The Uprising

Videl Vane Va'Teir, Love Slave in Labour Quarters

Videl held Brahn's hand tightly as they ran along the cobbled street towards the gate. His grip felt hot and foreboding; his blooding rushing in a fury inside his skin. Videl cringed. He was reluctant to touch her, yet wouldn't let go. She stopped and looked back at him.

"Promise you won't leave me?" She said, as he pulled away from her grip.

"Why would I stay with a wench? That is all you are, Videl Vane. A wench at heart and in body." Videl looked down at the ground. He had right, moreso than anyone, to tell her that. So why did it tear her apart?

The port town of Begen was bustling with guards. Everywhere they were searching for her. Houses were being raided and market stands being toppled over; there was no safe place to go except away. Far, far away. Videl needed to move. She needed to run, as fast as she could out the gate. Yet she couldn't. Brahn was locked in the same way she was.

"Brahn, come. We need to move, they'll surely find us if we stay-" Videl turned and bolted at the sight of a full platoon of guards rushing towards her. Her instinct had won the brutal war against her heart: it was telling her to run, to move, to do something.

Being half wood-elf, she was gifted with speed and agility. She could make it to the gate, and was going to. Then it hit her. She stopped dead in the middle of the street and looked back at her once strong lover. He was smirking, an evil look that she had seen many times, just not from him. From his father.

Brahn was no stranger, he was no innocent pedestrian on the path to hell. He was the son of her worst enemy. The son of the man who had killed her mother. Brahn was the solid form of treason, yet he was different. He did not touch Videl in any horrid way, he didn't force himself upon her beyond her will. He did not even kiss her! So, did that make him better than his father? No, it couldn't have.

Slowly they all advanced. The soldiers caught in a rift of guilt. Videl had done nothing wrong, they had not been pursuing her because she had seduced the Duke of Port. They were pursuing her because it was finally time for fate to slap destiny. The trickster had been tricked.

All in one swift movement, she was unconcious, yet concious. She had been betrayed. Man surely needed to die.

Videl was brought back into the real world by the sound of silent bickering. She was confused. They weren't bickering, they were scheming. Scheming what exactly? Videl's curiosity got in the way of her common sense.

"If you are looking for a powerful ally, you might consider me." Both of the men, Machavell and the other, looked at her with srunched up faces. "I may look miniscule to you; but you've no clue how useful a trickster can become. So are all three of we playing the same game, then?" She smiled. Now was the time for her revenge.

Machavell
Labour Slave

The storm was dying down, waves rocked the ship ever more gently. The swaying motion made Machavell drowsy, reminded him of cradles and childhood. He carefully suppressed the memories; they would not help him. Machavell lived in the here and now.

"I think not," Machavell said, hoping she would take the dismissal to heart and leave him alone. It was a hope he knew was futile. Hopes hadn't meant anything to him for a long time though. Something strange was stirring within.

"Oh, would you rather I lie on you again?" Videl was impossible. She understood him, but to how great a degree was debatable. He knew he wasn't outclassed yet. She wasn't as experienced as she thought if she played her best cards first. With training though, Machavell wondered. With training, maybe?

Kester spoke up. "How are we meant to trust you?" he asked, his words spiralling out into the air, "We're not stupid, not at all. You're a half-elf. You can't be trusted." As the smaller man talked, Machavell noted the way Kester referred to them as "we". With pain he realised it was already too late. They had both laid claim to him and he would have to take this second defeat graciously.

"Who said anything about trusting me?" Videl giggled, trying to conceal her laughter behind a tiny hand. "Do you think I trust you?"

"With or without trust," Machavell cut in, reassured by their attentive gazes that he was, indeed, in charge. "It's irrelevant. The only thing you can trust in this ship is that Deaven will manage to acquire a new set of injuries by tomorrow." Videl giggled and Kester smirked. "I do believe though," he continued, quietly, "that safety in numbers would be prudent."

