Sold! (Leonidas)

[meerclar]

Petros struggled to focus on Leonidas's words as the man circled predatorily around them, whip in hand. The flesh between his shoulder-blades crawled, and he had to dig his fingernails into his palms just to keep still and not squirm. Mentally he chastised himself to pay attention. His new 'owner' was going through the rules; it wasn't the time to let his mind wander.
"So, rules. First, when I call for you I expect you to be at my feet in sixty seconds or less. I don't need slow avoxes." The kind tone he had used in the car was nowhere to be seen. Leo's voice was all authority and self-assurance. He was clearly a man used to having his orders obeyed without question. Petros wondered what exactly he meant by 'at his feet'. Were they expected to kneel? Prostrate themselves before him when summoned? Perhaps a brief genuflect would suffice. Sixty seconds didn't seem very long. The house wasn't large enough that it would take longer than a full minute to cross it, but were they expected to drop whatever they were doing, no matter what it was?
Unable to voice any of these questions, or ask for further clarification, Petros grimaced with frustration. He wondered, if he risked lifting his head and catch Leonidas's eye, would he be somehow able to silently communicate his wish for more information. He didn't dare interrupt Leonidas's monologue and listened to the directions to their bathroom, wondering why the door was locked, and what they would do if it was locked regularly and they weren't permitted to use any other.

"Third, I expect my living space to be clean and my servant's able to cook, so if you don't have those skills I suggest you learn quickly."
Cooking and cleaning. The words came as a relief to Petros. They were achievable tasks. Things he knew he could do, or learn to do. His time in the detention centre had been terrifying as well as painful. The uncertainty of his future had left him feeling rattled and lost. He hadn't even known what his new owner would have him doing, or if he would have the necessary skills. He felt a small amount of tension leave his body, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

"Lastly, any misbehavior will be punished severely. I will not tolerate incompetence, or excuses including medical conditions." The last two words were directed to Michelle, and the tone made Petros shiver, remembering the note they had written together. He had been hoping that their Master would sound more understanding and compassionate. Instead he sounded annoyed. It made Petros worried for Michelle. Leonidas seemed erratic in his behaviour and mood. Were all Capitalites like this, or just this man?
Petros' mind was racing. No excuses, no incompetence, nothing but perfection, it would seem, was going to satisfy. He certainly didn't plan to misbehave, and he tried to focus, wanting to hear the rest of the rules so he could follow them and avoid any 'severe punishments'.

Leonidas's voice came from behind them now, "In case you were curious for a taste of this punishment."
Petros was not and had never been even remotely curious for a taste of any kind of punishment, especially one involving a whip. He had been expecting an iteration of household rules and his new master's words caught him by surprise. He heard the whistle of the whip a second later and his head jerked up. His last thought before the lash hit him was worry that Michelle was about to be struck, and then the leather whip struck him firmly across the back. The pain was intense and he screamed, the sound odd without a tongue. He didn't consider himself a coward, but he had never been physically tough and the blow turned his legs to water and he slumped to his knees on the floor. He wanted to curl up, to protect himself as best he could with his arms, but he fought the urge, trying to breathe through the pain. If he had still had his tongue he would have been begging already. The words ran through his head anyway, rattling away with no way out. There was another whistle behind him and this time he cringed away as the whip hit him again. It hurt just as much the second time, if not more and he screamed again. He fell forward against the floor, his body writhing almost involuntarily in an unconscious effort to get away from the source of the pain. He felt Leonidas step close to him and trembling, he fought to be still, and not anger this man. His breath came in ragged gasps, but other than the laboured sound of his own breathing, he managed not to make any more noise.

"I don't want to hear excuses from you again or else he pays the price." He was talking to Michelle now. Petros felt a wave of relief that he wasn't expected to respond or make sense of what was being said right then. His back felt like it was on fire, but the immediate pain was starting to abate slightly, leaving a more general burning ache. He tried to pull himself together, suddenly terrified of doing the wrong thing and earning a punishment that was more than two demonstration blows.

"I expect dinner in forty minutes." The words were followed moments later by a door slamming and they were alone again.
Petros pressed his face against the floor and whimpered, trying to get control of his thoughts back. He concentrated on breathing, in and out, as slow and controlled as he could manage.

