![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jeriendhalInspired by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
aldersprig's Ti Na Cali setting.
"That one is going to be trouble, mark my words," the Master of Students said, as the picture of the skinny, blond haired boy popped up onto the projector screen as the administration staff sat around the conference room. It was the usual weekly meeting, to discuss the problem slaves and the problem teachers, and to also let off steam about the latest garbage coming down from upstairs about new regs and teaching requirements.
"Do you think?" asked the Religious Studies teacher, studying the boy's picture as she flipped an unlit cigarette between her fingers. The little data box on the PowerPoint slide slide into place with an ostentatious bit of animation, citing the boy's status as a new acquisition, state of origin (Minnesota), age, height, weight, eye color, blood type, detected allergies, ect. "All right, sixteen is somewhat old for a new acquisition, but we've had some perfectly acceptable students in the upper age ranges."
"Look at his eyes," the Master said. The picture stared back at them. The boy's deep blue eyes weren't frightened or defiant, the usual state for a new acquisition. They weren't anything, except mirrors to reflect back at the observer, offer nothing, staying resolutely blank.
"There's nothing in his pick up report that indicated a rebellious streak," the Assistant Master noted, shuffling through the paper hard copy of the PowerPoint presentation. Because you never knew if you were going to have to waste ten minutes getting your laptop connected to the projector properly and pull up the right file. On one notable occasion the previous History teacher had started lecturing them all on the sad state of his budget while projecting drawings of hermaphroditic foxes doing some things not permitted even by the Advanced Physical Pleasure teacher.
"That doesn't mean anything," the Student Counselor noted. She went on, "Sometimes you get one that's quiet as can be. Never says a word wrong, never earns a demerit. Then you come into the dorm and find them hanging half-choked on the towel bar in the bathroom, or shanking a teacher in the hallway with a knife made from paste and a roll of newspaper."
"We'll keep an eye on him then," the Master of Student concluded. "If he steps out of line, even once, come down on him hard."
* * *
The Master of Students leaned against the wall in the cafeteria, watching the students dig into their evening meal if not with enthusiasm, then with knowledge of the consequences if they complained. "Beans and rice?" he asked the Assistant Master.
"It'll make them appreciate yesterday's chicken divan even more," the Assistant Master replied with a smirk.
"How's Blondie been?" The Master of Students nodded towards their latest acquisition, who was chewing on his food with his default blank expression. Two weeks had passed since his arrival and the boy, so far, hadn't made a mistake. He hadn't raised his voice once in protest at the plastic collar around his throat or the somewhat scratchy wool pants and shirt he now wore. Had not, in fact, done anything at all out of place. It was as if he had been a slave his entire life.
"Quiet, as usual," the Assistant Master said. "His history teacher even gave him a positive mark in class for doing his homework."
"What's he doing over there with Annie?" the Master of Students asked. He gestured towards one of the younger students, who sat beside Blondie as the latter scraped half the contents of his bowl in the twelve year-old girl's own.
"Giving her his leftovers," the Assistant Master said. "He's been doing it since he got here. He says he isn't that hungry."
The Master of Students frowned. "Why not?"
The Assistant Master shifted uncomfortably. "Well, technically it's not outside the rules."
"True enough." He pushed off from the wall and strode over to where the two students sat. They stood up automatically, standing straight, heads slightly bowed. "Annie, are you still hungry?" he asked mildly.
"Yes, a little, Master," she replied cautiously.
"You may get another bowl then," he said.
Her eyes twitched up to look at him carefully, before she said, "Thank you, Master." She walked with decorum, her natural tendency to scamper dampened after almost a year of training, to get another bowl and return to the table.
"Sit down and eat," he ordered.
"Yes, Master." She sat and began to eat. Beside her, Blondie stood, not saying a word, remaining on his feet as she went through half the bowl.
As she began to slow, the Master of Students said, "Something wrong, Annie?"
"No, Master," she said, her fingers touching her lips as she tried to suppress a belch. "I think I'm full now."
"You mustn't waste food, Annie," he said sternly. "Finish your bowl."
The little girl swallowed hard. "Yes, Master." She dug into the bowl without much enthusiasm, her expression growing pained as she ate up the last forkful. Blondie remained a silent sentinel beside her, his only move a slight shifting of his heels as he kept position, his eyes never looking up from the spot on the floor that occupied his vision.
