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Fucking dank, dark, shitty, smelly sewer they called a dungeon. That's all that she could think about as she was led back to her cell. Of course she had fucked up again by mouthing off to the wrong royal after he decided he wanted a certain something but couldn't rise to the occasion. She may have said something about the inadequacy of Fosc men coming from their father's unable to get it up. That didn't sit well with the royal. After he handed her ass to her - unfairly of course - she was carted away where another pair of sharpened hooves would let her have it again while bound and pretty much gagged tot he dungeon walls, then made a fool of through multiple couplings. Fucking rapists, the lot of them.
Bonnie, for the most part, went along with her masters - a word she hated more than the sewers. The leggy mare had every intention of fighting back and right now the guards were thinking she was compliant and a bit suspicious of it, as they should be. Once they got to her cell and removed the chains from the metal contraption that rested at her withers, Bonnie took this opportunity to rip out of their grasp with a shrill war cry, charge one of the guards and landed a blow to his shoulder with her own, before heading the opposite direction. Freedom was merely steps away. She could get out of here, head for the fictional tunnels and into the mountains. She could -- Run right smack dab into a mountain of a horse and fall flat on her ass. Fuck!
Clyde’s mane shook as a blur of red and white bounced off his chest. Caught by the surprise, the man-turned-wall raised a brow at the slave now laying on the ground. “Woah now, slow up there, derby girl.” Clyde scoffed, his voice relaxed yet confident on a level that held an equivalence to how easily he towered over her. Glancing to the onset of unnerved guardsman down the way, Clyde rebuked her with a brash smirk, amused by the show of defiance he’d only caught the moment she ran into him. But her little freedom dance had come to an end, by Clyde’s decree. “Don’t guess you planned on picking out your own stock so soon.” An ancient contraption of wood and metal, it was favored for its ability to aid in corporal punishment through several means, such dependent upon the severity of the crime and preferences by whom carried out the punishement—usually the slave’s owner—thing was, there were no ground rules to a Lyrael’s reprimanding. Only a plethora of options.
That’s what made it easy to keep slaves in check. Fear for what could happen. Sometimes it was too easy, Clyde felt, though it didn’t keep them all walking in straight lines. Like this Lyrael beauty before him. Slaves were known to disappear on rare occasion, but far as any of them knew, starvation was a more popular fate than daydreams of anyone giving enough shits to risk death in attempt to free their insipid hides. It was a pastime of the guardsmen to remind the Lyrael that rebel raids were as much a fabled tale as a meal with something not stale or molded on the plate. Some slaves believed it, others needed a little kick in the direction, but Clyde had enjoyed mocking their aspirations a time or two when he covered a shift in the Dungeons. His hooves were still mid-process of returning back their naturally curved shape from the sharp pointed status of an active duty Knight. It hadn’t been long.
So the wall could talk and his voice wasn’t completely unbearable. She got to her feet and shook off the residue of embarrassment from her pride taking a tumble right along with her when she fell on her ass. Bonnie looked him up and down, deciding he was okay to look at but he was definitely a Fosc and all of those sorry bastards could go to Kosmos and she wouldn’t give two shits about it. The woman curled her lip in disgust, “Plan on taking advantage of it like your moronic comrades back there?” The guards caught up to her, not at all please with how she had escaped them yet again. They grabbed up her chains, quickly fastening the ones attached to her hind legs, to the holder at her withers while hooking her to their armor so she couldn’t go anywhere.
There was no doubt these guards had certain intentions and would play out their fantasies when alone. She hated them. Her hatred for them was evident in her blue gaze, meeting his eyes for a moment. “You’re no better than they are. If you were, you’d have let me past,” as if he meant to keep her detained. Bonnie didn’t trust any of them. The men beside her murmured their apologies and promised to return her to her cell and take care of the issue.
The low rumble of a chuckle echoed over the damp sunken walls above and beside them. His arched neck slightly dipped toward to her. "Not if I prefer the entertainment of a fighting chance." Clyde answered gruffly, the flickering wall torches shedding evidence of a wicked whim twisting the his grin, like the thoughts darkening his emerald gaze were in her honor. They were. Lifting his head, Clyde coiled a dagger of dissatisfaction at the guards as they arrived, adverting their own embarrassments from Clyde. "I match your inability to make eye contact for your abilities to handle the tantrum of a Lyrael." The newly retired Knight chastised as the men regained control of the woman. He seemed more eerily bemused by their lack of skills than was cross with them. He knew their fault ate at their pride. Anything more Clyde could do was report the stupidity to their standing supervisor, which he saw as pointless as the Lyrael girl trying her luck in the first place. [break][break] He caught the hate in the her eyes and leveled his expression, immune to her insult. Although his time spent dragging Lyrael to and from the cells had been more seldom than some, Clyde recalled the various punishments gifted to those with the the same looks she was giving him. Her defiance easily shone brighter than any he'd seen, though. It was impressive. Intriguing. Clyde pushed his attention past the mare and to one of the guardsmen. His expression remained kosher. "Where are you taking the slave, guard?" He inquired.
The guards looked guilty enough that they refused to meet the knight’s gaze. Bonnie found this amusing but didn’t let it show on her features. She turned her glare back on the knight when he inquired about the guards’ intentions and where they planned on taking her. She already knew where they were going to take her and what they were going to do to her when they got a chance. “the cells, as per Ethuri’s request. Apparently she insulted a royal and such.” “It wasn’t very pretty…” “so the Madam has us on discipline…” The guard sounded way too enthusiastic for that. He was looking forward to whatever they were planning on dishing out.
