Riki's head was lowered, perhaps in an attempt to block out the rest of the world he had been forced to live in, or perhaps to keep his thoughts from being distracted. There wasn't much that he wanted to think about. Everything seemed to be a mess, a mash of events that he wished hadn't occurred. The former reason for his lowered head was probably the one he had chosen.

The door to Iason's lounge slid open immediately for the young boy, and he wished that he could have gone through a different entrance as Daryl, the young man whom he didn't wish to see, was waiting for him.

Daryl bowed appropriately as he greeted Riki, but when he straightened his posture, he saw something which he didn't expect. "Welcome back. S-Sir Riki! Those wounds on your face!"

But Riki was already walking past him, lifting his hand up to in an attempt to leave the matter. "It's nothing. Leave me alone."

"Please wait, Sir Riki. Sir Riki -!"

"Shut up!" Riki, still shaken up by the fight and still in a bad temper, turned to Daryl in his usual intimidating manner, causing the servant to jump back cautiously. "I said it's nothing!"

"Even a small wound that seems like nothing can be a danger to your life," Daryl explained, left with no choice but to follow him. "I can't leave you untreated. The management of your health is my responsibility. You're not the one that'll be punished for it later – I will!"

Riki turned away from him slightly and folded his bruised arms. A small smile crept onto his bleeding face, adding a sense of eeriness that almost gave Daryl shivers. "Oh yeah. You're the one that makes the food and picks the clothes, too. You're also the one who cleans me up after Iason's had me, the one who puts medicine on my cut up ass. I can't do anything for myself!"

The grin that Riki had donned before was now a furious snarl, but Daryl replied calmly nonetheless. "That's the job of the furniture. Now, please... let me see the wounds on your face."

Riki knew that Daryl was in the same boat as him. He knew the feeling of fear that Iason could inflict if an order was disobeyed. He knew that Daryl wanted to be here no more than Riki did, and so the only shred of kindness he could give him was to allow him to dress his wounds. It was convenient that Daryl had a towel with him – he might have expected such a problem – and getting the medicine to treat the wounds was always close by.

But it wasn't always the pride that was at stake during times like this. Another reason why Riki was reluctant to allow Daryl to help him when he was beaten up was because the medicines he used were always foul, and Riki couldn't help but wince when they touched his sore face.

"Are you all right?"

Riki didn't answer. He was concentrating too much on the rumours he had heard: the few rumours that, for once, didn't concern him. Well, they concerned him not as a person, but the situation he had been placed in a lot recently. It was a rumour he wasn't sure he wanted to hear.

"Daryl," Riki couldn't stop himself from confirming this rumour.

"Yes?"

"They said Elites don't usually take their pets... is that true? Do they really just watch and enjoy?"

Daryl busied himself by using the towel to dry his face, making sure he was at least presentable for the time being. He hesitated before replying. "That is what I've heard."

"So then... Why does he take me?" Riki couldn't understand why Iason would confront his social status with such a move. Better yet, why would he want to? Why would he want to break the boundaries between pet and master, even if it was just in the bedroom? He wasn't even an official pet; to Iason, he should be nothing but dirt, and yet, Iason questioned all of this by indulging in an act not even Riki understood. What was he to Iason? Was he a lover, a toy, or a mere way of occupying his time and amusing himself, taking entertainment from Riki when he was at his breaking point. Why was he doing this? "Why is he always so..."

Riki trailed off, his thoughts interrupted by the devil of the conversation. The same door, which Riki had entered through moments before, opened to allow Iason Mink into the room. Riki's curious demeanour was instantly replaced by a piercing glare, one that which Iason was only too familiar with. As usual, he ignored the boy and instead made note of his current situation.

"It seems like you had another spectacular fight at the Saloon," Iason smirked slightly, causing the mongrel's glare to grow more furious. "How are your wounds? Looks like they won't leave any scars. So? Are you going out to the Saloon again tomorrow?"

"As if I'm going to stay closed up in this boring place all day," Riki snapped, turning his head away from his master, his glare just visible underneath his soft locks of hair. "A slum mongrel doesn't go down so easily. When we're hit, we pay it back twice over. That's common sense. As if I'd just back off after being mocked."

But Iason seemed uninterested. "If you wish," his approach to the situation was less passionate than Riki's. "The Saloon is the only place in which pets can behave freely without being bound by shackles. It's more or less convenient..." Iason took a step towards Riki, who was breathing rather heavily despite Iason's calmness. "But understand, Riki. Don't overdo it. Scandals that may leak to the outside are prohibited, whether somebody else started it or not. I won't hear any excuses. Don't forget that."

And with that, Iason brushed past a fuming mongrel who was left to stew in his anger.