The Most Luxurious Fur . . .
. . . was discovered completely by accident when Master Terris Gaeven was punishing one of his neko slaves. He sliced the skin off the neko's arms and, to his surprise, after the skin was removed, the softest fur he'd ever felt had sprouted from the removed skin, the exact same shade as the neko's ears and tail, a lovely midnight black. So started the neko fur business.
Ever since that fateful day nekos are often found with long scars over their arms and legs as their masters not only use them as slaves but as a means of income selling the neko fur that comes off their removed skin. It also changed the selling of nekos in the slave market. Now, clothing designers buy nekos by the dozens to live their lives purely as fur providers to create coats, hats, fur-lined boots, gloves, you name it. The more common colors of nekos don't fetch as high a price as the more oddly colored nekos. Brown, black and white nekos fetch a pretty low price on the market. Calicos and tabbies are a slightly higher price. But the most expensive are the reds, blues, purples, greens, all the unusually colored nekos are the most prized.
There are some protesters to this movement, but up until 347 years after the discovery of neko fur the protests never had much ground. After all, nekos were slaves and most people didn't take the skin unless it was in a punishment. And the nekos were able to survive the painful process. (Though after about 23 years, some kinder masters started numbing the areas unless the skinning was in punishment.) The fur felt so nice, no one really had a problem . . .
Until . . .
Master Eric Thurmack of one of the noble families took the skinning of the nekos one step further. When one of his slaves made him particularly angry, he took the poor woman down to the basement where the punishments were doled out and tied her down before skinning her from neck to feet. Not one inch of the unfortunate neko's body under her neck was spared. She was stripped of her skin, but bled so profusely from the process that she died halfway through the process. That didn't stop Thurmack, he had found that even dead, the neko was producing fur, but it was all ruined from the bloodstains. And that started the most gruesome process in the neko-fur industry.
Not a week later, another unfortunate neko fell onto the wrong side of Thurmack's anger and was taken down to the basement to be skinned alive. This time, however, Thurmack was able to control himself to make such precise cuts that he was able to remove the neko's skin from his body without puncturing any organs or important blood vessels. The neko survived for 10 excruciating minutes without his skin before dying of hypothermia. With such a large amount of fur, Thurmack made a fortune and quickly became both admired and hated. Other people have tried following in Thurmack's footsteps only to find that their nekos die mid-skinning and the skins are ruined in the process. So far, only Thurmack is able to completely skin a neko and he will not reveal his secret to anyone and nekos, young and old, fear his name . . .
Help Me . . .
My name is Heather. I have no last name. Nekos aren't allowed to have last names. I am a purple neko, more of a lavender color, but purple nonetheless. When I was four I was ripped from my mother's arms and taken to the slave market to save my master's family from poverty. I was terrified. I knew the fate of rare colored nekos such as me. The factories would be competing to buy me, richer masters would be competing to buy me. I would wind up hideously scared on my arms and legs like my mother before me.
I was put into the show room in a cage like many young nekos are and tried to hide from the prying eyes, the prodding fingers, but the auctioneers wouldn't have that. They pushed the back of the cage closer to the bars until I barely had room to move. The potential buyers flooded around my cage, touching, pulling my ears, commenting on the loveliness of my color, how my fur would look perfect for the winter and spring collections, tugging my tail, saying how deliciously soft it was. I must have soiled my diaper at least three times.
Finally, the showing was over and I was given a few moments of peace, but all I could do was cry, causing a guard to rattle my cage, annoyed with the sound. I quickly shut up. Then the auction began. I watched as neko after neko was either dragged or wheeled onto the stage depending on whether they were in a cage or not. It wasn't like it mattered. Those in cages were dragged out on stage to be shown in full light. I heard the auctioner yelling out prices. Some sold quite well. There was a dandelion yellow neko who sold for 500,000 dollars. Then, I was loaded onto the cart and wheeled on stage. I was going to be sold.
I could have sworn my heart was going to pump right out of my chest, that the whole audience could hear it. My lot number was said and I was described before they pulled me onto the stage. I was trembling in the guard's grasp. He clutched my upper arm tightly, but he needn't have done so. I was too terrified to move. I saw and heard representatives from factories yell out ridiculously high numbers. My eyes watched them. I knew who they were. I was pricing now at 750,000, more than the yellow neko, I was going to be mutilated . . .
