Who: Dust, Derek When: March 26 Where: Yellow Block What: Dust meets her new owner.
Dust was tired. More than tired, this was a weariness that went bone deep. She didn't usually have to fight this much. In fact, she had never had to fight this much. Three fights in one week was all but unheard of. Especially for her, an unowned mutant of the yellow block. She didn't know what her trainers had been thinking, unless it was that they had wanted her to finally have a patron. Or an owner. Or a master or whatever they were calling it here on this hellhole.
And so she'd fought. The first fight hadn't been bad. Just tired. Which had led to her slowed reflexes on the second fight, almost costing her her life and forcing her to kill. That had been on the 23. And that was a day that had changed her. Changed her life, since she'd spent the night in Remy's arms. Oh, not sexually. That would have been a change, but not for the better to her way of thinking (although Anole probably would have disagreed). But she'd woken to his arms around her, his scent in her nose, his....
And from there, her life had gone down hill. For two days later had found her back in the arena. This time she hadn't been forced to kill, but she was mentally, physically, and emotionally exhausted.
Still, it didn't seem that she was through suffering yet (as though any mutants on the island were ever truly through suffering), because Remy's words had come true. Yes, she'd been living the good life, but it seemed that was to change. It seemed that a human had enjoyed her last match and purchased her. She didn't know this for fact yet, as she had yet to meet said human. But she had a feeling that it was true enough. And that terrified her.
After her morning prayers, she had returned to bed, excused from the fighting and the training until her latest round of injuries were healed. At least until her new owner told her otherwise. And wow, was that going to take some getting used to.
***
Derek woke early, disentangling himself from Gin's arms and wishing like hell they had both been naked and satiated and smelling of sex. But instead he was tired, itchy feeling and restless. He felt tense instead of boneless and his hotel room smelled of nothing.
Sighing, he slipped out of bed, showered and dressed. Gin was still asleep so he left her a note saying that he was going to go meet his new acquisition and then left for Yellow Block.
The air was heavy with more rain and the ground was wet with it, but at the moment it wasn't raining. It did feel like he was swimming through the air though, the humidity was so thick. How on earth did anyone live like this? He was used to humidity in England, but not like this. And Turkey was usually dry though hot.
His shower was completely wasted as he walked into Yellow Block just as the doors unlocked, sweating and feeling grimy again. "Blimey," he muttered wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt as he knocked and waited for his new mutant to answer. "Bloody weather's going to be the death of me."
***
She had drifted back off to sleep after her prayers, but the knock on her door startled her awake. Making sure her linen dress was in place, she stood and made her slow way to the door, opening it as the man on the other side seemed ready to knock again. He was a stranger, and the lack of collar made her fairly sure this wasn't another mutant. Putting her hands together, she bowed her head in greeting, a frisson of fear tracing it's way up her spine. "Good morning," she murmured. "May I help you?" she asked, pulling the door shut behind her lest he think she was willing to take men in her room. Which she wasn't. And while he could force it, she wanted him to know it would be forced.
***
Derek didn't even notice after all, he hadn't exactly been expecting to be welcomed inside with open arms. He looked at her and seeing her up close made him uncomfortable. How in the world did a person say, "Hey, you're my slave now! I own you!"
With a sigh and running his fingers through his hair, he just decided to start talking. "I saw you fight yesterday," he began, shoving his hands in his pockets. "You were pretty good. I liked your ability, it was cool to watch." He shrugged a shoulder. "So I bought you. I was thinking I'd like to see what else you could do, push the limits to your powers so I don't think I'll be putting you in the arenas very often at least for right now. I want to focus more on your training, see how far that gets." His tone was half asking, half telling as if he needed reassurance that this was okay with her. This was so awkward. How the hell did Gin do this with Gambit? And the healer, Forever?"
***
His accent was British. She knew it well. Cultured British, from old money. But there was a hint of something else there, too. She'd heard it a lot among her father's friends, many of whom had been educated at Oxford, the elites of the society when education was prized and didn't consist of knowing only the Koran.
But she didn't speak, nor did she look up at him. She could, and would, pretend limited understanding. At least for now. She merely bowed her head further, nodding once. After all, as a woman, she'd been considered chattel most of her life. This was only different in that now she would have to fight for her keep. And even that wasn't different as she'd been doing it four years already.