When she had finally finished, the Assistant Master signaled for the other students to begin shuffling out of the cafeteria and back to the dormitory, to start on their evening homework. Annie half-stood up from her seat, glancing uncertainly from the Master of Students to his subordinate.
"You still look hungry, Annie," the Master of Students said. "Get yourself another bowl."
"My tummy is pretty full, Master," she said, staring at her bowl, not daring to look up as her expression grew stricken.
"You still look hungry to me," he replied. "Get yourself another bowl. Now."
Shoulders hunched, one arm clutching her belly as she walked, Annie went back to the serving line and returned with a third bowl. She sat down with a thump on the bench in front of the table, her fork pressing into the beans and rice but not rising to her lips. "Master please, I'm sorry for whatever I d-did," she said, biting her lip briefly.
"Eat it up, Annie. Every bite," he replied, letting his voice grow cold. Beside her, Blondie didn't so much as twitch as she began to eat slowly, chewing and swallowing, until on the seventh bite she choked, then vomited across the bowl and the table, half-chewed rice beans spilling down over her chin and over her shirt.
"Sorry, I'm sorry, Master!" she said, trying to simultaneously choke back a sob and dab pathetically at the vomit with her paper napkin.
"You've made a mess of yourself," the Master of Students said neutrally. "Get cleaned up and do your homework."
"Yes, Master. Thank you, Master," Annie sobbed, scurrying off as quickly as she dared.
"Look at me," he ordered Blondie. The boy looked up, his face an impassive mask. "Everything a student has here is a gift from their masters," the Master of Students told him. "It is not to be shared. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Master," the boy replied, his voice flat.
"If Annie wants more food, it is her responsibility to ask for it from a Master or Mistress, who will decide if it is either necessary or deserved. The decision is not yours to make."
"Yes, Master. I did not understand this rule completely. I will remember in the future," he replied simply.
The Master of Students stared at the boy, searching his face for some sign of resistance, of mockery. But there was none to be found. Just blank acceptance. "Get a mop and clean this mess up, then attend to your homework," he finally said.
"Yes, Master," was his only reply.
TBC
aldersprig's Ti Na Cali setting."That one is going to be trouble, mark my words," the Master of Students said, as the picture of the skinny, blond haired boy popped up onto the projector screen as the administration staff sat around the conference room. It was the usual weekly meeting, to discuss the problem slaves and the problem teachers, and to also let off steam about the latest garbage coming down from upstairs about new regs and teaching requirements.
"Do you think?" asked the Religious Studies teacher, studying the boy's picture as she flipped an unlit cigarette between her fingers. The little data box on the PowerPoint slide slide into place with an ostentatious bit of animation, citing the boy's status as a new acquisition, state of origin (Minnesota), age, height, weight, eye color, blood type, detected allergies, ect. "All right, sixteen is somewhat old for a new acquisition, but we've had some perfectly acceptable students in the upper age ranges."
"Look at his eyes," the Master said. The picture stared back at them. The boy's deep blue eyes weren't frightened or defiant, the usual state for a new acquisition. They weren't anything, except mirrors to reflect back at the observer, offer nothing, staying resolutely blank.
"There's nothing in his pick up report that indicated a rebellious streak," the Assistant Master noted, shuffling through the paper hard copy of the PowerPoint presentation. Because you never knew if you were going to have to waste ten minutes getting your laptop connected to the projector properly and pull up the right file. On one notable occasion the previous History teacher had started lecturing them all on the sad state of his budget while projecting drawings of hermaphroditic foxes doing some things not permitted even by the Advanced Physical Pleasure teacher.
"That doesn't mean anything," the Student Counselor noted. She went on, "Sometimes you get one that's quiet as can be. Never says a word wrong, never earns a demerit. Then you come into the dorm and find them hanging half-choked on the towel bar in the bathroom, or shanking a teacher in the hallway with a knife made from paste and a roll of newspaper."
"We'll keep an eye on him then," the Master of Student concluded. "If he steps out of line, even once, come down on him hard."
* * *
The Master of Students leaned against the wall in the cafeteria, watching the students dig into their evening meal if not with enthusiasm, then with knowledge of the consequences if they complained. "Beans and rice?" he asked the Assistant Master.
"It'll make them appreciate yesterday's chicken divan even more," the Assistant Master replied with a smirk.