Then came the most terrifying moment of my young life. A deep booming voice called out, "20 million dollars." A man dressed in a midnight black suit trimmed with dark red neko fur had raised his sign from the back. It was an unheard of price. I had no idea who this man was, but I knew he couldn't have been from the factories. The factories didn't have that kind of money. I hoped whoever this man was, he would at least be kind and put on the numbing agent before ripping my skin from me . . .
Unfortunately, my delusion didn't last long, for in the hush that had fallen over the crowd, the auctioneer's voice could be heard clearly saying, "Going for 20 million dollars . . . Going once . . . Twice . . . Sold to Eric Thurmack for 20 million dollars." I only was able to catch a glimse of the evil smile forming on his face before I passed out.
I thought I would die after he took me to his house along with a few other nekos he had bought. But it turned out he had different plans for me. After giving the other nekos to other slaves to see that they were to fit in, he dragged me from my cage and looked me over, that horrible smile fixed on his face all the while. "Yes, you'll do perfectly." he told me, staring at my ears, reaching up to touch them with his horrible hands. "You will not do any work here. You are a special neko. I have only seen three of your kind at the most, but many were already too scarred for what I want." he said and then grabbed my arms and I cried out, terrified of this man. "You will be the first unscarred skin I will have. Once you are full grown, it will be lovely." he all but purred and I knew, even at that young age, what he meant. Once I stopped growing and became an adult . . . I would die. He would skin me alive. I would live without chores and I'd be able to live without fear of physical punishment for the years I had left. When I turned eighteen . . . I was doomed.
Now I am seventeen and it is a week until my eighteenth birthday. Master Thurmack has collected so many nekos that he has gone into the trading business himself. But I'm not for sale. I have a price that's far too high for anyone to afford. And in one week, I will die by skinning. The Master is eager to get his coat, I can tell, he constantly seeks me out to check my skin, make sure I have no bruises or injuries. I am given food and vitamins to make my hair and fur even more luxurious . . . But there's this newcomer in town who's been visiting my master, wanting to buy a neko. Rumour has it he's an inventor who has created something that made him ridiculously rich. Possibly richer than my master. And where my master is in his late thirties (he skinned his first neko at the age of 20), this newcomer is young, brilliant. I just hope he decides he wants me, no matter my price. I don't want to die next week.
Please help me . . .
. . . was discovered completely by accident when Master Terris Gaeven was punishing one of his neko slaves. He sliced the skin off the neko's arms and, to his surprise, after the skin was removed, the softest fur he'd ever felt had sprouted from the removed skin, the exact same shade as the neko's ears and tail, a lovely midnight black. So started the neko fur business.
Ever since that fateful day nekos are often found with long scars over their arms and legs as their masters not only use them as slaves but as a means of income selling the neko fur that comes off their removed skin. It also changed the selling of nekos in the slave market. Now, clothing designers buy nekos by the dozens to live their lives purely as fur providers to create coats, hats, fur-lined boots, gloves, you name it. The more common colors of nekos don't fetch as high a price as the more oddly colored nekos. Brown, black and white nekos fetch a pretty low price on the market. Calicos and tabbies are a slightly higher price. But the most expensive are the reds, blues, purples, greens, all the unusually colored nekos are the most prized.
There are some protesters to this movement, but up until 347 years after the discovery of neko fur the protests never had much ground. After all, nekos were slaves and most people didn't take the skin unless it was in a punishment. And the nekos were able to survive the painful process. (Though after about 23 years, some kinder masters started numbing the areas unless the skinning was in punishment.) The fur felt so nice, no one really had a problem . . .
Until . . .
Master Eric Thurmack of one of the noble families took the skinning of the nekos one step further. When one of his slaves made him particularly angry, he took the poor woman down to the basement where the punishments were doled out and tied her down before skinning her from neck to feet. Not one inch of the unfortunate neko's body under her neck was spared. She was stripped of her skin, but bled so profusely from the process that she died halfway through the process. That didn't stop Thurmack, he had found that even dead, the neko was producing fur, but it was all ruined from the bloodstains. And that started the most gruesome process in the neko-fur industry.
Not a week later, another unfortunate neko fell onto the wrong side of Thurmack's anger and was taken down to the basement to be skinned alive. This time, however, Thurmack was able to control himself to make such precise cuts that he was able to remove the neko's skin from his body without puncturing any organs or important blood vessels. The neko survived for 10 excruciating minutes without his skin before dying of hypothermia. With such a large amount of fur, Thurmack made a fortune and quickly became both admired and hated. Other people have tried following in Thurmack's footsteps only to find that their nekos die mid-skinning and the skins are ruined in the process. So far, only Thurmack is able to completely skin a neko and he will not reveal his secret to anyone and nekos, young and old, fear his name . . .
