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maculategiraffeLet me just note right away that no, I am not going to stop writing Slave Breakers just because I've got a new story. I love writing Slave Breakers; I am of course going to finish Intake Counselor (abandon my girls at this crucial juncture? never!), and I owe y'all some comfort after that last heart-pummeling Quen/Jesse interlude, and there are a lot of other good stories to tell in that 'verse, so I'm definitely not abandoning it. Those characters and that world are very close to my heart. It's just exciting that I also have a new world to write in.
The thing is, when I first started posting "Bran," I had less than no idea that it would be as popular as it's turned out to be. What I hoped was that there were at least a few other people out there who enjoyed the same things I did and would appreciate finding my stuff. I remember telling my husband with equal parts glee and disbelief that more than twenty people had friended my fiction-posting livejournal; I remember saying, "I don't think I've ever even had twenty people over at my apartment at one time!"
Now, I think some of that has to do with the fact that when I started posting, the "genre" of original slash slavefic on LJ really had yet to take off-- there were a few stories being posted here and there, and people were writing slavefic for lots of fandoms, of course, but my stuff had the advantage of being something that a lot of people were interested in seeing but hadn't necessarily defined as such, and so there was this kind of general zeitgeist of "Dude! Hey! THIS thing!" that also contributed to the formation of a new and wonderful fandom, for slavefic qua slavefic. I'd like to think SB is good writing, but there's also just the fact that I was in the right place at the right time for it to take off the way it has.
Which is all a way of saying that launching a new enterprise is incredibly nerve-racking for me, because there's no guarantee that this new universe will strike the same kind of chord, regardless of its objective merit. But I'm emboldened by the fact that you guys-- the people who read me, but particularly the people whom I've gotten to know through your amazing, thought-provoking comments and feedback-- are in my sincere and somewhat educated opinion some of the best people ever. I'm consistently awed and humbled by so many of you, and that's seriously one of the best feelings I know. It's like being in love-- the feeling that somebody so cool wants to interact with you in some way, finds you worthy. And for me, because I'm so incredibly lucky, it's so many someones, who are cool and thoughtful and interesting and like my work.
And so when I think about starting something new, in addition to just the joy of writing and creating and planning and thinking and having characters and situations take shape, I also just hope so much that some of you guys will like it.
So: I am going to go ahead and post the first chapter of a story called "The Maiden," in what I'm tentatively calling the Daughter universe. Please note that there is no pressure to like it; it's entirely possible that this new thing is not your "thing" in the way that Slave Breakers turned out to be so many people's "thing," and that's okay, because primarily of course it's my "thing," or I wouldn't be writing it.
A quick couple of words first about what sort of thing it is. It's matriarchy, as I noted in my voice post, and it's also fantasy. The reason for introducing a fantasy element (besides "for the hell of it," which is also a compelling reason in my book) will, I hope, become clear over the course of the story; I hope it doesn't impede anybody's enjoyment. I'll just say this: the big difference between this alternate universe and my other one is that Slave Breakers was an alternate universe that evolved differently from ours for no particular reason except maybe a butterfly flapping its wings at some point; this one evolved differently for a very particular reason, and it also branches off from ours at a very specific point. Again, I'll get into all this over the course of the story; I guess my point is just that yes, I am going somewhere with this whole thing.
Also, yes, it will eventually pass the reverse Bechdel test, in that there will be men having a conversation that is not about a woman. ;)
Anyway, without further ado, here's the first chapter. As always, all thoughts and feedback are more than welcome, and if you've got questions or spot problems, please let me know, as it's best to catch these things early. I sort of went with the Baz Luhrmann "charming hodgepodge of anachronisms" strategy in Slave Breakers, but seriously, I suck at imagitech. If I was the Connecticut Yankee I would have been like, "...I can re-create large chunks of Edna St. Vincent Millay's poetry from memory?"
Okay really without further ado now.
The men in the big common room were deathly silent, which was a relief in itself. Normally the noise felt almost as bruising as the things that actually produced bruises: the punches, kicks, hits, casual slammings against the wall. Sean was used to all of it, of course; used to the noise, the pain, the worse pain that came from the guards' sticks when they laid about them to break up a fight. He didn't bruise quite as easily now that he was so thin-- he rarely got more than a bite at mealtimes before someone bigger and meaner annexed his tray-- and as long as none of his bones were broken, he didn't really flinch much any more, either. Or cry.
The silence was nice, though. And the stillness; no one was moving a muscle. Everyone's eyes were on the woman in gray.
She was youngish, maybe somewhere between twenty and thirty, and attractively strong-featured. Her forehead was high, her eyebrows thick and dark and slightly raised as she looked around at the men. There was another woman next to her, crimson-robed, who looked so much like her that she had to be a sister, but she wasn't the one choosing; her arms were already full, clasping a sleeping baby dressed in the elaborate, lacy, flowing white that denoted the wondrous blessing of a daughter.
