C.M.D: Originally written back in the 2011-2012 era, this fic was an extension to the story "Skies of Vermillion"; but was eventually pulled when I migrated accounts, due to the fact that I hadn't updated it in all that time. Now that SoV is coming to its dramatic finish, I want to get this fic back out there on the 'net and hopefully get it all cranked out within a year. So please, enjoy this archaic, forgotten bit of story in all its unedited glory (minus bits snipped out for website policies) from my earlier days!
"Sir... please, sir... won't you listen to me?"
Swindle paused in his rounds, turning to the soft, little whisper. It was a plead that would have usually received his least amount of attention, or perhaps a cruel snide remark on another day. He did not, after all, have the time nor care to sit back and listen to every desperate beg that came his way. But of course, this question was not like the others. It's very demure nature was striking among all the cacophony of the cages, made to be easily drowned out by all the other noise going on around them, and yet, amazingly, it reached its intended audience.
The merchant shuffled a little closer, lifting the edges of his robe as he peered into a wide-set cage. Imagine his surprise when two, baby blue optics shuttered back up at him; the tiny Autobot sitting neatly on the cellar floor, legs tucked under him. "Sir...," came that soft whisper again, from between those tiny lip components, "... if you might perhaps listen...?"
"You have my attention...," Swindle replied slowly, holding out his lamp a little further. "What is it that you want?"
This was one of his latest batch of virgin slaves, the Decepticon remembered. Most had been sold by now, but this little one, who was so child-like in manner, had remained unsold. Unbelievable, since innocence was usually such a high price tag.
"Sir," the slave started again, "I know that I am a prisoner now, sir, but perhaps you might be kind enough to move me? It is cold and dark here, and I am ever so alone..."
Those blue optics squinted and lowered as the lamp was swung closer. Ah, right... the merchant recalled that this was one was slightly defective. Sensitive optics that had to be constantly covered by a translucent visor, lest damage fall upon the visual pixels. Confident that this slave wouldn't attempt to lash out at him, Swindle placed the lamp on the floor behind him; blocking some of its light. The Autobot onlined his optics to the fullest, looking at the merchant gratefully.
"And why should I move you?," the tan mech questioned, ignoring the caged 'bot's riveting gaze. "So you might try to escape? Well, I will not let that happen. You, my friend, are a very profitable market. Many a lord and lady would sell all they had to possess a being like yourself."
The Autobot seemed startled at the accusation. "N-no, no, no, no," he protested softly. "Sir, I-i would never dream of trying to run. After all... w-where would I go? My home is so far away and I do not know this city. I am by far safer here, where I am sheltered and fed, even if it is within a cage."
Swindle cocked his helm slightly at the white mech's words. "Interesting...," he mused aloud. "I don't think I've ever heard anyone say they prefer slavery over freedom." And to refer to your slave trader as 'sir'? Even more peculiar...
Again, the slave lowered his helm, this time in a shy manner. "It is not that...," he mumbled. He lifted his optics a third time, leaning forward some and resting his servos upon the bars of his cell. Beseechingly, he said to the Decepticon, "Sir, I-i know what has become of the others, a-and I confess I am frightened. S-slavery is one thing, but please sir, d-do not allow for what has become of them, to also befall me as well. I can be just as profitable, if not more useful, in other ways, sir. I-i know medicine and sewing; I-i c-can cook and clean..."
"See here," Swindle frowned, cutting off the Autobot. "You are merchandise now- you do not get a say in what happens to you. If the Emperor decided to march in here today and demanded that I tie you spread-eagle over these bars, so that he might frag you, I would. Given that he paid the coin, of course. That's the swaying power in these regions; not your pretty, little pleads. It's just unfortunate that I've been unable to sell you thus far."
Coolant collected at the corners of the Autobot's optics, and the small mech was quick to turn his face away from the light. Snorting derisively, the merchant straightened up, gathering his lamp from the floor.
"Sir...," the gentle voice called again, as he started to walk away.
"What now?," Swindle sighed, glaring over a shoulder plating.
The Autobot was facing forwards once more, but his optics were still lowered to the floor. "Sir... if you can not sell me for my intended purpose within the next decacycle... will you reconsider my words? After all," a quick glance to the cage where the winged mech used to be, "Are we not all useful, in some way, to another?"
The Decepticon stood there idly, not responding to the slave's final comment. Eventually, he turned around and walked back into the darkness, heading for the door out of the cellar.
xxXxXxx
"He's such a tiny thing though..." The terrorcon paced back and forth before the cell, every once in a while pushing his snout between the bars and snorting heavily. The Autobot within tried to hide his shivers at each stank breath that rolled across his plating, but could not quell the cringe that arose when a thin glossa darted out from between those slathering jaws and flicked across his neck cables.