Kester looked as if he was about to say something, but thought better of it. His eyebrows had drawn together above his eyes. He was concealing a look of suspicion with difficulty. Machavell realised paranoia lay beneath the simple surface of Kester's features. Videl didn't seem to notice, though that was expected in the receeding darkness.

"Glad you know what's best for you," Videl said. The wink that followed it made Machavell's blood turn to ice. He was getting involved again; he knew it, and he was not going to repeat his past. Not without a fight.

"Let me make this clear to you though," Machavell whispered, aware of the way words travelled in the darkness, "this is not an alliance." The emphasis on the word "not" was unmistakable. "This is the overlap of personal safety in the light of current dangers. Nothing more. You would be fools indeed to think otherwise."

Machavell sighed as the pair nodded obediently and proceeded to give shifty glances to each other. He had left this line of work behind for a reason. It was easier on his own. With one hand he rubbed his chin; his moustache was untidy and he longed for a shave. As he sat in the cell, Machavell's mind began to plan his next move.

Galea
Labor Slave

"So how did you end up here?" She asked. He gave a wry smile in return.

"On the ship, or as a slave?"

Good point. She shrugged.

"You tell me,"

He made a face in response, obviously not thrilled with the change of topic. But judging by his thoughtful expression, he was going to answer her anyway. So she waited for him to continue, and started making mental notes the moment he did.

"I was born in the south. I belonged to the Galgaen tribe. I was fishing when they snatched me and my brother. It's a long story."

His body sagged, she thought from emotions. After a couple moments of him not moving, “Hey.” And when he didn’t respond, a nudge of her foot. His body took the nudge, but didn’t respond.

Not good.

Hands bound in front of her, she rammed them into the guy’s cheek, the closest she could come to a slap at the moment. The crack! echoed off the walls slightly, drawing more than one curious glance, Deavon’s among them, though his was more of an incredulous one than anything. She cleared her throat and ignored the others behind her.

“You fell unconscious.”

Deavon sagged again, this time from apparent exhaustion and not as extreme as his last one. "Those slave traders did a good job with the whip." More than a little bitterness in his voice.

She cleared her throat again and nodded, deciding if she should probe further. Before she could, though, Deavon spoke again.

“How about yourself? How’d you come to be in this mess?”

Startled, but not overly so, she simply shrugged in response. “That is a long story.”

He rested his head back against the bars.

“I told you mine.”

You told me some of yours, she almost corrected, but thought better of it, and instead worked on summing her story down to something that would satisfy his curiosity. She didn’t have to tell him anything, she knew, but she also knew that the easiest way to get information was to give a little yourself, no matter how much of it was fluff to make it look bigger.

“Came during a storm. Great cover up, the sound, you know. No secret that I liked to go out afterwards, thus my disappearance.” She considered a moment, then shrugged. “Family feud, more or less.”

“More or less.” He repeated. She stared at him a moment before speaking

“More or less.” She confirmed, snapping the topic to a close.

He lifted a shoulder in a half shrug and looked off, lost in his thoughts once more. She leaned against the bars and considered.

“Why all the scars?” she asked. He looked up at her, perhaps surprised that she was continuing the conversation.

“Slaves get scars. You think you keep smooth skin if you’re good?” his tone held more than a hint of irony in it. “Why so nosey all the sudden?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Just curious, like I said.”

“Mm.” he said, and left it at that.

Lissa, Exotic Slave

The man with the “food” came round to her cage and opened the door. Lissa stared at him in confusion for a moment, before realizing he was going to feed her.

"'Scuse me Princess...” The man said, brushing a few stray strands of hair out of her face. Lissa was startled by the caress, but held her tongue. “Got some grub for you, if you think yer up for it."

She tilted her head to the side, blinking in bewilderment. "What do you mean? I am not a princess."

"S'just a term of endearment, little nymph. Can you eat?" Said the man, he’d set the pale of “slop” on the floor of her cage next to her, and went to work on the leather straps at her wrists. “Now if I let yeh loose, promise not to scratch me?” He chuckled.

"I won’t attack, I promise." She said slowly, and she meant it. She hardly had the strength to do any damage, and he knew it. “I can try to eat, but generally I prefer food. What is that theoretically supposed to be?”