Sean didn't know a lot about women's clothes, but he knew enough to know that the dove-gray robe the babyless woman wore meant all kinds of power, and the silver circlet that bound back her short dark hair from her face meant power even among the powerful; this woman was a magistra, an initiate of the highest rank, and she wouldn't need bodyguards to deliver a quick jolt of lightning to the spinal column of any man stupid enough to make a false move. Not that Sean, for one, would have considered it for a moment. If he had thoughts of moving at all, it was to fall to his knees; if he'd dared speak, it would have been a plea. Choose me. Please, please, choose me.
Some of the men here were afraid of being chosen, Sean knew that; would rather deal with the predictable, everyday miseries of the center than live with women. Sean guessed he could understand that; he'd had girlfriends when he was younger, and they could hurt you badly enough, even without meaning to, to make you homesick for a nice quick punch to the kidneys. But a mature woman... a magistra... and if he stayed here, his life would never get any better... and if she chose today-- if she didn't dismiss all the men here as unworthy-- the man she chose would have some amount of time to prove himself, and if he did, even after he'd served his purpose, he might not have to come back here. She might keep him, treat him gently. It could happen.
Her eyes swept over them. Sean had no real hope of being chosen; he was too obviously weak, and besides, today he had a black eye and a split lip, so even if she liked men short and skinny, any attractiveness Sean might have wasn't particularly evident right now. He still couldn't help but tremble a little when her eye paused on him.
She turned to the guards and spoke in an undertone, while everyone strained to catch her words without seeming to listen.
"Number eight six six nine three," said the guard loudly, and Sean's heart stopped for long enough to send a spasm of agony through his chest, "step forward and kneel to her ladyship."
Praying he'd actually heard his own number, Sean stepped forward and dropped to his knees, bowing his head low.
A female voice above him said, "That one?"
"Well," said another voice, neutrally, and gray robes rustled closer to Sean, who was glad he was kneeling; otherwise his knees might have trembled enough to make him fall, which would just make a great impression. The magistra leaned down, her hand soft and painless under his chin, and tilted his face up, examining it thoughtfully. Sean had no idea what it looked like to her, apart from bruised and possibly bloody. "He reminds me of Kyle."
"I should have known," said the other woman, the sister, her voice full of fond exasperation, and shifted the baby to one arm to touch Sean's shaved head; her hand did hurt, a little, just a faint warning pulse of pain. "I don't know why they do this; don't they know how awful it looks?"
"Lice," said the magistra absently, her thumb coming up to touch Sean's cheekbone.
"I suppose so," said the sister, straightening. "And it's not as if anyone cares how they look, not here."
The magistra touched Sean's bruised eye, then his lip. "How did you get hurt?"
It took a moment before Sean realized she was talking to him, and once he did, the sister was already saying, "They're like wild animals. Beat each other up just for entertainment. Rita, you're not seriously considering this one, are you?"
"It's not always the ones who look big and strong, you know," said the magistra, letting go of Sean's chin.
"But him? You'd have a puny baby."
"Easier birthing that way," Rita said, half-seriously. "Besides, he'd be pretty if he were a girl. If he gave me a daughter..."
Sean's blood was roaring in his ears. She was going to pick someone else, send Sean back into the mob of yelling, bruising men, and Sean's life would be a little bit worse forever, knowing he'd had one chance, once, and lost it...
"I'll give him a try," the lady decided. "Get him ready."
Sean had a thorough and rather uncomfortable physical and underwent testing for a number of things before he was put into solitary for the regulation period of quarantine. He immediately fell asleep on the floor, waking only when the plastic food tray rattled through the slot in his door, to wolf down the food-- the entire tray, with no one grabbing it away from him!-- and fall asleep again, with no one kicking him awake or rolling him on his stomach to fuck him. Already his life was about a thousand percent better, and he was still at the center for unattached males. In two weeks, when his quarantine was up, and he was actually claimed... his mind boggled at the idea of living in an actual home, a house, for the first time since he'd turned eighteen without a steady girlfriend and his mom hadn't been influential enough to save him from being packed off to the center. Now he'd be the property of the magistra, and however she treated him, even if she liked to zap men in their sensitive parts for fun, it couldn't be worse than the center.
Could it?
She didn't come to get him herself; she sent two women in blue robes, who raised their eyebrows at him, even though his bruises had faded and his hair had grown out some and what with getting all three meals every day he thought he might have even put on a little weight. They were gentle with him, though, as they checked him over thoroughly, pronounced him free of disease and insects, gave him clean underwear and blue jeans and a white T-shirt that fit pretty well, and led him outside to put him in the back seat of a car. They even let him sit on the seat instead of the floor, which was nice of them. It seemed like a long drive to the lady's house, but Sean wasn't exactly complaining, especially since he got to look out the windows at the city, and then the countryside and then more city, flying past.