"Yes, but he's a very fine piece of property," Swindle said, moving in just a little bit closer. He was still smiling, but the gleam in his optics was a clear message: don't touch the merchandise unless you were willing to pay. Whether the terrorcon caught the threat or not was unknown; he pulled away all the same, turning to the Decepticon.
"What good is property when it can be crushed so easily?," the massive mech snarled. "I have no need for a sparkling in my berth."
"I can assure you, he is not a sparkling. And... look!" The merchant pulled out his keys, unlocking the cell. "Come on," he quipped, snapping his fingers at the slave. "You know what to do."
Practically trembling this time, the tiny mech complied to Swindle's demand, turning his back to the terrorcon and bending over. "See, isn't it beautiful?," the Decepticon grinned greasily. "A lovely specimen ripe for the taking. Tell me, my lord, does that still not satisfy you?"
The other mech was almost drooling all over the floor. "How much?," he demanded, having yet to tear his optics away.
"Twenty-five hundred, million credits."
The terrorcon hissed.
"But for you," Swindle countered, stepping out of the cage. "One hundred million credits. Consider it a discount."
"I will not pay so much coin for a scraggly little slave that will be useless after one frag," the terrorcon snarled. "I will give you five hundred thousand credits for him."
"Sir...," the merchant frowned. "I would barely sell a labour slave at that price. We are talking about a young, fresh and still fully sealed mech here. I am giving you a fair deal for such a premium!"
"And what joy would I get out of plundering such an easily won prize? Five hundred is my only offer."
Swindle did not say anything for a nanoklik, before he was once more fixing that twisted, little grin on his face; locking the cage and with a sweeping flourish of his arm, gesturing to the rest of the cells. "Well, perhaps we can find something else to interest you today, my lord. Now this way, we have some lovely femmes. They're a little out-dated by now, but they are great for taking care of all that silly cleaning and cooking..."
Somewhat insulted, the terrorcon followed behind the merchant quietly; leaving the Autobot alone once more.
xxXxXxx
After he had sent that lousy mech packing (with no purchase made either, the worthless snake), Swindle returned to the Autobot's cell. "I hope you are happy," he hissed, coming to a stop right at the bars. "Once again, I can't seem to find anyone willing to buy you!"
The slave shuffled nervously at the back of his cage, slowly coming forward. "It would be false of me to say otherwise...," he whispered softly. "But I am perhaps more grateful that you find me so valuable sir, that you would not just simply bow to that stranger's offer so as to spite me."
Swindle frowned in confusion. "What are you talking about?"
The Autobot lifted his helm almost distressingly. "Please, sir, it has been a decacycle since that orn. Will you not think about how else I might be of use?," he begged, coming up to the bars. "I-i will do anything you a-ask of me, j-just..."
He shuttered his optics quickly, dropping his helm to hide his face.
Something stirred within the Decepticon, and he reached through the bars, slipping his fingers under the slave's chin and forcing him to look up again. "You're not afraid of my touch?," the merchant asked curiously. "I would think that as your tormentor, you would despise and fear everything I do."
"N-not so, sir...," the other mech mumbled, "You are not like the buyers who come through here. I-i know not what g-goes on in their processors, but that i-it would cause me g-great agony. W-what then is there for m-me to hate of you in c-comparison?"
Those baby blue optics were mesmerizing. Swindle shifted his grip, rubbing his thumb on the Autobot's cheek softly. "And if I were to use you for the same purposes...?," he asked, digit lowering to stroke across slightly parted lip components.
Anxious, little intakes brushed along the plating; moving gently against the thumb as their owner spoke. "T-then t-that would be un-understandable, s-sir."
"Hmmm..." After a moment, the merchant pulled back his servo, grabbing for his keys. He unlocked the cage door, turning in the opposite direction. "Come," he sighed, "I might as well put you to work if I'm paying to keep you."
The slave shuttered his optics in awe, before quickly slipping out of his cell. He followed after the Decepticon silently, chained servos held to his chassis and optics lowered to the floor.
xxXxXxx
Who would have guessed that such a build-up of dirt and grime could hide a 'bot's colour? Swindle watched as the Autobot washed himself, running the sponge across his shoulder plating and revealing the pristine white paint beneath. The little mech attempted to reach farther around and clean the plating of his back, but was obviously failing miserably. Unable to watch him flail any longer, the merchant strode forward, plunking himself down on the edge of the tub and tearing the sponge from the slave's servos.
