Stefan Salvatore; open
He hadn't been this scared for a very long time, not since the day their sire abandoned them, or the first time he ripped into a person's throat and just couldn't stop himself. But this was different. This was being forced to let a person in--that is, if anyone actually wanted him. He had his doubts. He was probably one of the only vampires in this auction house and right now it felt like a mark of shame. He should've known better, after all he was 167 years old. He was also nicknamed the ripper back when his was young, and there was the possibility that, that nickname had spread along with his young face and deep green eyes.
Who wanted a slave with a past as messy as his?
He swallowed the lump in his throat and rested his head back against the wall, waiting patiently. He hadn't put up much of a fight--this was the price he had to pay for being an idiot. But maybe if he didn't sell, and he didn't sell, and didn't sell, they would let him go home to his brother. And perhaps he was wrong. There could be someone watching him right now, someone on the market for a slave that had lived over a century and a half. Either way, he fully planned on going home to Virginia after this, to where he belonged. That was the only thing he could think about as he sat there patiently, green eyes studying the room.