Young Writers Society

Janek shot the woman a venomous look but quieted, still glaring at Pratik. "I smell privilege," was the last thing he muttered before turning away.

Pratik wasn't sure what, exactly, Janek seemed to think was so privileged about ending up in the same cage as them. But he wasn't interested in a fight. Or answering needless questions. He just wanted to make it through with as few beatings as possible. He'd had his share of them, and he didn't particularly fear them. But it'd be hard to keep himself under control and not thrash the slavers if they decided on more abuse. So, he kept his eyes on his knees, remaining silent.

The Keep gates slowly faded out of sight as the cages rolled away, but the weary silence remained. None of the slaves spoke. A few were huddled together for warmth; it helped that most were packed almost shoulder to shoulder, but still everyone was shivering.

Pratik was grateful for the silence that followed. It was tense and awkward, but better than answering questions. He was soon chilled to the bone, the collar yanking against his throat with each bump that they hit. Why did I take this fucking job? He closed his eyes and tilted his head back to rest against the metal bars, preferring his head banging off it when they hit a bump to it choking him.

(I am totally down to keep rping this out if you want! But he's going to talk as little as humanly possible so if you don't have a specific scene in mind then I'm happy to timeskippy ^^)

(I was hoping he'd make conversation with the men he's between or with the kiddo but I can have one of them start up a conversation instead! Otherwise I'm good to skip.)

(ooh! I'd be down for a conversation, but he wouldn't start one lol if you start one though that sounds fun ^^)

(Sure!)

The caravan had been moving for about five hours when the scarred man beside Pratim nudged him lightly.
"Hey," he said quietly, voice accented slightly. "You got food?"

Pratik opened his eyes, glancing over at the man with a prick of guilt running through him. He hadn't known what to expect when he got in the cage, so the only risk he took was the dagger on his arm, since he figured he'd be most likely to get away with that one.

If he'd known he'd only get hit a few times, he'd have stuffed his pockets as full of food as he could get them.

"No," he answered apologetically. "I'm sorry."

He was fully wallowing in his own self-pity at this point. He was cold. He was also hungry. And he was stiff and sore from riding in this damnable cage. And he knew it wasn't going to get any better anytime soon.

But. He was supposed to be making friends with the slaves. May as well start now. He'd cooled off from the initial offense that he'd taken. He swallowed hard. "I'm Aren, by the way."

The man nodded slightly. "Rickard. Thought you might have something, coming from a Lord and whatnot." He shifted slightly, reaching around with his manacled hands to scratch his back as best he could. "I'm guessing Janek's right. Never seen anyone go willingly to a cage."

(omg I have a character in my novel named Rekard lol)

Pratik bit back a sigh as Rickard brought it back around to him once again. So much for a friendly conversation. But, at least he'd had time to think up a better story than the journalist nonsense.

"I didn't have a choice," he answered gruffly, voice quiet as he stared at his knees again. "Some fucker in my village took my daughter for ransom. She's only six." He clenched his teeth and closed his eyes, looking as angry as possible. It wasn't too terribly difficult to muster that emotion in his current state. "Gods, she has to be so scared..."

"I can't pay." He looked at Rickard desperately, forcing his eyes to get misty. "I can't pay. I went to my lord for help and he won't pay the ransom... but he said he'd take whatever money he got from my sale and ransom my daughter and get her back to my wife. Me or Kyzia..." He swallowed hard and shook his head, taking a shaky breath as he looked back at his knees, wondering if they'd buy his story. "I'd do anything for my Kyzi."

(Whoa XD I just made the name up on the spot)

The man studied him quietly, dark eyes unreadable.
"I'm sorry to hear Lord Ash is not all people say he is," he said finally. "I hope your daughter is rescued safe."

(Time for me to sleep! Busy day tomorrow. Good night!)

(I'm heading to bed soon too ^^ Night!)

Pratik felt Rickard's gaze on him. Felt many gazes on him. But he remained unmoving for a long moment. He finally looked up as Rickard spoke, keeping his eyes damp and vulnerable, thankful that he was a very good actor.

Maybe throwing Ash to the wolves hadn't been the kindest thing to do. But, tossing Pratik in a slaver's cage also hadn't been particularly pleasant. Besides, what would a slave do to defame Ash? At the very worst, Rickard would tell Ash what Pratik said. But, he doubted a slave would have that kind of courage. And even if he did, all Ash could do was curse Pratik for the falsehood. And his name had been cursed more than it hadn't.

"Me too," Pratik answered, voice barely more than a breath. He was glad they were buying the story. Giving him sympathy. That was better than thinking he was 'privileged' -- even though he still hadn't quite worked out what Janek had meant by that. "I don't guess I'll ever know now. All I's know is I's did every last thing that I could." He rattled his chains slightly, hoping it drove home the lie. "Every last thing I could think of."

"Not sure this is worth it," Rickard mused, still keeping his voice down. "Not for you or your daughter."

Pratik couldn't agree with him more -- he also wasn't sure that this was worth it. And it was just the first afternoon. Maybe if he'd been doing it for an actual daughter. People seemed to be attached to a foolish degree to their children, so who knew? Maybe he'd be as stupidly sentimental as other parents if he had children. But, he was smart enough to not let that happen.

"Yeah." He scoffed a bit, agreeing. "How long have you...?"

Rickard shrugged. "Long enough that I can't remember how long. Long enough to know when to be quiet, long enough to know more languages than there are on this continent."