[ He's lost track of time. It could have been days or weeks since that night when everything had gone so horribly wrong. A raid that hadn't been as much of a surprise as they'd thought. He still didn't know where it had gone wrong, but he knew that too many of their little band had fallen when they'd crept into a trap, realizing it too late. Maybe some had escaped - he had to hope - but he hadn't been one of them, being one of the ones to lead the infiltration team and therefore one of the first to come face to face with the squadron of vampires lying in wait.
After that, it was a blur. The pain of a bite and then darkness.
When he'd woken, it had been to four walls and darkness - and the weight of a slave collar around his throat.
He'd fought, he'd tried to find a way out, he'd cursed himself hoarse. Everything had been ignored until a short while ago when a single vampire had stepped into his holding cell and overpowered him with the hold of one hand in a condescending display that had made him rage and struggle. For all the good it had done him.
Whatever they'd poured down his throat had tasted terrible and it had been potent, leaving his body numb and lethargic, feeling too heavy to bother moving. he'd stood still and pliant as they'd stripped him, washed him down, made notes and examined him before dressing him in a simple tunic that hid almost nothing and then put him in a line of other blank-eyed slaves.
It was hard to think, his consciousness drifting in strange spurts as he stood. Waited. The line in front of him got smaller and then it was his turn and he was guided to a stand - a display, really, placed on a high-backed stool, the collar on his throat fastened to the back of it - as if his body would do anything other than stay where they positioned it anyway. And then he was left again, shivering slightly at the cool air in the room as he waited. For what? He couldn't even muster the energy to think about it at the moment, a disconnect between where his mind wandered and where it should.
He was aware of eyes watching him, although outside of the ring of light he was haloed in, he could only make out the faintest outlines of shapes, movement. Not enough to focus on, even if that hadn't required more effort than he was capable of. But it made his skin crawl, the distant awareness of anxiety knotting in his stomach despite whatever drugs they'd slipped him. ]
An Auction House
After that, it was a blur. The pain of a bite and then darkness.
When he'd woken, it had been to four walls and darkness - and the weight of a slave collar around his throat.
He'd fought, he'd tried to find a way out, he'd cursed himself hoarse. Everything had been ignored until a short while ago when a single vampire had stepped into his holding cell and overpowered him with the hold of one hand in a condescending display that had made him rage and struggle. For all the good it had done him.
Whatever they'd poured down his throat had tasted terrible and it had been potent, leaving his body numb and lethargic, feeling too heavy to bother moving. he'd stood still and pliant as they'd stripped him, washed him down, made notes and examined him before dressing him in a simple tunic that hid almost nothing and then put him in a line of other blank-eyed slaves.
It was hard to think, his consciousness drifting in strange spurts as he stood. Waited. The line in front of him got smaller and then it was his turn and he was guided to a stand - a display, really, placed on a high-backed stool, the collar on his throat fastened to the back of it - as if his body would do anything other than stay where they positioned it anyway. And then he was left again, shivering slightly at the cool air in the room as he waited. For what? He couldn't even muster the energy to think about it at the moment, a disconnect between where his mind wandered and where it should.
He was aware of eyes watching him, although outside of the ring of light he was haloed in, he could only make out the faintest outlines of shapes, movement. Not enough to focus on, even if that hadn't required more effort than he was capable of. But it made his skin crawl, the distant awareness of anxiety knotting in his stomach despite whatever drugs they'd slipped him. ]