He stared at the bucket for a moment before replying with a sideways grin. "Excellent question--'aven't quite figured it out, myself. But it is edible!” He took a spoonful into his mouth and chewed methodically, his face scrunched up like he’d just smelled something distasteful, before swallowing with a loud gulp. “See?" He offered her the spoon and held the dish out to her.

Lissa eyed the food warily, seizing the spoon and taking a deep breath. "I can try..." She immersed the spoon into the brown goo and brought it to her lips. She chewed carefully, trying to avoid the flavor all together and focus on putting something into her aching stomach.

He plopped the dish into her hands. "Well then Princess, y'might wanna do so--yer more than capable of doin' so, yeah?" He winked at her, a wide grin spreading across his features.

"Yes, I am well adapted in eating; I have found that it is advantageous when surviving.” She retorted, a small smile playing on her lips.

"Oh have you now? That's very interesting--I figured you'd be the kind to let others feed you, what with yer dainty little fingers and such." He laughed the, a hearty sound full of good humor.

Lissa fixed her gaze on him, glaring but with a small hint of comedy behind her eyes. “I am not prone to letting others do anything for me, human, let alone feed me. Why would you dare make such a deranged assumption?” her usual stoic tone had turned light and teasing, and he blinked at her a few times.

His voice changed, taking on a serious note. "Well now, ain't that the question? Would one not have to be some sort of deranged to keep a sentient creature--especially one as beautiful as yourself--in a cage, for shiny gold coins?"

"Deranged indeed, and what, pray tell, possessed you to join them in keeping such a beautiful sentient creature in a cage?"

"Why...for the view, of course." She narrowed her eyes and watched him stand and walk to the Ballows’ cell, another portion of “food” in his hands for him.

"I hear that the view of a women standing is far more flattering than crouched and bound in a cage."

He glanced back at her, a playful smirk crossing his features. "That would completely depend on what your tastes are, would it not?"

"Bob" - Dijon Valliere

She calmed beneath him, the agitated tension within seemingly bleeding out of her. It was the same with his rage; with the death of the storm the liquid pool of anger had cooled, become something icy and calculated. Dijon became aware that she no longer needed his arms and slowly, awkwardly disengaged himself. She stared up at him and he noticed for the first time the almost colourless aspect of her eyes. Her eyes rested on his for a moment, as though expecting something, before sliding away and looking up. She hunched down almost immediately.

Startled, Dijon looked up to see three other slaves looming over them. The tall man with a ragged, bushy goatee was conversing with the elf-girl and the blonde boy. In itself, not worthy of note, had they not been virtually on top of him. Slowly, their conversation died away and they turned to stare as he slowly rose to his full height. They were near brushing shoulders, so close did they stand to one another. Dijon didn’t say anything, let the silence stretch and tear as he slowly unwound the rope.

He looked them all in the eye, one by one. The blonde one shifted nervously, sweat beading his brow. The other – Machavell? – flinched but held his gaze; some steel lay within this one. Videl smiled up at him.

“Hiya,” she said, brightly.

“Is there a reason you’re standing over me?” Dijon said, slow and ponderous.

A multitude of reactions: shock, fear, sudden rueful awareness. Heads shook, eyes widened, mouths opened but he stalled them all.

“Step. Away.”

“No need for hostility. We’re all in this together,” Machavell said carefully, but he was stepping back nonetheless. Had they been seeking him out? Or were they merely standing away from the other two – the petulant whelp and the Halfling? Dijon sighed, rubbing at his eyes. Sometimes, it was all too much for him – the political machinations that surrounded all sentient activity was tiring. He turned back to the girl, still crouching by his feet.
There was more space to breathe now.

He knelt down to her. “What’s your name?” he said, quietly.

She stared at him coolly, with eyes coloured pale green, he realised now. She seemed to have made up her mind about something; there was a certain resignation there.

“You first,” she said.