Bonnie tugged away from the guards, even if the attempt was futile. She didn’t want to go back to the cell after she’d been so close to escaping once and for all. There as nothing that would stop her from trying again. “Good gods, just take me back to the fucking cell already or let me go. Your little tea party here is more torture than the cell…”
Clyde pressed his lips and shrugged a brow at the guards' answer. "Not subdued enough to be one of the Madam's haut monde." he observed before his attention redirected to the woman's comment. He regarded her a moment, still amused by her efforts yet irritated enough to respond to her groaning. "Keep bitching like you are and I'll see that you regret both of those options." The evenness in his dare sounded lighter than the warning actually implied. Despite Clyde's generally lax nature, the toxic concoction of her curves and bullheadedness had him inwardly wishing she'd keep it up. Doing so wouldn't benefit her, obviously, but like it mattered. All he wanted was to douse out her fire himself, or better yet drop her off at the doorstep of someone else who deserved an annoying tick in their ear... Clyde could leave a bit of her ember smoldering just enough to spark back up.[break][break]
But a small pang of jealousy came with the thought of sending the slave to someone rather than keeping her, that was if Ethuri ever decided to relieve herself of the trouble. Granted Clyde was in need of more slaves and the woman's fiery nature could pose some entertainment, it was just the same nuisance that told him she'd be useless for the physical labor he was in search of. You get more bang for your buck feeding and housing a wholly complaint slave rather than one just for pleasure and nothing else. That's what the whorehouse was for.
Bonnie glared at the man for a moment longer before she opened her mouth with a retort that would, no doubt, burn him in some way. But she was interrupted by a feminine voice cutting through the dank dungeons. “How is it you’re so fucking incompetent you can’t even deliver a Lyrael bitch to her room?” The mistress of the whorehouse approached the group with a look of disgust on her delicate features. The guards flinched away from the words and the woman, the only woman in the Fosc kingdom to actually hold a position of power. It was Ethuri that gained the king’s favor by using her body. The affair lasted a couple of years before he moved on to the others. The market for slaves had boomed overnight, which called for someone to handle the slaves and any transactions that came with those purchasing slaves from the Whorehouse.
Ehturi turned her green gaze on Clyde and smiled a little, “Hi sugar. I’m sorry for this… girl. She’s quite a handful and a favorite. I don’t see why, she’s more of a pain than she’s worth. Get her upstairs, she’s wanted by another client,” Ehturi commanded the guards. They nodded and drug the mare away from to the ramp that led to the whorehouse. “What brings you down here, baby?”
Clyde waited expectantly for the girl's response, but the sudden essence of feminine power that embraced the guards with a slap to the jaw silenced the conversation. A type of power every Fosc was well aware of, a relentless hot-blooded voltage led by a vast knowledge in the art of seduction. Madam Ethuri. No woman in the city had a rivaling power to what she possessed. Clyde's eyes wanted to roll back into his head. As Ethuri approached the group, Clyde's unwavered expression kept attention on the slave, only glancing to the guards to enjoy their continuing incompetence. He shrugged and offered a lazy grin to Ethuri's apology, "Surprising." He commented as the guards turned the girl away toward the ramp.[break][break]
Bending his head toward Ethuri, Clyde regarded her question yet his gaze was mildly distracted. He purposely ignored the question. "You know, I thank the Gods there's only one of you in this world." The man complimented Ethuri with a questionable nonchalance, though the potency of his charming grin and exploring eyes as he finally turned to look the mare over suggested reassurance. And then some. "That slave, what's her name?" He gestured toward the ramp she had been escorted to.
Ethuri lifted an invisible brow at Clyde’s comment, but made none of her own. He had a tendency of delivering backhanded compliments and she honestly had no idea how to take them half the time. So the best response for him was none at all. However, his second question caught her off guard. She answered him with a question of her own, “Since when do you care about their names?” He never asked about names. At least, not that she could remember. To her, he was the typical Fosc bastard that was more focused on themselves and their needs rather than the needs of others. That was the way of the world today. Ehturi didn’t fight as hard as she had to get where she was today doing the things that Lyrael people had done so long ago. Look at where they are now. “What’s your interest in her?” They took a turn that headed until the ground floor of the whore house. It was much like a building, though modified to fit the larger beasts, with stalls befitting that of a king's stable, stalls that could fit california king sized beds and then still have some room to move around. Metal rings were bolted into the walls where chains could be latched in place to hold slaves still while their masters took their pleasure. On, Ethuri mastered all of this, planned it all out.
Clyde regarded Ethuri’s reaction with furrowed brows, catching onto the quick snap, yet softened. “Do you know how hard it is to find a Lyrael that defies the Madame’s Code of Conduct?” He smirked as they led into the first floor. He wasn’t partial to her speculation, or being questioned in general. It was true he wasn’t known for requesting names of Lyrael, but his job was trade and in such a field one needed to familiarize theirselves with the most valuable goods you could get your hands on.
As the duo moved through the widened hallways, Clyde observed the passing rooms with eyes too used to their surroundings. “My business is in trade. Clients tend to be easily persuaded by your women...” he glanced another smirk to Ethuri. “I’m still determining if she’s best suited for persuasion or animosity.”
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