[TheAmazingTapMan asks: How do you free a slave?
Shalom_the_sailer: You don't. /thread.
Jennyphone: why would u want to free a slave? it would be cruel it doesnt know how too handle the world on it's own. be a better owner or find someone who will.
8675309: Hey Jenny, how's it goin?
patrikstar: You need codes and shit to get the collar off. My friend nearly bbq-ed himself seeing if he could take one off with a saw (it was a dare, the dumbass) don't be my friend.
XXXXFlameON: Account's less than 24 hours old, no extra information given, and let me guess… you're asking for a friend. Get back to the kitchen, slave, and pray your master doesn't beat your ass for using their computer.
PhartsGlitter: Ok, OP, just in case you're serious. Look into your local slave retention office. They should have info on what you need for emancipation. I'll warn you, it's a long and expensive process. Ask yourself if this is really in the best interest of your slave and not just something you're doing to make yourself feel good.
TGIW_42: Not bad for your first troll but stick around the internet a bit to learn how its really done]
Shawn rolled his shoulders to stretch his sore muscles as he climbed the stairs. Mr. Guster seemed to think that Mondays were good project days, and Shawn had been ordered to help him again. Which this time meant holding shelf after shelf up to the wall so they could be bolted in.
It wasn't hard work, exactly, but he'd been grateful when he'd been allowed to sit on his break with a glass of water. The praise of 'good boy' and the rest of the afternoon off were nice too.
He slowed down at the top of the steps when he saw Gus' bedroom door was cracked open. Gus had been extra nice since the church service, but something had felt off for the rest of the day. And a master being off was bad news for a slave.
It didn't help that Shawn hadn't been able to switch to being a friend until after the movie. His memory was more of a curse than a blessing anymore.
He shook his head and pasted on a smile; he'd messed up, but he could make up for it. He could be what Gus wanted again.
Gus was busy at his computer, and Shawn stayed quiet as he walked in and sat on the bed. It was obvious that Gus expected him to do something when he had time off, but the idea of using his master's things without an order -especially with his master in the room- made his heart pound. Sitting and keeping an eye on Gus was fine; it was a better use of his time anyway.
The more he knew about Gus, the more he could be what Gus wanted, and the longer Gus would stay nice and want to keep him. And right now, he could see that Gus wasn't actually working on homework. Instead, he was scrolling through an official-looking website. Judging by his tight shoulders, he wasn't finding what he was looking for.
Slaves didn't interrupt their masters, but friends would if it would help the other feel better. What did he need to do? Remember to be a slave or pretend to be a person?"
Gus took the choice away from him by turning around with a sigh. "Hey, Shawn."
"Hello, Gus." Shawn waited for a second to make sure his master didn't want to talk first before asking, "Is everything alright?"
"I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to be asking you that." Gus ran his hand over the back of his neck as he glanced back at the computer monitor. "I, uh, need to ask you something."
So why didn't he just ask? Shawn studied Gus before realizing he was expecting a response. "What?"
Gus hesitated before asking, "Have you ever heard of emancipation?"
Shawn forgot to smile as his jaw dropped and he stared at his insane master. This had to be the moment he'd show his true colors; who would ever mention that to a slave in good faith? It had to be a test. The collar beeped and Shawn jumped, scrambling to remember the question. "Yes, sir."
"Hey, remember, I don't want to hurt you." Gus held his hands up in a soothing gesture. "I was just asking, because I was looking up how to apply for it. It sounds like it's going to be tough, but we could probably make it work. But I don't want to do it if…" He looked away before taking a deep breath to continue. "I don't want to do it if you don't- if you think you need a master. To take care of you."
Shawn was good at telling when people were lying. It was harder when someone was just hiding their nature, but an outright claim like that should have a tell… that he wasn't seeing. Gus wanted a friend, and he'd learned yesterday that Shawn was always going to have to be a slave when they were around other people. But if Shawn was free, he wouldn't have to pretend to be Gus' friend anymore. What did he hope to gain from it?