Dijon smiled. “No one on this ship knows my name. Why should you be the first?” His voice was hoarse and scratchy from misuse; it was much deeper then it should be. She cocked her head, curious.

“Why is that?”

“To give them that would be to truly give them ownership. So say the shamans. So say I.”

She stared at him and the silence was comfortable and deep. The ship creaked and above, the rough voices of sailors bantered.

Dijon leaned in even closer. “Do you still want to know?” He regarded her clearly, this moment the most serious he’d ever been. In her, he saw the lively spirit she didn’t openly display; it had been the same with Veera – some thought her stunted or spiritually blessed but he saw otherwise. One only had to study the eyes and the way they lit up upon sighting butterflies in flight, to know she was active, but chose to remain quiet. He thought it was much the same with the girl in front of him.

Eyes wide, she nodded.

“My name is Dijon Valliere. It is a pleasure to meet you.” He breathed out the words; let them slip into the creak and sway of the ship, for her ears and hers alone. That was enough conversation for the day, for the month even. He only hoped he hadn’t made a mistake in opening up, even this small amount. Some part of him was glad, however, to have made some human contact, however small. He rose up once more, prepared to shift into the corner.

“My name is Shirin. Shirin Bedros,” she whispered it, eyes on the floorboards, but he heard and it was enough.

Kester
Labour Slave

"Is there a reason you're standing over me?" boomed a voice. Kester and Videl jumped; Machavell just turned to look at Bob. Kester tried to disguise any surprise he might have felt and cursed himself.

Kester opened his mouth to reply, but Bob cut him off. "Step. Away."

"No need for hostility. We're all in this together," Machavell said with a smile. Bob didn't return it, and the three of them moved away. Kester stared at Bob. When the man glanced in his direction, he looked down. It's safer if I don't reveal anything, he thought. He moved away without a word.

Kester glanced back to Bob and the girl that he was with for a second. Their voices were quiet whispers. Kester struggled, but he couldn't hear a word.

The sound of the sailors talking and laughing came from above. Their voices were clearer. They were making no attempts to stay quiet. They probably think we're too stupid to listen to them.

He strained to listen to their inane chatter until he was distracted by Machavell saying his name. "Do you agree?" he asked.

Kester's eyes widened. "Sorry. I was distracted. Trying to listen to what they're saying." He jerked his head up.

"I was saying that this alliance is in no way permanent. I won't trust either of you. However, it suits me in the current situation."

Kester nodded. "I agree. In a place like this, it isn't safe to trust anyone." He looked around their hold. When he turned back to Machavell and Videl, they were both staring at him. He shrugged. "I can't afford to put my complete trust in people. As much as I have to, but no more."

Machavell's face did not betray any emotion, but Videl seemed close to a smile. What is she thinking? he thought. I need to know if she has other motive in approaching us, other than safety. There's no way of knowing yet. I just won't reveal myself, and wait to see what happens.

He turned to look at the other slaves, scanning them to see if there were any others that he should attempt to talk to or avoid. Bob and the girl were still conversing. Most of the other slaves weren't of interest. The one who Kester had heard others call Deaven wasn't even worth thinking of. He had been rash and foolish.

He looked to the Halfling. She intrigued him. He hadn't heard her speak much, and he was curious about what she was thinking. After thinking for a few seconds, he resolved to speak to her at some point. It made him uncomfortable to not know anything about her. Simply by listening, he had already gleaned a wealth of information about other slaves' histories and personalities. The Halfling was still a mystery, though.

He wondered what the others already knew about him. Machavell was more perceptive than anyone thought, he suspected. The man seemed to be manipulating the situation without flaw, outside from an outburst or two. He can't find out about what happened to my parents, though. That's a secret I can never reveal.

He turned back to Machavell and Videl. The two of them were still discussing something. He inserted himself back into the conversation, all the while watching both of them.

Videl Vane Va'Teir, Love Slave in Labour Quarters

"You've no need to trust me, I don't deserve it. I'm a trickster, people don't trust me, but I don't trust them. We don't need to trust each other, we just need to get through this, and... other things." Videl said, looking up at the two men who stood over her. She could see how the dark man had felt when they were standing over him; crowded. He wasn't tiny, though, so he wouldn't understand the feeling of being towered over, that was for sure.