Help Me . . .
My name is Heather. I have no last name. Nekos aren't allowed to have last names. I am a purple neko, more of a lavender color, but purple nonetheless. When I was four I was ripped from my mother's arms and taken to the slave market to save my master's family from poverty. I was terrified. I knew the fate of rare colored nekos such as me. The factories would be competing to buy me, richer masters would be competing to buy me. I would wind up hideously scared on my arms and legs like my mother before me.
I was put into the show room in a cage like many young nekos are and tried to hide from the prying eyes, the prodding fingers, but the auctioneers wouldn't have that. They pushed the back of the cage closer to the bars until I barely had room to move. The potential buyers flooded around my cage, touching, pulling my ears, commenting on the loveliness of my color, how my fur would look perfect for the winter and spring collections, tugging my tail, saying how deliciously soft it was. I must have soiled my diaper at least three times.
Finally, the showing was over and I was given a few moments of peace, but all I could do was cry, causing a guard to rattle my cage, annoyed with the sound. I quickly shut up. Then the auction began. I watched as neko after neko was either dragged or wheeled onto the stage depending on whether they were in a cage or not. It wasn't like it mattered. Those in cages were dragged out on stage to be shown in full light. I heard the auctioner yelling out prices. Some sold quite well. There was a dandelion yellow neko who sold for 500,000 dollars. Then, I was loaded onto the cart and wheeled on stage. I was going to be sold.
I could have sworn my heart was going to pump right out of my chest, that the whole audience could hear it. My lot number was said and I was described before they pulled me onto the stage. I was trembling in the guard's grasp. He clutched my upper arm tightly, but he needn't have done so. I was too terrified to move. I saw and heard representatives from factories yell out ridiculously high numbers. My eyes watched them. I knew who they were. I was pricing now at 750,000, more than the yellow neko, I was going to be mutilated . . .
Then came the most terrifying moment of my young life. A deep booming voice called out, "20 million dollars." A man dressed in a midnight black suit trimmed with dark red neko fur had raised his sign from the back. It was an unheard of price. I had no idea who this man was, but I knew he couldn't have been from the factories. The factories didn't have that kind of money. I hoped whoever this man was, he would at least be kind and put on the numbing agent before ripping my skin from me . . .
Unfortunately, my delusion didn't last long, for in the hush that had fallen over the crowd, the auctioneer's voice could be heard clearly saying, "Going for 20 million dollars . . . Going once . . . Twice . . . Sold to Eric Thurmack for 20 million dollars." I only was able to catch a glimse of the evil smile forming on his face before I passed out.
I thought I would die after he took me to his house along with a few other nekos he had bought. But it turned out he had different plans for me. After giving the other nekos to other slaves to see that they were to fit in, he dragged me from my cage and looked me over, that horrible smile fixed on his face all the while. "Yes, you'll do perfectly." he told me, staring at my ears, reaching up to touch them with his horrible hands. "You will not do any work here. You are a special neko. I have only seen three of your kind at the most, but many were already too scarred for what I want." he said and then grabbed my arms and I cried out, terrified of this man. "You will be the first unscarred skin I will have. Once you are full grown, it will be lovely." he all but purred and I knew, even at that young age, what he meant. Once I stopped growing and became an adult . . . I would die. He would skin me alive. I would live without chores and I'd be able to live without fear of physical punishment for the years I had left. When I turned eighteen . . . I was doomed.
Now I am seventeen and it is a week until my eighteenth birthday. Master Thurmack has collected so many nekos that he has gone into the trading business himself. But I'm not for sale. I have a price that's far too high for anyone to afford. And in one week, I will die by skinning. The Master is eager to get his coat, I can tell, he constantly seeks me out to check my skin, make sure I have no bruises or injuries. I am given food and vitamins to make my hair and fur even more luxurious . . . But there's this newcomer in town who's been visiting my master, wanting to buy a neko. Rumour has it he's an inventor who has created something that made him ridiculously rich. Possibly richer than my master. And where my master is in his late thirties (he skinned his first neko at the age of 20), this newcomer is young, brilliant. I just hope he decides he wants me, no matter my price. I don't want to die next week.
Please help me . . .
