen, "who was four years older than me. I met him when he was picking apples in the orchard. I think I had to feed chickens or some shit, I can't even remember that part. We started talking. Then the grounds-keeper, slave-driver, I don't know what he was, found us talking. And he whipped us and it was… excruciating. I had never felt pain like that. Grantaire took it much better than I did. He was obviously used to it at, like, twelve, thirteen. I ran back to Ailain. He held me, gave me something for the pain and bandaged my cuts up. When my back was healed he was all stern and told me he was very disappointed in me, he doesn't want to see me endanger myself like that."
Éponine laughed, it was sad laughter for times gone by.
"He gave me a few firm smacks and sent me on my way after a hug and a kiss on the forehead. He was a good man, even if he was a strict kitchen master. I mean, he had to be if he didn't want to be punished. Slavery is a nasty thing. When I was young, like eight to twelve, and I did something bad like break a cup or take a bite of a piece of cheese, Ailain was my direct superior and he would have to punish me. He had a soft heart, especially where it concerned me. Not that anyone would have ever guessed with the show he put on. Grabbed my by the ear and took me somewhere where we were alone and tell me to lift up my skirt and bend over. When it was a small wrongdoing, he would just smack me with his hand. He hit hard enough to hurt, but not anywhere near a normal slave's punishment. Then he'd make me kneel in the corner for a few minutes. And then I'd have to go wash dishes again. And if it was something really bad, like stealing, oh God, he hated me to steal. But, I mean, it's genetic for me, my parents are like the biggest thieves in France. He'd grab a wooden spoon and beat me, but not cruelly, not like a slave is beaten, more like a child is beaten. So, in a way that made me feel better, made me feel like there was finally someone who cared."
Éponine was absent-mindedly drawing circles on her right knee. It was like she was recounting her life story to herself and not her new master.
"If he had to punish me for something he thought didn't require punishment, like the ritual beatings on our birthday, he would smack me until I was sore enough to look uncomfortable, but then smack his own hand or leg to make everyone believe he was really giving it to me hard. He would tell me to yelp and maybe throw an extra good one in for realism. But then, when I turned twelve and grew these," she lewdly groped her breasts, "the punishment became a bit awkward, because he had to excuse himself to the bathroom for ten minutes afterwards to get rid of his hard-on. So my punishment was deferred to Madame Devereaux. Old maid, I think she might have been Master's nanny or something, she was so old. Wrinkled and gross and I didn't like that scary bitch one bit. So the first time I did something bad again, like probably steal a carrot or something, Ailain told me 'oh, Éponine, I'm terribly sorry, but this behaviour can't be tolerated' and I said 'I am deeply sorry for my actions, I'll bring you the spoon'. A slave doesn't argue when it is told it is to be punished, to take punishment is like its primary function. And then he said I must go to Madame Devereaux and tell her what I've done. I was scared then. The old bat had given me some nasty smacks when I was working in the main house, cleaning wrong. I went to her: I didn't want to disobey Ailain. She had a cane and she hit until she drew blood, unlike Ailain, who only left a few bruises, if I was bad. After that first time with Madame I started becoming much more secretive, so really the punishment wasn't doing much good. Grantaire was sixteen now, smarter. We started meeting up. I'd steal some paper and a pen and he'd draw me. It was weird, to pose there like some bourgeoisie girl. I felt pretty. After two years of that, when I turned fourteen, which were relatively good years, despite Madame, two female slaves were sold. They were special slaves, I barely ever saw them. They had proper rooms, like this one, while we were all stuck in the attic. They were just sold. They were about 35 at the time. And I moved up in the hierarchy to take their place. A big leap from scullery maid to whore."
Enjolras locked eyes with her. Her gaze was stone-cold.
"That's when the trouble began. Master was… depraved. I learned the true meaning of pain from him. He showed me to my new room and told me to bend over the bed, because I've been a bad girl. I assumed he knew about the pens and paper and loafing about on Sunday mornings with Grantaire. I thought he was going to hit me. He lifted up my skirt and pulled down my underwear, which was new, normally I just had a white cotton dress to wear. It was just like Ailain and Madame did when they wanted to punish me. I knew I could take a beating from a geriatric. But then he unzipped his pants and fucked me. I was sufficiently startled. I had never been fucked and it hurt and I bled. My new white dress was covered in blood when he was finally done with me after about an hour. I was so confused at first and it happened every day after that. I didn't have as many chores anymore, because I was special. But it only got worse and worse. He liked causing me pain. He chocked me with his cock, liked to strangle me until I passed out, he used clothes pegs in ways you can't imagine. But I made it through."
Éponine's face was pale.