Videl looked up at the blonde one. He was an interesting figure; he was scarred deep inside. There was something he was hiding, something he didn't want anyone to know. Videl knew he sensed that inside her too, just as she sensed it inside everyone else.

She looked over at the halfling and the man. Nodding to the blond and Machavell, she walked over to the both of them and lightly kicked the almost limp man. He cringed.

"Hello, I'm Videl. And you, silly sir, hurt my ears. Don't look at me as if you don't care, because you should. You should care very, very deeply. Then it won't hurt as much once we get off this blasted ship." The man looked up at her, surprised. She smiled, turning to the halfling and holding out her hand.

"What does that mean?" She looked back down at the man.

"Oh, if I told you, where would the fun be in that?" She grinned. The man shrunk back, sensing the trickery in her voice. Hopefully he knew not to bother her anymore.

Deaven:

He found this questionnaire fun... Compared to his normal activity of sleeping and looking in the distance.

"Galea," he said.

"Yes."

Deaven sighed. "If we ever get a chance, I will try and get us all out of here."

Galea just looked at him for a while, "Even Machavel?"

Deaven smirked "Even him, but only after I've banged the living snot out of him."

Galea smiled also "Justice always prevails?"

"Always," Deaven confirmed. And I will find him, Deaven thought.

"Deaven." Galea snapped Deaven out of dream world again.

"Mm?"

"You always seem to drift to another place when I try to speak to you."

Deaven was silent, but only for that short while "I guess I am. I have lot on my mind."

"Like what?"

"You really are nosy, you know that."

Galea took a surprised look on her face "Me? Never." She finished with a smile.

Deaven laughed. "I have a long history, and I tend to think about it. What I could have done different."

"About your brother?"

"Yes, but that's late now... He has died already."

Galea
Labor Slave

She thought for a moment. "About your brother?" Deaven sighed and looked off to the side for a moment before replying.

"Yes, but that's late now... He has died already."

She bit her lip for what she judged was an adequate amount of silence and was about to continue when the half-elf came up to them. Galea couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow when she bent over Deaven and considered taking a step back, not at all trusting the grin the woman wore. Looking at Deaven, he obviously felt the same, cringing back away from her.

“Hello, I'm Videl. And you, silly sir, hurt my ears.” Galea raised both eyebrows at that, not so much at the words but at the tone. She again looked at Deaven who was now looking at the woman skeptically. The woman tsked in response.

“Don't look at me as if you don't care, because you should. You should care very, very deeply.” Each ‘very’ punctuated by a tap of her finger on his nose. “Then it won't hurt as much once we get off this blasted ship." At this point, Deaven’s face was a whirl of confusion, surprise, suspicion, and doubt. The girl – Videl – didn’t seem to mind, just smiled some more before turning her attention to Galea.

Not good.

Galea’s face was one of anticipation of a railing, but inside, her mind was speeding. Who in the world was this woman? She has a collar, not a good sign for Deaven if she follows through with her threat. Possibly not a good sign for me, either, if I’ve offended the happy half-elf in some way. Before she could decide on an action, if any, Videl struck out her hand. Surprised, Galea stared at her for a moment.

"What does that mean?" She asked after a while, tilting her head in Deaven's direction.

"Oh, if I told you, where would the fun be in that?" She grinned. Deaven shrank back again, and Galea fought a smirk of her own at the tone in the woman’s voice. She was planning a trick here. A trickster half-elf. On a slave ship. What d’you know. Galea allowed her smirk to show through briefly and shook Videl’s hand.

“Nice to meet you, Videl.”

Videl grinned wider. “What’s your name?”

Again, the chipper tone. Not to be trusted. She debated a moment, discarded the idea of using a fake name before it was even fully developed in her mind, and gave a mental shrug. There were myths of shamans and wizards using names to control souls, but if Videl was a shaman or a wizard, Galea was a horse. Still, she’d have to be careful around this one.