"You're pathetic," he sighed, beginning to scrub the dirt off of the other's backstruts.
"I-i-i... I'm s-sorry," the Autobot apologized, bowing his helm contritely. "I-it's just that... well, I've always had my brothers to help me, since I was never really able to reach that spot on my own, but I didn't w-want to bother you, so I thought I'd try f-for myself."
Swindle resisted the urge to roll his optical sensors, instead focusing on the mech before him. Really, it was such a delicate, little frame he bore. He was so quaint and tiny, with the white colouring increasing his sense of naivety, and the splashes of red giving him some definition. It was completely ridiculous that the Decepticon still hadn't been able to sell him! He was utterly adorable- some rich lecher should have scooped this Autobot up by now.
"So you have brothers?," the merchant replied, attempting to find some way to distract him from his depressing thoughts. All that wasted coin...
"Y-yes, sir," the slave answered. "Four, to be precise; all older than myself. They used to take care of me, because of that fact that I am younger and smaller than them, but... I do not know what has become of them since the raid on my village. I worry often if they are even alive still, and what might they be doing without me. I'm sure they must be frantic to find me..."
Probably dead, the Decepticon thought. Raids were good places to pick up slaves, because not many were left alive after the assault, and the remaining 'bots were usually subdued with their grief and pain as it was. If these mechs were as protective of their sibling as the Autobot was saying, it didn't seem likely that they would have allowed for him to be captured if they still lived. But Swindle wasn't going to be the one to say it to the slave.
Tossing the sponge back into the dirty water, the tan mech got to his pedes, grabbing the waiting bucket to the side. "Stand up," he ordered. The Autobot did so, turning to face the Decepticon. Before he had a chance to respond, warm water was being dumped over his helm, rinsing away the rest of the suds and soap. A sound of surprise slipped past his lip components and the slave quickly shuttered his optics to protect them from the water.
When he onlined them again, it was to the sensation of something soft falling upon his helm. To his greater surprise, the soft thing turned out to be a towel. Swindle gave the white mech no chance to speak, before he was rubbing the Autobot down, drying off the excess moisture. "Do not move," the merchant commanded, leaving the towel draped about the slave's helm again once he was finished.
The white mech did not reply, staying exactly where he was as the Decepticon left the room. A klik later, Swindle returned, something held in his servos. Silently, the tan 'bot walked forward, stopping before the slave and lifting his servos to the other's face. The Autobot was startled when he felt the edges of a visor click into their respective places, once again shielding his sensitive optics from the harsh light.
"What good is a slave to me, if he can barely see?," Swindle said. He slipped a servo into the sleeve of his robe, taking out a medallion of sorts and clipping it around the rung of the collar still on the slave's neck.
"I may not have a lord's special-made signature braid, but I can still mark you as my slave. So others will think twice about doing you any harm or ill-will," he added.
The Autobot slowly touched his collar, and then the visor on his face. "Thank you very much sir," he smiled sweetly, "For all of your kind consideration."
Swindle scowled somewhat, leaning forwards and grasping the slave's chin in a servo. "Don't thank me for such silly things. You are my slave, after all, and I am free to do with you as I wish. Even...," he leaned in a little closer, lip components just brushing with those of the other's. "Use you as a simple frag. Hardly what I'd call 'kindness'."
He released the white 'bot, turning around again. "Come, we'll get you some clothes to wear now. Something suitable for your chores. Chores, which I expect you to complete everyday from now on."
"S-sir...," came the meek mumble. Swindle sighed, pausing in the doorway.
"What?," he huffed, looking back at the Autobot. He was surprised to find the slave blushing deeply, helm flickering from the floor to him, and back again.
"E-even though wh-what you say is true... I-i-i still think y-you are kind, and do n-not feel ashamed to say so. S-so forgive me i-if my g-gratitude should bother y-you, sir." The slave bowed his helm quickly, before raising it and looking at the merchant.
"Don't... call me sir," Swindle slowly replied. "It's annoying."
"O-oh...," the white mech's blush deepened, "T-then what shall I c-call you?"
The Decepticon mulled it over. "Master, or Swindle shall suffice. Now come -I've got business to get back to. I don't have all day to play dress-up with you."
The Autobot quickly padded after Swindle, the towel still about his helm. "Thank you Master Swindle," he said. "My name is First Aid. I-i hope that I don't displease you."
Swindle glanced at the slave before grunting and turning his optics back front.