Re: Main Auction Room
Emerson sat somewhere near the back in the crowded auction house with his feet kicked up and resting on the back of the chair in front of him, which was consequently unoccupied. Slave auctions were always so much fun, even when you didn't go home with one. You'd get pissy buyers glaring at each other over some young slave but trying to pretend it was all just friendly competition. The cloud of passive aggressive hanging over social gatherings was stifling to some, but Emerson enjoyed just watching the social circus that was any gathering in Crescent Hills. So long as nobody actually tried to talk to him, it was all very entertaining.
He flipped his unlit cigarette between his fingers idly, waiting for the auction to begin. Much as he was loathe to admit it, he was kind of passively looking for someone. Maybe. He needed a housekeeper. Gretchen was about to croak any day, so he'd kind of given her the weekend off in hopes that she wouldn't do it some awkward place where he'd have to clean up afterward. The whole situation kind of sucked, actually. Gretchen had been the first housekeeper he'd purchased since, well, the worst birthday party ever years back, and he'd kind of liked her for the sole purpose of her housekeeping talents. She had really weird stories and a strange penchant for neon pink lipstick well into her 70s, but she hadn't been nosy or difficult. She'd worked, and she'd done her job well. God knew he was fucking terrible at training new slaves too. He'd tried that once and ended up asking the auction house about their return policy. Oddly enough, that hadn't gone over too well either.
Emerson set the cigarette back between his lips, holding up his hands to ensure those running the place knew he wasn't actually lighting it. People were crowding into their seats, and the auctioneer seemed ready to start things up. The witch pulled out the bag of pre-packaged popcorn he'd brought with him and prepared for the show to begin.