“Galea.” Pure and simple, nothing added, nothing less.

Videl, her name music in itself, laughed in what sounded like a song. Galea blinked. Drunk bards often splathered songs from their mouths about maidens with musical laughter, but this was the first time she had seen the nice thought in physical form. After a moment, she withdrew her hand and looked down and Deaven, whose eyes were flicking between her and the new girl.

“So what’re we talking about?”

Deaven’s gaze jumped to Videl at that and remained there while Galea stared at her, amused and not so surprised with her bluntness. Videl, it seemed, had a way of being open and completely closed off at the same time. Interesting.

“What were you?” she asked, jerking her head to the over-populated corner from which the girl had sprung up.

Videl Vane Va'Teir, Love Slave in Labour Quarters

Videl smirked. This one was a little tricky. "Freedom. What else would a slave talk about? His or her past? No. Not on this ship." Videl's tone went from perky and happy to a monotone. Galea eyed her curiously.

"Freedom, of course." The man nodded. Videl shot him a glare, and he shrunk back once more.

"Something we will never see with you in the picture, sir." There it was, Videl's temper. Despise was too light of a word when it came to someone who harmed her, even if it was just her ears. "From what I've heard, you made an idiotic move that could have costed all of us. That woman on the floor over there," She jerked her head backwards. "Is going to die whether it be on this blasted ship or on the blasted ground, but you risked everyone to save her. A hopeless romantic."

"What do you mean this ship?" Galea asked, changing the topic. Videl lowered her gaze.

"This ship is something special. Guards are never posted outside of a slave cage on any other barge, mostly because the cages are packed too full to allow escape. There are too few of us for this to be any regular ship. That is why, my dear, we talk about freedom, because obviously, each one of us can attain it. That is, if we don't die of being whipped first." Videl looked at the man. Behind her, Machavell and the blond were trying too hard not to laugh. She was attaining rank at least, something she'd need.

Deaven:

He was starting to get angry. What was this half elf blabbering about.
He regained his posture and took his cold look. The look that he had worn for fifteen years.
"Ha." He let out a cold laugh, so that only the women heard it. Videl looked at him, he could see the despise in her eyes.

"Freedom, is a state of mind when you are a slave." Deaven said "But when you are truly free is not when you do not have a master, but when you do not have a master but you have a meaning."

"What is that supposed to mean." Videl asked, even Galea looked a bit confused.
"Think about that." He answered, "Oh and about the whipping. Want to know how it feels? If you do." He smirked. "It's a shame that they don't whip you, love slaves that is. Although. I'm not sure if you master will ease on the aggression as much as the ship owners."

Videl was getting angry, although she did not show it, it radiated from her eyes.

"Videl. How did you, end up on the ship? How did a trickster like you end up here. Were your skills in the art of lying too weak?" He put some weight on the word lying.

Galea
Labor Slave

“…This ship is something special. Guards are never posted outside of a slave cage on any other barge, mostly because the cages are packed too full to allow escape.” She jerked her head down the ling of slaves still tied to the bars. “There are too few of us for this to be any regular ship. That is why, my dear, we talk about freedom, because obviously, each one of us can attain it.” The last was said softy, seriously. Galea leaned back to chew on that tidbit when Videl added, almost slyly, “That is, if we don't die of being whipped first."

Galea missed neither the smirk and stifled laugh from the corner nor Videl’s slight, almost hidden smirk in response. Again, interesting. But it went down a pointless path. Moving on.

“Wh—”

Deaven laughed, cutting her off.

“Freedom is a state of mind when you are a slave. But when you are truly free is not when you do not have a master, but when you do not have a master but you have a meaning."

Both she and Videl were silent as they tried to decode his message, it obviously holding a lesson of some sort. After a few moments of silence, Videl spoke.

“What does that mean?”

Deaven only smirked. “Think on it.”