But it wasn't like any of that mattered.
He just had to find the right words to explain without overstepping and making Gus want to sell him right away. "I… It's a nice offer, but it'll just lose you money. I won't make it through the process."
Gus frowned and glanced back at the computer. "I know it's a lot, but if you want to be free, we can make it work."
Shawn fought to keep his emotions from showing as something squeezed his heart and threatened to pull it out of his chest. Of course he wanted to be free. He would do anything to make it happen.
But he couldn't say it. Gus was nice, but he was still a master. Masters couldn't be trusted.
"Near the end, there's an interview," Shawn explained instead. He vividly remembered his dad pacing in the living room, his face red in fury as he ranted about rigged systems and Kobayashi Marus. "One of the questions is if the slave has ever tried to run away. It disqualifies them. They're 'unable to fit in with society's standards' and it's 'safer to keep them controlled.'"
Gus stared at him before spinning his chair to scroll through the website. "It doesn't mention that anywhere in here."
"Why would it? Masters of disqualified slaves don't get a refund…"
"How many times have you tried to run?" Gus asked, his shoulders slumping.
"Officially, twice," Shawn answered truthfully. "Three times if you count the first week, but I barely got out of the building."
He'd tried a few other times past that, but the cops didn't know about them. He needed to keep it that way.
Gus dropped his head into his hands with a groan and Shawn winced. He'd messed up whatever Gus' plan had been with the emancipation, and he'd messed up the illusion that he was a friend again. Even if he wasn't hurt for it, he was probably going to be ordered to go away and do more chores.
"There has to be another way," Gus said instead, sounding insanely sincere.
Why did his master care? Why did he want Shawn free? Why wasn't he lying? "Why?"
Shawn flinched and snapped his mouth closed. That wasn't what a slave or a friend was supposed to say.
"Because you deserve better."
The thing squeezing Shawn's heart grew warm, and he had to turn away to hide the prickling behind his eyes. Gus didn't make sense. He wasn't lying, and he didn't make sense.
There was a long moment of silence before Gus sighed and started to move around. Shawn heard several things be picked up and put down again before the distinctive sound of a disk being loaded into a computer sounded out.
The bed dipped, and Gus' voice sounded hollow when he said, "I don't have any snacks, I need to restock next time we're out." Shawn cringed at the reproach; he shouldn't have eaten so much of the popcorn. Gus didn't seem to notice as he continued, "You're welcome to join me. If you want."
A voiceover started from the computer. "You see us as a brain, an athlete, a basket case…"
Shawn listened to the distinctive voice of the Breakfast Club and cursed his master for having such good taste in movies. He took a second to make sure his face was back in his control before turning to sit next to Gus. He couldn't be freed, so nothing in the last conversation mattered. He could forget it. All he had to worry about was staying on Gus' good side for as long as possible.
And right now, Gus wasn't happy, Gus wanted a friend, and friends talked during movies. Shawn couldn't quite bring himself to smile as he said, "Fun fact, there was supposed to be a dream sequence in this movie. Brian was an astronaut, and Allison was a vampire."
Gus studied him for a long moment before answering, the cheer in his voice sounding forced, "I heard about that, wasn't Andrew supposed to be a viking?"
"Yes, he was."
They kept up a stilted conversation as they watched a group of teenagers try to figure out their place in the world.
Shawn listened to Gus' deep breathing that night, making sure his master was fully asleep before he moved. It was late, he should be sleeping, but he didn't have to. He crept to the window and pulled aside the shade, looking down at the street.
What would it be like to be free again? He imagined walking down the sidewalk without a leash, being able to stop and look at whatever he wanted, deciding for himself which way to go. He imagined saying whatever he wanted, not being scared, and not expecting pain. It was almost too much to imagine.
He couldn't be freed, but Gus was right. There was another way.
His dad had said it was just rumors, but all rumors started with a kernel of truth. The Black Market might not be real, but there had to be something there that could help him. Or someone. Shawn just had to find them.
