"10 000 credits!"
"10 500!"
"11 000!"
Shouta hisses at the handler when they tug his muzzle, but all it elicits as a response is a chittering laugh. His head gets shaken for his efforts, pulling at his already stretched taut scarf.
The crowd cheers as the numbers climb up on the screen behind him.
"Come on, come on, look at its scarf!" The auctioneer curls their goopy appendages over his naked skin. "Have you ever seen one this long? Such a beautiful piece to expose! They rarely get to 5 s'phar, and look at this! 9 s'phar!"
It does the job, and the numbers suddenly spike, double, triple, with no hint of stopping. He's valued 80 000 credits now.
Eventually, the heat and novelty tapers off despite the auctioneer best efforts. He doesn't even look to see who bought him at 83 500 credits when it's announced, eyes clenched shut in pain when the handler beats their stick against the metal cage as celebration, the clanging reverberating in his skull, the crowd hidden in the shadows roaring in delight.
His cage is wheeled off to the side of the stage, next to quivering exotic animals and poached skins. He's the only sentient here.
"Exciting, isn't it? An Eer'ahseer! But you all are waiting for our last product, aren't you? Prepare your credits, we're going out with a bang!" The auctioneer gestures to the multiple guards, who take position on each side of the curtain. The light dims dramatically, and a single spotlight illuminates the stage. The masked crowd whisper between held breaths, words lost into each other. Anticipation climbing almost to the point of violence, before the auctioneer announces, "Behold!"
The crowd falls silent when the curtain parts, and a cage is wheeled out, not unlike his own. "A Deathworlder!"
It doesn't elicit the desired response. People mutter between each other, suspicion and indignation heavy in the air. Even Shouta, who knows better than to underestimate people based on appearances, is underwhelmed by it.
The 'Deathworlder' is tiny, would barely come up to his chest. It has no fur nor scale nor feathers to protect itself, and the paws clenched to its chest have no claws. Its skin is soft, defenceless, not even a tiny horn or a tail to fight with. When the spotlight flashes on its cage, it cowers away, as far from the bars as it can.
"That's not a Deathworlder!"
Similar cries ring out, swelling up into indignation. At the base of the stage, the mass moves, ripples, as hundreds of people start shouting, waving their limbs. The fleshy thing covers its face with its upper limbs.
"Now that's where you're mistaken. It might look vulnerable, it might look weak, but it's a youngling. A human youngling."
The crowd falls into a hush. A human? How did they get a human this far out?
"It won't stay this small for long," continues the auctioneer. "In a few revolutions, it'll triple in size, and will become undefeatable. Look at its fur! It's a special breed, you won't find any other human that's venomous. With its strength, no one could ever touch on you."
They signal something at one of the guards, who pulls out the cattle prod from their belt. The kit starts making sounds—calling out for its parent?—shaking its head as it backs away, body pressed against the bars in an attempt to escape. It's no use, the prod is long enough to reach through, tip crackling menacingly, the flashing electricity casting shadows on its face as it contorts into a terrified grimace. Its eyes shine until huge drops start leaking, but no one moves to check on it, not even when it starts to breathe faster.
They're going to kill it, Shouta thinks, helpless to help the kit, its eyes burst just from the fear, they're going to kill it.
Shouta watches in horror as the cattle prod makes contact with its chest, its body holding still and its eyes rolling in the back of its head, mouth opened in a silent scream. It drops, silent, limbs still twitching.
The crowd startles, stunned at the sight of the fallen kit.
The auctioneer continues, as if they're not standing right next to a corpse. "It might look soft, but humans are so territorial, so protective. Observe." The young's handler pulls out a bundle of cloth, sewn together into an odd shape. Hits the cage with the prod to get its attention.
And then, Shouta's bruised hearts almost gives out, because miraculously, it gets back up, as if it hadn't been electrocuted. If it weren't for the wet tracks on its cheeks and the slight tremors of their shoulders, Shouta wouldn't have suspected anything.
The human kit's eyes grow wide, forelimbs twitching to reach for it before remembering its place.
The handler starts pulling at the cloth in two different directions, earning a cry from the kit. It starts shouting, tries to stick its head through the bars, a snarl suddenly distorting its face. The whimpering, fallen kit is nowhere to be found, instead replaced by a furious beast, fingers hooked like claws as it tries to reach out.