Galea, slightly annoyed, slipped back into her thoughts and missed the rest of the taunt, eyes flicking to the corner where three men sat. Bob in the corner, Machavell next to him, and a blond man between Machavell and her. He wouldn’t have caught her attention if she hadn’t seen his smirk in response to Videl’s jab. Bob remained stoic, as always, making it impossible to tell how far he was involved. Blond Guy, Machavell, and Videl. They had all been talking together, voices contained to their circle. They were all linked up in it. She looked back at Videl. Of course, she hadn’t seen Machavell’s grand loyalty show a few hours – a night? – ago. Still, if the few minutes they’ve known each other was anything to go by, Videl probably wouldn’t put anymore trust into Machavell than she had to. Galea smirked, recalling her fall into Machavell’s lap, and her antagonizing afterwards, matching Machavell step for steps in the game for control of the situation. No, Videl would remain stable. As would Machavell, keep to himself. Blond guy… She had been watching him and Machavell earlier. What role would he play?

“…Were your skills in the art of lying too weak?"

Galea looked between Videl and Deaven. Somehow, she doubted the accusation of being less than truthful would have an impact on the clever trickster, but the continuing jabs from Deaven would and were. She cleared her throat, looking at Videl, who, for the time being, ignored her, focusing her stare on Deaven.

“You came from a different cell.”

Videl eventually pried her eyes away from Deaven, who had met the stare perfectly, and regarded her. Galea didn’t give her a chance to speak.

“How many?”

Videl shrugged. It was a trivial manner. “The guards brought us all here.”

Galea raised her eyebrows. “There were only two of you?”

Videl shrugged again.

“Might be more now. Guards picked us out after we launched.” She grinned then, flicking some of Galea’s hair away from her face. “Might be they find a new one when they come back to collect us.” Galea pulled her face away and ignored the taunt. It was annoying, and not a pleasant thought in the least, but she doubted men’s taste ran towards short, four-foot women with hair on their feet. She let out a breath. The disadvantage of dealing with those taller than you is when you tried to look serious, you looked ridiculous, which would only invoke more taunts and lead them further off track. So she didn’t try. She looked away for a moment before retuning her gaze to Videl’s face.

“How do you propose we go about obtaining it?” she asked, referring to Videl’s earlier speech.

Videl grinned again, and Galea fought back a wince. The girl’s grin alone could make you want to check your back. “How do you?” she returned.

Galea inwardly smirked at the toss back, a mimic of her own earlier response, but kept her face serious. “Who are ‘we’?”

“Everyone.” Videl and Galea both glanced down at Deaven. Videl raised a skeptical eyebrow at him.

“You think we’re—”

Deaven ignored her and turned to Galea, cutting her off.

“I told you I’d get us all out of here.”

Videl exploded into laughter.

Videl Vane Va'Teir, Love Slave in Labour Quarters

"You get us out of here? The only way you are going to get us out, is by the guards dragging us to the whipping post. You can't barely even speak logically." The man looked up at her, anger clear on his face. For the first time in her life, Videl had been taunted, and felt taunted, but she would not go down without a fight.

"Like I said, why don't you give whipping a shot." He replied, oblivious, as everyone was, to the scars that lined her back.

"I've felt pain much worse, pain that you, child, could never endure. If you believe that your brother dying and the sting of a flashing whip on your skin is pain, then your idotic concept of freedom is just a ludacrist as it seems." She had him. His eyes opened wide, he was confused. Galea seemed to stop breathing, she hadn't expected that either. "You being a slave most of your life is your own fault, there is no need to whine about in pity for yourself. You got caught."

"Shut up, elf!" He was angry, very, very angry. Videl knew that she was winning. She was making him mad. She knew that she would have to put her defenses back up, but she'd have to do it quick. "You got caught too! For what, exactly? Whoring yourself off to the highest bidder? Are you so obsessed with it that you even had to sleep next to a slave trader?!"Videl looked down and smiled.