A familiar itch burrowed itself in his mind, and he wasn't sure if it was good that it was back. He glanced at the remote sitting on the side table; he knew his collar rules now, which was more than he'd ever had before. It explained why he'd never been able to get far before his collar had gone off. He'd need to find a way to take the remote with.
He wasn't restrained, he wasn't hurt, he didn't have any orders he had to follow… It was the best opportunity he'd ever get.
His eyes slid over to Gus, watching as he hugged a clump of blankets tighter like a stuffed animal. Gus would learn why masters weren't nice. He'd learn why treating his slave like a person was bad. He'd stop being nice after Shawn was caught.
And Shawn would be caught; he was always caught. He still had a tracker around his neck, and after the conversation today, Gus would immediately know what had happened. He shuddered at the memories of the last time he'd tried to run away. The mandated punishment was bad enough, but it had been nothing compared to that night when his master had finally made good on his threats.
Shawn shook away the memory before he could feel it again. It was in the past, Gus wasn't like that, it wouldn't be that bad.
But it would still be bad.
He looked back at the street, rolling his sore shoulders and focusing on the full meal he'd had for dinner. The itch wasn't too loud yet, he could push it back for now. He had to make it count; he had to make sure he had the best chance possible. He needed to be stronger and faster, and with Gus being nice, he could do that. And if Gus thought of him as a friend, then maybe he wouldn't use the tracker.
Shawn nodded at the plan and looked at the sky one more time before going back to bed. The glow of the pineapple night light chased away the shadows as he waited for sleep. Gus would understand. He'd be angry, and hurt, but he'd understand.
Gus was a master. Gus wasn't good or bad, he was just an obstacle and a tool to use to get out. It didn't matter what he'd think or how hurt he'd be.
But he'd understand, right?
Shawn sat on the bed, his legs jiggling after dusting the house all morning. He hated dusting.
He had to carefully pick up his masters' things, remember exactly where to put them back, and pray that his attention didn't wander at the wrong time. All for a chore that he could barely see a difference in the before and after. The worst part, though, was how controlled all of his movements had to be. It left him wanting to run, and jump, and do anything besides just sitting calmly.
The clock number changed; he had fourteen minutes left. He couldn't sit still for fourteen minutes.
He stood up and paced, his eyes scanning the room for ideas as his fingers twitched. He needed to do something. He just didn't know what. He turned, and an idea occurred to him as his path took him closer to the closet. He hadn't snooped any more since that first day; maybe the closet held more answers about his master.
He didn't even bother waiting for the small voice to tell him what to do as he strode to the closet door and opened it. What Gus didn't know wouldn't hurt him, and friends knew things about friends. This was just necessary research to be what Gus wanted him to be.
It was flawless logic.
Shawn kept his twitching hands to himself as he spent a second just looking at what was visible. The clothes and shoes were all lined up neatly, several belts and ties hung from their own hangers, and a small cubby held a handful of trinkets and books. It was all boring. Shawn looked further back to the darker corner of the closet and saw a soft pile of blankets, a life-sized replica lightsaber, and a movie poster for Blacula.
Shawn squinted and looked closer at the poster; something about it was off. He glanced at the rest of the closet, at the neat lines and order, and then back at the cardboard poster that was sitting crooked and at an angle. Almost like it was hiding something.
Excitement thrummed through his veins as he leaned his whole body into the closet and pulled the poster away from the wall. A small box sat behind it, and Shawn brought it out to examine his prize.
The shoebox was plain and ordinary, and would have been easy to overlook in a less-orderly closet. Shawn opened the lid and pulled out a small notebook that was sitting on top. Neat notes filled the pages, and familiar words like 'extraterrestrial', 'Cassiopeian', and 'Glornokia' jumped out at him. He smirked as he looked at a list of coordinates and dates of confirmed UFO sightings; several of them matched the ones he and Dennis had discovered all those years ago.
He shook his head and focused on his task; it was better to not think about the past. Under the notebook was a pair of binoculars. Shawn lifted them to his eyes and whistled under his breath; they were good binoculars. Perfect for looking for UFOs.