Her only fear was that which she'd expressed to Gambit that night in his room. Being raped, being forced. Nothing would be done to him for hurting her like that. She was chattel here. Finally, she decided it was time to get the measure of the man, and the best way to do that was too look him in the face and see if he would or could meet her gaze. And so she looked up, unflinchingly eye to eye wondering what he would see when he looked at her. He had to know she'd killed before. Had he?
***
He did, actually. There was a list of her kills that came with her papers. It was a very small list but that didn't matter much to Derek. He wasn't looking for kills, but good sport, a good match and money.
She had a very odd look on her face, very intent as if she were trying to tell him something, he thought with a slightly perplexed and baffled expression. Was she a telepath as well? No, her papers hadn't mentioned anything of that sort. She also had the curious air of a woman trying to act submissive but was doing a dismal job. There was a defiance in her eye that he actually quite liked. It meant spirit which meant better fighting in the ring. "My name's Derek Baig, by the way," he said after a long awkward moment of silence. "Are there any... ah... requests that you have?"
***
Her head tilted to the side as she studied him. "Turkish, hm? Memnun oldum, Bay Baig," she said formally. "My father had a Turkish colleague named Sadi Baig. Any relation?" she asked after a moment, then clasped her hands behind her back, not sure whether she should ask for things from him. She knew many of the mutants didn't want any handouts from their owners, and she also knew many more who were as cordial as it was possible to be. She also knew who lived more comfortably.
"Actually, there might be something you could do for me. I find it very difficult to get protein in my diet as the food they feed us is never halal and often includes pig. Would you see if you could get me at least tofu if not halal meat?" she asked thoughtfully, figuring that if he were Turkish, he might at least understand the importance to her, even if he had adopted more western eating habits.
***
Derek blinked with surprise. "Sadi is my uncle. He lives in Istanbul taking care of my nine and dede." Sadi had lived for about ten years in Afganistan before the Soviets pulled out. He pulled out with them and would regale Derek and his multitude of cousins with partially true, mostly fabricated but utterly entertaining stories of his escape and his time at the University in Afganistan. As Derek grew older, Sadi would tell him the more salacious stories, always with a eyebrow waggle and a gleam in his eye. Derek had always wanted to be like his Uncle Sadi but never could quite pull off his joie de vivre.
"But why don't they -" He began to ask why they don't serve halal meat for her until it hit him harder than it had before that she had no rights. Her rights came from him and it humbled him a bit that she wasn't treated much better than a fighting pitbull. He struggled to put his owner mindset back in place and nodded. The meat would give her protein to make her happier and fight better and harder. "I'll get you the meat. Is there any kind you prefer? And do you have any other requests?"
***
She laughed softly as she saw him fight for control, then shrugged. "Small world. Your uncle spent many evenings with my father. He bought me my first tutu with his stories of the ballerinas in Paris. And I prefer lamb, but chicken is much less expensive and also perfectly acceptable. It is also less likely to cause jealousy among my fellows. Please do not schedule me for fights on Fridays. They have, so far, honored that request from me. I prefer to spend the Sabbath in prayer and fasting, and it doesn't mix well with hurting or killing my friends for the pleasure of others," she said with a completely flat voice. "But that is all. Did you need me for anything? I am feeling very poorly today. I had not recovered from my previous fight before last night's, and I'm afraid I was napping when you knocked, although it is now time for my midmorning prayers," she said, just as the small clock with its artificial sounding call to prayers began singing to her from inside her room.
***
He nodded again, filing away her requests. "No, that's fine. You won't be doing any more arenas for a while. I just want you to train for now. If you need anything else, let the people at the hotel front desk know. They'll know how to get in contact with me."
Even the little clock in her room, though tinny, brought him back again to those summer spent in Istanbul and he wondered at how much he missed those days. Gin would come with him sometimes for a month or so and they would spend their days wandering the markets and getting into mischief. Perhaps this yearning was more for a simpler time with Gin than a yearning for those lazy summer days.
"Ma’a salama, Sooraya," he replied with a small crooked grin and a nod. "Have a good day."
With that he turned and, shoving his hands in his pockets again, walked down the hall, downstairs and into the muggy, now raining, late afternoon wondering what Gin was up to and if they could spend the rest of the day in the blessed cool of the air conditioned hotel.