The lady's house-- unsurprisingly, considering the circlet-- was big, and set off by itself on a leafy piece of land, with a thing out front that was too big to be a pond and too small to be a lake. The women took Sean in through a back door, through carpeted halls to an uncarpeted staircase and down into a kitchen, told him to sit in a chair at a wooden table, and put a plate of food in front of him, complete with fork and spoon.
"Eat," said one of them, laying her hand on his shoulder. He flinched a little, but there was no pain; it was just a friendly gesture, and Sean dared a grateful smile up at her before he obeyed.
He concentrated on pacing himself so he wouldn't eat like a starving wild animal and spill food on himself, which was much more important here than at the center; after all, there, as the sister had noted, nobody much cared how much of a mess you were. And presumably at some point he'd be taken in to his new protectrix, who-- he hoped-- would be pleased by his slightly-improved appearance. If they kept feeding him, and let his hair grow... well. She'd said he'd be pretty if he were a girl, and though as a compliment it felt slightly backhanded, she'd chosen him, so there must be something about him that pleased her. He'd just have to pray he could keep doing so.
When he was done eating, the women escorted him into what looked like a living room, where the magistra sat on a sofa, drinking from a mug with writing on it, a legal pad and ballpoint pen balanced on one gray-clad knee. She wasn't wearing the robe or circlet to denote her rank, just a normal, knee-length button-up dress in the same dove gray as the robe. She looked at him as he knelt, and he thought she did seem pleased, at least a little, as she thanked Sean's escorts and nodded their dismissal.
"He looks better already," she said to her sister, who was sitting at the other end of the couch, wearing a crimson dress; she didn't have the baby today. The mug in her hand had a picture of a snake on it; the one in the magistra's hand said I'D RATHER BE CASTING.
"He could hardly look worse," the sister said, looking at Sean with mild distaste. "Rita, I swear sometimes you don't have the sense Gaia gave a chicken. Kyle couldn't give you a child, so you pick out one just like him, but even punier..."
Sean's protectrix looked up and a little off to the side, and Sean followed her gaze to another kneeling man he hadn't noticed before.
If this was Kyle, then he did look a bit like Sean, although he was well fed and entirely free of bruises and cuts, and his hair was a thick, luxuriant mop of chestnut curls instead of the ugly bristle that had displeased the magistra. He was wearing blue jeans and a dark green T-shirt, and glaring at Sean.
"Kyle," said Rita, and the other man jerked to attention, "don't be like that."
Kyle bowed his head all the way to the floor in apology, as the magistra continued softly, "Come here."
Kyle crawled to her, his head still hung low, and Sean's stomach flipped over; although it would be sort of flattering to him if his new protectrix intended to punish another man for showing hostility towards him, he really didn't want to watch the kind of punishment a woman like this could mete out. There could be smoking flesh involved.
"Kneel up," said the magistra, and when Kyle obeyed, she drew his head down onto her non-pad-balancing knee, and laid her hand on his hair. He didn't jerk or shudder at her touch; he relaxed against her, one hand coming up tentatively to curl around her bare calf, and she let it stay there, stroking his hair gently.
"You spoil that man rotten, Rita," said the other lady, the sister. "I can't believe you're rewarding him for giving the new one fishy looks. What kind of a lesson does that teach him?"
"I'm not rewarding him," said Magistra Rita, still stroking Kyle's hair. "I'm reassuring him. He's afraid I'm going to send him away."
"Yes, and I still don't understand why you aren't. He can't give you a daughter, and he'll only cause trouble for the man who can. You could at least send him back to the center for a few months, while the new one's settling in."
"Emily..." The magistra brushed the backs of her fingers against Kyle's cheek; Kyle whimpered very faintly, in gratitude or in pain, Sean couldn't tell. "That's not necessary. Kyle will help Sean settle in. Won't you, Kyle?"
Kyle nodded his head against his protectrix' leg.
"You need a girlfriend, Rita," said the sister, shaking her own head. "You're starting to turn into one of those people who talks to men like they're women."
"Try introducing me to someone with a brain in her head, then," the lady answered, but laughingly, as if this were an old and casual argument. She took hold of Kyle's hair and tugged it lightly so that he lifted his head from her knee, then held her I'D RATHER BE CASTING mug to his lips; he opened them to receive the sip of whatever that she tilted carefully into his mouth.
"Rita, table manners!" her sister groaned.
"Oh, hush," said Rita. "He's perfectly clean. Now-- tell me more about Cynthia's circle. Are they really getting any closer to parthenogenesis?"
"I doubt it," said the sister. "But they're certainly talking about it."
The magistra shrugged impatiently. "We've been talking about it for centuries-- ever since the Enlightenment. What are they actually doing? Do we have case studies?"
