This is a fic I almost have complete. Just putting final touches on and finishing up the epilogue.
Gundam Wing AU (Dorothy/Quatre/Trowa)
She lifted her skirts from the muddy ground as she stepped around puddles and refuse. Her pale pink and yellow silk seemed almost drab in comparison to the vibrant colors of the other patrons. Men and women alike held lace handkerchiefs to their faces to block out the smell of feces and unwashed bodies.
It was just an hour before the auction and the pens were full. Most of the creatures shivered and huddled together for warmth; they had been sprayed down in an attempt to get rid of the worst of the dirt, but it did nothing for the smell. Her eyes drifted over them with disinterest. She may have been younger than those around her, but her family’s power allowed her to make her purchases before the auction, getting some of the choicest pieces of meat.
Tired of the heat and smell she made her way toward her coach. She reflected on her dealings that day with quiet satisfaction: a few pretty servants, a stable hand, and two big blue haired fighters for the arena. With training they would be an excellent team. They came from the labor stock and she paid a little more than she would have liked for them, but she had no doubt they would recoup her losses, all in all a good day.
She had just reached the outer edge when she saw him. He stood toward the back of a group just pushed into a pen. He was among them, yet separate. His posture was only slightly bent as if unused to the position. His white skin was stretched taunt over jutting bones and well defined muscle & scars in sharp relief. Nothing in his appearance seemed different from those around him, so it was not surprising he went unnoticed, but she looked into his eyes. Those green orbs reminded her of a wild beast. Captured but untamed; caged but free; beaten into submission, but not broken. She knew that look, she’d seen it in the mirror many times in the last six years. An uncontrolled wave of possessiveness washed over her.
She had to have him. He was meant to be with her.
Very little in life had been denied her. When she desired something, no matter how small or expensive it was hers.
“Sh’ten,” she called to her soldier bodyguard, “get me the one with green eyes in that last cage.”
“But Miss, you have already exceeded your expenditure limit. Your grandfather…”
“I will handle my grandfather,” she interrupted him. “Go purchase him. Now.”
There was a cold danger in her arrogant voice which caused him to unconsciously move to do her bidding. Sh’ten paused when he realized what he was doing. Obeying without thought or question. With a snort of disgust he continued on.
She watched the transaction from a distance. The attendant seemed pathetically grateful to get the thin boy off his hands. Very quickly it was over and the boy was being led away; a rough-hewn rope about his neck, hands bound.
Sh’ten was handing the boy over to a soldier to be added to the rest of her purchases when his mistress signaled for him to be brought over. His first instinct was to refuse; nobility did not touch slaves before they were properly washed and de-liced. With a simple narrowing of her eyes he changed his mind. She may only be a girl but she had too much influence over her grandfather to risk offense. If angered she could convince the Duke to take more than just his position and rank, she could have him put to death or worse enslaved.
Reluctantly Sh’ten led the boy over. He watched as she just stared up into the boy’s eyes. Slowly she ran her hand down his neck, wrapping her fingers around the rope leash. With the other hand she reached up and removed a stiletto from her hair. Without breaking eye contact she cut the course leash off and let it fall. She did the same with the rope at his wrists, not once looking away.
Sh’ten couldn’t understand what had his mistress so enthralled with this slave. The boy’s eyes looked dead and empty to him. Even his body was no longer appealing covered in puckered ridged scars. Sh’ten flinched but said nothing when she removed the bindings. The attendant had said the boy was deaf and dumb, so there was little chance of him harming the mistress.
Taking a yellow sash from her waist she slipped it around his neck in a loose imitation of a leash. “What is your name?” she asked softly.
“He has no name,” Sh’ten answered. “He can not hear or speak.”
She very much doubted that, but she wasn’t about to argue the point with a simple soldier. “We will soon change that; come my lion. You shall ride in the coach with me.” She shot a silencing glance at Sh’ten before he could object. “I am Dorothy Catalonia and you now belong to me.”