Summary: When his reluctant master is aggrieved, how far will Haroud go to prove his loyalty and set things right? Warning - Graphic N/C, Dark, Torture and Humiliation.
Abis Mal, the local failure at everything he attempted criminal-like in nature, flopped down exhausted into his little stone chair covered pitifully with a ratty cushion of faded purple. He looked around with self-disgust and disappointment at he and Haroud's self-proclaimed base of operations.
It was an abandoned, shabby little building of cold stone, forged within the caves comfortably far outside Agrabah's borders. It was known for being the headquarters of the villainous nay doers that pillaged the deserts and beyond, but since Aladdin had been there the first time, and their secret nerve center where all their stolen goods were kept was exposed, it was deserted. Only Abis was seen foolish enough to stay when the appearance of Agrabah's guards could occur at any given time.
But that was irrelevant. It wasn't like if it were safe here anymore, he would have any men to fill it with laughing, gambling, bargaining and double-dealing. Abis Mal's band of thieves, who he had loosely claimed control over years ago when he first left home to strike it rich, discarded him like a greasy rag. Admittedly, it wasn't as if his leadership had been a strong one in the first place. He was ill equipped for a role of strength and grit, cunning and planning, and it showed...miserably. He was always fumbling, but still, their patience with him remained, if only by a spindling thread.
Until he was exposed as a fool, his dignity and self-respect rubbed into the dirt and spat on, when he dared to challenge Aladdin. How was he supposed to know of the hero of Agrabah's legacy? He hardly ever dealt with city matters; he didn't have the attention span for it. If he had known this kid, this fucking handsome, dashing, accomplished and likeable kid who made his own physical faults glaringly obvious, was practically unbeatable, he would have never. But it was too late for that, and he was locked for a short time in a struggle to maintain dignity and prove he wasn't the failure he came out looking like in he and Aladdin's confrontations to his men. He had to come out on top, at least once, to save face. He was already loosing respect...rapidly.
At least when he and his band stuck to desert raids of caravans and wagons, he had some success. He knew from growing up how to tell a loaded group of people from those not worth the trouble at a glance. He was useful. But Aladdin, Aladdin was a foe no matter how hard he tried, could not get the better of. To try and hurt the kid was to provoke the full force of a Genie, and Abis Mal's minimal wit was shadowed by the depth of the kid's ability to use his intellect to get out of sticky situations. And to make matters even more difficult, he was always locked tight within the protection of magical and powerful friends.
His followers, seeing his defeats at Aladdin's hands over and over again, mocked him, scorned him, bullied him and finally abandoned him. Now, it was only him and Haroud left, Haroud, his, although begrudgingly, faithful manservant. Only he and Haroud knew how this strange state of affairs came to be, and as unlikely as it was, it withstood. Haroud had a debt to him, and as snaky and disagreeable the man could be, was loyal to that fact time and time again. He may suggest he would leave Abis for his own ventures, but they both knew that wasn't true. As sorry as things got, there was always Haroud.
And he could always talk to him.
The man in question was standing stoically next to his chair, eyes and ears perked and alert for sounds of incoming 'guests'. Abis Mal knew the reason. They had pulled off a weak capture of Aladdin, and the teen was locked tight in one of the back rooms. It wasn't as if just because Abis Mal's men left him meant he didn't still desperately want to recapture his dignity, now did it? But Abis Mal knew it was hopeless. He could kill Aladdin, perhaps even before the inevitable arrival of his rescuers, but Abis Mal wasn't a killer, not really. He never shed blood in his life, at least not directly, and personally knew he didn't have the stomach or nerve to do that to someone. It was a bother, really. Another inadequacy he saw in himself. He was really only desperately interested in making a name for himself through gain in wealth, but he had to teach Aladdin to respect him, to cowl him somehow! He just didn't know what that particular how was.
"Something on your mind, sir?" Haroud asked him dryly out of the corner of his mouth.
Abis sighed deeply.
"Haroud, I've been thinking, do you think it's about time we gave it up?"
Haroud broke his concentration and looked down in surprise at the smaller, portly man.
"What, sir?"
Abis Mal took off the hat he was so proud off, and laid it dejectedly, retrospectively in his lap, exposing an article of shame to him, a hairless crown. But that didn't seem to matter to him now, and he toyed with it as he spoke next, not looking up.
" Well it's just that, we're not really getting anywhere, are we? I mean, I know it, and you probably do too, you being perspective and all, " he looked up and gave Haroud a rare expression, a sad, weak smile, " Maybe it's time to just...throw in the towel."
"But sir!"
Abis got up slowly, creaking stiff joints and muscles. He unenthusiastically placed his hat atop his head and turned towards an adjoining, narrow corridor in which two makeshift beds were located. He didn't turn to face Haroud, just spoke to him over his shoulder.
" I'm going to be lie down for awhile, Haroud, I'm sure you won't mind, you being patient and all."
His voice trailed off as he shuffled unhappily into his bedroom.