"It's all anecdotal," said Emily. "Two pregnant women in their circle-- well, everybody's got pregnancies, and we only have their word for it that these aren't the regular kind. But they want you to come check it out."
"I will," said Rita, making a note on her pad, "but I think I'll stick with old home remedies myself. I can't help but think that if we were meant to use the power to create life, it would have been a little easier to figure out how."
As they talked, the magistra continued to give Kyle sips from her cup. Kyle drank carefully; once he kissed his protectrix's fingertips where they curled around the mug, and she smiled down at him.
"I need to get home," said the sister eventually, rising carefully and setting her mug down. "Good luck, Rita."
"Kyle," said the magistra when her sister was gone, and Kyle looked up, alert. "Why don't you show Sean the dorm? I'd like you two to start getting acquainted. And when you've shown him around a bit, take him up to my bedroom and get him ready for me. Leave him there and come back here."
Kyle bowed his head and shoulders again in assent, then rose to his feet. Sean wasn't sure if he was allowed to do likewise, so he just started to crawl after Kyle until the magistra said, "Sean, you may walk."
He bowed deeply to her once he'd risen; she gave him a quick, friendly-seeming nod and he trotted off after Kyle's back, down more carpeted halls and stairs, to a smallish plain room with a bathroom just off it, visible through an open door. There were five sets of bunk beds in it, but no other men, at the moment; presumably whatever hired muscle Sean's new mistress kept around was still hard at work earning its keep. Sean hoped his own method of doing so would mean he was off-limits to casual abuse and rape; he wasn't sure what kind of status a potential father had among the men in a woman's household.
"If you try to fuck with me," said Kyle, sitting on one of the lower bunks and glaring at Sean again, "she'll fry your balls off."
"She will?" Sean asked, more intrigued than alarmed, since he had no intention of trying to fuck with Kyle anyway. That particular method of castration was mostly used as punishment for touching women without invitation; either Kyle was bluffing, or this was further evidence of his protectrix's astonishing favor towards him.
Kyle nodded. "She did it to another man once. For grabbing me. So keep your distance."
"Sure," said Sean, sitting down on the bunk opposite. "I like my balls where they are, thanks."
"And I'm not going anywhere," Kyle continued. "If you try to sweet-talk her into getting rid of me, it'll be your ass that gets packed back to the center so fast your head will spin. If she doesn't spin your head around a couple times herself."
Sean held up his hands in surrender. "Hey-- yeah, I got it. In there. Petting you, letting you drink from her cup-- I'm pretty sure that whole scenario was woman-speak for so, new guy, don't fuck with Kyle."
"Yeah," said Kyle, his face relaxing slightly. "Okay. As long as we're clear."
"Crystal," said Sean, and Kyle looked at him for a minute, then nodded again, shortly.
"Then you'll do fine," he said. "Even if you can't knock her up, if you behave yourself she probably won't send you back to the center. She's-- sweet."
"Except when she fries guys' balls off."
"Well, I thought that was kind of sweet, too, actually," said Kyle. "To me."
"So I'm fine as long as I don't piss you off."
"Pretty much," said Kyle. "Or get loaned out to her sister. Gaia help you then."
Sean shuddered. "Will I? Get loaned out?"
"I don't know," said Kyle. "She doesn't loan me out, not anymore, but I'm-- You're not really the sister's type, though."
"Then you aren't either," Sean pointed out.
"Well. No." Kyle gave Sean a long, speculative look. "You do look like me, don't you? I'm not sure if I should be flattered or plan on you having some kind of disfiguring accident."
"I vote for the first one," said Sean helpfully.
Kyle smiled, finally, a small, absent-minded smile that was still better than nothing.
"If I could just give her a child," he said, as if to himself.
"You mean, if you could just give her a daughter."
Kyle shook his head. "I haven't been able to get her pregnant at all. I've been trying for two years, and now--"
"You haven't even given her a son?" Sean interrupted, stunned. "In two years? And she's keeping you?"
"Yes, she's keeping me," said Kyle, almost angrily. "She says-- she won't send me away. Ever."
"Nice," said Sean, and it was nice, for Kyle, he guessed. "And she treats you okay?"
"She never hurts me," said Kyle, his voice still angry, and tinged now with something like defiance. "Except to punish me-- but she doesn't do that much either-- and in bed, even after we're done, she lets me stay in bed with her, and she'll-- touch me, and talk to me, and she lets me talk to her, then. And-- touch her. Sometimes she lets me sleep there, in her bed."
"Wow," said Sean sincerely. "Are you her dead girlfriend's orphan brother or something?"
"No," said Kyle, without smiling. "I'm some random guy she picked up at a center. She just... likes me."
"You're living the dream, man," said Sean, not bothering to hide his envy. "So what happens if I give her a daughter?"
"She'll probably keep you, too," said Kyle. "We'll just be one big happy family. Her and you and baby. And no-sperm guy makes four."