The room is still, except for the kit's hissing, the bidders awed at the display. The auctioneer lets them a moment to admire the lot, before he breaks the silence. "They bond so easily to things. Who's gonna be the lucky one to receive the human?"
Shouta would have thought the auctioneer was spouting bullshit, using the bidders' unfamiliarity with comfort objects to oversell the kit's abilities, but after watching it dust away getting electrocuted with his two own eyes, Shouta isn't too sure anymore.
But even after seeing it go feral, Shouta's instincts don't stop screaming at him to go take care of it, and he aches to reach out and comfort it. Its eyes haven't stopped leaking.
"Let's start at 100 000 000 credits, shall we?"
Every time the bidding slows down, the handler taunts the kit, with the bundle of cloth. At one point, when no one's willing to add to the bidding, they electrocute it again, the cheer of the crowd thundering when it gets back up.
After, the kit is more cautious. Shouta sees it follow the handler's movement, slowly stalking closer to them. He prays to any deity that can hear him to prevent it from going through its plan. He sees it before it happens; the human kit sticks an arm out between the bars, grabbing the distracted handler by their horn. In an incredible feat of strength, it pulls them back, slamming their head in the metal bars.
The guards move in immediately around the screaming handler and shoot it with sedative darts.
The human kit struggles against the sedative, only slowing down when eleven darts stick out from its back. As soon as its grip loosens, the handler pulls away, taking out their prod to beat it in retaliation. Its babbling slurs out, and Shouta realizes with horror that the kit is pleading, the kit is sentient, humans are sentient.
"Good! We can show you its attributes."
The kit is dragged out of the cage and propped up on a table, cameras pointed at them and projecting their face on a huge screen. "Look at its teeth! And its head fur, so particular to humans."
The kit's head lolls back, drool running down their chin. They tries to crawl away, but their limbs aren't cooperating. The auctioneer twists their paws, showing off their nails.
The auctioneer deems the demonstration satisfying enough when the kit starts regaining some of their strength. They throw the kit back in the cage, and Shouta winces when their body bounce on the floor.
He squeezes his eyes shut, unable to see more now that he knows they're sentient, but even if he tries not to listen, all he can hear is their occasional whine and the auctioneer's voice.
"500 000 000 once? 500 000 000 twice? And sold!"
The kit isn't fighting anymore. They lay there, curled up on themself, while the handler beats the cage bars at the sound of the crowd jeering. Their purple fur lays flat on their head, greasy and wet from their over perspiration.
Their cage is wheeled right next to his.
The bidders will celebrate, mingle, before the prizes are distributed. Until then, they're exposed in an attempt to fuel jealousy, as promotion for what this smuggling bidding house can offer next.
The human kit hasn't stopped their tiny whimpers, their eyes wet looking. They're holding themself in self-comfort, upper limbs crossed over their torso and lower limbs bent to protect their soft abdomen.
Shouta can't offer any reassuring words in Standard, and when he tries to sign, they flinch away, eyes unsettlingly wide.
Maybe…
A deep purr starts up, the one meant for stumbling kits unable to regulate their emotions, for whom the world is still a frightening place.
He's about to stop, embarrassment welling up, when the kit lifts their head at the sound. Their body loosens, until they crawl toward him. That's it, he wants to tell them, ignore the crowd.
Something akin to wonder lights their face. He doesn't shy from their gaze like the handler did; kits seldom knew of societal customs, behavior mainly directed by curiosity. And they're undeniably curious now, looking at him and his seven limbs, eyes tracking his tail. To them, the sight must be a shock.
Humans were one of the species living on Deathworld-134. It was a non-contact planet, their fauna too dangerous for a colony to settle there, and they didn't have any resources valuable enough to justify setting up a whole industrial complex. This must be the first time they see someone like him, another mammal since their capture by the Blobdij.
They make a sound, looking at him expectantly.
Suddenly, a shriek rises amongst the crowd, followed by cries and panicked whistling. Glasses shatter on the floor as everyone scuttles over each other in their panic, try to escape whatever is attacking, try to outrun the trampling mass.
"Got you, fuckers!" Maniacal laughter, and the familiar crack of a whip.
The stage vibrates and a group of people in the middle of the floor falls over, blood trickling from their sinuses. He looks up to see gold and red perched on the chandelier, black tail lashing behind.
