Okay guppies. New chapter. Dreadfully short, but hey, NEW CHAPTER. My computer is acting so fucking stupid right now. I went through and did a really rough edit meaning there will probably be tons of mistakes, warning you now. Proceed with caution. I'm extremely sorry but I didn't want to keep you guys waiting.
Wings to Fly
Chapter Two: Nico
A shiny metal wash basin is forcefully pushed into their room. Water droplets scatter. "Wash," is the brisk command. Then, the slam of the door. The clicking of the locks sliding back into place.
The bathtub is filled with murky water that reflect the dim light bulbs overheard. An orange sponge bobs at the top. It's flaked with ruby blood and pinkish membrane. He wasn't the first for cleaning today. He's sure he won't be the last. Nico watches it, numb, as Bianca sends him a small lipped smile.
Her wings flutter behind her. They're beautiful, his sister's wings, large and wide, black as night and starred with a thousand light blue circles. They're like a glittering night sky. She loves them. He loves them. Everyone loves them.
Bianca dips her fingers into the water, grabbing the sponge. "It's still warm," she lies. Her fingers squeeze the material and rosy water drips out. One, two, ripple. One, two, ripple. It's a rhythm.
She pushes a dark piece of hair out of her face. She approaches him like a wild animal. She doesn't need to do that. He's not afraid of the sponge or her. He's barely alert. He's merely there. Breathing and blinking. Ignoring the movement on his back.
"I'm going to wash you now, I'll be careful, I promise," she says, so quiet he barely hears her.
He doesn't give her any indication that he's heard. His gaze lifts from the bathtub in front of him. He sees a hazy outline of her back. She raises the sponge, whispering sweet words of would-be comfort.
"Bianca," he rasps just as her hand hovers above him. Drops of water fall from the sponge, sliding down his back in trails of fire.
"Yes Nico," she edges closer.
He closes his eyes, breathing in and breathing out. He feels them. They move with every breath he takes, with every shift in body. He peeks open one eye, offering her a smile, so wide and stretched it hurts his face.
"Can you wash away my wings?"
In a dress that barely skimmed his upper thighs, he felt like a whore. In makeup, he felt like a poor clown's imitator. In heavy chains, he felt like a prisoner.
They placed him in a front a large body mirror. Their phantom hands flitted quickly over his body, trying to perfect the un-perfectable. His lightless eyes bore into him, filled with contempt. Those are the only features they can never change.
They, he never bothered to learn their names nor do they tell him, shoved him from the his reflecting image and to the backstage. He fell into line after tens of other hybrids. Some of them shaking, some of them crying, all of them scared.
He was different from the hybrids, both mentally and physically. A fact he never failed to note whenever he was placed in the actual Auction. He noticed minor details like the others wore little to no clothing; they always moved freely without chains, guided through the curtains with a gentle hand. Their eyes were always turned toward the floor, the shoulders and stances, hunched to make themselves smaller.
He was easily one of the smallest of the bunch, the one with the weakest physique, yet he was one encased in chains. He was the one that wore a tight muzzle stretched to fit half his face. He was also the only one that looked the handlers in the eye and held his head up as they did, proud and spiteful that he'd never be like the norm. He would bend to no one.
One by one, his fellow hybrids were sold. Until they were only two, him and the lemur.
"– Introducing the Prodigious Phidias!" the announcer, Louis bellowed. The curtains were opened, he caught a glimpse of the dazzling lights before Phidias was pushed out, his stripped black and white tail wrapped loosely around his waist.
The red curtains drew closed, he was left in the dark. The last one standing as usual. As close as he was, he heard everything. He listened, rage climbing with every collectivized roar of approval the crowd let out when Louis followed to their requests to terrorize Phidias.
He wondered what these people, this monsters, heard when Phidias let out a loud whimper of pain? What they saw when Phidias or any hybrids' face was screwed up in obvious pain or discomfort. Was it just the Auction that made man a savage sadistic beast or was it the outside too?
"We've got $5500 going once, twice, and sold to the lovely lady in the back!"
Polite cheering. More whimpering from Phidias.
"Unfortunately folks, we have come to the end of the line tonight. If you didn't find what you'll looking for today, come back next week. We're sure to have a new and exciting selection for you!" A pause. "Nico."
Not even an adjective was attached to his name. He was hurt. A handler grabbed his arm and dragged him forward, rather unneeded. He could walk forward just fine. The curtains parted and it was his time to shine.
One foot in front of the other, he told himself, when he came out onto stage. Disgusting. Sex was all he smelled. Lecherous men and women with their hybrids already poised in laps or hands touching everywhere and not one of them stopped their actions though their eyes were on him.
His chains clattered with each step walked across the wooden panels until he was right beside Louis whom was dressed in blues and blacks. A top hat and a whip were Louis' accessories, like a stereotypical ringmaster. He stood in place. They stared at him. He stared back.
"Be good or you'll be in the cage for two weeks," Louis hissed in his ear. His lips twitched, that was supposed to keep him in line? How many times were they going to threaten him with the cage?
Nevertheless, he held back a snort, showing no outward reaction. Louis skittered back with a black remote in hand. He tensed, waiting for the sound of the tinkling chimes, the soft click, and then — the heaviest of his bonds were dropped and his wings, his monstrous wings were released.