"Huh," said Sean doubtfully, and Kyle's eyes narrowed again.
"Okay, man," he said, and stood up. "Let's go get you ready to ride."
The thing is, when I first started posting "Bran," I had less than no idea that it would be as popular as it's turned out to be. What I hoped was that there were at least a few other people out there who enjoyed the same things I did and would appreciate finding my stuff. I remember telling my husband with equal parts glee and disbelief that more than twenty people had friended my fiction-posting livejournal; I remember saying, "I don't think I've ever even had twenty people over at my apartment at one time!"
Now, I think some of that has to do with the fact that when I started posting, the "genre" of original slash slavefic on LJ really had yet to take off-- there were a few stories being posted here and there, and people were writing slavefic for lots of fandoms, of course, but my stuff had the advantage of being something that a lot of people were interested in seeing but hadn't necessarily defined as such, and so there was this kind of general zeitgeist of "Dude! Hey! THIS thing!" that also contributed to the formation of a new and wonderful fandom, for slavefic qua slavefic. I'd like to think SB is good writing, but there's also just the fact that I was in the right place at the right time for it to take off the way it has.
Which is all a way of saying that launching a new enterprise is incredibly nerve-racking for me, because there's no guarantee that this new universe will strike the same kind of chord, regardless of its objective merit. But I'm emboldened by the fact that you guys-- the people who read me, but particularly the people whom I've gotten to know through your amazing, thought-provoking comments and feedback-- are in my sincere and somewhat educated opinion some of the best people ever. I'm consistently awed and humbled by so many of you, and that's seriously one of the best feelings I know. It's like being in love-- the feeling that somebody so cool wants to interact with you in some way, finds you worthy. And for me, because I'm so incredibly lucky, it's so many someones, who are cool and thoughtful and interesting and like my work.
And so when I think about starting something new, in addition to just the joy of writing and creating and planning and thinking and having characters and situations take shape, I also just hope so much that some of you guys will like it.
So: I am going to go ahead and post the first chapter of a story called "The Maiden," in what I'm tentatively calling the Daughter universe. Please note that there is no pressure to like it; it's entirely possible that this new thing is not your "thing" in the way that Slave Breakers turned out to be so many people's "thing," and that's okay, because primarily of course it's my "thing," or I wouldn't be writing it.
A quick couple of words first about what sort of thing it is. It's matriarchy, as I noted in my voice post, and it's also fantasy. The reason for introducing a fantasy element (besides "for the hell of it," which is also a compelling reason in my book) will, I hope, become clear over the course of the story; I hope it doesn't impede anybody's enjoyment. I'll just say this: the big difference between this alternate universe and my other one is that Slave Breakers was an alternate universe that evolved differently from ours for no particular reason except maybe a butterfly flapping its wings at some point; this one evolved differently for a very particular reason, and it also branches off from ours at a very specific point. Again, I'll get into all this over the course of the story; I guess my point is just that yes, I am going somewhere with this whole thing.
Also, yes, it will eventually pass the reverse Bechdel test, in that there will be men having a conversation that is not about a woman. ;)
Anyway, without further ado, here's the first chapter. As always, all thoughts and feedback are more than welcome, and if you've got questions or spot problems, please let me know, as it's best to catch these things early. I sort of went with the Baz Luhrmann "charming hodgepodge of anachronisms" strategy in Slave Breakers, but seriously, I suck at imagitech. If I was the Connecticut Yankee I would have been like, "...I can re-create large chunks of Edna St. Vincent Millay's poetry from memory?"
Okay really without further ado now.
The men in the big common room were deathly silent, which was a relief in itself. Normally the noise felt almost as bruising as the things that actually produced bruises: the punches, kicks, hits, casual slammings against the wall. Sean was used to all of it, of course; used to the noise, the pain, the worse pain that came from the guards' sticks when they laid about them to break up a fight. He didn't bruise quite as easily now that he was so thin-- he rarely got more than a bite at mealtimes before someone bigger and meaner annexed his tray-- and as long as none of his bones were broken, he didn't really flinch much any more, either. Or cry.
The silence was nice, though. And the stillness; no one was moving a muscle. Everyone's eyes were on the woman in gray.
She was youngish, maybe somewhere between twenty and thirty, and attractively strong-featured. Her forehead was high, her eyebrows thick and dark and slightly raised as she looked around at the men. There was another woman next to her, crimson-robed, who looked so much like her that she had to be a sister, but she wasn't the one choosing; her arms were already full, clasping a sleeping baby dressed in the elaborate, lacy, flowing white that denoted the wondrous blessing of a daughter.