"You can sit there in chains and day dream about wide open spaces and high mountains all you want, but you still aren't free. You are a slave. You will never have meaning no matter how much you believe you do. All day long you can be treated with respect and dignity as you clean the floor with a small hay brush, and everyone will notice you, everyone will greet you, but in the end of the day, you're still chained ot the same old damn wall in the same old damn cell. Freedom is more than just a state of mind. When you are a slave, meaning only exists when you are on your hands and knee's licking your masters floor." The man, despite his pain and agony, got to his feet, towering over Videl. He was right mad. Videl had won, but there was one more step. Dominance.

"What would you know of freedom, you little wench?! You wouldn't know freedom! You wouldn't!" The man was clearly running out of insults. Videl stretched. "You wouldn't know pain, you only know how to pretend. You only know how to lie, and you are even bad at that." Videl closed her eyes. Now was the time. In one swift movement she dropped to the floor and swung her leg around in a circle, knocking the man onto his back with a scream of agony. She then jumped up and put her foot on his chest.

"And to answer your earlier question, a trickster like me ended up on this ship by a trick. A well planned trick. That is all you need to know, and all you will ever know. But here me this; leave me be and you will be fine." The man smirked and grabbed her ankle, pulling it out from under her so she toppled over on the floor. Videl's breath was knocked out of her as she fell, and her cracked ribs made an even louder cracking noise. The man got up and towered over her, obviously resisting the urge to kick her in the stomach.

"What's going on in there?!" Videl looked up. Three guards were standing at the gate. Now trickery got its part. She was close enough to him to make it seem as if he had been doing something wrong.

"The man wanted a taste, guard." She said, making herself sound distressed.

"Slave, this si your last warning! Behave or it's back to the post for triple slashings!" The man looked down at Videl, malice in his eyes.

"That's one for me, and none...for you." She said quietly, holding her rib cage as she stumbled up and back to Machavell and the blond boy. Now she was getting somewhere.

Deaven:

Pain.
What does she know? About... Pain.

He turned to the guards "And you think, that the other slaves would let me have a taste? They would kill me before I even got her skirt off."

The guards didn't care... just turned away.

Pain.

"Videl!" He called out.

The group of people with Videl, including Machavel, turned around.

"Do you know the meaning of pain?" He asked.

"The true meaning." he continued.

Videl didn't answer "Have you lost the person you love?"

Videl didn't answer, her face just darkened, only for a fraction of a second, but it was enough.

"Thought so."

Videl Vane Va'Teir

Do I know pain?! Pain?! What does he take me for, some perfect little priss doll who's never been touched?! "Of course I know pain, sir." She said, getting up and walking back towards the man and the halfling. "Have I lost someone I love? Someone very dear to me that held my own heart more than I? Yes, twice. I'm going to show you something, something no one has ever seen." The man grunted and rolled his eyes.

Videl turned around so her back was facing him and grabbed the edges of her leather tunic. Pulling up, she lifted the back past over her head and revealed the wreck. Scar upon scar was on her back, from various injuries. Whips, swords, arrows, claws...everything. The most astounding scar was the one right between her shoulder blades, shaped like a heart. It was ragged and showed signs of incorrect healing.

"Wha-" The man stuttered as she slid her shirt back down.

"If you want to talk pain, boy, don't try preaching to the choir." Videl limped back towards Machavell and the blond, both of which hadn't seen her back. Only the man and the halfling did.

Memories filled Videl's head, bad memories. Painful memories. She dug her head into her crossed arms.

"Brahn...why, why did you do it?" Videl was crying as she sat on the stone floor, her arms bound behind her.

"Because, Videl, it's finally time you learned a lesson in irony. And a lesson in true pain." He replied, standing in front of as small desk sharpening his knife.

"You think I don't know pain, Brahn?"

"Not like everyone else, Videl. Now, bite down on this." Brahn put a small piece of cloth in her mouth and walked around behind her, sticking the tip of his blade between her shoulder blades. "And try not to scream too loud." Slowly he began to dig it in, and Videl screamed. She spit the cloth out.

"Brahn, I'm sorry! I love you!" She yelled, trying to ignore the pain, but it was too much. He was done quickly, leaving a stinging mess on her back. Videl fell over, unconcious.