The slave-master chuckled to himself, rolling the extraordinary amount of gold in the coinpouch around his fingertips greedily. Might as well keep going whilst the going's good, right? The next one is certain to knock their socks off, or at the very least surprise them. "Alright number 12, yer up," grunted the man, sending a chubby palm into the small of the woman's back and causing her to stumble in her chains to the lit podium in the centre of the crowd.
"Ladies and gentlemen! This one's just as good as the last one, I assure ya." bellowed the slave-master, spreading his arms out for dramatic effect. The woman just stood there dumbly, staring out across the crowd without focusing on anyone in particular. She was quite tall and incredibly skinny, wearing naught but a stinking burlap stack covered in mud and congealed blood, along with what is hopefully mud. "Don't mind the appearance, people, she smartens up real nice when you need her to."
"We got this one from Quirek, fully trained and everything. We think she's from Sudal, but we can't be sure; still, guys, just at that figure! Cheekbones so sharp you could cut yourself, a natural at entertainment, not too shabby on the housework and fully trained, too!" gloated the slave-master smugly, making rings around the woman, lifting her thin arms, prodding at her face as if she was a slab of meat. The woman herself tilted her head back to the sky blankly. She seemed to be completely unaffected by the man's words, emotionless, still and silent.
The slave-master frowned a little - a few people were walking away. You get that, sometimes; obedient slaves aren't in the personal tastes of some who preferred to have a legitimate reason to hit people. "Infertile, as well!" he called out, trying to hide the desperation in his tone of voice. More people started to leave, and this angered the slave-master. They wanted something new? Right. Well, they'll get something new...
With a flourish, the slave-master heaved the thick iron chains off the woman's back.
Almost instantly, the woman inhaled and shut her eyes as two massive, thick wings spread out from behind her back. The feathers were all sorts of mottled, striped patterns in neutral ochre colours, but they were streaked with blood and some feathers were moulting. Clearly, the woman's wings have been rubbed raw by those thick, inhibiting chains. Whilst she tried to beat her wings and soar into the air, the slave-master stomped down on the chain between her ankle shackles, causing her to buffet the crowd with powerful gusts of wind.
"But of recovery required," hollered the slave-master over the gusts of wind; the woman didn't seem to notice that she wasn't airborne but simple revelled in the fact she could , enjoying what precious moments of free movement she could to the "ooooh"s and "aaaah"s of the crowd. "Flies up to a quarter of an hour with a passenger, if you can trust the woman to keep a hold of you. I wouldn't suggest doing that, it's how we got her in the first place!" joked the slave master, running podgy fingers through his comb over to keep it still.
"SO! Let's start the bidding, shall we?!" he called, throwing the heavy chains over the woman's back. She seemed to withdraw into herself the moment those chains hit the raw and bloody patches of skin on her wings, as she folded her wings in painfully and stared at the crowd blankly again.
Despite this newly displayed talent, the crowd seemed hesitant to put any bids forth. Perhaps they were still in shock, or perhaps they didn't see a need to have a winged servant.
But Lucien didn't want to buy her for her wings, or her infertility, or even her beauty. Women and children were not supposed to be slaves, no matter what the circumstances. If no-one bid on her, she'd go back to her master, who would doubtlessly be furious at the lack of a sale.
He was not going to let that happen
"One gold piece for the winged girl" he called, catching the slave-for-sale's eye. It was unlikely that anyone would let her go for less than thirty pieces, and that was being stingy. She'd likely be worth something in the seventies to these freaks. But if he started small, it might kick the others into action. They'd start placing bets quickly, not wanting to lose out on such a unique prize.
And Lucien guessed correctly - soon, the whole room was full of men yelling out numbers. "10! 15! 20! 25! 30!" echoed through the night market. The slave-master grinned; soon these small fry will drop out out and leave a two-man bidding war, for what person doesn't want something exotic to display proudly to their friends? However, in terms of the winged woman, she didn't seem to notice the bidding around her because she was too busy staring at Lucien. Right at him, un-blinking, even when half-blinded by the lit podium against the dark crowd. The corners of her mouth twitched upwards just a little.
"Seventy gold pieces for that harpy witch!" roared a powerful voice. The source of it was a scarred brute of a man, flanked by two scantily dressed, chained women kneeling at his feet. Clearly, he was one of those 'noblemen' who blew off their inheritance on trinkets and, it seems, slaves - and the thought of having a winged woman to toy with clearly amused him. The slave's face fell from the tiny smirk back into the blank, withdrawn look that it seemed to hold as her wings sunk down. She seemed to be giving in already to the weight of the chains, and perhaps to the new life under the rule of that greasy woman-hoarder too."Any more bets after seventy?" called the slave-master, peering searchingly around the crowd.
