Holding Pens - Hermes and Carrick
There was definitely something to be said for knowing that you were gonna be dumped in some holding pen like a green boy roped in the wild and not someone who’d been raised to this kind of life. He’d known what was coming, of course. He was too clever for his own good (by at least half) and prone to digging when perhaps he shouldn’t have been. Whatever had happened, happened and this was where he was now, watching his fellow slaves from where he’d managed to perch himself casually on wooden slats. He made no move to escape and the guards made no move to push him from his roost. There’d be no point in trying to run here. He’d only get caught and the name of the game in this place was to set himself above the rest. Taking that literally couldn’t have possibly hurt his chances too much.
It was honestly refreshing any time a vampire strolled near enough, a beacon of silence that Hermes could fix himself on instead of the depressing ruckus around him. Sure, a vampire might slaughter him as soon as he was paid for, but the silence. Whatever heavenly powers existed, the silence alone might just be worth it. Stationed near the walkways as he was, he knew he was making himself vulnerable, but it got him nearer to the occasional quiet. Worth it. Not to mention the danger was a bit thrilling, wasn’t it? Yeah, it totally was.