Sean didn't know a lot about women's clothes, but he knew enough to know that the dove-gray robe the babyless woman wore meant all kinds of power, and the silver circlet that bound back her short dark hair from her face meant power even among the powerful; this woman was a magistra, an initiate of the highest rank, and she wouldn't need bodyguards to deliver a quick jolt of lightning to the spinal column of any man stupid enough to make a false move. Not that Sean, for one, would have considered it for a moment. If he had thoughts of moving at all, it was to fall to his knees; if he'd dared speak, it would have been a plea. Choose me. Please, please, choose me.
Some of the men here were afraid of being chosen, Sean knew that; would rather deal with the predictable, everyday miseries of the center than live with women. Sean guessed he could understand that; he'd had girlfriends when he was younger, and they could hurt you badly enough, even without meaning to, to make you homesick for a nice quick punch to the kidneys. But a mature woman... a magistra... and if he stayed here, his life would never get any better... and if she chose today-- if she didn't dismiss all the men here as unworthy-- the man she chose would have some amount of time to prove himself, and if he did, even after he'd served his purpose, he might not have to come back here. She might keep him, treat him gently. It could happen.
Her eyes swept over them. Sean had no real hope of being chosen; he was too obviously weak, and besides, today he had a black eye and a split lip, so even if she liked men short and skinny, any attractiveness Sean might have wasn't particularly evident right now. He still couldn't help but tremble a little when her eye paused on him.
She turned to the guards and spoke in an undertone, while everyone strained to catch her words without seeming to listen.
"Number eight six six nine three," said the guard loudly, and Sean's heart stopped for long enough to send a spasm of agony through his chest, "step forward and kneel to her ladyship."
Praying he'd actually heard his own number, Sean stepped forward and dropped to his knees, bowing his head low.
A female voice above him said, "That one?"
"Well," said another voice, neutrally, and gray robes rustled closer to Sean, who was glad he was kneeling; otherwise his knees might have trembled enough to make him fall, which would just make a great impression. The magistra leaned down, her hand soft and painless under his chin, and tilted his face up, examining it thoughtfully. Sean had no idea what it looked like to her, apart from bruised and possibly bloody. "He reminds me of Kyle."
"I should have known," said the other woman, the sister, her voice full of fond exasperation, and shifted the baby to one arm to touch Sean's shaved head; her hand did hurt, a little, just a faint warning pulse of pain. "I don't know why they do this; don't they know how awful it looks?"
"Lice," said the magistra absently, her thumb coming up to touch Sean's cheekbone.
"I suppose so," said the sister, straightening. "And it's not as if anyone cares how they look, not here."
The magistra touched Sean's bruised eye, then his lip. "How did you get hurt?"
It took a moment before Sean realized she was talking to him, and once he did, the sister was already saying, "They're like wild animals. Beat each other up just for entertainment. Rita, you're not seriously considering this one, are you?"
"It's not always the ones who look big and strong, you know," said the magistra, letting go of Sean's chin.
"But him? You'd have a puny baby."
"Easier birthing that way," Rita said, half-seriously. "Besides, he'd be pretty if he were a girl. If he gave me a daughter..."
Sean's blood was roaring in his ears. She was going to pick someone else, send Sean back into the mob of yelling, bruising men, and Sean's life would be a little bit worse forever, knowing he'd had one chance, once, and lost it...
"I'll give him a try," the lady decided. "Get him ready."
Sean had a thorough and rather uncomfortable physical and underwent testing for a number of things before he was put into solitary for the regulation period of quarantine. He immediately fell asleep on the floor, waking only when the plastic food tray rattled through the slot in his door, to wolf down the food-- the entire tray, with no one grabbing it away from him!-- and fall asleep again, with no one kicking him awake or rolling him on his stomach to fuck him. Already his life was about a thousand percent better, and he was still at the center for unattached males. In two weeks, when his quarantine was up, and he was actually claimed... his mind boggled at the idea of living in an actual home, a house, for the first time since he'd turned eighteen without a steady girlfriend and his mom hadn't been influential enough to save him from being packed off to the center. Now he'd be the property of the magistra, and however she treated him, even if she liked to zap men in their sensitive parts for fun, it couldn't be worse than the center.
Could it?
She didn't come to get him herself; she sent two women in blue robes, who raised their eyebrows at him, even though his bruises had faded and his hair had grown out some and what with getting all three meals every day he thought he might have even put on a little weight. They were gentle with him, though, as they checked him over thoroughly, pronounced him free of disease and insects, gave him clean underwear and blue jeans and a white T-shirt that fit pretty well, and led him outside to put him in the back seat of a car. They even let him sit on the seat instead of the floor, which was nice of them. It seemed like a long drive to the lady's house, but Sean wasn't exactly complaining, especially since he got to look out the windows at the city, and then the countryside and then more city, flying past.
The lady's house-- unsurprisingly, considering the circlet-- was big, and set off by itself on a leafy piece of land, with a thing out front that was too big to be a pond and too small to be a lake. The women took Sean in through a back door, through carpeted halls to an uncarpeted staircase and down into a kitchen, told him to sit in a chair at a wooden table, and put a plate of food in front of him, complete with fork and spoon.
