Re: Holding Pens
To say that Lucien was pissed off would be an understatement. He didn't need this pet project. He didn't need a slave. Granted he had not gotten laid in the past week and Emerson was about the permanently seal all alcohol, even the cooking sherry away in his vault of doom. Emerson had been willing to give the money for the slave, well willing was not the right word he pretty much told him to come back with a decent slave in twenty minutes or he was going to be grounded even longer.
He went walking through the pens, not really looking so much. There were slaves that where already broken, he didn't need that, too many broken people in one place, namely Lucien. Then there were the one that had come in from the camps, some here viscous and some where gentler. He was about to look for someone to help him. Yes I need a slave that isn't broken and likes to have sex, please. That would be an interesting conversion, when he smelled something.
Yes I was defiantly pumpkin, but where was it coming from? He turned around to see a slave looking at him, a very good looking one. Slowly he waked up to him. Yes this is where the smell was coming from, this human. He wanted to make a smart ass remark, but he didn't.
"Hey." He said, "What's your name?" Even though he could clearly see the paper outside the pen. He wanted to talk to the man, not read.