The last two objects were the most interesting: a complicated looking lock, and a small cloth case. Shawn's eyebrows rose as he opened the case and saw the shiny tools inside; his master was learning how to pick locks.
It should scare him that a part of Gus was unpredictable and willing to change the rules. It shouldn't make him want to smile…
Rules. He had rules. Shawn jolted and scrambled to check the clock; he had four minutes left. He slumped in relief and carefully put all of Gus' secret stash back in the box. It didn't tell him anything useful, but that didn't mean it was a waste of time. There was more to his master than met the eye; it was a good warning. And it was interesting.
He put the box back in the closet and made sure there weren't any sign of his snooping. He used his last minute to stretch his arms and legs before forcing himself to stand still. Slaves were calm, slaves didn't fidget, slaves did as they were told. He took a deep breath and left the room to go back to work.
Shawn felt a strange sense of Deja Vu that night when Gus turned from his computer and said, "I need to ask you a question."
Maybe that was something friends said. Maybe that was why he wasn't just asking the question. "What?"
"I called the slave groomers and they have an opening tomorrow. I don't care about what your hair looks like, so I… It would make me happy if you gave me input on how it should look."
Weird… He wasn't pretending Shawn was a friend for this conversation. Shawn stopped using his friend-smile and clasped his hands together. This was new territory; how was he supposed to act?
"Yeah, I know you don't like talking about how you look." Gus was using his gentle voice again, which didn't really give Shawn much to go on. "But I'd really like it if you could make a few choices for me. Like when we went shopping."
But the mall trip had been a disaster… His master had been unhappy. But he was being nice and telling Shawn what he wanted, so it didn't matter that it didn't make sense. "Yes, Gus. I can do that."
"Ok. Mom said she doesn't want your hair buzzed, so that leaves either trimming it and keeping it long like it is now, or cutting it shorter so it doesn't flop around." Gus paused, and Shawn waited for the question as his mind raced.
He had good hair; he knew it, everyone knew it. Gus was different and listened to his choices. Gus wanted him to make a choice, and it would make him happy. It was just hair; there wasn't any permanent damage that could be done if his choice was used against him.
"James Dean," Shawn answered before Gus could say anything else.
His heart pounded and he fought against the instinct to wince away for speaking his mind without an order. Gus had given him two options, and he'd completely ignored them and thought he had a right to give his own option and...
"What, like his hair style?" Gus asked.
"Yes, sir." It was stupid, and wrong, and masters lead and slaves follow, and…
"Huh. That could work." Gus typed on the laptop and angled the screen so Shawn could see. "Like that?"
Shawn's mind screeched to a halt as he stared at the exact picture he'd been thinking of. He faintly answered, "Yes, sir."
Was this really happening? When was reality going to crash back down?
Gus contemplated the picture. "It looks good, but it would probably need to be styled whenever you showered. Would you be able to do that?"
A slave spent its time serving its master, a slave was grateful and didn't waste what it was given, a slave didn't ask for anything. He was a slave.
Shawn snapped his eyes down and bowed his head. "I'm sorry, sir, I forgot my place."
"Hey, you were doing good." Gus sounded like he was trying to coax a cat out from under a car. "Can you… I'd like it if you could tell me what's wrong."
Masters liked when he knew what he did wrong. "I chose…" That was his first mistake. "I chose something that would take time and money instead of being grateful for the choice you offered." He shouldn't say it, Gus didn't like it when he said it… "Sir."
"Do you know how to gel hair?" Gus asked, catching Shawn off-guard.
"No, sir, I don't."
"Ok… Then you probably need some practice before Dad has clients over, right?" Gus was doing the thing again. Where he made sense in a way that didn't make sense at all. "Mom wants you to look good, which this would do. I like this style, and I don't know a thing about taking care of hair either. So, I want you to practice and learn."
Other times, when his masters wanted him to look good, someone else took care of it. But Gus didn't have a household of workers or slaves; he only had Shawn.