Focus, Petros, he rebuked himself harshly. This isn't the time for self-pity. With an effort, feeling like he was going to be ill, he dragged his knees under him and struggled to sit up, trying to go over the last few minutes in his head and make sense of what he hadn't comprehended at the time. We have to cook dinner. Immediately. What are we supposed to cook? What does he even like? I don't even know where the kitchen is. Turning his head slowly, feeling the pain radiate from his neck all down his back, he turned his head to look for Michelle. He tried to feel grateful that at least she hadn't been hit as well, which was difficult when his own back felt like it was still on fire. Words he hadn't even been aware of hearing came back to him suddenly, "I don't want to hear excuses from you again or else he pays the price."
Did that mean him? Would he be the one punished if either of them messed up? He wasn't sure how to feel about that and pushed it aside for now. He raised his hands and struggled for a moment to recall the signs he had been learning before they were summoned. 'Cook? he managed to sign slowly, his fingers trembling as he spelled the word out.

[troylus]

(OOC this was written blurbing with Meerclar and I writing together and then split in two parts for posting purposes)

As soon as Leonidas had left the room Michelle flew to Petros’s side, her sensitive fingers feeling his back, avoiding the bleeding areas, trying to assess the damage. She saw his fingers moving and turned to look at them. She nodded but held up one finger indicating he should wait a moment. She lifted the edge of his shirt, wincing at the sight of blood on his back. She felt terrible for him, and it was her fault for angering their master. At the same time though a small part of her was very glad it was him and not her that had been beaten - there was no way she could have managed the pain of those blows from that whip.



She tugged at the shirt, wanting him to take it off before the blood started to clot and dry as it would surely stick to the wounds making them worse.

Petros tried to help pull his shirt up, but lifting his arms up took his breath away and he shook his head in mute protest.

She stepped in front of him and undid the buttons of his shirt, sliding it carefully over his shoulders trying to avoid it contacting his damaged, bleeding skin as much as possible. She handed it to him, and slowly spelled out, ‘Wash it in cold water.’ She pointed to herself, ‘Will start cooking then help you with back.’

‘Where?’ He gestured helplessly at the shirt. The idea of wandering half dressed around this house searching for somewhere to wash his clothes when he had been ordered to cook a meal, wasn’t appealing.

She grimaced, taking the already blood stained shirt and dabbing carefully at the trails of the stuff snaking down Petro’s back. Then she tied the shirt around his waist so at least any more blood would soak into it rather than ruining his pants as well. She shrugged at him apologetically, having nothing she could think of to ease his suffering or tend to him any better than that. She had an ominous sense of time ticking away relentlessly - they had to get this meal started right away. She took Petros by the hand and lead him back to the kitchen that they had seen as Leop first took them to the entrance to the servant’s quarters. Cooking she could do, although she was used to the other avox deciding on the menu and just handing her tasks to complete. She washed her hands in the sink and then started pawing through the cupboards and fridge to find something to work with.

Petros washed his own hands and then stood back and watched her, feeling useless and very tired. There was a feeling of looming dread that he couldn’t shake off. They didn’t even know what this man likes to eat, and had just over half an hour to find AND cook something in a kitchen the had never been in before, and without being able to speak to each other.

This was clearly the house of a bachelor, a very rich one, yes, but a bachelor none the less. She found some pasta, an onion that looked like it had been in the pot a little too long, and a collection of random vegetables stuffed into the bottom of the fridge. She handed Petros some garlic cloves with a chopping board and knife, and pointed for him to sit on a box to work, hoping he would know what to do as she mimed peeling and crushing it.

Petros had helped his mother in their kitchen on occasion. He didn’t think he was up to preparing a delicious meal on his own, but crushing garlic seemed achievable enough and he nodded and got to work, trying to hurry without cutting his own fingers. The feeling of blood trickling slowly down his back and drying there was very distracting.

Once she had the water on to boil, she handed him the onion, because she hated cutting those, they made her eyes sting painfully for hours. ‘Frozen meat maybe, but take too long?’ Her fingers were shaking with her nerves as the minutes seemed to be ticking away in her mind too fast, but she forced herself to move them as clearly and slowly as she could to make sure he was following.

‘What make?’ He signed back even slower.

‘Pasta with,’ she pointed at the garlic, onion and vegetables she had selected.

He didn’t expect the soft groan that came out of his mouth at the overwhelming stress of just trying to make a meal.

She pointed again at the garlic and onion, ‘Tastes good even if a bit stale.’

‘Can cut frozen, cook faster?’

She pointed to the freezer, needing him to look into that while she got the onion and garlic browning in a pan.