"Eat," said one of them, laying her hand on his shoulder. He flinched a little, but there was no pain; it was just a friendly gesture, and Sean dared a grateful smile up at her before he obeyed.
He concentrated on pacing himself so he wouldn't eat like a starving wild animal and spill food on himself, which was much more important here than at the center; after all, there, as the sister had noted, nobody much cared how much of a mess you were. And presumably at some point he'd be taken in to his new protectrix, who-- he hoped-- would be pleased by his slightly-improved appearance. If they kept feeding him, and let his hair grow... well. She'd said he'd be pretty if he were a girl, and though as a compliment it felt slightly backhanded, she'd chosen him, so there must be something about him that pleased her. He'd just have to pray he could keep doing so.
When he was done eating, the women escorted him into what looked like a living room, where the magistra sat on a sofa, drinking from a mug with writing on it, a legal pad and ballpoint pen balanced on one gray-clad knee. She wasn't wearing the robe or circlet to denote her rank, just a normal, knee-length button-up dress in the same dove gray as the robe. She looked at him as he knelt, and he thought she did seem pleased, at least a little, as she thanked Sean's escorts and nodded their dismissal.
"He looks better already," she said to her sister, who was sitting at the other end of the couch, wearing a crimson dress; she didn't have the baby today. The mug in her hand had a picture of a snake on it; the one in the magistra's hand said I'D RATHER BE CASTING.
"He could hardly look worse," the sister said, looking at Sean with mild distaste. "Rita, I swear sometimes you don't have the sense Gaia gave a chicken. Kyle couldn't give you a child, so you pick out one just like him, but even punier..."
Sean's protectrix looked up and a little off to the side, and Sean followed her gaze to another kneeling man he hadn't noticed before.
If this was Kyle, then he did look a bit like Sean, although he was well fed and entirely free of bruises and cuts, and his hair was a thick, luxuriant mop of chestnut curls instead of the ugly bristle that had displeased the magistra. He was wearing blue jeans and a dark green T-shirt, and glaring at Sean.
"Kyle," said Rita, and the other man jerked to attention, "don't be like that."
Kyle bowed his head all the way to the floor in apology, as the magistra continued softly, "Come here."
Kyle crawled to her, his head still hung low, and Sean's stomach flipped over; although it would be sort of flattering to him if his new protectrix intended to punish another man for showing hostility towards him, he really didn't want to watch the kind of punishment a woman like this could mete out. There could be smoking flesh involved.
"Kneel up," said the magistra, and when Kyle obeyed, she drew his head down onto her non-pad-balancing knee, and laid her hand on his hair. He didn't jerk or shudder at her touch; he relaxed against her, one hand coming up tentatively to curl around her bare calf, and she let it stay there, stroking his hair gently.
"You spoil that man rotten, Rita," said the other lady, the sister. "I can't believe you're rewarding him for giving the new one fishy looks. What kind of a lesson does that teach him?"
"I'm not rewarding him," said Magistra Rita, still stroking Kyle's hair. "I'm reassuring him. He's afraid I'm going to send him away."
"Yes, and I still don't understand why you aren't. He can't give you a daughter, and he'll only cause trouble for the man who can. You could at least send him back to the center for a few months, while the new one's settling in."
"Emily..." The magistra brushed the backs of her fingers against Kyle's cheek; Kyle whimpered very faintly, in gratitude or in pain, Sean couldn't tell. "That's not necessary. Kyle will help Sean settle in. Won't you, Kyle?"
Kyle nodded his head against his protectrix' leg.
"You need a girlfriend, Rita," said the sister, shaking her own head. "You're starting to turn into one of those people who talks to men like they're women."
"Try introducing me to someone with a brain in her head, then," the lady answered, but laughingly, as if this were an old and casual argument. She took hold of Kyle's hair and tugged it lightly so that he lifted his head from her knee, then held her I'D RATHER BE CASTING mug to his lips; he opened them to receive the sip of whatever that she tilted carefully into his mouth.
"Rita, table manners!" her sister groaned.
"Oh, hush," said Rita. "He's perfectly clean. Now-- tell me more about Cynthia's circle. Are they really getting any closer to parthenogenesis?"
"I doubt it," said the sister. "But they're certainly talking about it."
The magistra shrugged impatiently. "We've been talking about it for centuries-- ever since the Enlightenment. What are they actually doing? Do we have case studies?"
"It's all anecdotal," said Emily. "Two pregnant women in their circle-- well, everybody's got pregnancies, and we only have their word for it that these aren't the regular kind. But they want you to come check it out."
"I will," said Rita, making a note on her pad, "but I think I'll stick with old home remedies myself. I can't help but think that if we were meant to use the power to create life, it would have been a little easier to figure out how."