Haroud watched him go, stunned. He had never heard Abis Mal speak of defeat! If anything, the man was foolishly, irritatingly persistent when it came to his half-baked endeavors. However, even before Abis Mal spoke, Haroud could instinctively feel the conflicting, negative wash of emotions in him, and knew with a clench of his fist who was the cause of his master's misery. He turned on his heel, forsaking guard duty, to stride angrily down to where their makeshift jail cell was.
Aladdin.
Haroud knew it was his duty to put that little punk, that little cocky punk, in his place before his master Abis Mal. His insistent loyalty to Abis Mal was often questioned, but Haroud could remember being a younger man, a boy of 14, standing miserably on a slave auction stage, knowing he would be a back bending laborer for the rest of his life. He was ripped from his family by slavers, and they were all sold away far before he was ever put on the auction stage. He wasn't naive. He knew he would never see them again, not his mother, father, or little sister Nehemiah, who he barely remembered.
He recalled looking down at the crowd and seeing a plump little boy in middle class clothes, pointing a chubby finger up at him, while his mother looked up doubtfully. You see, Abis Mal was born into a moderately okay. They maybe only went hungry a couple of times, and he had a mother, and a father, and a home. But school wise, physically wise, he was underdeveloped, and his parents had tried everything. He just wasn't growing into the shape or like of a man. He hadn't even shown interest in girls at his age, never realizing it was because Abis Mal was acutely insecure about his looks and would never dare approach any of the girls, tall, pretty 13 year olds.
His mother, while being exasperated but patient, was different from how his father scorned him for what he called 'a lack of masculinity'. He had roughly ordered he and his mother go down to the slave market and get him a girl to, in his father's words, 'assert his masculinity with'. A sex slave, basically. The idea, though now looked down upon, wasn't an unheard upon practice then. In any case, Abis Mal was appalled at the idea, and looking up into the face the gangly, passive black boy, pointed him out to his mother. Perhaps...he could be his friend. He so desperately needed and wanted one. His mother felt sympathy for Abis, and the arrangements were made and Abis Mal and his family became Haroud's new master.
Compared to how bad things could have gotten, being killed if he wasn't sold, or being used as cheap labor for the rest of his life working in a field, Haroud's lot wasn't a bad one. He lived in a nice home, with food in his stomach and a pallet to sleep on besides Abis Mal's bed. In any case, it was inevitable that the two became friends as children, and Haroud was instructed to watch over Abis at all times, to be his guardian and protector and see to his will. In that manner, Abis Mal became spoiled as his father died and he became somewhat more confident feeding off of the positive effects Haroud's friendship was giving him. And, as most spoiled children do, he became resentful of his remaining parent, rebellious and wanting to break out from the normal, mundane life he grew up on. One chilly morning, he and Haroud, carrying slings of clothes and food and stolen pocket change, slid out from under the family gate and struck out on their own.
Abis Mal had a childish, fanatical idea that they could be thieves, live the good life through their own labors, with practically no daily rigor like his father had practiced in his living years doing an honest job. Naturally, he had little to no innate talent. Haroud was good in his own right, but it still remained this was a hole riddled plan for a life. They lived where they could, in abandoned buildings, attics they could easily sneak in and out of. They ate when they could, and got into some close scrapes that Haroud usually had to get them out of with his own common sense. But Abis Mal was stubborn, too stubborn to turn tail and crawl back home, to prove to his mother he couldn't be independent like everyone so obviously knew.
After several long, difficult years spent trying to make it on the streets, Abis and Haroud got their brake, when Abis Mal's propensity for boasting and telling tall tales came to fruition. Old enough then to attend the bars and joints vigilantes in Agrabah hung around in, Abis Mal got to talking with a group of burly, accomplished criminals, all with notches in their belts. Of course, when he felt they too were mocking him, he crafted an almost unbelievable story of he and Haroud coming upon treasure in the desert, and how they were soon going to run this city. But as incredible as it was, and untrue for that matter, Abis Mal told his lies in such a way that, if caught up in the moment, they sounded real. Sooner than Haroud could prevent, Abis Mal had a group of twenty following him out into the desert, pressuring him, pledging loyalty, for a share of the treasure he allegedly found.
They were surely lost when they found Abis Mal's farce was exactly that, a farce. Haroud could vividly remembering holding his breath as their new accompaniers gathered round Abis Mal, who was obviously nervous, watching the desert sun glint off their blades. In a moment of pure desperation, he pointed unconvincingly to some loose soil jammed in between two large monoliths of stone, their stopping point. That, he said, was where they buried their treasure. Immediately, it was set upon, and Abis Mal and Haroud exchanged knowledge filled looks of despair. Then happened something so unlikely that, if Haroud where a religious man, he'd deem a miracle.
There, lying just under the impacted sand was a generously sized chest, barred with gold. It was wrenched upon, while Abis Mal and Haroud stood transfixed in shock at their luck, and the gold and jewels inside were distributed. This was how Abis Mal came to get his own following, for his dumb luck, and occasional successes.
Haroud owed Abis Mal something, a life long debt in gratitude for saving him from slavery, and there was nothing but flaring resentment in him for Aladdin, who strove to rip away the dignity Abis Mal worked hard to gain for himself all these years.
He vowed he'd teach Aladdin a lesson, one he would not soon forget.