[meerclar]

Petros rummaged in the freezer, searching for some kind of frozen minced meat. There were several bottles of liquid in here, their contents not frozen even though the outsides of the bottles were covered in frost. There was a container of something else that was creamy and smelled sweet, but he wasn’t sure what it was, so he left it and turned back to Michelle, looking forlorn. ‘No meat.’ He wasn’t sure what Leonidas usually ate, but he was beginning to suspect that he didn’t eat at home much.
She looked a little relieved at that; Leonidas could hardly expect something that wasn’t in his fridge, right? Then she recalled the way he’d beaten Petros because she wrote him a polite note, albeit brief, and slapped her for her eyes having unshed tears in them, and realised that he may well be angry even if it was unfair. Fair no longer mattered for them. But then, her life had never been very fair anyway.
The meal started to smell pretty good, despite the limited selection of ingredients they had to work with, and her mouth watered. Petros suddenly remembered that he hadn’t eaten at all that day and his stomach rumbled loudly as the kitchen filled with the sweet scent of garlic and onions.
Her sensitive ears caught the sound and she smiled at him with a sad shake of her head; none of this was for them and she knew better than to risk it. At Mrs Windsor’s place she and the other avox had always eaten the same thing; special cans of pureed, liquified goop that they drank, which was far easier than trying to manage actual food with no tongue to swallow it. Still, it made her cringe for first few weeks and long for some variety. Right now though she would have happily devoured it.
With the food finally cooking mostly on it’s own, Petros finally had a moment to sign to Michelle, ‘He angry about note?’
She shrugged and hurried to the freezer, scraping some of the ice from the sides into a damp dishcloth. She held it up to Petros, checking he wanted it for his back.
Petros had assumed she was doing some cooking thing he was unaware of and winced at his own stupidity, then nodded. The thought of something cold against his burning skin was wonderful. She actually avoided the most damaged areas, gently pressing the make-shift icepack to the swollen areas adjacent to the whip’s lacerations. He groaned quietly at the simultaneous relief and discomfort from the cold, making no move to shift away from it.
‘Good,’ he signed slowly.
She patted his arm consolingly. ‘Sorry.’
‘Better me,’ he signed back. He certainly didn’t want to be constantly hit, but if it had been Michelle, he tried to imagine getting a meal ready on his own, if she was incapacitated with pain. It made more sense, logically, that he had been hit, and both of them were still mostly functional.
Michelle crossed her fingers over her heart to show she was promising him something and then signed, ‘I try harder, keep him happy. Spare you.’
Wondering how much difference it would make with such an unpredictable owner, Petros nodded his agreement. ‘Both try. Maybe just hit once, to show.’
She doubted that was true but patted Petros’ cheek affectionately. There was no point in crushing that hope he was still clinging to. And besides, maybe it was true, or at least he might calm down a little once they’d established a pattern and a way of life here.
‘We good. Always good.’ Petros was signing mostly to himself now, his thoughts racing ahead, trying to find the best path to take. ‘No excuses.’
She felt her eyes welling with tears knowing full well that it was impossible for anyone to be perfect all of the time, especially if the smallest thing could set Leonidas off, and no leniency would be given. She brushed them away, angry with herself for doing something she’d already been chastised for so recently. So much for ‘always good.’

They set the table neatly, if hurriedly, Michelle following Petros and fastidiously correcting his placement of almost everything. He gave her a sideways glance, but smiled, to show there was no hard feelings, and she could tell he was taking note of the corrections she made. She seemed to be more than slightly concerned that everything be a precise distance from the table edge and lined up right, more than she cared about the time pressure they were under.
Trying to lighten her gloomy mood Petros signed to her teasingly, ‘want ruler?’
She didn’t seem to see the funny side, ‘Mrs Windsor had us use one. Don’t have here.’
Petros pulled a face at the idea of having to measure the placement of silverware. Especially for a meal for just one person. ‘We tell him food is ready?’ He wondered. ‘Stay? Or go? Shirt on?’
She scanned his wounds which were mostly dry now and nodded, helping him put the now ripped garment back on. She pointed at the side of the room and stood there, attentive but unobtrusive, to show him what they were supposed to do, at least what she’d always done at her last place.
‘What mean ‘at his feet’?’ Petros asked the question he had been wondering before he’d been whipped.
She raised an eyebrow and grimaced, hating the idea of falling to her knees if they didn’t need to, or if Leonidas didn’t want that. It seemed a dangerous place to be, too close to kicking range, for her liking.
‘I be really nice to him, make happy,’ she gave Petros a meaningful look as she signed it. If Petros had to take all the beatings, she could be brave and even flirt a little to keep their master happy and in friendly company.
Petros grimaced as he realised what she meant by that, shaking his head, ‘He can’t.’ Even as he signed them he knew that wasn’t true. The idea was distasteful and he changed the subject, hoping it might just not come up and she wouldn’t have to do that. ‘We go find him? Or wait? Food get cold?’
She closed her eyes, listening with all of her concentration, trying to sense where Leonidas might be...