"I can do that," Shawn said as he looked up tentatively. Slaves were grateful for what they were given. "Thank you, Gus."
Gus sighed; he didn't sound happy like he should. "You're welcome, Shawn. I've read up on it a bit, but is there anything you think I should know before we go tomorrow? And before you say that 'masters lead, slaves follow,' remember that I would be happier to know something before instead of being surprised by it."
He did make a good point. Shawn ran his fingers along the side of his jeans as he thought about the other few times he'd been to the groomers. "They'll want me in service mode. You can drop me off and come back later. Nothing bad will happen."
"I'm sorry if I don't trust your definition of 'bad'," Gus said in a dry voice. "I tried finding somewhere that didn't use service mode, but it's a requirement everywhere. Sorry, I really don't like it when other people can order you around."
Shawn didn't answer; he would have been surprised if Gus had found a place that didn't require it.
Gus sighed before shaking himself and giving Shawn a smile. "Well, now that's all taken care of… Want to play some checkers?"
Shawn smiled back, relaxing into the role he knew how to play. "Yes, that sounds good."
"You're picking up on it really fast," Gus said as he went to the closet. "I bet you'd be good at chess too."
Shawn remembered moving the horse piece and his dad's shocked face when he'd realized he'd lost. "Chess is the one with the funny pieces and the woman who's actually in charge, right?"
Gus' smile turned more genuine as he set up the board. "Yeah, something like that. What color do you want?"
"Black, sir." Masters always went first.
"Alright. Show me what you've got."
It was good to know what to do, and he knew how to make his master happy. Gus would win, but Shawn would make sure it felt like a challenge.
"Are you ready?" Gus asked as he looked at the small shop window.
"Yes, sir." Shawn kept his eyes down and hands clasped behind his back. He needed to be ready, he needed to be still, he needed to do what he was told.
The door opened with a cheerful jingle, and they made it into the shop before Gus stopped dead in his tracks. Shawn glanced up to see what was wrong and took in the shocked look on Gus' face. He looked around the room, trying to understand the reaction.
Cases of jewelry for piercings covered one wall, pictures of tattoos and brand patterns hung on spinning racks, and posters on another wall showed the different waxing and hair style options available. It was a typical groomer's shop.
Gus spoke so quietly, Shawn barely heard it. "I thought this was just for haircuts…"
His master really didn't seem to grasp the concept of owning a slave.
"Hello, sir. Can I help you?"
Gus stayed frozen for another second before snapping back into motion. Shawn flinched at the change, but luckily no one noticed.
"Yes, I have an appointment. Burton Guster."
Shawn tuned them out as the appointment details were solidified. It didn't matter to him, he just had to wait to be ordered somewhere. There was a rustle of paper, and the receptionist informed Gus that custom styles would cost extra. Warmth collided with fear when Gus agreed without hesitation, and Shawn tried to push everything down. Gus was nice, and he wanted a friend. Friends bought friends things… even when those things were for a slave, not a friend.
Shawn was losing hope that he'd ever be able to understand Gus completely.
"Alright, everything looks like it's in order. If you could put it in service mode now…"
"Him. He's not an 'it'."
"Of course, sir. I was talking about his collar."
She hadn't been talking about his collar. Shawn stayed still when Gus turned to look at him, and a second later the collar dinged in confirmation. He was fine; he just had to not move and do as he was told.
"Thank you, sir… And what's his tracking number?"
"His- Why do you need that?"
"To add him to our network so he'll listen to our orders…" The receptionist was definitely starting to judge his master.
"I don't know it."
"Slaves are usually sold with a card that has it, is that in your wallet?"
"...No."
Surprise jolted through Shawn, and he had to fight harder to not move. Gus didn't seem like the forgetful type; why hadn't he kept that information?
The receptionist sighed. "The tracking number should be etched on the underside of his collar in the back."
"Or…" Gus turned around and asked, "Shawn, do you know your tracking number?"
"Yes, sir." It wasn't like he hadn't heard it hundreds of times. "60027070."