"And then he died a week ago of a heart attack. I was glad, but also scared. What if his bourgeoisie son sold me to a brothel? We were all taken away to the auction house two days ago and it was pretty bad there. One man tried to rape me and I attacked him. I cursed them all while Grantaire watched in horrified silence. They tried to cut my tongue out. Thankfully, Master's son told them not to. I was already worth too little. What man wants to buy a whore who can't use her tongue? And then you bought me. Which I am thankful for, I think. Except if you are going to train me up to sell me to a brothel, then I'm not thankful at all, because then you're just delaying the inevitable. I thank you for the food and water, for this shirt. I thank you for not having beaten me yet. I look forward to seeing the real you."
Éponine looked at him, as calm as still water.
"The real me?" Enjolras asks with a sceptically raised eyebrow.
"The slave owner, Master Enjolras. Not this act, this façade of caring. I don't know why, we're slaves, we have no power and you have all of it."
"This isn't an act! I can't understand why you can't just believe me! What have I done to give you a reason to distrust me?" Enjolras exclaimed.
"Bought me," she stated simply.
"I bought you to save you," he said through gritted teeth.
"I don't need saving. I am a slave, I'm worthless. In the eyes of the law I am property. I care for Grantaire, which is all I'm worth. I can take his punishments for him. He is so much better than I am," she whispered the last bit, almost to herself.
"Why?" Enjolras' voice was strangled.
"He's not a whore. He is a worker, a good clean worker. He is obedient, I'm a backchatty little bitch, even you said so."
"I never called you a bitch," he said fiercely.
"Oh, I'm sorry you find my filthy language so disrespectful," she sneered.
"Why are you like this?" he ran his hand through his curly blond hair. "If you don't trust that I'm not going to beat you, why do you provoke me so?"
"Call me a masochist, but I like to push people. Maybe it's in my blood. I'm going to push you until you break and I see what you are hiding under that exterior. It doesn't fool me; I've been playing people my whole life. Don't think you will ever know me, just because you know how I got here." Her voice dripped with contempt.
"I don't know if you get off on luring girls into your lair by telling them those stories of righteousness, I don't know what the fuck's going on in that blond head. All I know is that I just want to know how this is going to work, what you want from me, what you want from Grantaire."
"I want nothing but to set you free," Enjolras said, his wide blue eyes teary.
Éponine jumped up from the bed and walked to the chest of drawers.
"What if I knock this over?" she pointed to a vase filled with Saint Joseph's lilies. She nudged the vase over and everything spilled onto the wooden floorboards.
"Then it spills, as you can see." Enjolras' face was tight.
"What are you going to do to me?"
"Nothing."
"Aren't you mad?"
"It's water and flowers. It's not a big deal."
"Really? And if I did this?" she spits at his feet.
A muscle in his cheek twitched.
"I would say you are being unnecessarily disrespectful. I would politely request you to refrain from doing that."
"What if I just keep on going though? What then?"
"Don't," he says through gritted teeth.
The small dark woman shoves against his chest.
"I said, don't," his hands are bunched in fists at his sides.
"Or what? Are you getting angry?"
"Yes."
"So what are you going to do? Are you going to beat me? Are you going to fuck me?"
"No."
"You sound so unsure now, all of a sudden. Is this what gets you going? The fight?" Her face was right underneath his chin now.
"Stop, I beg of you."
He closed his eyes, as if he could hide from her.
"I'm not going to stop until I know what you are."
"I am just a man who, in my own small way, wants to fight against the injustice of this country."
"Bullshit!" she pushes him again.
"STOP!" he roars and grabs her by her upper arms.
Her arms feel so thin, his fingers can almost wrap completely around. He can feel the muscle under the olive skin, he can feel she must have done a lot of physical work. Then the realisation hit him that she was so much smaller than he was. He was 1.83 meters tall and the top of her head didn't even reach his shoulder. Her gaze was fierce, yet he thought he saw a glimpse of fear.
"Master, please, I will take her away, I can make her see reason…"
Grantaire was on his knees in the doorway, pleading with him.
He let Éponine go.
"I apologise for my rash behaviour."
With those words he was gone.
There was a moment of tense silence between the two slaves before Grantaire was scolding Éponine in a barely contained whisper.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing, 'Ponine? Do you have a fucking death-wish?"
Éponine responded as if in a trance.
"I knocked over a vase and I shoved him and he did nothing… And then you came in and he left…" A single tear fell from her eye.
"He's not doing anything now, so it will be worse later when we aren't expecting it. I know you were a little house slave, but I know the score: he is going to bring us to the brink of death for your stupidity," Grantaire spat.
Éponine whimpered and started crying. Grantaire immediately wrapped his arms around her and they fell on the bed together and he held her on his chest until her breathing evened out. Then he closed his eyes and slept.
