Post by ⇌ ɑ k i on Feb 16, 2011 15:39:17 GMT -8
Masaki honestly didn't think he'd ever worked so hard in his life.
Okay, he probably had; after all, one of his former masters had been a farm owner and Masaki had always been the one chosen for the worst jobs out in the fields, in the animal stalls, in the worst weather. That old man had had it out for him; but he hadn't expected to get a slave who talked back as much as that particular boy did, either. When he'd resold him he'd said it was because he wasn't physically strong enough for all the farm labor, but that was just because he was too embarrassed to say he was fed up with a slave. So there had been a few more masters after that before he'd been labeled a problem and eventually been snatched up one last time. At least, he seriously hoped it was the last time, because it seemed like even this one was fed up with his attitude. It was the damn pride that wouldn't let him bow down and grovel. Before his father went off in some war whose name Masaki had never learned, he'd always taught him to respect himself; and that meant to command respect in others. It wasn't one of the more sought-after aspects of a slave boy.
Muttering something under his breath he stepped back from the window to check that the spot had been removed. A storm a few weeks ago had blown mud up onto the outer walls and specifically this window, and seeing as it was in an out-of-the-way part of the building he hadn't known it until yesterday, when the sun had already baked the mud on and made it a much harder job than it would have been a week ago. He looked in disgust at the filthy rag in his hand and glanced down to be sure there was no mud on his sandals before he nodded in satisfaction and turned to go around the wall to head back inside and find something else to do.
The problem was that he couldn't admit to being under the control of anyone but himself. To be owned felt like the biggest humiliation, the most intense degradation anyone could ever experience. To know that his body and his mind were not his own but subject to whatever whims and fancies his master decided, all because he did not have the money to buy his freedom back when said owner had the money to have bought him from the dealer--just like all the others. However, here, he had to admit, was the best treatment he'd ever received. At his first experiences here he'd scoffed and guessed that Tetsuya was only trying to get him into bed with as little fight as possible, trying to win him over by treating him nicely and making him indebted to the man. As time went on it became obvious that life here was just nice all-around, but he couldn't get himself to admit he was wrong, and so still he always kept his distance from his master as well as he could despite any approaches the man might have made.
That was until he'd heard the rumour that Matsuri Tetsuya was getting a new slave to replace the one who was too stubborn to get along with. The very thought had him quaking at the idea of leaving this place and returning to the dealers, now a developed man who could be sold into any sort of depravity: Mining, military, any number of hard labors, even to a brothel. Suddenly acting even a little subservient here didn't seem quite so bad, though it still rubbed him the wrong way when he had to bow every time someone else passed or duck his head when someone spoke to him. So, true to himself as ever, he didn't do that. He just did his jobs better and didn't scowl as he did them. And hoped like his life depended on it (which it might) that it was noticed and Tetsuya decided to give him a second chance.
He was an advocate of respect for the dead, but it was times like these he wanted to curse his father for instilling this damn pride in him.
Okay, he probably had; after all, one of his former masters had been a farm owner and Masaki had always been the one chosen for the worst jobs out in the fields, in the animal stalls, in the worst weather. That old man had had it out for him; but he hadn't expected to get a slave who talked back as much as that particular boy did, either. When he'd resold him he'd said it was because he wasn't physically strong enough for all the farm labor, but that was just because he was too embarrassed to say he was fed up with a slave. So there had been a few more masters after that before he'd been labeled a problem and eventually been snatched up one last time. At least, he seriously hoped it was the last time, because it seemed like even this one was fed up with his attitude. It was the damn pride that wouldn't let him bow down and grovel. Before his father went off in some war whose name Masaki had never learned, he'd always taught him to respect himself; and that meant to command respect in others. It wasn't one of the more sought-after aspects of a slave boy.
Muttering something under his breath he stepped back from the window to check that the spot had been removed. A storm a few weeks ago had blown mud up onto the outer walls and specifically this window, and seeing as it was in an out-of-the-way part of the building he hadn't known it until yesterday, when the sun had already baked the mud on and made it a much harder job than it would have been a week ago. He looked in disgust at the filthy rag in his hand and glanced down to be sure there was no mud on his sandals before he nodded in satisfaction and turned to go around the wall to head back inside and find something else to do.
The problem was that he couldn't admit to being under the control of anyone but himself. To be owned felt like the biggest humiliation, the most intense degradation anyone could ever experience. To know that his body and his mind were not his own but subject to whatever whims and fancies his master decided, all because he did not have the money to buy his freedom back when said owner had the money to have bought him from the dealer--just like all the others. However, here, he had to admit, was the best treatment he'd ever received. At his first experiences here he'd scoffed and guessed that Tetsuya was only trying to get him into bed with as little fight as possible, trying to win him over by treating him nicely and making him indebted to the man. As time went on it became obvious that life here was just nice all-around, but he couldn't get himself to admit he was wrong, and so still he always kept his distance from his master as well as he could despite any approaches the man might have made.
That was until he'd heard the rumour that Matsuri Tetsuya was getting a new slave to replace the one who was too stubborn to get along with. The very thought had him quaking at the idea of leaving this place and returning to the dealers, now a developed man who could be sold into any sort of depravity: Mining, military, any number of hard labors, even to a brothel. Suddenly acting even a little subservient here didn't seem quite so bad, though it still rubbed him the wrong way when he had to bow every time someone else passed or duck his head when someone spoke to him. So, true to himself as ever, he didn't do that. He just did his jobs better and didn't scowl as he did them. And hoped like his life depended on it (which it might) that it was noticed and Tetsuya decided to give him a second chance.
He was an advocate of respect for the dead, but it was times like these he wanted to curse his father for instilling this damn pride in him.