The receptionist typed on her computer. "Alright, he's linked with our controller now. I can take him; you're welcome to wait here, or come back later."
Shawn's leash didn't move as Gus answered, "I'm staying with him."
The receptionist wasn't trying to hide her annoyance anymore. "I promise we are all professionals here, you don't have anything to worry about."
"Of course I don't. Because I'm staying with him."
His master's stubbornness would be endearing if it wasn't over the most ridiculous things.
"The rooms are small, and there isn't anywhere for you to sit. Customers aren't allowed-"
"Then we'll take our business elsewhere. Thank you for your time. Follow me, Shawn." Gus turned around and walked towards the door. "It's too bad, I'll have to tell Mom not to bring our other slaves here either."
"Other slaves?" the receptionist asked, sounding much more interested.
Gus stopped moving, but didn't turn around. "Oh, yeah. We've got a handful. Mom wants to give them all signature looks. You know, Shirly Temple, Elvis Presley, The Beatles… That's a lot of custom styles you're turning down."
Shawn pressed his lips together tightly, fighting back his smile. There was no way this was going to work…
"...I'm sure we can come to some sort of arrangement. Let me talk to someone, and we'll see what we can do."
Shawn's eyes flicked up in surprise, and Gus met the look with a faint smirk as he told the receptionist, "Thank you."
Ten minutes later found Shawn being led into a small room with the groomer holding his leash while Gus followed behind. The stern, older person had only agreed to allow him in the room if he agreed to stay out of the way and not give any orders. While Gus had agreed, Shawn had his doubts on whether his master would be able to keep that agreement.
"Slave, sit," the groomer ordered, pointing at the metal chair sitting in the middle of the room.
Shawn did as he was told, keeping his eyes down and away from the person who'd be holding sharp things near his head. As soon as he was in position, his cuffs activated, locking into their spots on the arm rests.
"He already can't move, is that really necessary?" Gus asked as a cloth was draped over Shawn's body and snapped snuggly under his collar.
"It's for his safety as much as ours." There was more movement before something cold and wet ran through his hair. Shawn flinched at the unexpected sensation, and the cold object came down again, smacking him lightly on the ear. "Be good; it's just a comb."
Shawn tried to relax, focusing on the water dripping down his ear and not on how helpless he was. Gus' voice cut through his concentration. "He is being good, you just surprised him."
Relaxing was suddenly easier; Gus was here, Gus thought he was being good. It was concerning that a master could make him feel safer.
"Sir, you said you'd stay out of the way. That includes not arguing with me when I interact with your slave. Are we going to have any problems?"
"No, no problems," Gus quickly answered.
Shawn studied the patterns in the floor as the groomer brushed out the rest of his hair, dripping water down his collar and neck. His master was Gus, he was being given a haircut he'd chosen, nothing else was going to happen. He just had to stay still, and do as he was told.
Scissors snipped and memories pressed in.
A cool blade ran under his eye as a man with greasy hair grinned. "Resale value doesn't mean much where you're going… We could have so much fun together." The open scissors moved lower, gliding over Shawn's bare chest as he trembled. "So much fun… But I think we need to make you a bit less presentable first. It'd be a shame if our time was cut short." His hair pulled tight and clumps were cut away.
Gus had bought him, he didn't need to worry about the vendor anymore. He just needed to keep his master happy so he could stay as long as possible before being sold again.
"Hmm… Kenneth really did a number on it, didn't he? Buzz its hair and make sure to scrub it down well. We don't need those germs here."
"Oh my gosh! He looks so cute!"
"Your pretty face is going to earn me a pretty penny…"
Shawn squeezed his eyes closed and fought the memories as the scissors continued their course.
A foot kicked his hip. "A slave exists for its master: how it acts, what it does, how it looks."
A hand ruffled his hair. "You're getting shaggy, kid. I think it's time to schedule a haircut."