The woman-hoarder grinned, puffing his chest out as he held up his entire coinpouch proudly in the air, flaunting the fact he had the money to buy her at seventy. Meanwhile, the winged woman stared at the floor, at her feet, in quiet despair.
In a weird way, Lucien was quite proud himself he'd guessed the price right. Beginner's luck, he thought, or maybe he just had a natural gift at auctioning
Either way, he wasn't about to let this beast of a man add to his harem. Some people don't deserve to have so much money, he thought as the woman-hoarder flaunted his cash and women.
"I thought people like him only existed in stories. Damn pervert." Lucien said, perhaps a little too loudly, before addressing the auctioneer "I'll give you eighty gold to keep the harpy out of that degenerate's hands!"
There was something strange about the winged girl that wasn't just her wings. She had looked at Lucien... If the roles were reversed and it was him standing up there with his life up for sale, he would not be smiling at anyone or anything. Either she was some kind of masochist - unlikely, since her face immediately fell when Porkpie made his bid - or she saw something in Lucien that wasn't present in the other slavers.
The woman-hoarder faultered. "DEGENERATE?!" he roared, shoving past one of his female friends and trying to get through the crowd to reach Lucien. Unfortunately, the slave-master was faster; standing with his back to the burly man, he yelled out "Sold to our kind friend here!" whilst dragging the winged woman through the crowd. Unlike the woman-hoarder, the crowd parted to let through the half-harpy in awe, some of the less socially acceptable or drunk ones reaching out to brush at her wings or run their hands through her greasy hair, sniggering to each other as they plucked a feather from her wing, or tried to trip her up. Either way, the slave-master wasn't stopping, even if that did mean dragging her across the floor - he seemed hasty to finish business now that a fight was brewing.
"Yer gonna need this," muttered the slave-master, handing Lucien a thick chain with some sort of clasp that locks in place on the end, along with a key to unlock and lock the clasp. It had a handle on the other end made out of fine silk wrapped around leather. "To stop her from flying away, because - trust me on this one - she'll do it the moment she gets a chance. I'm sure any of yer fancy dog-leashes work fine if you want to show her off, but don't leave her loose, not even at night." Admittedly, the slave-master seemed to be speaking some inkling of truth, because despite the fact the woman seemed so broken and withdrawn there was a predatory gleam in her eyes, a distinct lack of trust.
"She'll eat just about anything you give 'er, but avoid givin' her any grains. No bread, potatoes, cereal, nothin' - veggies and meat will do fine. Or jus' give her table scraps, she'll pick her way around it." grumbled the slave-trader - a few men were smart enough to try and stop a conflict that could alert the guards by blocking woman-hoarder from getting over to the winged woman and Lucien. "Can't say about the wings but she isn't able to fly jus' yet, more of a big jump. Doesn't stop her from tryin'. She's very obedient but I don't think she gets the fact she ain't allowed to just leave her master when she wants. Keep her chained to somethin' when she's working, or lock the house and windows, she's terrible at gettin' through locks."
After accepting the gold and double-checking that it was all there, the slave-master disappeared back through the crowd, leaving the winged woman alone with Lucien, sprawled on the floor. She stared up at him uncertainly, before heaving herself to her knees and pressing her face as low as possible, in a kneeling bow of respect. In this position, Lucien would get a proper view of her wings - the chains were biting at her flesh and there were infected wounds that certainly were -not- from wear-and-tear all over the sinewy muscles. Some of the feathers were caked in mud and gunge, and she stank to high heaven, coupled with the incredibly long mass of hair. She remains like that for a few minutes before sitting down on the floor extending out her scaly, taloned legs - again, the talons were split, cracked and in need of a good trim - but the action was clear. She was waiting for him to attach the chain to the shackles on her ankles, obediently.
"Thanks, I guess..." Lucien muttered uncertainly, but the seller had already started walking away. Looking down at his new servant, he realised that this one was going to be much harder to control than the last one - she didn't trust him, and she wasn't totally subserviant. She was doing what she had been told to do, but in all likelyhood she was waiting for the opertunity to escape
"Now, now. Enough of that." Lucien admonished the Harpy "I don't condone chains in my household" With that, he leaned over and began to undo the restrictive metal binds. She was in a bad way, blood and bruises everywhere. Several of the cuts, especially where the old chains were, had become infected and were doubtlessly extremely painful. The worst part was the smell, though. It was like dead flesh mixed with urine that had been left in the sun for a couple of days.
"My name is Lucien le Croix, my dear" Lucien offered a hand to the harpy, to lift her back on her feet "You can just call me Lucien. I guess I'm the one in charge of you now."
It was time to go. Rosa and the others would be waiting for them, and he didn't want to chance his luck against Porkpie.
"We should get going. I'm done here, and I'm sure you don't want to spend any more time here than you have to. If you'd be so kind as to follow me..."