He doesn't have the time to feel vindicated. Handlers start pulling his cage away from the chaos in an attempt to escape with as much of the merchandise. Shouta isn't worried. He knows Tensei is monitoring the ins and outs of this place, probably alongside Toshinori. He's saved.
The human kit doesn't know any of this. They babble at the handlers, at him, tries to stand tall in response to the sudden noise and make themself bigger in an attempt to scare.
They don't even get past the threshold of the escape shuttle. Hizashi swoops down, feet first so all the momentum is concentrated on his talons. They plunge deep in the handlers, and when Hizashi kicks out to rip away from them, blood spurts out on the wall, the two falling to the ground, gurgling around slit open throats.
Hizashi turns, feathers flaring in anger. Blood paints his hind limbs. "Oh, love, what did they do to you?"
Shouta immediately coils his scarf inside his slit as soon as Hizashi frees it, small tremors shaking it as his muscles are relaxed for the first time in cycles.
The door is next, and then soft feathers cradle his head while Hizashi works on his muzzle. Shouta lets himself a moment to nuzzle into Hizashi's neck, rubbing his scent into his partner. He looks back to the cage next to his.
"It's a kit."
Hizashi doesn't ask any other questions. He approaches the human, but they start shrieking, head going from their bloodied handler to Hizashi's talons.
"Hey, shhh, it's alright, I'm not going to hurt you."
As if it wasn't enough, the kit's eyes start leaking again. While Hizashi desperately tries to calm them down, Shouta looks around and… there!
This close up, he can see that it's a toy, one of those soft ones that mimics animals or plants, meant for youngs. Its synthetic fur is well loved, one of its plastic eyes missing. Thankfully, the toy only has a little bit of blood on one of its dangling limb that Shouta easily wipes off.
The kit is still screaming, refusing to listen to Hizashi's soft crooning. Shouta nudges him away from the cage's entrance, gesturing at him to watch his back.
He holds the toy up, shaking it slightly to get the human's attention. Their eyes widen even more, their screams cutting off. Shouta holds it up in front of him. "Come here. Here, kit."
The human takes an hesitant step forward, and when Shouta rewards their courage with a pleased rumble, they take another, and another, until they're right in their toy's reach. Shouta doesn't want to spook them and lose all of his progress, but he's unwilling to give the only thing that's helping him keep control on the kit. Shouta debates with himself for a click, weights the pros and cons, before the danger of the chaos around them wins out. He keeps up the purr, his forelimb going out until his paw rests on their back.
The kit jumps at the contact, but doesn't fight back when Shouta nudges them closer, until he can grab them with his middle limbs. They make a startled noise, not unlike a squeak, when Shouta lifts them and brings them to his chest. Something soothes in his mind; they're protected now, and anyone that wants the kit back will have to go through him.
Shouta has to adjust them, the human kit not made to be handled like a young Eer'ahseer. He has to keep one limb between their shoulderblades and another under their knees.
"Shou, darling, let's go. The others will take care of the rest. There's a pod waiting just for you."
Shouta grunts when he starts jogging. The kit is heavier than they look, and his limbs are weak from cycles inside the cage. Thankfully, they get to the pod without too much trouble, Hizashi easily clearing the way with his screeching.
When the kit realizes they're out of danger, they start struggling until Shouta gently lays them on a cot. They're looking around, eyes squinting at the brightness. Their toy is clutched tight against their chest.
Shouta hands them a jelly pouch he finds near the food compartments, opening it for them. They grab it, wary, sniffing it before they start drinking from it. It should help them rehydrate.
They're kind of cute, in the same ugly way newborn Eer'ahseer kits are, incites the same fond warmth when he flips through Hizashi's hatchling pictures. Shouta watches them drink, feels himself go soft when their cheeks occasionally get chubby, filled with pieces of jelly they have to chew before swallowing. He has to tamp down on the urge to scent and cuddle them when they hold the pouch nozzle next to their cloth toy, pretending to feed it and patting its head.
Do human kits enjoy having their head fur groomed?
"Shou, love of my life, I know that look. Please don't tell me you want to keep another stray."
Shouta ignores Hizashi's pleading, preening the feathers over his shoulders. He's sure Hizashi will be overjoyed once everything calms down. They've talked about having youngs before, and while Shouta never thought this would be how it would happen, Hizashi will come around. Snatching kits is a long lived tradition amongst his partner's species after all.