The cutting stopped, and a hand ran impassionately through his hair. "It'll need to be gelled if you don't want it to look fluffy. Here's how." The hand pulled and fused at the top of his head, not intentionally painful, but still uncomfortable. "You can buy a bottle of this at the front desk. Slave, head up." Shawn looked up as he was turned towards Gus. The groomer spoke over him as they asked, "What do you think?"
Gus' arms were crossed tight, and he nodded. "He looks good."
They unsnapped the cloth protecting the clothes Shawn was wearing and pulled it away, leaving him exposed. His cuffs deactivated with a quiet click and the groomer picked up his leash as they ordered, "Slave, follow."
Shawn did as he was told and followed the free people out of the room.
Less than an hour later, Gus stopped in the hallway outside of his bedroom. Shawn stopped with him, still staying two steps behind. He could move, he could talk, his master wanted him to be a friend… Gus held something out and Shawn forced his eyes up to take in the bottle being offered to him.
"Here, you can put it with your other stuff on the sink. It's not an order, but the haircut does look good. You might want to check the mirror."
"Thank you, Gus." He knew he was using the name wrong, but it was too hard to go straight from a good slave to a good friend. He needed to get faster at it. He took the bottle of hair gel and brought it into the bathroom. He hesitated after putting it away before looking up at the mirror.
His face always looked wrong. Too many lines, too many sharp edges, too many details. It wasn't the face he thought he had, and he quickly focused on the hair instead. The first thing he noticed was how much shorter everything was, especially along the sides. The soft, even cut did its job well, accenting the longer waves that were gelled and tousled on top of his head. It wasn't like any style he'd ever had before.
It was good. And it had been his choice.
Gus' mother wasn't quite as happy with the style, calling it barely tamed bedhead. After a quick argument, she begrudgingly agreed it was at least better than it had been. As Shawn cleaned, he remembered Gus' exasperated eye roll and the quiet assurance that night that Shawn had made a good choice.
It shouldn't matter, but it made Shawn want to smile whenever he thought about it.
A phone rang and Shawn kept an ear out as he finished sweeping the room; it never hurt to eavesdrop, and sometimes he learned interesting things. Gus' mother answered, "Hello, Marge, I'm all ready to go. Are you outside?"
Shawn froze as he bent down to position the dust bin. He hadn't been left alone in the house yet and had no idea what to expect. Would he be allowed to keep doing chores unsupervised? Or would he be brought with? Or-
The collar beeped and he started moving again, sweeping up the dirt as Gus' mother finished the conversation. "Alright, I just have to put our slave away. I'll be right out."
Shawn's heart sank as he emptied the bin in the trash. At least he hadn't seen any kennels in the house.
"Shawn, finish up with that and come to the living room."
He tried to ready himself as he put the broom away. A slave was calm, it did what it was told, it was grateful for what it was given. He'd been given a good meal, he'd been allowed to move and be useful, he was allowed to talk. He should be grateful instead of wanting more.
As soon as he walked into the living room, Gus' mother pointed and ordered, "Go over there and kneel." As Shawn moved to the indicated corner she told him, "I will be out for the rest of the afternoon and don't want you getting into trouble."
Shawn knelt, and she allowed him to make himself comfortable before ordering, "Stay."
The carpet was soft, the room was a comfortable temperature, Shawn wasn't hungry or thirsty. It was fine; just another day in the life of a slave.
"And be quiet. I don't want you bothering our neighbors."
Shawn kept his face blank as the door opened and closed, leaving him alone in the house. His fingers twitched in his lap and he fought the urge to roll his neck. Being ordered to stay was normal; it shouldn't be making him feel like he was crawling out of his skin within the first few minutes.
He'd known he would grow complacent; he just hadn't realized how fast it would happen. No matter how nice Gus was, he had to remember that he was always just a few words away from being stripped down to what he was.
He was a slave, he existed for his master, he did as he was told.
A/N: Shawn has his style now!
Let me know if the fast italicized lines read easily as small flashbacks. It'll be happening on and off in Shawn's POVs and if it's hard to follow I'll mess around with different formatting options. Thanks!