It was my job to get Quatre ready once we had his clothes on. It wasn't easy, and I thought of asking master to come help several times, but I didn't want to seem inept. It was just that Quatre kept squirming in his seat, so it was difficult to do his make-up. It would have been harder had I been applying anything more than a little lip-gloss and eyeshadow, but master wasn't too worried about our appearances beyond our clothes. I honestly don't think he noticed the make-up I wore when we went to see the other masters, because he was surprised when I suggested putting some make-up on Quatre. He agreed readily, though, trusting me with his care.
Another master would have been more careful leaving a helpless slave in another slave's care, but the feeling of competition that existed under other masters had never arisen here. In another household, even I might have been tempted to scar Quatre's beautiful face, to assure my own place within the house. But there was no need for such fierceness here. I had quickly seen that Quatre would not take my place. He was beautiful, a prize no doubt, but he was so very different from me, and so weak from his rough treatment. Quatre had been accepted into the fold, and I had not been pushed out. In turn I accepted Quatre, and he accepted me in return. It had made master all the happier, and for that I was grateful.
It was Master's new slave that I worried about. Quatre had been injured when he arrived, so he had not been able to find a place above me, and had become my equal instead of my rival. I did not have the same hopes for the third addition to our house. With the scars on my back, there was no way I could compete for master's attentions if a more attractive, better trained rival were to show up. I would be pushed aside.
Something felt inherently wrong about doing Quatre's make-up in his semi-conscious state. More than that it was difficult, it was like painting a moving doll. When I looked into those light blue eyes, there was nothing of Quatre's earlier intelligence, or his feelings. The passion that Quatre had been able to protect for so long was gone, replaced by the superficial sweetness of the puppet that sat patiently in front of me, unaware of what was going on.
Once I was finished, Master came in and, after glancing at Quatre's face as an inspection, picked the light boy up and walked toward the door, muttering that it was time to go. I saw Quatre's eyes focus for a moment as Master spoke, but the drugs kicked in a second later and he was back to being doll-Quatre. I would have to keep a close eye on him, lest he hurt himself.
The dinner wasn't especially fancy. If it hadn't been for the half-dressed slaves beside every master, it would have seemed almost ordinary. The chairs at the table were strange, but common for Collar functions. It was more of a bench with a high back in the middle. The master would sit in the center of the bench as though it were a normal chair. Slaves would sit on either side, either sitting up or reclining into the master's lap or onto the soft cushions on the edge of chair.
Master had put Quatre down as we neared the restaurant, at my request. It would have seemed strange for a master to carry a slave around unless the master had recently done something to injure that slave, and then the master would only carry them back to the room. Quatre walked slowly, his head down as though he believed he had done something wrong. It was the drugs, and I knew it, but I still felt as though I should do something to help him. Master seemed to sense it, too, because he paused as we entered the room and made Quatre look at him.
"Smile for me," he asked gently, smiling softly at him. Quatre seemed confused for a moment, then gave Master a full-force grin. Master smiled in return, and I felt my own lips tilt up. Then the moment was gone, and Master was ushering Quatre into a seat, myself into the other side.
Master Marcel was on the other side of the table, and for the first time that night I was glad Quatre was drugged, so that he couldn't see the scathing look his former master shot him. Apparently, Master Marcel also remembered the deal he made with my master, and was now regretting it. Master was right for bringing Quatre along, if he wanted to get the other slave. Of course, Master caught this look and threw one back with twice the intensity, causing Master Marcel to look away quickly. He was not afraid of my Master, but he was not far from it. It did not help that Master had a hatred for the man that he barely managed to conceal, making his tone icy and civil when they spoke.
There were four other masters at the table besides Marcel. I recognized all of them from previous encounters with my other masters, but luckily none of them were my former masters. Beside Marcel sat a thin, cruel-looking master called The Duke. Slaves that were not his own never referred to him as Master Duke, and even his own slaves often called him The Duke. He was intimidating enough, even without the master title. There was a fairly new master named Master Jet, one of the few female masters named Madam Long, and Master Zephyr.
There were, of course, other slaves situated around the table as well, but all except one were looking down and never dared to raise their heads. Only the Chinese youth accompanying Madam Long dared to look my way, and I recognized him as our eyes met. He was not Madam Long's slave at all, but instead belonged to the Masters' Master, man called the Owner, the man who ran Collar. His slave name was Dragon, and he was famous among Collar participants because he was the only slave to take first place in four tournaments along with several second and third places. If he had managed to win top ten in one more event he would have won Collar alone, a feat that no other slave had even come close to. However, because he was the Owner's slave, he was never permitted to work with a team, and he was never sold.
No, Dragon's fate was much worse than that. The Owner had offered something of a bounty on his body. If any master could persuade Dragon to come to his bed willingly, he would automatically be given the honor and titled associated with winning Collar. If a master could break Dragon, he would learn the true name of the Owner, making him the most powerful master in Collar. So far, no one had been able to break Dragon, for Owner would not permit anyone to damage his slave, but Dragon was regularly "rented out" to interested master hoping to make a name for themselves. It seemed that Madam Long had decided to try her hand, but from her frown I could guess that she was having little luck. If rumors were true, Dragon was more than a handful.
"I hope I haven't kept everyone waiting," Master apologized to the group.
"Hm," purred Madam Long cruelly, "It allowed us all to make friends. Didn't it, Poppet?" she asked Dragon, who glared vehemently at the table as she uttered the name. From her expression and his, I could tell the neither of them had made friends.
"Don't let her scare you," said Master Jet, "She's just been having trouble with the Dragon. Seems she bit off more than she could chew when she took on Collar's naughtiest pet."
"He's not naughty," Madam Long Corrected with a frown, "He's high maintenance. The Owner spoils the brat, so that no other master can do anything with him!" she hissed, elbowing the slave in the ribs. Dragon remained unmoved, his eyes boring into the table.
"I give up," Madam Long sighed, "The boy just doesn't want to be happy," she said. It was a common tactic among masters, to make the slave blame themselves for any problem they had. It worked on slaves with low intelligence, but had little effect on those better trained. Dragon was indifferent, so Madam Long elbowed him again. He moved the slightest bit away from the blow, but otherwise ignored her. His eyes stared hard at the table, and he seemed to feel that someone was watching him, for he fidgeted just the slightest bit. When he finally looked up, it was not my eyes that he met, but eyes slightly above and behind me, which I could only assume were Master's. Something seemed to pass between them, but luckily I was the only one to notice. I another moment, they both looked away.
"If you can't handle him, you should have never taken him," Duke commented, blind to what had just transgressed.
"It's not my fault!" Madam Long defended, "The Owner's been away on business, and Mistress Ice doesn't have time to babysit him and train her own slaves. She just started breaking the little redhead, for goodness sake! She asked me if I could handle him for a while, I don't see any of you jumping at the offer," she hissed, glaring at the rest of the table. In honesty, most of the masters had given up attempting to get anywhere with Dragon. It had been more than two years since that proclamation, and yet no one had willingly managed to make him come to their bed and, though there was word that a few had made him go unwillingly, none had broken his spirit. No wise master training for Collar would be willing to take care of the Dragon while Owner was away.
"I'll take him."