A/N:Ekkies, I saw something pretty similar to this, except that Dai was all soft and push-able. Well, you know what I mean, right? Em…never mind…
I don't own DN angel. TTTT
"I ain't going no fuckin' audition!" they don't really care; they just want their freakin' money back 'cause they got themselves a faulty slave. I ain't gonna go there and let some rich assholes fuck me for a so-called 'free-trial' and then get bought by some dumb ass who want to complete his collection of 'one hundred slaves in 10 days' for some bloody bet and then whack me up with the whip. I ain't gonna be no freakin' fool again.
"You are going there whether I'm gonna have to put shit in your mouth again or slug your guts bloody!" the fat-assed and fat-belly ordered his guards to give the stupid whip a good workout and tied me up with some darn itchy ropes and covered my eyes with a dirty rag. Then, big, muscle hands grabbed me good and flung me into the cart and I landed on my butt. The truck vomited out stinking black smoke and bumped off onto the road, probably happy to go to that freakin' audition place.
The audition is not where they sell all that crap of a 'retailed stuff' or some dumb big shiny rings and necklaces and stuff that rich people wear to show off their stinkin' money. They sold people like me. Stupid slaves that didn't do nothing but wiped the house clean and cook food for the 'masters' and cower in the damn bedrooms when masters were gonna use up their bodies for their sick entertainment. Sickos, they always make me wanna puke on their smelly furry carpets.
Some darn nails and bits of metal must've gone unscrewed and decided to screw up my hip. Man, it hurts bad, and I really wanna pull out whatever it was, but the itchy ropes held on good. The driver was totally lousy at it, the truck keep on bumping up and down like there were a lot of damn rocks on the road. I keep on landing on my butt and it's hurting like hell with the metal thingy still screwing up my hip.
I can hear the men with big voices all of a sudden. We were getting' near the audition.
I wanna suck on some bread real bad.
I heard a child cryin' for no reason, but I know what the reason was. They took him away from his mama, just like they did to me. It's always the same, 'cause the retarded man don't care nothing 'bout their feelings. They just wanna to earn big bucks, 'cause people like the younger ones. More obedient. More easy to use. To abuse.
To hurt. To torture. I don't why they find torturing kids who lost their mamas fun. They are Sickos, true to their name. Being sick is their game.
My rag slipped off and I felt the sun sting my eyes real bad.
No.43 just got sold, a child around half of my age. Seven year olds seemed pretty popular nowadays. I shifted my butt on the itchy dirt but couldn't get no comfort. The kid's skin was flawless, I noticed. Looked really beautiful in the sun, probably why he got sold off so quickly. They like smooth skin with no scars or black blues or any ugly things that can grow out of your skin. 'Cause it means that the slave was a good slave. Quiet, obedient, never fight back, never tried to escape. That's why they don't get the whip enough times to have their skins almost ripped off their flesh for no good reasons.
I ain't that soft, push-able kind. I tried to fight, escape. Slacked off quite a lot just to piss them off. But funny thing was, my skin never look all bumpy with scars or bruises for too long. They fade off to nowhere after a few weeks. That sucks bad, 'cause when they paid way bigger bucks for you, they want so much more. I couldn't slack off much with them breathing down my neck all the time and stuffing bile down my throat. The other slaves could slack off a lot 'cause they don't stand out as much as me with my spiky red hair and big head. I hate my hair, but I couldn't just dye it blue or some other dull colors. They'd whack me hard for that.
The muscle hands pulled me up and ripped off the itch ropes and half of the skin of my hurting wrists. He dragged me up the wooden stairs, or tried to, 'cause I managed to stepped on his feet with my heels even though I can't see him with the damn rag over my eyes again. Heels can put much more pain than the whole feet, which was something I learnt from that time they tried to shove me into a smelly cage when I was eight and I just did so. Yelled three times louder. I had a good laugh.
The man howled like a dog 'bout getting its legs chopped off and screamed for the others to drag me up instead. They lifted me off the ground before I could run and threw me up there instead of just dragging. These have a lot of experience, that's for sure.
Once I was up on my aching feet, I could hear prices soaring as high as seven hundred dollars for me. Don't know why, but this batch of buyers probably like those that struggle a good bit. I'll kick which ever loser's ass when he bought me off. He'll probably hit my head till I turn retarded, but I rather have that than know exactly know what is going on. The truth sometimes really hurt like hell.
They were bidding for me crazily, almost to a thousand dollars. I felt my stomach sinking right down onto the boiling sandy dirt below the wooden stage. What the heck were those people thinking? They probably thought that struggle was 'bout all I could do, but I'll make them fall off their asses in shock when I show them the real deal. I ain't no soft ass, that I were certain.
The muscle hands were holding me good, so I can't take off my blindfold to see how many bidders there were, and I want to see where the crying was from. Probably from another child, but I had to see, I had to know. I don't know why, I just want to know. I heard "mummy" callings between the million sobs I can hear, but the others don't even seem to notice. Those dumb asses were probably deaf, if they really can't hear those crying. They just don't care at all. They're just some cold-blooded beasts that think money can get anything they want to put their shitty hands on.
"Show us his eyes, then maybe I'll give four times that money," I heard some deep voice saying to the audition man. The fat ass of course, happily ripped off my rag for that rich ass man. I kept my eyes closed and turned my face away from the sun. Slender fingers gripped my cheek and craned my face back to look at the owner, who was definitely not the audition man. He ain't never so gentle to me or anyone I saw. My eyelids were still over my eyes, I ain't gonna let him see my eyes just to spit into them.
"Open them, No.51,"
Yeah, I really gonna let him buy me off and whip me up bad.
"No way, not for you fat ass,"
There was a gasp. I heard the audition man stupidly apologizing like a half-wit and heard his heavy footsteps faded away, and then came back, and I know he has the whip.
The whip was gonna get another good workout again.
A/N:Em…was it okay?