In that moment, he forgot his apathetic facade and the torrent of anger within him. He felt sweet relief when his wings extended from him to flare up in their full glory. They twitched behind him happy for their temporary freedom.
His gaze slid from the confused crowd to Louis. He waited for the dear announcer to provide all the necessary information about him.
"Nico here is an insect hybrid," said Louis.
He waited for the customary insults after that. His experience at The Auction told him that people desired exotic species but there was a limit to how far people went. People did not want to buy pests. The group before him still silent was a testament to that fact.
A luminescent yellow caught his eye. He watched a blond boy, not much older than himself, wave the yellow fan around jerkily.
"I'll take him," the blond said. "How much?"
What? He felt the ridiculous urge to point at himself. He squashed it almost immediately. Ridiculous. Surely, he must have heard wrong. No one ever wanted him. This blond meant some other hybrid, a different breed, perhaps he had missed the insect part. Louis, for his part, did a double-take for him.
"You actually want this thing!" Louis cackled. Ha. Ha. Ha. "Dear boy, he's a failed experiment — a moth. You'll be the laug—"
"I don't believe I asked for your opinion; how much for him?" the blond interrupted.
Louis flushed. "Five hundred."
An improvement of last week's price of $250. At the bid, no matter how low, he thought the blond would chicken out but he leveled a stare at him. "Sold," he said coolly.
"He's your problem now, boy," Louis mumbled.
And like that. He was someone else's. Surprise set in, after half a decade someone finally taken him, wanted him, and then came the spitting anger. He barely noticed how Louis produced a brass key and moved around him, unlocking all his locks and undoing his muzzle; he was just that consumed.
How dare that blond kid buy him like the rest? How dare he presume that he was the perfect hybrid to play with like a pet. Well, he would be in for a rude awakening. The Auction barely tolerated him for weeks before they sent him to the cage. He wondered how long the boy would last (days, if he was lucky) before he was sent back here.
Another handler, big guy, grabbed him by the arm and dragged him off the stage (he was growing tired of all this dragging) to his new… person. Sudden whispers and points surrounded as the man jerked him down the steps and between the aisles. Whereupon arriving, he was pushed to the blond's feet.
He scrambled up, ready for a fight, only he was met with an outstretched hand. He stared at it for seconds — gawked was the more accurate description. Again surprise coated him until he realized what he was doing. He knocked the hand away with a snort. He could get up on his own, thank you very much. And he did.
He brushed off his dress and promptly plopped in the seat next to the blond. He crossed his arms and slouched. The rott hybrid emitted a low growl from his spot on the floor. Move, he seemed to say, conform or else!
"Tough lucky, doggie," he said, speaking for the first time.
...
As expected his buyer was from a rich family, and just any rich family, no. His luck enabled him to be adopted by the son of the strictest, most conservative senator in American History: Zeus. They were of course pulled into some fancy tinted grade-A black car.
Kratos, the Rottweiler hybrid, sat at Jason's feet. Jason Grace, his buyer, sat in one of the leather seats. He refused to sit on the floor. He resolved to sit next to Jason with as much as space put between them as possible.
Not a word was spoken throughout the entire ride home. Jason sent him an extraneous amount of concerned glances, he could count the number of times the older boy opened his mouth only for him to shut it back again and blush. Kratos was a bit more forthcoming with his attitudes. His lips seemed to be pulled back in a permanent snarl, his brown eyes dark and piercing as his own, never left him for a second.
And too top it off, his wings were back into their damned restraints, cramped together and pressed painfully against his back. His was forced to shift constantly in an effort to keep the pain levels low.
Everything was peachy keen.
"Are you okay?" Jason asked. "I mean, um, I saw you squirming around. If you have to pee or something, don't be afraid to ask. I don't mind stopping."
He gritted his teeth and sat up rigidly. He did not want nor did he need help from his buyer. He continued to stare out his window, they were rolling passed large houses at this point, almost all of them were gated.
"You don't have to be silent, you know. You can talk as much as you want," offered Jason weakly.
He found Jason quite easy to ignore.
"Such disrespect! Maggot, listen to the Master when he speaks to you!" barked the doggie.
Kratos was easy to ignore too. Also, fun to rile up.
"No, it's okay if he doesn't want to speak, Kratos," Jason chastised. "I understand."
"No," he said.
"Excuse me?" Jason leaned over. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."
His fingers thrummed against his leg.
"Nico?"
He didn't see Jason with the hybrid appendages. He didn't see him up on The Auction stage with him and the others. Jason had never been starved, touched inappropriately, or watched someone literally waste away in front of him. Jason was just another link in his chain. This boy was born with a golden spoon in his mouth, perfectly normal and perfectly cushioned to experience whatever hardships (like he had any!) life may have thrown at him.
"You don't understand," he said harshly, facing Jason.
"Y-you're—"
"Right, I know. You will never understand us, so, you should stop trying. I don't need your pity."
Nico sent Jason a final glare. He propped his fist under chin back to peering out the window. Hopefully, that would be the last attempt at any sort of conversation.