"How's Blondie been?" The Master of Students nodded towards their latest acquisition, who was chewing on his food with his default blank expression. Two weeks had passed since his arrival and the boy, so far, hadn't made a mistake. He hadn't raised his voice once in protest at the plastic collar around his throat or the somewhat scratchy wool pants and shirt he now wore. Had not, in fact, done anything at all out of place. It was as if he had been a slave his entire life.
"Quiet, as usual," the Assistant Master said. "His history teacher even gave him a positive mark in class for doing his homework."
"What's he doing over there with Annie?" the Master of Students asked. He gestured towards one of the younger students, who sat beside Blondie as the latter scraped half the contents of his bowl in the twelve year-old girl's own.
"Giving her his leftovers," the Assistant Master said. "He's been doing it since he got here. He says he isn't that hungry."
The Master of Students frowned. "Why not?"
The Assistant Master shifted uncomfortably. "Well, technically it's not outside the rules."
"True enough." He pushed off from the wall and strode over to where the two students sat. They stood up automatically, standing straight, heads slightly bowed. "Annie, are you still hungry?" he asked mildly.
"Yes, a little, Master," she replied cautiously.
"You may get another bowl then," he said.
Her eyes twitched up to look at him carefully, before she said, "Thank you, Master." She walked with decorum, her natural tendency to scamper dampened after almost a year of training, to get another bowl and return to the table.
"Sit down and eat," he ordered.
"Yes, Master." She sat and began to eat. Beside her, Blondie stood, not saying a word, remaining on his feet as she went through half the bowl.
As she began to slow, the Master of Students said, "Something wrong, Annie?"
"No, Master," she said, her fingers touching her lips as she tried to suppress a belch. "I think I'm full now."
"You mustn't waste food, Annie," he said sternly. "Finish your bowl."
The little girl swallowed hard. "Yes, Master." She dug into the bowl without much enthusiasm, her expression growing pained as she ate up the last forkful. Blondie remained a silent sentinel beside her, his only move a slight shifting of his heels as he kept position, his eyes never looking up from the spot on the floor that occupied his vision.
When she had finally finished, the Assistant Master signaled for the other students to begin shuffling out of the cafeteria and back to the dormitory, to start on their evening homework. Annie half-stood up from her seat, glancing uncertainly from the Master of Students to his subordinate.
"You still look hungry, Annie," the Master of Students said. "Get yourself another bowl."
"My tummy is pretty full, Master," she said, staring at her bowl, not daring to look up as her expression grew stricken.
"You still look hungry to me," he replied. "Get yourself another bowl. Now."
Shoulders hunched, one arm clutching her belly as she walked, Annie went back to the serving line and returned with a third bowl. She sat down with a thump on the bench in front of the table, her fork pressing into the beans and rice but not rising to her lips. "Master please, I'm sorry for whatever I d-did," she said, biting her lip briefly.
"Eat it up, Annie. Every bite," he replied, letting his voice grow cold. Beside her, Blondie didn't so much as twitch as she began to eat slowly, chewing and swallowing, until on the seventh bite she choked, then vomited across the bowl and the table, half-chewed rice beans spilling down over her chin and over her shirt.
"Sorry, I'm sorry, Master!" she said, trying to simultaneously choke back a sob and dab pathetically at the vomit with her paper napkin.
"You've made a mess of yourself," the Master of Students said neutrally. "Get cleaned up and do your homework."
"Yes, Master. Thank you, Master," Annie sobbed, scurrying off as quickly as she dared.
"Look at me," he ordered Blondie. The boy looked up, his face an impassive mask. "Everything a student has here is a gift from their masters," the Master of Students told him. "It is not to be shared. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Master," the boy replied, his voice flat.
"If Annie wants more food, it is her responsibility to ask for it from a Master or Mistress, who will decide if it is either necessary or deserved. The decision is not yours to make."
"Yes, Master. I did not understand this rule completely. I will remember in the future," he replied simply.
The Master of Students stared at the boy, searching his face for some sign of resistance, of mockery. But there was none to be found. Just blank acceptance. "Get a mop and clean this mess up, then attend to your homework," he finally said.
"Yes, Master," was his only reply.
TBC
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-10-07 03:34 pm (UTC)I'm going to guess the observation, "It was as if he had been a slave his entire life." won't be to far off track if they were to investigate.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-07 04:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-15 10:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-16 01:07 am (UTC)