As they talked, the magistra continued to give Kyle sips from her cup. Kyle drank carefully; once he kissed his protectrix's fingertips where they curled around the mug, and she smiled down at him.
"I need to get home," said the sister eventually, rising carefully and setting her mug down. "Good luck, Rita."
"Kyle," said the magistra when her sister was gone, and Kyle looked up, alert. "Why don't you show Sean the dorm? I'd like you two to start getting acquainted. And when you've shown him around a bit, take him up to my bedroom and get him ready for me. Leave him there and come back here."
Kyle bowed his head and shoulders again in assent, then rose to his feet. Sean wasn't sure if he was allowed to do likewise, so he just started to crawl after Kyle until the magistra said, "Sean, you may walk."
He bowed deeply to her once he'd risen; she gave him a quick, friendly-seeming nod and he trotted off after Kyle's back, down more carpeted halls and stairs, to a smallish plain room with a bathroom just off it, visible through an open door. There were five sets of bunk beds in it, but no other men, at the moment; presumably whatever hired muscle Sean's new mistress kept around was still hard at work earning its keep. Sean hoped his own method of doing so would mean he was off-limits to casual abuse and rape; he wasn't sure what kind of status a potential father had among the men in a woman's household.
"If you try to fuck with me," said Kyle, sitting on one of the lower bunks and glaring at Sean again, "she'll fry your balls off."
"She will?" Sean asked, more intrigued than alarmed, since he had no intention of trying to fuck with Kyle anyway. That particular method of castration was mostly used as punishment for touching women without invitation; either Kyle was bluffing, or this was further evidence of his protectrix's astonishing favor towards him.
Kyle nodded. "She did it to another man once. For grabbing me. So keep your distance."
"Sure," said Sean, sitting down on the bunk opposite. "I like my balls where they are, thanks."
"And I'm not going anywhere," Kyle continued. "If you try to sweet-talk her into getting rid of me, it'll be your ass that gets packed back to the center so fast your head will spin. If she doesn't spin your head around a couple times herself."
Sean held up his hands in surrender. "Hey-- yeah, I got it. In there. Petting you, letting you drink from her cup-- I'm pretty sure that whole scenario was woman-speak for so, new guy, don't fuck with Kyle."
"Yeah," said Kyle, his face relaxing slightly. "Okay. As long as we're clear."
"Crystal," said Sean, and Kyle looked at him for a minute, then nodded again, shortly.
"Then you'll do fine," he said. "Even if you can't knock her up, if you behave yourself she probably won't send you back to the center. She's-- sweet."
"Except when she fries guys' balls off."
"Well, I thought that was kind of sweet, too, actually," said Kyle. "To me."
"So I'm fine as long as I don't piss you off."
"Pretty much," said Kyle. "Or get loaned out to her sister. Gaia help you then."
Sean shuddered. "Will I? Get loaned out?"
"I don't know," said Kyle. "She doesn't loan me out, not anymore, but I'm-- You're not really the sister's type, though."
"Then you aren't either," Sean pointed out.
"Well. No." Kyle gave Sean a long, speculative look. "You do look like me, don't you? I'm not sure if I should be flattered or plan on you having some kind of disfiguring accident."
"I vote for the first one," said Sean helpfully.
Kyle smiled, finally, a small, absent-minded smile that was still better than nothing.
"If I could just give her a child," he said, as if to himself.
"You mean, if you could just give her a daughter."
Kyle shook his head. "I haven't been able to get her pregnant at all. I've been trying for two years, and now--"
"You haven't even given her a son?" Sean interrupted, stunned. "In two years? And she's keeping you?"
"Yes, she's keeping me," said Kyle, almost angrily. "She says-- she won't send me away. Ever."
"Nice," said Sean, and it was nice, for Kyle, he guessed. "And she treats you okay?"
"She never hurts me," said Kyle, his voice still angry, and tinged now with something like defiance. "Except to punish me-- but she doesn't do that much either-- and in bed, even after we're done, she lets me stay in bed with her, and she'll-- touch me, and talk to me, and she lets me talk to her, then. And-- touch her. Sometimes she lets me sleep there, in her bed."
"Wow," said Sean sincerely. "Are you her dead girlfriend's orphan brother or something?"
"No," said Kyle, without smiling. "I'm some random guy she picked up at a center. She just... likes me."
"You're living the dream, man," said Sean, not bothering to hide his envy. "So what happens if I give her a daughter?"
"She'll probably keep you, too," said Kyle. "We'll just be one big happy family. Her and you and baby. And no-sperm guy makes four."
"Huh," said Sean doubtfully, and Kyle's eyes narrowed again.
"Okay, man," he said, and stood up. "Let's go get you ready to ride."
no subject
Date: 2009-06-07 10:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-09 11:36 pm (UTC)